main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 10 Pelorus Gammell took the small streets into the market district that wound through small shops selling shoes, tiny bakeries, and boutiques displaying the most recent wear for the coming Feasting Day. Like the snow, the costumes were white. Verity mused about getting a new dress for the holiday. She had ignored the holiday like every other day, but that had been before her move to Monteport. Down south, the holiday was marked by tedious speeches and empty rituals at the local places of worship. She wondered if it was the same in Monteport and thought, perhaps she should attend the Feasting Day activities this year, just to say she had done it once. Dorsum Road was the boundary between the market district and the Old Quarter. It was a stark contrast. On the west side of the street were the shops and restaurants. A few of these businesses were also on the east side of the street, but the buildings primarily lining that side were three story apartments with facades of light yet crumbling colors that looked washed out in the dim evening. These apartments had windows lined with plant holders filled with snow instead of flowers and iron railing twisted in old-fashioned swirls and flourishes. Some of the second and third stories had doors opening out onto a tiny balcony instead of a window. But all of these doors were closed. It was as if Dorsum was an imaginary river separating two distinct cities on either bank. One was mercenary and modern. The other stood facing it as if it was stuck in a time warp reliving constantly, two hundred years before. On a little dark alley on the side of the Old District, Gammell parked his car. They got out and Verity followed him across the empty street to the market district side. Immediately ahead was a small restaurant with a flickering neon sign proclaiming “open”. Beside it, a pawn shop with a guitar, a dummy in a gaudy pink dress, and a set of worn silver spoons in the front window sagged tiredly in its grimy brick front. The window itself was conveniently painted with the words “Pawn Shop” in dark brown. And on the other side of the restaurant was a boot store with identical leather boots with two inch heels lining up in display. Unerringly, Gammell headed to the pawn store. A bell hanging from the corner of the door which was plastered with posters of music idols clanged loudly in the still air. Verity stepped inside after Gammell and wrinkled her nose. The pawn shop smelled strongly of musky incense and oranges. The pawn shop interior, which was slightly lighter than outside, was crammed with junk in no discernable order. Desperate people had given up ugly knick-knacks, silverware, and old records for money. All of these were stacked willy-nilly on the aisle shelves. In the corner nearest to the door was an ugly bronze vase half of Verity’s height and twice as big around. A variety of umbrellas, canes, and walking sticks were stuffed in it. A counter rimmed the perimeter of the shop. The counter itself was glass and here was the jewelry—rings, earrings, broaches, necklaces, bracelets. There were also stones by themselves, bejeweled tiaras and mirrors, and tiny crystal sculptures of mythical creatures. Along the walls were shelves of books, old and new. The shop, however, appeared abandoned. Gammell tapped a desk bell on the counter once. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” said a crackling voice. An old man stepped out from the door that led to the back rooms of the shop. He was a prune-faced creature, bald except for the tufts of white hair above his ears. He peered owlishly at the two people from behind his wire-frame glasses and tucked his hands into the pockets of his worn red vest. A small brown creature with a slim body sat on the old man’s shoulder. With an inquiring nose and beady eyes, the mongoose cocked its head at the two visitors. “Gammell.” The old man smiled, revealing bad teeth. “Right on time.” His eyes then swiveled toward Verity. “Who’s that?” “My new assistant, Verity. Verity, this is Pelorus.” Verity nodded in acknowledgement. The old man shook his head. “Gammell, you’re an idiot. If I were you, I would have hired one of those men with enough muscle to haul a bed up a flight of stairs.” “I know how to work computers,” said Verity. “Ho, the technical type, are you?” said Pelorus. “You won’t appreciate anything until you do everything by hand!” “Do you do everything by hand?” she inquired curiously. “You bet I do.” Gammell chuckled. “His organization is worse than mine. You should see his accounting books. They’re not even books. Just bits of paper and notes scribbled on napkins stuffed in a box without a lid.” “Bah,” the old man scoffed. “It’s not like I ever go back and read all that stuff anyway.” The mongoose bobbed its head up and down and swiped at the old man’s ear. Pelorus took out a tangerine from his pocket and handed it to the creature. The mongoose took the fruit in its paws and began eating it, peel and all. “The desk I told you about is in the back.” As Pelorus and his pet disappeared into the interior, Gammell and Verity walked around the counter. The smell of oranges seemed to get stronger as they entered a stock room stuffed with antique chairs with torn upholstery, a couple of stag heads and a bear head stuffed and mounted high on the wall, and a narrow cot that looked like it had been last slept in the previous century. Perlorus was standing next to a desk that he had shoved near the back. The mongoose was perched on the top, finishing his treat. After the last bite, the creature scampered off to investigate the rest of the junk in the room. “I just got it this morning,” he said. “The owners used to live in Lisdon. They had moved into an already furnished house about six months ago, but for personal reasons, have decided to move back south. Can’t blame them. Lisdon is a little strange.” “Lisdon isn’t the greatest neighborhood,” said Gammell. “Huh. Well, I want you to take a look at it. I figured it was made about a century ago, but I can’t tell for sure if it was made by Bilemot or Palisa. Those two kept copying each other; it’s a wonder anyone can keep them straight.” Gammell approached the desk and squinted. He touched the top and ran his fingers along the edge, then tapped the desk from underneath. Verity was puzzled as he proceeded to examine the edges again. The desk itself looked more like a battered table, a simple square with four legs. Surely it wasn’t so hard to find out who made it? She was about to suggest turning the table over and looking for the manufacturer’s mark when Gammell straightened up and pulled the desk top completely off revealing a shallow interior. “Well I’ll be,” said Pelorus impressed. “Curious,” said Gammell almost to himself. “The desk itself is definitely a Palisa. Notice the edges of the top? Very sharply defined. The top of a Bilemot is slightly rounder and softer. But neither Bilemot or Palisa ever hollowed out a desk. This seems almost new.” “What do you mean?” asked the old man. “The interior looks rough.” He put his hand inside. “Feels rough too. Whoever owned this before had been hiding something in here although whatever was here was taken when the owner abandoned the table.” “I was hoping to sell this off at a high profit whether it was a Bilemot or Palisa,” Pelorus grumbled. “But at least I got it for dirt cheap from the previous owners. They didn’t care what I paid for it. They just wanted to get out of town.” “It’s still salvageable,” said Gammell. He placed the top back on the desk. “You can probably sell it just for the uniqueness that it’s a hollowed out desk.” “Ha!” Pelorus shuffled past them. “We’ll soon see about that. Anyways, I had also called you over for something else.” He looked at Verity. “But I didn’t know you’ll be tagging along. Are you trustworthy?” “Have you ever heard about employee loyalty?” she replied. “Loyalty is overrated. With the right amount of money, anyone can be turned to the other side.” Verity shrugged. “That’s true.” “Whatever you’re going to say, you can say it in front of her,” said Gammell. “I trust her.” “First woman who hasn’t run away after you told her about your conspiracy theories about the bogeymen, eh?” the old man cackled. “You must be as bonkers as he is.” “I’m perfectly sane, thank you very much.” “I’ll be the judge of that,” declared Pelorus. “Now where did I put that…ah yes!” He had rummaged through a pile of papers stacked on top of one of the old chairs and pulled out what looked like a photocopy of a document that had been printed badly in the first place. “This is a copy of a copy of Samuel Verne’s will.” “Who’s Samuel Verne?” asked Gammell. “The dead man isn’t important,” said Pelorus. “The will is. Part of it is of course partitioning various parts of his estate to his beneficiaries.” The old man’s gaze turned crafty. “Most of it’s been parceled out, but I was thinking about getting a cut out of these profits.” “Profits?” said Verity. “That’s not profit. That’s like grave robbing.” “There’s nothing bad about grave robbing,” Pelorus scoffed. “The dead don’t care about their stuff any more. Anyways, there are rumors that some of Verne’s things have mysteriously disappeared. I think they’ve been dispersed into the underground trade.” “You’re going into illegal goods?” said Gammell. “I thought you swore off the underground trade after that debacle with those undercover police.” “That was three months ago. They probably forgot all about it now. So I have a job for you, Gammell, as well as for your prissy assistant. Two heads are always better than one, eh? Anyways, there are rumors going around that there was a mirror in Verne’s collection of antiques that suddenly disappeared. It’s an unusual mirror with an unusual design for its frame. The designer is unknown. The reflecting surface is supposed to be titanium—whoever thought making a mirror out of titanium was a good idea is anybody’s guess.” “And you want us to acquire this mirror for you?” said Gammell. “Yes.” “I can’t imagine an odd titanium mirror bringing any profit. You have anyone in mind that you’re selling it too?” Pelorus’s gaze darkened. “I don’t have a potential buyer in mind at the moment. But I have heard that Colbrin was after it.” Colbrin, thought Verity. Where had she heard that name before? Gammell sighed wearily. “Are you still trying to one-up your rival?” “That old geezer should stick to selling desk lamps and pencil cases to those college students,” Pelorus fumed. “The business was never the same when he moved into the antiques trade. You of all people should know.” “I do know,” said Gammell. “I just got smart and moved on to a different niche.” The old man waved his hand. “Well, you’re young and crazy. Old folk like myself like where we are just fine. But we get mighty cranky when someone moves onto our turf.”