Procurement on Poison Road
Murkeijin Street is full of empty; the only sound - the sorrowful screech of the Festrec line just below the city’s skin before coming up for air for the journey across the mouth of the Shafir. This gloom of the street is on purpose.
Murkeijin Street, more commonly called “Poison Road”, even during the rare sunny days of the Moist Season, is mute and dark. The stout buildings, covered in a slick black from decades of water rot and mold born of the incessant rains and fogs from the nearby river and bay, sag inwards blocking out any light that may expose the purposefully hidden business of the street. The waterlogged architecture weep constant viscous tears onto the street below; a never-ending onslaught of insidious damp. Repeat clients know to bring an umbrella even on dry days. Pedestrian shadows walk this street for a reason.
Mushjrahi, experts in “chemical intakes” as they prefer to call their products, have adapted well to the lurk of the street. A Mushjrah can make a rather decent living as a purveyor of chemical intakes for curing the common mid-Moist Season virus or chemically influencing a client’s lover. However, for the Mushjrahi of Murkeijin Street, a more deadly use of their chemicals is the real source of their often more than comfortable incomes. Officially, it is illegal for a Mushjrah to sell such harmful substances. However, big business and the Confederation itself are the Murkeijin Mushjrahi’s biggest clients. The blind eye is the only law followed on the moldy sidewalks of Poison Road.
Sinnon was putting away a chemical-green vile of one of her best-selling intakes when an all-too-familiar cloaked customer soundlessly entered. The client’s head was completely covered with the local Drefanian jrekori. She knew this being hiding under the jrekori was not Drefan; they never were.
“Welcome.” Sinnon knew there would be no response from the voluminous, brown-gauzed head. “What are you interested in this evening, my friend?”
The silent customer took out a small piece of expensive glossy paper and slid it just as silently across the counter towards Sinnon. In her profession, she did most of the talking.
“Ahh, good choice,” she said, mainly for her own benefit. Nushet will be a quick solution to your ‘problem’. She bent down to grab the viscous grey liquid from under her counter in a drawer labeled “quick deaths”. Quick deaths were the most popular. She took sad comfort these people had at least the humanity to not force long suffering on their victims.
“I hope your competitor, lover, or lover’s lover will enjoy his or her last hours,” Sinnon said, still below the counter pouring the dull liquid into a “take-away” vile. She always said this to try to extract some clue as to the purpose of her exiting intakes. “Or not, I guess, depending on how you look at it.”
“Just hurry up with the vile, Mushjrah,” the formless entity finally said.
Finally made him talk. I knew I would get to him. “Yes, almost finished. Have to be careful with Nushet. It’s quite caustic on the skin.”
No Drefan accent. No surprise there. That disdain could only be Confederation. Assassination. Better be careful with this one.
Sinnon finally stood up and put the tiny vile of quick death on the counter then took off her protective gloves. “Be careful with this. I sealed it with bessen wax for extra precaution.”
“This is not my first time, Mushjrah.”
That disdain again. He must be high level. No thuggish lackey this one. “That will be 850.”
“Ridiculous.” The assassin handed over a 1,000 ser note.
“Taking another’s life is expensive, my friend.” She gave her customer his change.
He carefully put the vile in the string pouch hanging from his jrekori and walked out. Without turning he answered, “Much cheaper than if they live.”
Sinnon immediately flicked her comm on and requested her guild to send over a couple of big Crusa to guard her store for a week or so. She knew after years on this street and the countless times she was beaten to secure her silence that she would need the protection after this sale.