Page Eight: Market Forces
The market was a constant
noise of activity punctuated by shouts from the stall-holders. The urgency
of their calls adding colour to the dullest of the mundain, offers too good
to miss on goods to tacky to own. Philip wove a route through the crowds,
by-passing china at knock-down prices and forgoing solid gold watches at
less than retail. For a short while he was trapped by the audience at a
mock-auction of electrical wares, unable to force his way through he stood
and soaked up the barkers banter with the crowd, a near endless stream of...
| 'I'm not askin' twenny for this superb personal stereo, I'm not even asking fifteen. See it plays all yer 'holos' - yer discs, yer spheres an' yer cubes, in fact there ain't a polygon been invented that this baby won't play. Look, up the West-end youse be payin' over fifty for this little lot, but (an' believe me this is costin' me money, but youse seem a decent lot an' I had a good night at the cyber-dogs yest'dy), I'm going to throw in this high quality pair of 'eadjacks abso-bloody-lutely free and on top of that youse get the personal stereo all for twelve-fifty, no? Okay, yer breakin' me bleedin'art, a tenner and it's all yours. No, wait-up, tell youse what, Joe, 'ave we got any of them electro'ganisers left? Yeah? What Five? Right, youse get yer personal stereo an' high quality pair o'jacks and the first five to get yer money ready get an electro'ganiser thrown in all for a tenner. Okay Joe, that gentleman over there would like one an' this lady wants two...' |
Boxes and money changed hands as more and more punters fell for the auctioneers' showmanship. Philip counted twenty of bundles of crude eastern-european packaging sold in the first minute and not one of them contained the fabled electronic organiser. By then the crowd had pushed forward, leaving a narrow gap he could just squeeze through, so soon he was clear of the stall and back on course.
…the Shadow too moved through the crowd, sensing
and feeling the souls of the shoppers as they moved from stall to stall.
Every now and then it would detect faint traces of despair, not strong enough
to ensnare, but showing enough promise for it to tag them for later. Most
of these taggings were easy: a dropped purse, missing keys, money spirited
out of wallets. Then there were a couple that gave the Shadow's skill
more of a
challenge…
The Watchmaker was sat on
one upturned crate with his tools laid out on a second crate in front of
him. Each afternoon he sat there, within sight of the shop he once owned
at the back of the market. Over the years successive market superintendents
had heard of his story from the other stall holders, so turned a blind-eye
to the Watchmaker's un-licensed pitch. Each afternoon he set up shop and a
small trickle of people brought him mechanical clocks and watches to repair.
Whether through eccentricity or alcohol induced senility, he charged them
the price he would have charged twenty years ago and if anyone was foolish
enough to place an electronic watch into his hand, he would growl and throw
it into the gutter.
Philip approached and held up a large gold coin.
'Mr. Small?' the Watchmaker looked up and there
was a faint hint of recognition in his eyes, then he saw the coin and his
eyes sparkled, reflecting the sunlight as it bounced off the coin into his
face. 'I'm looking for someone.' Philip stated, smiling down at the Watchmaker.
'Have you seen one of these before?'
'Might have done,' his head dropped, and he started
to fumble with the tools on the crate, trying to look disinterested in the
shining gold coin, 'might not.' The Watchmakers non-committal reply was too
late, Philip could tell that he had. He dropped a couple of crumpled notes
onto the crate, which the Watchmaker carefully smoothed out so the sovereigns
face could be seen. His fingers hesitated over the money, Philip knew that
one of the notes would by a sizable bottle of scotch and for all his
eccentricity, the Watchmaker knew it too. Then he shook his head and pushed
the money away. 'She's a good kid, she ain't done no wrong.' Philip crouched
down to the Watchmakers' level and pushed the notes back.
'I only want to talk to her.' He looked into the old
man's eyes, he wanted to tell him more, but could not. The old man was bordering
on reality as it was and tales of Angels would undoubtably tip him over the
edge. If that happened, then Philip would get nothing but incoherrant ramblings.
He continued to look at the Watchmaker, but old man said nothing and just
looked back into Philips eyes. 'Look, I'm a collector and I will pay good
money for another one of these.' Philip lied as he slipped the coin back
into the safety of his pocket, still the old man did not answer. Then the
Watchmaker gave a startled blink and said.
'You have an ancient heart and carry ancient gelt. I
cannot help you.' Philip cursed under his breath and stood up. He snatched
the money from the crate and held it out to the Watchmaker. The Watchmaker
ignored him and started to pack away his tools into their soft leather
roll.
'Cannot, or will not?' Philip asked with annoyance in
his voice as the old man stood and started to shuffle away. The old man stopped
and looked over his shoulder.
'I cannot help you.' He said and walked
away.
