---- J A C K ----

It was peculiar, though Jack was a Londoner and had been all around the heart of the city. He had never found a more dismal spot than this to have a business. He reckoned it must have been the original sight of the plague or something, though there was no plaque to this affect. As despite this being a sprawling metropolis, especially where the drunks were concerned.

The antique shop was located off the bustling thoroughfare, of Shaftsbury Avenue, nestled between a quaint charcuterie and a literary wine bar. Was completely at odds being as desolate as an all that you can eat buffet at closing time. But it did house Purlbright’s Antique Emporium with its large imposing Victorian style frontage. Though come to think of it. When you looked from the alley entrance it seemed like one of those strange panoramic estate agent pictures, all distorted, pretending to offer more than was actually there. But in fact, other than a dumpster and no parking (except on match days) sign, the alleyway was empty.

The ethos of the shop was unmistakably eclectic, with antique gizmos displayed alongside rare grimoires and crystal flowers. As punters ambled through the passageway, they were greeted with the hazy scent of incense and the sight of a sprawling steamer trunk filled with treasures from days gone by.

His uncle, Purlbright. Yes that was right, a stage name perhaps, Jack tried to look past this and act respectfully to the old gent who wore a hat that would make you overlook the name in a second. He had rarely seen the man, in all of his 17 years, as he seemed to be permanently away on bizz. Jack liked to imagine that it was nefarious but really had no idea.

Anyway I digress, he had actually sort Jack out to help look after the place while he was away. Why this voyage was any different from any of the previous? He was not sure. Purbright stated in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t possibly trust anyone outside the family with this most important of undertakings. Again, Jack had no idea why this might be. But after a couple of overpriced drinks at a very Chi-Chi wine bar just round the corner, where his uncle gave him an ornate looking old key to open up shop, it all seemed to make perfect sense.

The characters within the shop were as diverse as the items for sale. A wonky-eyed gangster in tweed attire rummaged through a pile of dusty books, while a pudgy old man in goggles gazed bemusedly at a collection of what looked like nanosecond clocks. The reception was manned by a capricious rogue, decked out in full top hat and tails, with a penchant for holding court on fictional topics like the petrification of mana, while what looked like a malodorous street urchin swaddled in velvet pushed a croaking shopping cart filled with dubious wares.

The interior of the shop was a sight to behold, with floorboards worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic and walls lined with barely legible entreaties penned by long-forgotten archivists. A bouquet of wilted flowers hung precariously from the ceiling, casting a moody light over the dusty shelves of antique gadgets and gaudy trinkets. The atmosphere was both luxuriant and calamitous, suffused with the scent of old paper and the faint sound of a grudgingly playing phonograph. Jack could not discern the genre no matter how he tried.

Jack just groaned inwardly, starring at the packages that loomed like a not so great tower of cardboard Jenga. It was only his second day but Jack was starting to feel like he worked for Con-go deliveries and not a refined antique store. Well maybe refined was putting it a bit far, expensive would be more apt or obscure to be more precise.

Most antique shops you would find in the neighbourhood had the usual insanely priced (in his mind) bric-a-brac: furniture, glassware, old coins, jewellery, vintage toys, artwork that often but not always actually looked like the object it was depicting, clocks and watches, figurines (non-action unfortunately), retro clothing and maybe the odd tomb of the undead or manuscript for 3rd stage cultivation. But not this place it was like someone had used a 3D printer connected to a very early AI edition of DALL-E. Maybe they had.

There was little other explanation as none of the objects seemed to make sense to Jack. He could imagine creating a whole game show themed around the shop, called Name that object in 1 thousand. Certainly, not Who wants to be a millionaire? As clearly no one would want to buy this avant-garde junk-ett-ery. Actually come to think of it people usually did. So scratch that. Presumably that was why his uncle could spend the whole year elsewhere.

Talking of walking cash machines. Why was it called Con-go anyway? It seemed like one of the world’s biggest jokes – Hey we’re called Con-go because we use so much cardboard that we had to cut down the whole rainforest, sorry not sorry.

Anyway currently, he was in the back of the store, actually trying to shift it a bit, sorting the boxes. As he was really hoping that that girl would pop her head in again today. It had been the high point of his week so far. Admittedly it was only Tuesday. But with no one but his cousin Simon to talk to in this fusty old emporium of delights he was going a bit stir crazy. It might be different he mused if he could talk the antique lingo.

“Can you sort the window display!” came the now familiar whingeing voice of his imperious relative.

“Well maybe if you paid for some decent lighting in this shop” Jack grumbled to himself. He knew it was in keeping with the stores theme to have period features but gas lamps meant he was poorly equipped for this task. He had to use the light on his phone, which kept running low, to try and make out the already barely legible handwriting on most of the parcels. Lots had taken the whole historical bent too far in his opinion and used quilled pens. Scratching away feverishly with their markings, like a hundred London pigeons. He sighed and straightened up. His back was killing him.

“Oh and it needs dusting again”

The receptionist, his conniving cousin Simon with a twinkle in his eye for a bargain and a talent for capturing croissants, single-handedly, offered a tentatively extended hand to help patrons navigate the shelves of curiosities. Without ever leaving his throne at the back of the shop. It was left for Jack to usher the bevy of tweed-attired academics debated the merits of various grimoires, their voices rising in a cacophony of erudite commentary. A pair of young lovers, their cheeks flushed with excitement, cradled a dusty tome that promised to unlock the mysteries no doubt of the extramundane.

Jack tensed imagining his cousin’s face, no doubt sipping Darjeeling tea, with his nose in some book or other sitting wearing his top hat as usual. Did he not know it was the height of bad manners since medieval times, to wear a hat indoors? Evidently despite being supposedly well read he did not. He was just all-round weird. Had he never heard of toc-xic or K-Popcorn? Jack decided he acted just like a character out of an Edwardian melodrama and ….

‘Sometime today, if you’d be so kind’ said the wind expelling creature.

Actually, Just thinking of those creatures, made Jack squirm. He had always had a certain not necessarily a phobia but just a standard dislike of dead animals. Wasn’t that only natural? Simon’s blasé attitude to the subject made him doubt himself on the matter. But spending his afternoon rearranging various stuffed dead animals in the front window after dusting them was not his idea of fun. Yes, confusingly the things needed dusting again. Even though he’d only just done it yesterday. Why they weren’t allowed to put some of the strange objay-daft in the window? he didn’t know. They could easily get an arts council grant for that kind of thing in London.

And so he found himself ten minutes later, standing in the front casement windows, exposed to all and sundry who might pass by this kingdom of randomness. Jack could be seen moving about the dead animals randomly having long given up trying to decide what the correct way to present said items was. Jack felt making voices for the animals, made it a just about a passable affair, like some macabre Punch and Judy show of old.

Until that is, he was startled and brought out of his over dramatic rendition-ing by a rap on the window pane. It was the gang. Jack could somehow sense it without even having to turn his head.

But as he had clearly been caught red handed or red fox pawed he’d have to fess up. And so he turned his head slowly, sweeping his mop of brown locks out of his face.

“Jeeze you’ve gone up in the world. Flying with the birds like” said Dara flapping his arms like a manic buzzard, with a spliff hanging daintily out of his kisser.

“No birds, no sket for the likes of him. He’s celebat” proclaimed Jarvis, deadpanning.

“I can’t see no bats but I can see the man himself, Jack Sparrow” added Gleason, putting an arm around Jarvis’s shoulder.

All I could think was thank god we have no customers and definitely not her.

“Simon, Can I take my break?” I squeaked, hoping he hadn’t heard any of the proceedings.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Nope, No breaks since you break things, remember?” he replied blandly.

Simon had blamed me for damaging something when I was sure I had done nothing of the sort. But ever since he had held it over me and unfortunately the true cost of the object was unknown. The rent wasn’t going to pay itself though was it? So I stomached his antics.

“Can they come in then?” I queried.

“What and destroy the shop! Not bloody likely. Tell them to heave ho, pronto or the lot of them will be keel hawled”

Groaning at the realisation that all beans had hit the deck. I heard the sound of the bell of the shop ringing and turned hurriedly to find the motley crew had gone from outside on the pavement.

I obviously expected them to play havoc and make this be my last day at the store. How would I explain that to my globetrotting uncle? Maybe it wasn’t all bad after all. Strangely however all was quiet. I half fell half sprawled coming out from under the curtain that sectioned off the front window to find them…gone.

I looked up at Simon puzzled.

“I told them to get lost. No Smoking.” He said gesturing to the sign at the front of the shop.

By the time I poked my head out the door they had already gone. I was sure they wouldn’t let it go though. It wasn’t in their nature. Not that lot. Then I heard my phone bleeping. Simon just rolled his eyes as I sheepishly checked my messages.

Hillarious Not. That was a bit peak man. Anyways need to talk bizz. Are you still in the manor? We looked everywhere for yoos blud. Not vexed. Just need to do some bizz. laters. Stags.

Odd. Bizz sounds ominous. What now? But I wouldn’t be totally averse to a drink at the Stags.

But Jack didn’t want to do business with his supposed mates as if memory served him correctly it would only leave him further out of pocket. Which was not what he needed at all. He still needed to pay Simon back for the supposed breakage.

As the day wore on, the shop filled with characters of every description: from the bemusedly curious to the outrageously flamboyant. Each visitor seemed enchanted by the atmosphere of the place, drawn in by the promise of uncovering hidden treasures and lost stories. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an indelible glow over the shop, it was clear that this establishment held a magic all its own.

But by the time it came to the end of the day, to his knowledge no one had actually bought a thing. No matter how they gabbled, enthused, looked on in awe or turned the objects this way and that scrutinising each and every minute facet of the artefacts within the shop. They never bought a thing. Maybe like him they had no clue about their purpose or origin.

He was pretty sure about all this as they had an old (of course) giant brass cash register with a dirty great bell on it. People had been engaged in conversations with Simon sometimes it seemed for hours. He had assumed they were bartering. But one or other of them clearly didn’t know how. As everything still remained unsold.

But the stock had definitely changed. He was sure of it. He had received well over a hundred large packages. And though it was hard to tell, the objects had indeed moved. Like a giant shove penny game, at a seaside arcade. The stock had shifted. Simon presumably did it all in the morning before Jack got in. Which was no doubt why he only worked the morning shift. That would certainly explain why he was so grumpy. As Jack actually had these easy job of just sorting the packages! He hadn’t thought of that up until this point. Why? Hadn’t it crossed his mind up till now he didn’t know. Maybe his cousin wasn’t so bad after all and it was he who was the upstart. Oh, dear, he would have to apologise tomorrow morning.

And the day was a bust in more ways than one. The girl didn’t show either. He looked round the poorly lit store, chocka with the wackiest of merch, remembering how he had actually impressed her. Which was a rarity for him. By being able to find something in this tip of a place. Which he had to admit was Guinness book of records worthy. Needless to say though she hadn’t bought it.

She had taken a liking to something that looked halfway between a clock and a food mixer that had given birth to an hour glass, maybe? And was so small that it could fit easily in the palm of your hand. Maybe it was for blending peas? Anyway she had asked, did he know if it had a pair in the shop. She had such an endearing expression. Actually that was just how he would have liked it to have been. She was in fact quite business like, at first.

Well as he had nothing else to do but sort packages and make animal voices he went for a rummage. And it was like he had some kind of crane like in the claw machines for picking up toy prizes. His hand went into the first pile of rubbish and out it came with the prize, clock-blender-majigy that looked exactly like her one. At first he though she must of planted it but no its pair was there in her hand.

They both looked at each other, stunned.

Then he was almost certain she said “Freakish skill” turning her head to ponder then she looked at him again and said “Why thank you…”

It took him a while to get his brain into gear but eventually blurted out “Jack”

“Thank you Jack…Actually I’ve realised I’ve already got one of these.” She said and went to walk off.

Jack not wanting the conversation to end quite so inauspiciously said “You do…have a….”

“n-th dimensional spatial distorter, compact, series 3.” She said looking back at him as she made for the exit. But then added “See you around. Maybe…err...Jack wasn’t it.”

After she’d gone Simon seemed to take an unusual interest. Possibly because she wasn’t wearing a tweed waistcoat and sporting a beard. He asked who she was. It was at that point Jack realised he hadn’t even got her name. It was a shame he felt as they both seemed to have an affinity for naff jokes.

Still wondering about the unusualness of it all, he grabbed the key, which was hanging by its chain, behind the countertop and proceeded to lock up.

As Jack left the shop, he noted the sun was setting on yet another unfulfilled day. But his spirits rose as he was surprised to see across the narrow alley way, a familiar face huddled in a large leather coat. It was the girl.

---

“Is that parrot deceased?” “Can I buy a dead badger? I could put it on the front of my car” “I’ll have a budgie but only if it’s cheep” the inanities flew thick and fast like stampeding elk. But Jack did not care for she was here.

In the pub, the interior was cozy, with dark wooden furniture, leather armchairs, and a fireplace crackling with flames. The atmosphere was unexpectedly lively, for a Tuesday, with the sound of conversations and laughter filling the air. Maybe it was the dark rain clouds outside that had driven everyone in? And the prospect of a cold night ahead.

The customers seemed a mix of regulars and tourists, all engrossed in their own activities. Some were perched at the bar, sipping on trendy cocktails and pondering the mysteries of civilization. Others were either engaged in a game of arrows, taking turns to aim their oversized harpoons at a dog-eared dart board or engaged in a heated debate around a large flat screen tv at one end of the bar, showing sport, their voices rising above the rhythmic chime of crystal glasses being clinked together. A couple in the corner is sharing a moment of blissful silence, lost in their own thoughts as they gaze into the flickering flames. Jack rather wished that was him. As it was he was stuck with these three pratts.

With her eyes. What were they? Brown. That was it. And her hair, which was probably brown as well come to think of it. And he was there too with his pint. And all was a bit fuzzy and well with the world.

Jack tried to tune out his mates incessant goading and looked around at his environs.

The bartender, a burly man with a majestic presence, moved with agility behind the bar, pouring drinks with precision and skill. He chatted with the punters, sharing anecdotes and jokes in a resounding voice that carried above the cacophony of the crowded pub.

Outside, the wintry night sky looms over the horizon, casting a frosty glow over the bustling pub. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, with the smell of savoury dishes wafting from the culinary corner of the room.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere becomes more frenzied, with customers engaging in a challenging game of trivia and competing for the title of pub quiz champion. The energy is infectious, and even the most reserved patrons find themselves caught up in the tempestuous whirlwind of excitement. Are they on crack? Jack half heartedly ponders to himself.

Then Jack decided he’d had actually perhaps had too much as suddenly all the noise in the pub became a hush. Like it was taking place in another room. And he looked around blearily to see what seemed like the biggest bubblegum bubble was encasing him. Had somebody slipped something in his drink? Only to find Misha, for that was the girl’s name, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Sorry but I haven’t got all night.”

Jack was still trying to get his hearing back to normal by holding his breath but this had only served to make him feel a bit dizzy. Leaving him to reply in a most articulate manner “Wha?”

“I need you to do a job.”

This was the second time that night someone had offered him a job. The first was from the lads. Which was of course most unimaginative as they required him to turn over the shop for as much merch as possible. He had thankfully been able to weedle his way out of that one by telling them it was a family business. And as such a matter of family honour. Then when they were pondering a riposte, distracted them by getting a round in. Which worked a blinder! They were thankfully predictable if nothing else.

“My organisation would like to hire you or rather your unique talents for a special job”

Unique talents. Jack thought for a moment what that might possibly be. Surely not avian impressions. Then it all clicked! Well kind of clunked His mind was going fairly sluggishly. But he had finally figured out what was going on. The numerous pints, the giant bubblegum and lastly the unique talents. When all the clues were put together it was quite simple. He had simply had one too many and was now dreaming. Probably even now he was a sleep in the Uber on the way home or if he was really lucky was already tucked up in bed. So he merely nodded for the dream Misha to continue. At least he thought that was her name, it was really hard to tell when he had fallen asleep as it had indeed been a very peculiar day indeed.

“I am unable to disclose at this present time the name of my employers and I really have no idea what the going rate is for someone with your particular talents. But after some consultation with them they have proposed the sum of 5000 imperial credits now and 15000 when the jobs completed.”

When Jack was unresponsive and looked like he was actually nodding off. Misha said “You being an unknown agent. I hope you realise I am putting my neck on the line here!” Which seemed to startle him out of his stupor.

Jack just raised his hands and shrugged in a gesture of whatever. Wondering exactly how long this dream would continue. As Jack seemed to be struggling to comprehend what was being said. She leaned closer and said “I can trust you can’t I”

“Of course!” Jack said trying to look appropriately aghast.

“Good.” Said Misha, looking much relieved.

“20,000 imperial credits” said Jack, contemplating that it sounded quite a lot.

“Could I buy a light sabre with that?”

Before an answer was forthcoming to this there came what seemed to be a large explosion of sound and colour from somewhere in the vicinity of the main bar area and Kansas went bye, bye, as they say.