Alistair Raven and the Stormtrooper in Stilettos (Book 1)

Part 2 - Chatter 19

Julian hurried them along a maze of pathways whilst the stench of a wet and messy, living, breathing market overwhelmed them all. Alistair had lived his whole life in the city and didn't even know this place existed as consumers barged past. To the left, he was offered seasoned fruit from tropical locales at exorbitant prices; to his right, his choice in hot tech 'n' mech, knock-off designer footwear, kitchen gadgets and counterfeit jewellery. An elderly woman with a big bosom, no teeth and a hair net thrust smoked haddock in his face and told him it was a good price. Alistair agreed politely as Chelsea dragged him along. A line of stalls sold retro fabricant fittings as knick-knacks and one grizzly woman argued with a dwarf vendor who had sold him malfunctioning moisture evaporators.

"I hardly think one needs sunglasses in New London," Julian pooh-poohed, waving away a hawker.  Julian had second thoughts and then called him back as his fancy was piqued by a pink framed number, which he swiftly purchased before regret set in. Pausing to obtain his bearings; the children came upon a bench piled high with varieties of tinned baked beans and canned spotted dick. Enticing, animated tin labels showed off flavours of 'Spinach and Pineapple' and 'Bolognaise' Baked Beans and rhubarb 'n' durian spotted dicks. In a clichéd Mexican accent, another tin advertised 'Guacamole, chilli and sour Cream' seasoned Baked Beans. 

Alistair froze as an off-duty Guard came up and handed over a wad of credits to the baked bean vendor, who bagged up a half dozen tins for the Guard. The Guard looked at Alistair with the scantest of regard and he took his goods and disappeared back in to the crowd.

"Now that is vile," Chelsea moaned as she saw an old couple selling jars of homemade pickled onions, devilled eggs, chutneys and jellied eels.

"Fresh from the Thames," the provedore smiled as he swished his hand through a tub of live eels. "Fancy a bite?"

"Yewwwww!" Chelsea winced, squirming away. "No thanks."

"Watches, watches, watches," another purveyor hollered, wearing a long trench coat opened to display his counterfeit wares pinned to the inside. "All the latest brands, all the hottest styles."

"Correct twice a day?" Julian asked as the watch seller spat on the ground in disgust and scurried away. "Hey, watchman! I want one of those 25 Hour watches," Julian hollered before lingering at an enclosed booth that sold fabrics and fashion. The owner had a poseur mannequin styling an ironic Futurist-chic ensemble. Being so five minutes ago, Chelsea and Alistair giggled as the shopkeeper reprogrammed the mannequin to strip to its flesh, change clobber and switch poses.

"A-hem," Chelsea coughed and Julian realised he was dilly-dallying. Looking around surreptitiously, he huddled them together, in front of the The Equinox Booksellers and Publishers. With a jut of his chin, they slid towards a row of bricks and mortar stores that encircled the square and he manoeuvred them down Fascination Street – a dark and damp thoroughfare. With exotic, alluring names like Notorious, Skin Trade, Wild Boys andReflex, there was a pawnbroker, a tattoo parlour, a dodgy tech-repair shop and a leather goods tailor, all sandwiched together; their facades old and decrepit, the alley was unique and deserted. There were many nondescript stores, their windows darkened; their fare anonymous. Away from the maddening crowd, Julian stopped at 27 Fascination Street.

According to the guild sign hanging over the entrance of Fundamental Pets, the retailer was a member of the 109th Livery Company and the store had been established in 2051. Coming in out of the cold, a bell attached to the lintel jangled and the trio were overcome by a pong of fur and feathers, soiled sawdust and dry pet food. Julian switched on the lock when he closed the door but the bell had disturbed the animals and birds, in turn, creating a cacophony of unsettled barks, miaows and chirps.