Play@YSDC

Grant's Military Bookshop
Mid-Morning - Saturday 2nd September, 1933



It's shaping up to be a warm fall day after rain this evening. No customers have come into the shop yet today; but the amenable weather has already brought out the foot traffic.

Luke bustles in in the frenetic manner he adopts when he's on to something, or wants people to think he's on to something. "Lads. Got a hot tip, bit of honest graft. What have we got on cards? Tarot, playing, that sort of thing."

Anthony places a brown paper bundle, tied with coarse twine, on the counter - some books he found in the basement of his townhouse, left over from the last tenants. Maybe the staff would find something useful in there, maybe not.

He turns and begins idly scanning the shelves of new arrivals in the shop, keeping an eye out for anything he might find interesting. But he's distracted, and looks over the titles only half-heartedly -- This whole trick's for nought unless I can get it back, he thinks -- and looks up with an air of amusement as Luke dashes in through the door, plainly worked up over something.

Grant stops sipping his tea and reading. "Thank you, Llewellyn. Let's have a look at them." Carefully unwrapping the parcel, he examines the books inside, humming to himself.

"Oh! Hello Carse. Yes, there's some cigarette cards in albums and loose. Soldiers in uniform, aeroplanes, that sort of thing? There might be something in the art books, let me think …"

Luke is slightly suprised to see Anthony out of bed in the middle of the morning. "Morning, Mr Llewellyn. Were you looking for anything in particular? I know a man in South Wales with a fine collection of illuminated Celtic monastic manuscripts..."

Turning to Grant, Luke hesitates: "I think it's playing cards, or a book about them, the mark is after. But it might be cigarettes. As the peelers say, 'Hinquiries are proceedin''".

Harwood takes another swig from his mug; it's warmth fails to take the edge off the chill in the backroom. Forcing himself to keep going he drops the book he has just finished (cheap nineteenth century knock-off of the Grimoire of Pope Honorius) into the 'breaker' pile and picks up the next book on his list. Five minutes into collating De Laurence's Master Key he hears bustling coming from the shop. Eager to find something to do that doesn't involve being stared at by fertility gods and John Martin prints he wanders to the front of the shop in time to catch Carse's request. Leaning in he asks:

Playing cards or Tarot? Could do you Waite's Pictorial History if that helped? Not in the nicest nick but perfectly good reader's copy.

Anthony shakes his head. "No, nothing in particular. Just seeing if anything strikes my fancy."

Jory stands on Charing Cross Road, enjoying a morning cigarette, and appears to be having a quiet chat with what the uncharitable might assume was a young lady of the night on her way home. The conversation apparently ends well with both parties laughing, then Jory hands the young lady a cigarette, raises his hat to her and returns to the bookstore.

Jory glides through the store, disappears towards the rear, then reappears shortly with some chai. He drops down at Fullers Table with a copy of The Times and starts scouring the paper, as ever focusing on auctions, deaths, and the crime reports.

"Well, I'll get the cigarette cards, and you can have a look at them. I'll keep them aside for you while your inquiries proceed."

Returning from upstairs, Grant spots Penhalligon.

"Good morning, Captain Penhalligon! Anything good this morning from the markets?"

Grant leaves the cards on the counter and goes back to Llewellyn's books.

Harwood notices Llewellyn and turns on his most ingratiating smile. "Good morning Mr Llewellyn, if your...acquaintence was still after 18th century paper for that...project he was working on I have some available from binders' blanks and other blank leaves. Just let me know."

He moves aside to let the Captain through with a nod, knowing that much more conversation is unlikely until he has got his chai and winnowed through the morning paper. He finishes his tea and prepares to move back into his room when a thought strikes him.

Oh, sudden thought Carse, we might have a Hoyle's somewhere. Not the 1761 or anything but you won't find much more on card playing anywhere else.

Luke nods. "Hoyle and Waite, hey? Well, it's a start. I think maybe they're after something unique. Any variant early editions out there? Or maybe they're hoping the book will lead them to a particular deck - are there any guides to collections in museums and whatnot? You know how superstitious card players can get about anything they think will bring them luck".

A distinguished looking man with a hint of grey about his temples makes his way into the bookshop.

He strides briskly up to the counter, nods once and says "Penhalligon?".

Harwood turns briefly from his conversation with Carse and puts on his 'customer voice'. Over there at the table sir, and then turns back to Carse.

Rarer works...there's an odd French book, eighteenth century. The author Bullet claims playing cards were invented in France just before the death of Charlemagne, who pops up as the King of Hearts. All the other court cards are medieval Royalty or out of Arthurian legends apparently, although I've never read it myself. That's less useful for finding decks though. You know you could do worse than try the Worshipful Company. Pick a trade in this city and there will be a Guild. In terms of divination with cards, the earliest Tarot cartomancer as we would know it would be Etteilla, who wrote a couple of things. And of course for the ultimate seeker there's always the Lombardy Zeroth deck but I seriously doubt Cousin Malcolm managed to find a copy of that.

Anthony nods. "I believe he might be, Harwood, thanks very much." Looking over towards the newcomer as he comes in, "Who's this then? Anyone you've ever seen before?" Otherwise he listens in on Harwood and Carse's conversation about cartomancy. "It's a shame the Golden Dawn has died off, I'm sure one of them could've put you in touch with some interesting contacts."

Luke nods, agreeing with both Anthony and Harwood. "I don't think Malcolm - or the Dawn, for that matter - ever came across Lombardy Zero. For one thing, he's still got his own eyeballs. But that Bullet book sounds like it might be the ticket". A furtive shadow passes in front of the shop window and Luke glances up alertly. "Ah. I think one of my inquiries has proceeded back home. Pardon, lads". He ducks out again. Through the window, you see him pass a cigarette to the furtive figure casting the furtive shadow. The two are soon engrossed in quiet conversation.

Luke saunters back in. "A few details at last. It's a particular 52 deck of American playing cards - or a book about them - they're looking for a particular design, perhaps. Speaking of books, do you recall that Yezi Gexi commentary that moved for a lot last year? Wonder if there's a connection."

[/b]Hmm, American is more tricky. Not sure off the top of my head what collections there might be. Tarot is more my area than playing cards themselves. I'd get on to the Livery Company, they might be able to suggest a starting place at least. Not familiar with that particular Yezi Gexi I'm afraid but if money is coming for playing cards it might be your man moving money around.

The man nods briskly and makes his way to Fullers table and Jory, where he sits stiffly and they have a private conversation.

Attempting to overhear,It sounds like they're talking about the War. Phrases like "The Hun... Dependable... What he's up to..." drift over. The other man,clearly military, wards away any attempt to get closer to the conversation with a cold glare at the inquisitive person.

Wellington comes in a few minutes after the 1st man. He smells better than usual. His eyes are bright and wide, and he smiles a gap toothed smile as he makes his way to Grant.

Found some books. Good ones. I like this one especially. He holds up a battered leatherbound book. You can barely make out Great Expectations on the side. The half dozen other books he has clutched to his chest are so worn that you can't make out anything off of their covers at all.

Wellington,Wellington served in the Great War with one of bookstores few remaining regulars from Willey's day, one Major Filby. Filby doesn't come around often, but he had an understanding with Willey, that continues to this day, that he will buy whatever Wellington finds. The Major can't afford to pay much of course... Grant knows the Major has tried to get Wellington to stop living on the streets but he's never been successful; the man likes his cart and making a living finding things.

"That looks nice, Wellington. Dickens in calf, eh?" Grant puts Llewellyn's books to one side again. "Put them all down here and let me look at them."

Bargain,Grant can get information from Wellington with Bargain as he's a beggar or stall-keeper.

"You're looking well. Had a windfall? What's the word on the street?"

The door chimed, and the men turned to see Laura poking her head through the cracks.

"Hello," she said. "Hard at work? I, uh, found... a deck of cards if anyone wants to play."

"A deck of cards" Luke drawls. "Really? Could I take a look at it? I never play without making sure there aren't five aces in the deck."

"I suppose for American you could try the United States Playing Card Company, they did a bibliography type thing recen...", Harwood tails off noticing no one is listening to him anymore and looks up at Laura. Nodding a greeting he continues,

"Morning M'dear. Cards eh? I could always go for synchronicity and a game of...", his eyes flick over to where Grant is sitting. "You know I should probably get back to work, books to catalogue that kind of thing. Maybe another time. I'll grab that paper for you Mr Llewellyn.".

Harwood goes into the back for a moment to fetch the paper he has saved, comes in, hands it over and then disappears out again.

"Good morning, Miss Laura." says Grant, peering at her over his spectacles, "You may as well come in, for cards are all the rage today."

The observant would notice the distinguished looking stranger make his way over to Capt Penhalligon, at Fullers Table. The two clearly know each other as friends of some sort. Capt Penhalligon almost salutes the stranger, who almost salutes in reply, but instead they shake hands. Penhalligon then speeds off towards the rear of the shop, returning shortly with a cup of tea. The two then sit at Fuller Table.

OOC,BTW, the earlier spoiler button regarding this is currently broken. They don't seem to cope with apostrophes in the heading.

"Thank you, Harwood," says Anthony. He places the paper in the back of a book he picked up which looks interesting. He continues browsing the shelves and keeps one eye on Penhalligon and his visitors as he does so.

"I think it's actually missing a black joker... But 5 aces?" Laura said. "Tell me, does 5 aces beat a royal straight flush?"


She took out the deck of cards from its box and began to shuffle it. "You know," she said. "They say that you have to shuffle a deck 7 times to make it completely random."

sorry about formatting posting from mobile device

If you say so Mr. Grant. Wellington beams and deposits his finds on the counter. There are several more books by Dickins, several books in French with particularly nice paper but particularly rotten bindings (looks like they were left in the water, the first and last pages are illegible) and what looks like a hand made "book" with a wooden cover. It's not the worsen set of things he's brought.

"spot of luck actually. Gentleman comes around with his own wine he brews. Just the thing when it's getting colder."

“ A wine-making gentleman, eh? What name did he give you? Hmm, I’ve got a selection of books on wine upstairs. Do you think he’d be interested?”

Bargain,Grant usually errs on the generous side with Wellington for old time’s sake. They quickly come to an agreement.

“Now was there anything else, Wellington?”

His curiosity momentarily piqued, Luke reaches out to inspect the French books and the wooden covered book brought in by Wellington, while watching Laura shuffle with half an eye.

"you're too generous!" but Wellington accepts the money quickly. "He migh; peculiar sort. Used to be a doctor or something. It's a hobby he says. He's dressed all right; seen better days but then haven't we all?"

Wellington chuckles warmly and heads back out to his cart. "he's due to come around this evening; I'll be sure to mention it."

“Please do, Wellington.” Grant watches Wellington until he's outside.

“So, Carse, is that what I think it is? Did I just buy a codex from Wellington?”

"Could be something. I'll just have a gander." mutters Luke, leafing through the pages.

Grant piles all but one of Llewellyn's books together.

"Llewellyn, before we get down to brass tacks, I'd like to ask you about this one. Was there another copy? I ask because there's a letter laid in here that refers to an annotated copy, and there are no annotations in this copy."

Grant opens the book and turns it so all can read the letter.

"The marks on the letter match the pages of the book, so the letter has been there a good while. If we can find the annotated copy and work out who 'G' and friend were, the books may fetch a better price together than apart."

Letter Laid In,Brichester, ’11 My friend, I found this book in a small bookshop in Lower Brichester and felt it would suit your peculiar interests. Beware of the annotations : they may mislead. I enclose an unannotated version. Be sceptical of mistakes : they are not what they seem. Page 67 will show you what I mean. Within this book, I believe, is the location we have sought — the wood where αζα Θωθ sleeps. Yours in anticipation, G

"Hmm, interesting," Anthony says, leaning in to look at the letter produced. "There were no other copies of this book that I noticed, but I'll make certain to take a closer look when next I'm home. What was on page 67?"

Harwood wanders out of the back with a small pile of books.

A few things for pricing Mr Grant, nothing particularly brilliant. The best thing is probably this nineteenth century Musica Mundana, slightly dodgy English translation, the leather's a bit of a state but quite nice inside. I'll leave them here for you.

He turns to Laura, Looks like it's my break, you can deal me in.

He breaks off when he sees the letter and pauses to read it.

How interesting, is that a bibliography? Perhaps the annotations are a book hunter's? What's the subject - particular author? Genre? Location?

Laura smiled and dealt Grant two cards.

As the staff are beginning their card game, the front door bell jangles and a tall, elegant brunette woman wearing a woman's double-breasted dress and hat, all in white, enters. Somewhat unusually, her face is concealed by a light veil, although the features show clearly enough through it.

If your Credit Rating is 4+ or Occult 2+ click here,The woman is Contessa Christiana di Napoli,an Italian expatriate, who apparently had a falling out with Mussolini's government leading to her fleeing to London's fashionable Belgravia district; although she seems comfortable enough in right-wing circles. She is an infrequent but high-spending patron, somewhat eccentric, who collects books on a wide range of topics, including Reformation history, the Occult (especially symbolic Alchemy), Theosophy, Guerrilla warfare, and pacifism. She is active in Dion Fortune's Society of Inner Light and other mystical movements which emphasise the feminine and the Sophia.

If your Sense Trouble is 2+ click here,you suddenly feel exceptionally thirsty, as if you'd been working down a mine and your throat was caked with dust.

The woman walks directly to where Mr Grant stands at the counter and speaks in an imperious tone. "Signor Granti. I wish to commission your services, si. To be my agenti at an auction."

“Me, Contessa?” croaks Grant, surprised. “You don't want a catalogue agent to do that for you? Like Mr Carse here, for example.”

Grant swigs his tea, trying to clear his throat.

The Contessa smiles. "Ah, but Signor Granti, I do not wish to buy a book! And Signor Carse is more likely to attract attention..."

Luke raises his eyebrows, shrugs, and goes back to leafing through the odd wood-bound tome.

OOC,While this is what the Contessa would say anyway, I am going to keep Luke Carse very much in the background as I dislike the Chinese Wall mental gymnastics of Keeping a game and running a lead (N)PC in it.

The Contessa glances around the shop, evidently sees nothing to alarm her, and continues. "You know the American auction, si?"

Spend a point of Bibliography, Auction, Credit Rating, or Bookshop Credit Rating to know all about what the Contessa is talking about, or wait for her to explain and risk losing face with a client. PM me if you wish to spend or if you think some other Ability should apply.

Capt Penhalligon:

Jory notes the arrival of the Countess with a slightly raised eyebrow, then discretely heads backstage to make himself another cup of chai, surprisingly thirsty.

Pausing for Grant's reply, the Contessa gazes around the bookshop again, seemingly struck by a thought. "I have heard it said", she remarks to no-one in particular, "that in every age, a book is written which more truly reflects the spirit of the time than any other. Who will write the book of these times, do you suppose? Sinclair Lewis? The Irishman, Yeats? If the reflection is distorted, would that also distort the spirit?"

"Oh! The one at Christies next week, Contessa? I was going to attend with Mr Harwood." says Grant.

He pulls a catalogue out from under the counter. The cover page is entitled "The American Legation to the Court of St James" and mentions paintings, objets d'art, antique furniture, books, etc., and a slip of paper bookmarks the catalogue where Grant has focussed his attention.

"I’ve looked at the books and papers, some of them might interest our military history types. What has taken your fancy, Contessa?"

The Contessa nods graciously, an aristocrat pleased that her wishes are anticipated. "The writing desk, Signor Granti. I wish you to buy Irving's desk. I will authorise a line of credit on my banca for two thousand and one hundred pounds for this purpose, and pay you one hundred and twenty pounds. If you can get the desk for less, you may please me, and increase your commission, by obtaining the Alhambra notes, and also a pen. But I must have the desk. Also! After it is bought, you must ensure it is not meddled with until you deliver to me."

A note on money,For comparison, the average annual earnings of an employed British man in 1933 are about 150 pounds, so the Contessa is offering nearly a year's average salary as a commission on this deal. This is rather more than you have known her to spend in the past...

Grant drains his tea to steady his nerves and clear his throat. The cup rattles when he puts it down.

“Well, Contessa, I accept your commission. Mrs Grant likes me to get these things in writing, so we’ll do that in a moment. You’ll want me to keep that I’m your agent on the quiet, I presume?”

Laura listened silently to the exchange, slightly unnerved by the presence of the strange woman, but she jerked her head up in anticipation as she heard her mention the sheer amount of money involved in the deal. Surely if she helped the bookstore obtain the desk, she would get a little bit of kickbacks in her direction... Maybe she could buy that weird old man a gift instead of the other way around too.

Or at least, she sniffed at her own cloth self-consciously. New clothes.

"But of course, Signor Granti. Discretion is essenziale. If my interest were known, it would attract... well. And your wife requires this in writing? She is English, I understand. My banca is the Inter-European Trading Bank of Napoli, Venice, London and Amsterdam, you may write that down in your ledger."

The Contessa sits, scribbles an outline of her proposal in a baroque hand on a loose leaf of paper, then makes to stand, presumably to depart.

Harwood discretly stands, subconciously adjusting his tie, and moves to the door, preparing to hold it to let the Countess out. He tries not to betray his confusion. What interest would she have in Irving's desk? To which of her myriad interests does it connect? He swallows awkwardly on a dry throat, trying not cough. That backroom was bad for him, perhaps if this came off they would up his wages, perhaps take on a shop boy - he might escape from the piles yet. A slight lopsided grin plays at the edge of his mouth as he takes up position awaiting the Countess' departure.

The Contessa tucks her long, elegant legs beneath her, rises, and strides out the door held by the obsequious Harwood. As she exits, she starts visibly at something, shakes her head slightly, then hurries down the street in the direction of a taxi rank.

Some may be in position to see what she saw,Outside the shop, a robin red-breast perched on the Bookshop footpath sign cocks a beady eye before flitting away. An unusual sight in London, where the streets are ruled by the sparrow and the starling, but hardly one to cause such a reaction...

Others may be more interested in perusing the catalogue Mr Grant has produced,The American Legation to the Court of St James is having an auction at Christies, at which they are selling a number of paintings, objets d'art, pieces of antique furniture, books, and other such things considered surplus to modern requirements. The Auction is in 3 days time, on the Tuesday. There are viewings of lots today (Saturday) and on Monday. Of particular interest to bibliophiles, the auction includes a number of items associated with the famous American author and man of letters Washington Irving, from his period as secretary and chargé d'affaires to the Legation in 1829-32, when he negotiated a trade treaty between the US and the British West Indies. Prominent among these are notes in Irving's hand towards the books he published in and around this period, including The Chronicles of the Conquest of Granada (1829), Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of Columbus (1831) and Tales of the Alhambra (1832). These reflect his research in Spanish archives in 1826-29, in which he had access to many manuscripts now inaccessible or lost to time.

Luke remarks "I reckon that Alhambra will go for a lot. Could be a thousand pounds or more if Morgan or Harvard are interested. Don't like your chances of picking up it and the desk for two grand, unless there's no competition for the desk."

"Now, this thing Wellington brought in", Luke continues. "Well, the bad news is, it's not a codex. The good news is, it's got bits of a codex or three in it. I'm not much on latin, but it looks like there's leaves from a herbal and some alchemical bits and bobs, as well as some theology in there, in a late medieval hand, and it's bound together with someone else's, or a bunch of people's, later notes. Also in latin, and in rather bad condition at that. This picture here looks rather like an early still. Didn't Wellington say something about the man brewing his own? I wonder, well, if he knew he'd sold it when Wellington walked out, if you know what I mean. It reminds me of one of those grandma's cookbooks, y'know, each generation adds their own recipes. Not the sort of thing people toss out. Still, these early leaves might be worth something."

Harwood wanders back in from seeing the Countess out, looking slightly perplexed.

She gets more and more batty, I could have sworn...oh, never mind.

He motions apologetically to Laura to excuse himself from the cards and walks intrigued up to the front desk.

I heard some of that. I can do you Latin, actually I can do you alchemy and theology as well. Can I have a shufti?

Luke obligingly passes the wood-pressed book to Harwood.

Grant looks with satisfaction at the Contessa's proposal outline. “Mrs Grant will be pleased at 120 pounds, but she'll be more pleased if we can increase that by getting the Alhambra and a pen too …” he murmurs to himself.

“Captain Penhalligon, Miss Laura. We should reduce the competition for the desk, and perhaps the Alhambra and the pens, as Carse suggests. We’ll have to do some digging quickly to find out who our competitors are and what levers to use on them. Harwood, you're coming with me to Christies to look at the goods. I’ll roust out cousin Willey to mind the shop. Please keep an eye on him, Carse.”

Grant folds the Contessa’s paper into his pocketbook and heads off to the stairs to fetch his cousin.

After a few minutes, Willey sidles downstairs, his customary sheepish look looking as if you'd caught him doing something all young men do but most don't talk about. Luke snorts, lights a cigarette, and starts working his way through a stack of sale catalogues.

Harwood tears himself away from the mysterious book with difficulty.

Yes of course Mr Grant. Let me grab my coat.

He disappears quietly into the back room and emerges a short period later in a long grey coat of decent make and cut but which has obviously seen better days and a slightly battered trilby. He stops by the counter to wait and takes out a pack of baccy and skins to roll one for the road. He mutters, to no one in particular,

What does she want with a desk? She never seemed the star-struck type to buy random writers' things. I suppose Alhambra falls inside her interests but it all seems a bit tangential for her.

He snorts,

She does have eclectic tastes.

Grant reappears wearing his coat and bowler, and carrying his rolled umbrella. He stops at the counter to pick up the catalogue. "Very good, Harwood. We'll be off."

Walking to the door, he says "You know where to find us if you need us." to the room in general.

After Mr Grant exits the door, Harwood, Penhalligon and Laura all head for it simultaneously. There is one of those awkwardly English "After you", "No, I insist", "No, no, please, after you" moments before everyone is outside, going their separate ways.

About 20 minutes later, the door-bell jangles as a tall, thin man walks in. He is dressed in a drab suit, with a drooping brown bow tie - a few ink stains on his fingers suggest a clerk or schoolteacher. He looks awkward. With a poor attempt at nochalance he strolls over to the counter and mutters "Ah, I heard you had some new books in? From Paris? Er, Gerry Roberts sent me."

Luke looked up at the new customer. He was welcome for the diversion; to tell the truth, he was still concerned about the Contessa's deal and his dry tongue was still stubbornly refusing to dislodge itself from the bottom of his mouth. In his experience, there were poor commissions, good commissions, and then the type of ridiculously wonderful commissions that always turned out to be the worst kind of all. He would have to be careful to make sure he was not the one in the firing line if and when things went wrong.

Luke nodded at the man and dragged his most endearing smile to his lips.

"Gerry sent you?" he said warmly. "Well, any friend of Gerry's is a friend of mine. Let's retire to a discrete part of the shop and you can peruse the Parisian literature at your leisure."

Luke made sure that Willey was paying attention to the rest of the shop before he began to display the new books to the tall, thin customer.

Like many clients, the man betrays a need to be reassured that he is a connoisseur and not a pervert. Luke sells him a copy of Joyce's Ulysses, to appeal to the first, and Tabitha Montrose's Spank me, Daddy, to satiate the second. The man relaxes slightly. Glancing around and taking in the esoteric nature of many of the books, he asks about "something readable that deals with fate, luck, fortune-telling, that sort of thing."

OOC,it would be a good idea to use Assess Honesty for these sorts of clients in future - never can tell when Special Branch might send a plainclothes man. You can also use abilities like Reassurance, flattery, bargain, intimidation to get more information or better deals out of clients.

Before he knew it, the deal was done and the client had made his meagre selection. Two books wasn't going to pay the rent on this place and Luke knew he'd made a mistake. He'd let the Contessa get to him and his concentration had dropped. He hadn't even checked the guy out before revealing the shops's illicit collection of deviant pornography. He swore and mentally told himself to pull it together. Maybe there was still time to redeem this sale.

Using as much charm as he could manage, he nodded sympathetically. "Fortune telling and fate?" he said, a gleam in his eyes. "You know, I think you might be in luck. Only the other day, we received a shipment that contained a rather unusual piece of literature on this subject. Let me just get it out of the cabinet."

Taking his time in orderto build the anticipation and to enhance the drama of the situation, Luke went over to the counter and retrieved a large and obviously ancient leather bound book. He chatted briefly to Willey, watching the customer out of the corner of his eye, and then walked back over. Placing the book on the table, he took his time to brush the cover carefully and even a little tenderly.

Smiling, he looked up. "It's old, it's very readable, and it has pictures. You're a connoisseur; tell me what you think. Take your time. There's no rush."

Luke pushed the book across the desk and indicated the man should leaf through the pages.

OOC,I'm trying to make a decent sale using a bit of Flattery.

The man looks at the ostentatious volume with a touch of awe. "Well, I... no, no, I couldn't buy a volume like this on my salary... that is... er... does it... well, does it work?" The look on his face brings to mind various sayings by P.T. Barnum.

Luke sighs deeply and nods understandingly. He looks genuinely sad for the man, even though he isn't. After a brief pause, he shrugs and says, "Well, we do have other volumes obviously. Cheaper, more, err, mundane. It's just I thought, well, you know. There's no point trifling with things like this. The real question you should ask yourself is, on your salary, can you afford not to have it? You could spend half as much and learn a tenth."

Luke turns to a random page in the book, but tries to make it look as deliberate as possible. He traces a few lines with a finger and then quickly turns the page. "But does it work? Who knows? These things have been around longer than I have, and better men than me have put their faith in them. Can science be the only judge of all we know? Or is there knowledge, lost knowledge, maybe hidden knowledge, out there waiting for someone to take a chance and dive in."

"That's the heart of the matter really, friend. Do you want to paddle and see what is floating around at the edge of the pool, the things everyone has seen and knows, or do you want to dive in? To grasp what is really hidden? To seek the truth at the heart of the matter?" Luke taps the book gently as he speaks, emphasising its worth.

He pauses again for effect. "That's what you need to ask yourself. Do you want to know what can be learned in penny papers and foolish pamphlets, or do you want the truth, the heart of the matter? Only you can make that decision, and it would be wrong of me to try to sway you one way or the other. Money is just that: it comes and goes. You spend it this week, on socks and handkerchiefs, and next week you get more. Some things shouldn't be thought of in terms of money. It's just, well, wrong"

With a slightly dazed look in his eyes, the man hauls out his chequebook.

OOC,great sales pitch. Bonus points for giving this over priced monster you have created a title, author, bibliographic description, etc.

Luke nods reassuringly. Taking the book over to the counter whilst his mark writes a cheque, Luke wraps it carefully in brown paper and then writes a proper receipt.

"One copy, An Investigation into the Oracle of Sidon , by Ludwig von Domenstein, dated 1843."

His curiosity was aroused sufficiently to look through the brief preface, just in order to have a better idea what he was actually selling. It wouldn't do for a last minute thorny question to unravel this whole sale.

"Whilst many of his peers and contemporaries dismissed the writings of Méric Casaubon (1599–1671) in "Credulity and Incredulity" as fanciful nonsense, informed more by wine and madness than by science, it has long been the opinion of this author that the Frenchman, whilst somewhat lacking in scientific method, described with accuracy and good intent a valid phenomenon. Having spent many years investigating the legends surrounding the Oracle of Sidon, even visiting that region of the coast where the temple had previously teetered on the edge of a cliff only to fall to its ruin 600 years ago, I now believe it is appropriate to divulge the true extent of my findings. My wife deems me mad, and has taken our children to live with their grandmother, and my peers at the University have frozen me out of their circle. Nonetheless, the truth must be told. Reader, please take your time with my book. It cost me dearly to script and print, and only in reaching the very end will the full total of its truth be available to you."

Luke exhaled deeply and shook his head. He finished wrapping the book and returned to the customer, solemn but friendly.

Handing it over, Luke said, "Remember friend, read it to the end. Its contents may seem shocking but you must have all the information before you make your judgement."

He shook the man's hand and took his payment. A job well done, he thought to himself.

The man ("Henry Rickmansworth" from his cheque) tucks his parcel under his arm and leaves the shop, nearly colliding with a passer-by whom he doesn't acknowledge.

Luke watches Rickmansworth struggle through the creaking shop door with his parcel of books. "There's one born every minute," he thinks to himself. "And, for that, I owe the women of London a debt of gratitude."

He wonders briefly whether there is anything of use or interest in the old manuscript he pawned off on the man. He notes the name for future reference; Henry Rickmansworth. It might be worth keeping a few things aside in case he returns after his next pay day. He could retire on the proceeds of half a dozen men with such esoteric tastes and loose attachments to the contents of their wallets.

Happy with his morning's work, and never particularly concerned with following the letter of Grant's orders, Luke grabs his cap and jacket and tells Willey he intends to visit the Palace Tavern for a spot of lunch. He then turns and leaves the shop before Willey can remind him that he was supposed to stay and help. It's not as if anyone could complain; as per usual, he has brought more money in already today than the rest of them will in a month. Or so he tells himself.

Jory, Luke and Curlew return from the pub. A few minutes later, Harwood enters, looking hungry.

"I say, old boy" Jory comments to Curlew. "What was that you were saying about a German-language bookstore in the neighbourhood?"

“… When they ask me to dine I say no. I've just had a banana with Lady Diana …” Grant can be heard singing as he enters the bookshop, swinging his umbrella.
“Hullo! Gentlemen, I shall be with you momentarily.” Grant hangs his coat, hat and umbrella in the usual place in the office. “Wing Commander Curlew! What can I do for you?”

"Ah, Mr Grant!" says Curlew, striding forward to pump Grant's hand vigourously. "Your man Carse here was just saying that you had a copy of the new German translation of Douhet's Command of the Air, with Reichscommissionar Goring's new forward. As I was just telling Jory, I'd heard there was a new shop in the vicinity with a lot of German-language stock, so if you don't have it, perhaps you could tell me where this shop is?"

Luke catches Grant's eye and shrugs desperately, indicating he has no idea whether the book is in stock. He mouths the word, "Sorry" before retiring to the back of the shop, muttering to himself about fascists.

Harwood pauses on his way to the back room unobtrusively tidying a few things whilst listening in on the conversation.

Jory:

On the way back to the bookstore, Jory had been happily chatting aeronautics with Curlew, interspersed with the odd aerial war story (no doubt deathly boring to any not personally involved). Jory had been doing his diplomatic best to avoid any political discussions.

Once back at the store, Jory ducks off with a cry of "I'm certain I can lay hands on that book in a quick spin!"

OOC,Nothing ventured what!? Unless anyone screams no, Jory shall spend 2 bookie points to find the 'squiz'.

Grant slyly puts his Christie’s catalogue on the cloth-bound Douhet so it’s out of sight before Curlew notices. “Well, Wing Commander, we certainly have that in stock, but you aren’t going to want just the publishers cloth, are you? I think you’ll find the edition Penhalligon has in mind more to your liking.”

Curlew's eyes gleam as he takes possession of the book, and he admires its form briefly before turning rapidly to the new passages from Goring. He mutters in German and English, nodding or shaking his head at intervals. Eventually he closes it and reaches for his chequebook.

"Odd fellows, these Germans, Jory" he remarks. "Very tactically sound, but their concept of strategy is full of all sorts of downright mystical - well, in Fuller's favourite shop I hesitate to call it claptrap - still, this idea Goring has of disrupting, er, what does he call it, "spiritual nerve centres", I suppose we'd call them leylines, through bombing, well, I'd rather bomb an ammunition factory than a church any day, what? And all this stuff about "Cosmic Ice" - well, yes, I suppose flying does depend on the weather, but what does Atlantis have to do with it? Sykes, our rag's correspondent in Warsaw, mailed me a pamphlet about that the other day - I suppose I'll have to read the dratted thing now. Oh well, know your enemy, eh?"

OOC,Would Jory like to describe the Squiz? Since Grant has endorsed it this becomes a 1 point not a 2 point spend.

Jory:

"Yes, Commander, as you say, know the Hun, or at least know about him, what? Although, I'd still even rather be dogfighting than bombing cities into firey oblivion. Think of all the books lost, what?"

"Nontheless, here you have it - one of the signal works of Italy's late General Douhet, Command of the Air. A beautifully bound German edition with relevant illustrations, detailing how to win wars by obliterating the enemy's cities in very short order with aerial bombardment. Forward by Reichscommissioner Hermann Goering, himself the recipient of the Blue Max."

"I believe if you open the tome, you will see what is in fact Goering's rather flamboyant signature no less, and a swastika seal under it."

OOC,I have no real idea what I am doing with this description thing, hope this is right!

“Oh? That pamphlet from Mr Sykes sounds like it might interest some customers of mine, Wing Commander. Would you mind letting me see it?”

Whilst the conversation is going on Harwood moves quietly out to the back of the shop.

AndrewTBP wrote:“Oh? That pamphlet from Mr Sykes sounds like it might interest some customers of mine, Wing Commander. Would you mind letting me see it?”

"Certainly, Mr Grant! I'll bring it in next time I'm by. Now, about this book. A beautiful edition, as Jory said. A touch pricey, though - tell you what, I'm going to review it for my column. Knock off a few quid and I'll be sure to mention where I bought it, in admiring tones." Curlew winks and turns to Jory.

"I take your point about dogfighting, old man, but one can't be sentimental. 'The bomber will always get through', as the PM said. That's where the Germans have the advantage of us at the moment - because we disarmed them after the last war, they've scrapped all their baggage, rebuilding their forces on totally new principles. Whereas a quarter of our army budget still goes on cavalry. Cavalry! Our generals aren't even ready to refight the last war, they're still planning how to defeat bloody Napoleon!"

Curlew snorts, reddening slightly with passion, before collecting himself. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping all of you from dinner! Now, Mr Grant - you've got this priced at 15 pounds - shall we say 12?". Curlew flattens his chequebook on Fuller's table, pen poised, an eyebrow cocked inquiringly.

Outside, the brown light of a London evening is drawing in; other shops on the street are shutting their doors, the owners retiring upstairs or in the direction of Charing Cross station.

“You want to haggle, Wing Commander? Don’t tell me you were stationed in Palestine and miss the cut and thrust of the marketplace? Anything for a good customer…”

OOC,Mr Grant has [b]Bargain[/b] 2 so I think we can quickly come to a mutually agreeable price.

A fair price with press coverage is quickly settled upon. Curlew shakes hands with the remaining military gentlemen and strides towards the Tube station, book wrapped securely under his arm.

With that, I'm calling End of Scene. Any further Saturday action goes in the Saturday night thread. Otherwise, hop over to Sunday.