Demitri's nerves twisted and turned in his body as he filled with excitement over the crowd. He tried to remember Sweepy Joe's rules, keep your head down, keep your cool, don't ask too many personal questions.
His bright eyes darted from merchant to merchant, observing their wares, hoping to find the treasures he sought. There was an array of characters of all colors and creeds down here. From high ups with their body guards to your average urchin. A stranger might comment on just how clean the streets of Lochshore seemed to be; it's easy to clear a street when it's illegal to be caught being homeless. And even then, most were forced down below, at least, if you could find a gang or a guide. Little was safe down here, from the terrain to the folks, but if you knew how to hold yourself you could get by unscathed.
Searching the sea of people, something new stuck out to Demitiri. Something stuck out, a shadow that stood taller than the rest, as if standing on a box. As he looked closer it seemed to be someone wearing a broad flat topped hat with a wide round brim, wearing a beaked mask of some kind, with built in goggles for the eyes. It was clad in black and ashen grey, and seemed to be moving it's hands as it appeared to be giving some sort of sermon to a small group of passersby.
Demitri couldn't make out any words over the cacophony of voices, he tried to identify the emblem it bore on a medallion on its chest but there were too many people between them. He decided to give it up as his focus returned to his journey's purpose, and his excitement returned to him.
"You know if the book wizard has a stall tonight?" He asked Sweepy Joe as he caught up with his guide.
"Can't say I do, though I dunno what ya want with his wares, just a bunch a junk mostly, even fer yer blasted books!" He called back as he cut through the bustling sea of bodies surrounding them, leaving a path for the bookish man to follow in his wake. While keeping pace, Demitri quickly scanned the aisles both ways, before something caught his attention and he tugged his companion toward the side as the younger marveled at a long stack of textbooks as eyes lit up and a large grin donned on his face.
As he enjoyed himself examining the books and artifacts this particular merchant had for sale, marveling at old science textbooks, especially those with photographs and illustrations of the old world and all that filled it. He saw globes and what seemed to be archival boxes that would have baffled and incurred a flurry of questions as to their origin. At least it would, were it not for the tower of thick volumes that stuck out to him like a ray of light in a stormcloud. He couldn't believe it. It seemed to be a complete set of Encyclopedias of the old world! All in legible condition it seemed, too! This was almost too good to be true.
He became flushed with so much excitement he felt his heart begin to race. "Jackpot!" he thought to himself, attempting to conceal his evident excitement, trying to heed the advice of his guide about 'keeping your cards close' and haggling. His inner archivist spoke much louder as he began flipping through the volumes. He found a nature section with details of something called the Serengeti of a colossal landmass once known as Africa, filled with the most massive and exotic animals you might have ever seen! The hammadas of the middle east, and details on civilizations who lived in vast deserts, histories on the rise of industrialization, and everything in between. He was so happy he could cry but he kept it held inside.
He curiously examined the stall, thinking these goods were handled with so much particular care than he was used to. A lot of goods that were brought up from down below were piecemeal, in disorganized piles. Not quite careless, but not usually with this amount of care either. It seemed of nearly official grade archival care. He glanced around to look at the seller to see if they were a face he recognized and his heart sank slightly.
It was an older woman with large glasses and a large frazzled pile of platinum blonde or grey hair with careworn skin that seemed to have been harshly tanned and aged from hours in the sun. This wasn't what caused his hesitation. It was the bodyguard standing by her, a rugged young black woman with arms that looked like they could strangle a python, hair pulled back into low thinly braided pigtails that formed to large low loops, poking out from beneath a do rag she wore. She had baggy pants that had a patch on them that made him shiver. It had the emblem of an angry dark blue swan.
"Pirates…" He thought to himself. This took him by particular surprise. What were pirates doing in this section of the scavengers market?
Usually the Sky pirates and the Scavengers were conflicting forces. Especially those that flew under the Dark Swan. The Dark Swan fleet was the largest and most prolific syndicate of sky pirates, over the years under the strong leadership of their cutthroat Captain, also known as the Sky Queen.
Demitri tried to stay out of the underground dealings. Sweepy Joe said that the less you know the better. The underground was mostly safe if you just wanted to come through, spend your money and leave, as long as you kept your head down and stayed out of business that wasn't yours. But the Dark Swans were prolific enough that they even made the papers topside.
They had gotten their start as a single ship, raiding independent cargo ships in the lesser used shipping lanes that traversed goods between the Sectors. They started small, but eventually their numbers grew, the amount of coordinated strikes from the growing fleet of pirate ships gained imperial attention and they had recently become a major problem, incurring a crackdown on piracy in the last decade. As they grew in number, their infamy of swift and brutal tactics even managed to force the hands of massive intersectoral companies to change their piracy policies, calling for cargo ships to simply surrender and avoid a fight entirely.
The Night Market was no stranger to pirates, even the Dark Swans, or merchants affiliated, would do their business and hock the spoils of their craft here. It was known that the Leader of the Dark Swan and the leader of the Scavenger factions had a long and tumultuous history, but even they wouldn't dare to break the trade agreement of the Night Market. There were smaller back alley markets topside of course, (that were kept on the down low.) But the Night Market was the pinnacle of the underworld's economy. To make a ruckus and scare off clients and customers during the Night Market was bad for business, and to threaten the flow of business was a death wish. You could get by with just about whatever you like as long as it didn't disrupt things. No killing allowed inside, no fights. If you're gonna steal, don't get caught because at best you will be blacklisted. At worst you could be killed.
Demitri shuddered at the thought of the stories of pirates. Even still, that was even more odd to him. He was an expert by no means, but something felt off about this stall. It had odd implications. The Night Market was a truce area, where gangs of different factions, scuzzy folk of all different creeds and specialties had an implied agreement to keep things civil and make their money, and not interfere with one another's business. Basic commercial dealings were done in the day market, at the rest is done in the dark.
But there was something familiar to him, about the elderly woman with the frizzy white hair. He had taken a tour of the Lochshore University Library once, when he was young and dreaming of a career path that was beyond a man of his station's reach. (At least according to his father anyways.) This woman reminded him of the librarian he saw that day, though this woman seemed much older, and couldn't possibly be her, he thought.
He was there with his trade master, they had gone on a trip to the University for some reason or another, and he had been snooping around the railing that guarded the lower levels of the library on the far edge. A section called "Restricted Archives". He was young and curious and dumb and the thought he could get away with simply taking a peek, before getting whacked on the back of the knees with a cane by a spitfire older woman with a limp and a squint in her eye. He remembered what she told him before he got back to his feet and ran off.
"They say curiosity creates geniuses, but that's only because it creates corpses if you're dumb enough to get caught!"
It never sat quite right with him but that's how it ended. People who had the money to be affiliated with such a prestigious university would never fall so far they could end up here, could they? These seemed to be archaeological grade inventory that was gathered by a professional, but if that was the case, what would they be doing here? It would go to a high roller that asked for the haul, or an archival survey or something. He'd never seen this stall before. A lot didn't add up. He definitely felt uneasy about buying anything from this stall.
But also.. The Encyclopedia set.
They would be heavy to carry and he would be eating very light for the next few weeks but he had no regrets. At least not yet. He went to pay the old woman, who seemed to give him a satisfied smirk that made him uneasy but he got the spoils of his journey. As he turned away to stack some of the books in his bag and at the same time pull out a gunny sack he had stuffed in there for if he bought more than he could carry, he didn't realize a paper that had fallen on the floor out of his bag. As he was adjusting his cargo he felt a strong hand clasp tightly on his shoulder and he flinched like a spooked chicken.
"You dropped this." A voice said from behind him. It was the pirate holding the paper with a look that could kill. He turned pale as a ghost and stammered "O-oh why thank you-!" he managed, his mouth suddenly dry.
She had examined the page, having noticed the large "Dear Ira," at the top of a letter that seemed to have been started but not finished. He reached for her to hand it to him, but she seemed to be staring through him, her dark glossy eyes seemed to be searching for something, as if she was trying to puzzle something out before she shook it off and allowed him to tug it out of her powerful grip. She wasn't very tall, but with the aura she had, she didn't need to be.
"Ah th-thanks," He said nervously. The poor man turned to go as the elderly woman piped up from behind the stall.
"Glad to see you learned not to get caught!" She cackled with a thick accent and a gravelly voice.
Something about the social interaction made Demitri's ears burn and scurry away fast, not paying attention to the other stalls, just wanting to put space between himself and whatever was going down at that stall, all the while lugging the heavy haul of treasure he had gotten through the massive crowd. He made it to the edge of the crowd on the other side of the market where he could take a breath and shake off his social anxiety.
When he had calmed down and collected himself, he looked up and saw he was nearly nose to nose with the leather beaked masked preacher from the soapbox earlier and he took a large step back.
"Oh H-hello-!" He kept his head down and tried not to stare, nervous though he was. "P-pardon me," he mumbled.
"Not at all, my child, you've come exactly where you're meant to be. There are no accidents," The voice from behind the mask was muffled. He couldn't tell if it was masculine or feminine, though it had an eerie quality that made his blood run cold and made his feet freeze.
"I-I um, I guess?" Demitri replied, trying to make casual conversation.
"I see you're carrying a heavy cargo," They stood unusually still, with nearly doll-like posture that unsettled the book man. Gesturing toward his gunny sack of books, the beak masked person in the wide brimmed flat topped hat tilted their head to the side.
"They're just books, is all, boring old books, nothing important or valuable," Demitri stammered, fearing he might be getting robbed.
"Don't worry, I mean no harm." They said in a tone that felt like a cool breeze from a mausoleum. "Are you satisfied with the life you're living?"
"I… um.." Demitri looked blankly for a moment, blindsided by the unexpected personal question. "Y-yeah? I guess so? I mean, really I'm rather fortunate, I can't complain much," He looked into the darkened glass lenses that didn't really allow him to see in.
"Judging by the scars on your calloused hands, you're a tradesman. But given your choice of fixation it seems your hands may provide for your body, but your mind and your spirit craves worlds beyond this one, purpose beyond just getting by," They said in a voice that seemed to echo in his head like a whisper but something about the way they spoke seemed to hold him there in a trance.
"How would you… know what books I carry…?" Demitri's voice became sleepier.
"I wonder… who is it you carry them for…?" They tilted their unnaturally still head the other way, curiously.
"No one… I'm.. I'm Alone…" Demitri said, with eyes that became glossy and unfocused. Something about this voice lulled and relaxed him, and pulled words from his head like a breeze freely pulled loose petals off a tree. "I have… No one… I'm just.. nobody…" In these moments the sounds and senses of the Night Market and the whole world around them seemed to fall away and it was like the two of them speaking in an empty echoey void.
"Oh… You poor thing…" They gestured with the slightest shake of their head sympathetically. "You know your future has so much potential… You don't have to be alone… I sense you have a higher purpose… I can tell you are far more intelligent than most give you credit for… Why sneak around buying second hand books from the garbage when you could hold the keys to your own archive? Why be alone reading your paltry selection in secret when you could have so many friends to share your literary passions with? Wouldn't that be nice?" The androgynous voice felt warmer in an uneasy way. Like hands that have been freezing in the cold that have been slowly dipped in lukewarm water that consumes and comforts the dulled senses, making you want to remain there and never leave, though leaving you seeking more warmth than is there.
"That.." Demitri sniffled as tears welled in his eyes. "That does sound nice… It's like.. You could read what was inside of me…" In his daze, the expression on his face became vulnerable, forlorn and lonely. The hypnotic masked individual reached out a gloved hand, made of black worn leather, and Demitri slowly and tremulously raised his to meet it.
At the last second, he was seized by the shoulders from behind by familiar calloused hands, bifurcated through the palms that immediately snapped him out of this odd trance he was under. He was shaken like a sack of flour and yanked away quickly, being dragged to the exit of the venue.
The masked figure remained in the same place with the same unnaturally stiff posture, merely having twisted its head, to stare at the retreating individuals from the profile of its beaked silhouette.
"Jimminy christmas book boy! What the hell ya trying to do, shakin hands with the devil!?" A familiar scrappy voice barked out before clearing his throat and spitting nowhere in particular.
"I-I, Uh, h-huh?" Demitri's eyes and head were spinning as he leaned against a railing and rubbing his temple, trying to shake off the odd headspace he was just dragged from. He touched his cheek and felt a tear and looked so confused. "What just happened?? Who was that??" He said drowsily.
"I looked away fer two seconds and ye disappeared! Next I sees, yer talkin with the Plague Doc' lookin like yer 'bout to strike a deal! Yeesh!" he shook his head. "Boy are ya lucky that I stopped ya in time! That ain't no sort you wanna get tangled up in!" He scratched the back of his neck.
"Who are they?" Demitri asked.
"Trouble," Sweepy Joe poked him in the chest hard and spoke the word in a rare, low, serious voice the hobo rarely used. "No good comes from hangin' around that sort, believe you, me." He shook his head and sipped from a bottle of whiskey he had just haggled for, taking it from his inside jacket pocket. "Some kinda cult I figure, been makin' some rumbles here and there. Nobody too sure what they up to, but I thinks they got a commune, somethin' round' Johannesburg, Sector 7 I thinks?" he scratched his sweaty brow under his wonky crushed hat. "Gives me the willies," He shuddered. "I ain't a prayin' man, but e'rythin' I don't likes bout religion thems folk reeks of. Call themselves The Cure or somethin, I dunno. I calls em The Plague cause it's like anyone that spends too much time round 'em catches somethin, hollows em out, makes em vague, takes the twinkle from their eyes," He shook his head and shuddered again. "An people seek out that doctor fella that says he can solve anyones problems, says they can make folks dreams come true… Well, I ain't put up with that yoohoo mystic nonsense. I like my nonsense homebrewed and I got some right here!" He shook the whiskey bottle. "But Ida hoped you knew better than to buy the snake oil that sort sells."
"The Cure…?" Demitri tried to take in the barrage of information while getting his head straight. "At first I wanted to get away… It was like I was hypnotized or something, like I was trapped in a fog…" He zoned out looking at his hand, wondering if what just happened was real. "You knew someone who went with them?" Sweepy Joe sighed and nodded, and his expression fell, the age beginning to show on his usually spritely face.
"Yeah I did… Gal I knew, older than you, from the slums, real sweet gal, had a sailor mouth like nobody's business but had a heart a-gold. Don't got a bad thing to say about her. Factory worker I think, barely makin' ends meet, barely keepin' out of the outliers, you know the story… Her baby was sick…" A solemn sadness permeated his usually jolly voice. "Couldn't afford a real doc ya know? Most of us can't, hell, even most of you topsiders can't, you know that," He shrugged. "She couldn't cope… Baby was dyin'..." He furrowed his fuzzy brows. "It's like they can smell blood in the water before it even come… They come to the slums sellin' miracles and she bought it in a heartbeat…" The old man fell silent.
"What happened to her?" Demitri asked softly, in the most gentle way that he could.
"Next time I saw her, she was in a crowd of em… Baby in her arms…" he shook his head. "It weren't her own…" The elderly tramp had the slightest look of resentment in his eyes. "She was surrounded by a small gaggle of little kids… Weren't no ones in particular, just belonged to all of em I guess… I tried to talk to her, but when she turned around she had this vagueness in her eyes… this kinda blank smile on her face… Lights were on, but no one's home…" His face scrunched up and he sniffed and quickly wiped something from his eye before clearing his throat and straightening up. "She just stood there, hummin' to that baby on her hip, smiling like an empty stranger…"
Demitri looked at the aged man with sympathy and horror as he patted his shoulder in consolation. The old man smiled softly and perked up.
"Ol' Joe's alright, just misty eyed at this age I reckon," He winked at him, partially with sincerity, partially to move on from the subject. "Just don't you go messin' round' with them fellers, ya hear?" He wagged a finger. "Don't go near em, don't talk to em, you see em come 'round you just go the other way, quick as ya can, ya hear??" He spoke like a father reprimanding a son which was unlike him.
"Of course," Was all Demitri could manage. Old Joe patted his shoulder.
"Good man. Now let's skedattle before we get ate by sharks," He nodded and ushered Demitri toward the exit. The boy felt a shiver as he looked back to where the figure once was, and only empty space remained. He hurried quickly along the path with Joe.
To get his mind off of the unpleasantness, Demitri began to speak at length about a part of a marine biology textbook he had where he had learned about the antibacterial qualities of the shape and construction of the rigid micro-tooth like structures that make up a shark's skin, called 'dentacles'. This was continuing Joe's reluctant education about whatever Demitri had read and found interesting that week, before Demitri made sure Sweepy Joe got a hot meal before they parted ways for the night. That marked the end of that particular evening's Night Market adventures.