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Description
Everything was for sale, nothing too worthless. Chairs, boxes, floorboards, everything that wasn’t bolted down, and even some that were, was completely up for grabs. To some this was madness but to others, and the few who knew a thing or two, it was a market place cashing in on all the incoming dimwitted top hat wearing wealthy. Even the thieves were having a field day which worried Sandy just a tiny bit.
She stood just off the corner taking in the endless stream of bodies yelling, hitting, and violating their fellow human beings personal space. She cringed a little as a drunk waddled by as he attempted to sniff her hair but only met the pavement upon tripping over himself. She forced herself mid breath into the reseeding wave and hoped, with her hands clutched around her case, her destination would warrant this discomfort.
Only a few steps in Sandy felt a large hand grab her by the shoulder and force her to a nearby stall, a toothless bald man with an askew tie met her face far too close for her liking. “Ah, welcome young one! Check this out, you might like what you find.” He bellowed tossing a small square block to her. “That there once could map out where you were, what you could do in the area, find your destination, find a place to sleep, have a thousand books on it and read them to you, locate others with a similar device, have any and all information ready for you when you ask something you didn’t know, it watched over your money when you had it in the bank and even in your pocket, recite poetry, create whole worlds to play in, tell you the time of day no matter where you were on the planet, and to be able to hear you friends voice from long distance. A steal! Especially in this condition.” The mad vender flapping his hands about in excitement.
Sandy, for her part, calmly looked over the device. It was small, lightweight, and polished to the point that she was sure it might have worn it down but otherwise the device appeared to be in good shape. “So it once did all that. Can it do it now?”
The salesman coughed silently, “er, well, n-not anymore. BUT think of what it COULD do!” he waved his arms about in fake excitement.
Sandy, for her part, made herself appear less than impressed, laying the worthless machine in his palm. “Right. Good day then.” She turned on the spot and made a b-line into the crowd with purpose. Three run-ins with pedestrians later and out of sight of the disappointed, and vulgar tonged, salesman, she found herself no closer to her objective. Sighing a little, she pushed through the riffraff as best she could. She passed many venders yelling, laughing, talking up their wears and others talking down their competition. Many were ruthless, cunning, and downright rude to each other.
By the time she made to the other side of the market it was well passed the market’s peak. The crowd was dissipating rapidly and some of the shop keeps were closing up for the day. Laying her hand upon the side of her face she began contemplating going back. As much as she downright hated to admit it, no one here stood up to anything she had hoped for. The few she had talked to were nothing more than loud mouth idiots bragging about their huge leather belts and charm only a mother could possible love.
“LAST SALE OF THE NIGHT! BEST PRICES IN EAST TOWN! COME N’ GET IT WHILE IT LASTS!” hollered a gruff gentleman at the end of the market. Sandy gave pause to this. While it was nothing new she heard today, the voice carried passed those left and cut straight to her clear as crystal. Moving through a group of heavy lifting men groaning while following a pink wind up doll with a shrill laugh, she came face to face with the man yelling out more sales slogans.
He a little worse for wear but he wasn’t bad. His clothes were well worn and faded and he could use a good shave. His body was slumped forward a little showing either his age or years of traveling finally taking its toll on him. His face was wrinkled and dried out but had a hint of youth to it that could only be described as stubbornness. It wasn’t till he cleared his throat that Sandy realized she was starring. “My apologies.” She muttered, glancing over his wears dully. “My name is Sandra Williams and wish to seek passage out of town and…excuse me what is this?” Of all the makeshift vender tables, scraps, trinkets, and countless pieces of junk she had witnessed in the market that day, none had drawn her eye more than the small white battered book on the gentleman’s table. “The Princess of Fire OR The Fortunate Misfortunes of a Woman who could Walk on the Sun.” Sandy read out loud, cradling the book in her hands.
The Scrap Trader snorted. “Heh. Had that thing for a long time, almost considered tossing it after I left East Town.” His attention now fully on her rather than the street. “Other than hoity totty rich folks wantin’ it not much use for it.” He said scratching through his stubbed beard. It was true that East Town had become a boom town of sorts due to the influx of wannabe wealthy but none of them, unless Sandy counted attitudes, were within the right to be called ‘rich’.
Sandy held the hard bound book, it felt heavier than she suspected. Opening it to the first page she grinned with sparkles in her eyes. “I can’t believe it! I know this one.” She had to pause to review the catalog of information she had long forgotten. “It’s considered a classic. An acclaimed book for its time I believe. The original went missing some years after it was archived but enough copies were made so it wasn’t completely lost. Though each copy differed and each of the authors claimed to have the original. It’s notorious for being a rare book since none of the claims were taken seriously and many of the copies faded away. A tale written by fools for fools was its tag line.”
“Eeeyup.” He said scratching his chin, “Had another on like it to. The Paladin’s Tale, I think.”
“Oh another rare one. It’s too bad, I actually read bits of that one. Kind of odd but good. You sold it?”
“Nah, had to use it for kindling.” Sandy held the book tighter to her chest with mortification written all over her face. The Trader only chuckled. “What were you expectin? Like I said they’re useless to me, no demand for them.”
Without another word she made the purchase with haste. She grumbled as she shoved the book into one of her dress pockets. “There should be rules against such brutality of a fine art.” She scuffed.
The Trader shook his head, not a bit less amused. “Art? You call that Art? Hell, any jack rabbit can tell a tale. Art is not a thing but something that creates and inspires your instincts. Not some drivel chicken scratch some shut in spat on a page to waste time in the day.” He shook his head, “Look who I’m talkin to. You want to travel? You wouldn’t know a thing about pissin in a can.” Motioning toward her dress. It was a dark flower trimmed dress that just shied the edge of her ankles. While not having a solid bodice like most in current fashion, it’s corset wasn’t as limiting and allowed a bit more room to maneuver. Overtop lay a simple grey vest with a tail, a symbol of a song bird on its left side.
Sandy crossed her arms in disgust. “It is perfectly fine apparel for a performer thank you very much.” She stated dryly. Of all the venders she questioned today she had hoped a few of them would be at least promising but it seemed that fate had been against her.
“Hold on a tick. Performer? Hm. You know A Night to Remember?” As his eyes danced along the Song Bird symbol. Sandy snapped from her thoughts, raised an eyebrow hopping he’d repeat the question.
Instead he took a deep breath. The shouts and voices of the crowd faded as he hummed a short tune. It was quiet, slow, and very alone. Sandy’s attention focused and interpreted it’s emotional pull. Within moments she answered him, carrying on his tune, reserved and suspicious. He didn’t bat an eye as he carried on the next few frames as the song of maiden called into the silent night. The stars would twinkle try and fill her sadness, the moon would shine upon her frail form, and the wind would try to comfort her but all was lost. Of all nights for things to go wrong this was the one that mattered most. The stars only mocked her sorrow, the moon casting more light on her misery, and the wind chilling her to the bone. She had been crying but her tears failed her. She was truly alone.
Sandy froze as realization dawned on her. She had hummed the majority of the song and the Scavenger Trader had stood by listening with such focus even he blinked to force himself back to reality. Sandy nodded. “I may know it.”
Someone cleared their throat, making both of them jump. A young lady stood at his side, bundled up to the brim with clothing, keeping every inch of her body away from anyone’s watchful eye. The Trader’s soft demeanor sharpened and her shoulders drooped as he turned his attention to this new mysterious stranger. “Well?” he demanded harshly. Their eyes, a familiar defiance that weighed them down, shimmered a time long passed and so the fatherly figure that was the old Trader caste aside his gaze moments after contact. Tiredness, he was easily twice her age and yet stood as tall as the woman if only by sheer will. Sandy couldn’t help but notice and step back to give them some room.
The woman spoke a few words but Sandy couldn’t catch them but the Trader didn’t seem too happy about it. “They’ll wire it tomorrow? Damn.” He paused as he ran through a few possibilities before beckoning to Sandy once more. “That your instrument?” Motioning toward the case.
Sandy tightened her grip on the handle. “Yes. I am…was on tour as a solo Clarinetist.” She wanted to say in pride but came out half as an apology.
The Trader slummed back onto a crate, removing his hat, his fingers pushed through his thinning cranium. He sighed rather loudly before centering his gaze back on Sandy once more. “Had to give up my graphophone as a down payment.” He kicked a small box of records. “I ain’t no taxi service. But. As long as you provide your own provisions…I suppose you can come along. Wondering alone out there isn’t the brightest.” He said flatly. He then waved away Sandy’s thank you. “Just be back here the day after tomorrow.”
Sandy bit her lip. “You mean you’re not leaving tonight?”
The Scrap Trader looked perplex for a moment of two. “That ain’t good business sense, besides it’ll take time before I can leave anyway. If you’re changing your mind though…” He let the sentence continue on by itself. He had her and he knew it.
Sandy hugged herself as she turned away. This was her one chance. She wouldn’t survive long out in the endless desert nor could she afford a train ticket. Any rations she might take along was whatever she had in her pocket. At least, she added to her thoughts, he didn’t mention a payment for transport. That was all well and fine she decided but it was surviving the next few nights that worried her.
Sandy took a quick breath before returning her attention to the two individuals. Before she cudl speak her mind the two were holding a rather disconcerting gaze at each other before the woman shuffled away, down the street. The Trader shook his head and his eyes lay upon Sandy. “She’ll give ya place to stay the night. As long as you don’t mind sharin.” He pointed his thumb in the woman’s direction. “Just be back here in two days just after noon.”