PGDO: Portobello Road

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 3 AM – Spindrift]

> And that ended the extent of the Imperial Entanglements, the civil
> servant and the “Man in the Mac” retreating to reclaim one of their
> cabs, while leaving the other for the new arrivals to use or dismiss
> as they might choose. The Pussycats, their pals, along with Songbird
> and Jeyshann, were free to do as they pleased.

Jeyshann’s wishes were very clear, and had remained unchanged since her
earlier visit to Spindrift. She very much wanted to see more of this
Stone House City’s vaunted libraries, and Songbird was more than happy
to play tourguide. As well as being a friend and guide for the Cat
Priestess both day and night, while Finfin, Mithi, and the musicians
were busy elsewhere. So after agreeing to meet at a set time the next
morning at Spindrift’s Teleport Tower, the two High Priestesses and the
others parted company. Songbird waved the Pussycats and Pals towards the
remaining four-wheeler, choosing for herself and the Cat Priestess a
smaller two wheeler “hansom” cab her staff had summoned.

Finfin handed their cabbie a small bag of gold, and promised to repeat
the gesture as needed if the four wheeler would remain theirs for the
day. The cabbie, being no fool, readily accepted the win-win
proposition; he would not have any dry stretches awaiting new fares, and
the Pussycats would not have to waste any of their precious time in the
Big City looking for wheels. Not that this would have proven
insurmountable, particularly as all three of the weretigresses were
using magics that prevented them from spooking horses. But Finfin was
determined that the ladies would have the best chance possible of having
a fine Day Out, and removing niggling concerns about transport could
only help.

However, the cabbie was initially concerned when the three Pussycats and
their tourguide wanted to ride on top. A few extra coins helped assuage
these concerns, along with the assurance that all of the ladies were
both surefooted and not likely to take any harm from a tumble, and would
be responsible for any damage to themselves or to the cab. And, the
cabbie reflected soon afterwards, it was a fine business arrangement. He
didn’t really *need* to advertise in his profession, but the sight and
sound of a quartet of eager “schoolgirls” atop his cab really was a fine
way to be noticed. Particularly as no actual laws were being broken, so
he could endure the occasional glower from a “whitehat” directing traffic.

“Just as long as they don’t wave around them ‘ockey sticks,” was the
cabbie’s sole lament.

Finfin’s musings about just what an Ockey stick might be was interrupted
by Tramma’s exclamation. “I forgot about those! Maybe next time.”

To better make room for their pals, Mithi and Finfin remained in the
cab’s interior. Side by side, they sat holding hands, listening
contentedly as Tramma continued her tourgide narration, her spiel
frequently interrupted by squeals of glee or “Ooohs” of admiration. The
weather, now that the usual morning fog was beginning to burn off, was
for once cooperating, turning into a clear but cold winter’s day.
Fortunately, the travellers through various means were indifferent to
the temperature. The Pussycats were well on their way to starting a
Grand Day Out.

The only pause in the tour was for a quick bite of food. It was now
lunchtime, and Tramma had cheerfully dismissed Finfin’s suggestion of a
posh lunch. They were on a roll, and burning daylight, the bard happily
exclaimed. They could save a fancy feed for tonight, but just now,
Tramma suggested a quicker option. On a stretch by one of the City’s
parks were some of her favourite food wagons and carts. Unlike some
others about the metropolis, this subset of food vendors were actually
quite *unlikely* to cause any mishaps from food poisoning. And,
conveniently, were next to another ever present vendor of Dunki’s.

The cabbie nodded his own agreement. He’d learned from his own
experience which vendors could be trusted, and which must be avoided at
all costs. So late in the tour, they all paused to munch on some
“kabobs” from a Kyrene vendor, along with as much Dunki’s as Tramma
could ever have wished.

Once Tramma’s nickel tour was complete, at the silver haired bard’s
direction, the cab turned to the back streets around the “University”
district. No doubt Songbird and Jeyshann were nearby, deep in the stacks
of one of the fine institutions’ libraries. However, Tramma was
directing the Pussycats to far more humble establishments. The area
around her Alma Mater was by no means a slum, but was clearly designed
to cater to the limited budgets of starving and near-starving students.
Crowded but clean rooming houses rubbed shoulders with equally crowded
greasy spoon diners. Being this close to the Joyous Wave Conservatory,
most had small stages where up and coming bardic students could attempt
to trade their skills for a meal – if they could bring in additional
customers.

However, food was not the focus of Tramma’s attention. After steering
her Pals through a friendly diner where the owner didn’t fuss about a
gaggle of “schoolgirls” wanting to use his facilities, Tramma directed
the group into the first of a series of humble “second hand” music shops
catering to students. The bard had a specific list, guided not just by
her own time as a local, but also by the recommendations gathered from
her pals on her recent visit. They were not after just any old gear
shop, but particularly those reputed to stock second hand but decent
stage magic “kit”.

Here, Mithi’s familiar Piper was able to shine. Owing to the magics
inherent in being a wizard’s familiar, the weasel shared Mithi’s
extensive education in Spellcraft. His knowledge in the field could have
earned him a research position at any of a number of Arcane academies,
had there not been a language barrier, not to mention the minor handicap
of lacking human strength hands.

Fortunately, Piper had no desire for a career change and was quite
enjoying being Mithi’s familiar, even if it invariably meant interrupted
nights of sleep. But just now, Piper was able to shine. Well
understanding at least the theory behind what Val wanted, the weasel was
happily clambering up on shelves rummaging through bits of kit while the
more terrestrially limited Two Legs below could only search what they
could reach.

Several times, Piper would happily chitter his discoveries, pausing for
either Mithi or Finfin to provide a running translation for Val.

“I believe Piper has found a pre-amp you might find interesting,” Finfin
translated fairly early on. Reaching down the indicated component, Val
happily agreed. This was indeed a fine replacement for a box-of-tricks
in what was supposed to be a daisy-chain of magical “amphoras”.

“You’re wonderful!” Val exclaimed, and when Piper scurried down to take
a weaselly bow, the dusky Pussycat reinforced her comment by giving the
familiar a kiss on the top of his head. This further motivated the
weasel, who plunged back into his rummaging with a renewed vigour.

All throughout the afternoon, the Pussycats and Pals continued their
treasure hunting expedition, moving from shop to shop. Some
establishments were simply collections of junk, while a few others were
homes to carefully curated collections of near perfect wares, lovingly
restored and displayed. And many others fell somewhere in between. But
in nearly all, one person’s castoff could be another’s treasure, and
several times Val was able to find a replacement or spare for a beloved
bit of kit.

Any concern that Finfin might have had about the “girls” being bored was
quickly cast aside. Val’s enthusiasm was contagious, and even the elf
found himself pulled into the fun of the treasure hunt. More than once,
Tramma was seen smiling at her pals, and could occasionally be heard
softly singing

Portobello road, Portobello road
Street where the riches of ages are stowed.
Anything and everything a chap can unload
Is sold off the barrow in Portobello road.

There was no actual road named after this apparently famed mushroom in
these modest backstreets, but the sentiment was clear. Nearly anything
could be found here – if one was willing to look long enough. And the
allure of helping Val’s stage magic kit some much needed spares was
plenty of motivation to keep looking. And the cabbie certainly didn’t
mind waiting. Occasional repeats for the small bags of gold were all
that was needed to keep him parking nearby, or slowly orbiting if no
space for a four wheeler was available.

Quite deliberately in an effort to save her pals’ money, Tramma had
arranged their shopping schedule to save the most expensive venue for
last. This store was a far cry from the “hole in the wall” retail
outlets that varied between “second hand purveyors” and “junk shops”. In
contrast, their final shopping destination was a high end retail
establishment specialising in brand new stage magic gear that had little
to no similarity to Val’s inherited kit. However, it did a fine sideline
in lovingly restored complete sets of older kit that would have matched
Val’s own gear when it had first left the factory years or decades before.

The prices were similarly elevated, something that the ever practical
Mithi couldn’t help but point out.

“Ah, but there’s quite a demand for this classic gear,” a well appointed
salesman pointed out reasonably. “There is a growing interest in the
‘retro’ tones these fine old stacks can produce.”

Mithi’s eyes flicked from the silver scripted inlay spelling out
“Marshall” to the discreet but hefty pricetag, and the salesman
chuckled. “Indeed, these classics with all matching components *do*
command a premium in the market,” he admitted. “So much so that if you
do not *need* to go for the retro effect, an entirely new set would be
price competitive.”

“Oh, yeah?” Val asked curiously, simultaneously worried that her older
gear was being indirectly slighted, while fascinated by what the
salesman had to say.

“Indeed,” the vendor confirmed, turning to the dusky Pussycat.
“Particularly if you are, as I am guessing, a travelling musician?”
Val’s nod confirmed his guess. “Well, an entirely new deck made of solid
state components will be just as capable, smaller, require less power,
and be considerably sturdier, needing much less maintenance. All
positives for someone in your line of work.”

“But will it sound as good?” Val pressed.

“As an older Jeffries Tubes rack?” the salesman asked. “Toss that
question out in a bar near the bardic colleges, and expect a fervent
debate. Or a riot. But there’s not a soul that can argue that the new
gear is sturdier, and you can spend more time actually performing, and
less time tracing and swapping burned out Tubes.”

“I want to hear *all* about it,” Val whispered fervently.

The salesman glanced over to someone who was clearly the Day Manager.
The Manager in turn had been observing *all* of the “schoolgirls” and
their elven escort, starting from the moment when their hired
fourwheeled cab had deposited them outside. And the cab was still there,
clearly waiting for the crew’s return. There was clearly the potential
for a lucrative sale here, if not now, then perhaps in the near future.
A silent nod from the Manager confirmed that the salesman could spend
some more time with these curious customers as an investment for the future.

So Val, Finfin, and Mithi followed the salesman about the store,
listening as he described the range and capabilities of a number of
offerings designed to provide portable Stage Magic for a road show. As
wizards, Finfin and Mithi were intrigued by the sales pitch, and even
Piper peeked out from one of Mithi’s pockets to stare intently at a
control deck. Val, as both a wizard *and* musician however, was
entranced, and hung on his every word.

“I want one,” she finally breathed.

“Which in particular?” the salesman asked hopefully.

“All of them,” the dusky Pussycat avowed.

“So…” Mithi cut in practically, “‘Ow bout you send us along wif a nice
stack of sales literature and yer current price list, an’ when we're
next in town we might come back wif an offer.”

Even Val had to admit that this was probably a wiser course of action.

“I can only guarantee prices until Monday,” the salesman warned, but
moved to assemble a fine stack of relevant literature.

Josie was admittedly less of a “gear head” than her fellow Pussycat Val.
However, as the band leader, Josie had supervised more stage assemblies
and strikes than she could remember. And even she was impressed,
particularly as the offerings designed for travel all had custom fitted
hard sided black road cases.