From The Gilgamesh Syndrome
. . . she would have to travel to Aleppo to negotiate with her suppliers for more goods of similar quality. It was inconvenient, she needed to be here, in the Grand Mosque, as there was much to learn and the war was escalating. If Assad, or any one of the loony factions running riot out there decided to blow the mosque to smithereens there would be nothing: no record of the long history of the region.
On reflection, maybe it was not such a bad thing; Aleppo, after all, was an ancient caravan crossroads dripping in artifacts and architectural evidence of the old world. It had been a major trading centre long before Damascus and Babylon developed any commercial credibility, and still echoed with tales of merchant armies, slimy purveyors of bogus elixir’s, and tales of the fabulous. Before Genghis and Kublai Khan came rampaging out of the east, or Marco Polo descended from the west, there was the steady migration of farmers and cattle herders from Saudi and North Africa.
These were the people who formed the communities that developed into the cities now stretching from Al-Maqar, in the south, to Aleppo in the north. These were the people too, who, during the previous interracial, migrated further south, into the Indus Valley rich in nutrients from the great Himalayan runoff. There was much she could learn in Aleppo. It was time go there.