BRICK LANE
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Ely Osborne was building a bike. She’d accumulated a small collection of gears and wheels, and she’d traded her best pair of enchanted boots for the body. She’d charmed the chain so it would never break. She’d been to every market in London looking for the right parts for her masterpiece, but for the past few months, her project had come to a standstill. Ely was missing something.
On Sunday morning, Ely put on her second-best pair of boots and made her way towards Brick Lane Market. She’d heard promising rumors about this place; it was brimming with magical items, according to her sources. Ely turned down Cheshire Street and headed towards the busy market ahead. On the brick wall beside her, a painted white mouse skittered down the street. Down the road, a blue painting of an elegant woman’s head floated across the side of the buildings before turning the corner towards the market. Curious, Ely followed her.
The market was humming with throngs of shoppers. Ely stopped in front of a set of glass doors, leading into a large concrete room filled with brightly colored awnings. Through the open doors, clouds carrying the smell of cooking food floated by the market goers, spitting sparks of hot grease as they went. Ely turned towards the delicious clouds and slowly approached the doors. Her eyes were drawn to a bright yellow sign, hanging in triplicate on every wall. “Beware! Thieves Operate in this Area.”
Ely stopped in her tracks. Although the market was much safer now than it had been several years ago, the idea of shadowy figures following her through the crowds made a shiver run down her spine. But the market was far from empty, and she was far from gullible; thieves would have no chance of tricking her into taking her eyes off of her possessions. She stepped through the glass doors and entered the food market.
The market was filled to the gills with the sounds of eating. To Ely’s left, people sat on benches or crouched by walls, their shoulders hunched over their plates as they ate ravenously. Petit-fours, empanadas, dumplings, and bonbons glistened beneath crystal bell jars, nestled in pastel paper. Above the dull chatter of the people milling about the stalls came the irresistible sounds of sizzling. Ely approached a stall with a bright red awning, watching the merchant expertly stirring a gargantuan wok filled with stir-fry. The bean sprouts glistened like glass filaments amid the vegetables dripping with sauce, and Ely’s mouth began to water as she stared at the food. A shout caused her to look around, and she saw a laughing woman standing at a pink booth covered with paisley print. Sitting behind a glass barrier were rows and rows of sweets. Egg tarts, chocolate cheesecake and shortbread twinkling with crystallized sugar sat primly on white trays, and behind it, all, a pot of melted caramel bubbled on a stove.
From the enormous steel pot came a face, grinning through the thick cloud of white steam. The steam grew a single sinuous arm from which protruded ghostly fingers. As Ely watched, the arm grew impossibly long, snaking above the heads of the marketgoers until it vanished into the purse of a woman wiping chocolate from her baby’s face. The hand reappeared, with a £20 note clamped between two serpentine fingers. The note looked so peculiar hanging in the air by these spectral claws, as though it were simply floating on a passing breeze. The creature retracted its arm until the money fluttered onto the paisley tablecloth decorating the merchant’s stall. The creature, appearing satisfied with its work, dove back into the pot and vanished.
Ely staggered away from the sweets and wove through the market, eyes flicking back and forth from stall to stall. Her eyes caught sight of more tendrils of steam reaching over the heads of the unsuspecting crowd, plucking Tube cards and passports, wallets and mobile phones from jackets and back pockets. She stumbled away from the steam, towards a flight of stairs at the far end of the room from which music was emanating, making the floor beneath her feet rattle.
Breathing heavily, Ely glanced around the space at the bottom of the stairs. She was surrounded by people in leather jackets with brightly colored hair. They stood in small groups, some laughing at jokes she couldn’t hear or understand, others pouring over racks of clothes so beautiful and vibrant that Ely almost couldn’t believe they were real. It was warmer here, so much so that she felt compelled to remove her coat and drape it over her arm. From behind, a couple in twin denim jackets jostled their way past her, pushing her into the room. This place was colorful and loud, music blaring from nowhere in particular, and Ely felt herself smile, lulled into a sense of comfort and safety.
She set off through this underground market, stopping every so often to gasp at sheer, iridescent coats and sturdy leather bags. Each nook offered new treasures. She paused to look at a skirt made of woven silver. “That’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A man emerged from behind a rack of shirts. “Why don’t you try it on?”
Ely looked down at her own clothes. They were dull compared to the pieces around her. She nodded at the man, returning his smile. He showed her to a little corner behind his merchandise where she could change. When she emerged from the makeshift dressing room, wearing the skirt, she pressed £25 into the salesman’s hand. “I’ll wear it out.”
The market twisted across cluttered racks and tables. Each time Ely thought she’d found the end of it, she’d turn the corner and find new rows of clothes in faded technicolor: skirts and dresses and heavy boots alongside umbrellas and sunglasses and bags. Ely moved through the humming crowd, drawn in by each new fabric, each vivid color. She tried on a few pairs of sunglasses and found that they were enchanted, one to illuminate a soft halo around magical items and the other to do the same for items that had been stolen from their previous owners.
Content in this underground wonderland, but aware that she wouldn’t find what she was looking for here, Ely decided to check the time. Surely she could spare another minute or two before heading off to search the rest of the market. She pulled her timepiece out of her pocket and flicked it on. For a brief moment, she thought it might be broken. How many hours had passed since she came down here? This couldn’t be right. Ely felt panic climb its way up her throat. Where was the exit? Ely’d heard of places like this before. If she stayed for much longer, she might never leave.
Ely turned and broke into a run, retracing her steps through the underground market. The way forward was likely infinite; hopefully, the way back had a definitive end. She passed vendors and their alluring wares and wanted to stop, to pinch fabrics between her fingertips and admire well-made boots. Everything here was wonderful: the sounds, the warmth, the colors, the energy that flowed around her like magic. But she could not stay. She hadn’t traveled far in the hours she spent here; distance was as illusory as time down here. Within minutes, she found the exit.
Ely burst through the door and scrambled up the steps before tumbling out into the cool air. She swung the door shut behind her, body pressed up against it as she breathed heavily. People walking by looked at her curiously and Ely blushed beneath her already flushed cheeks. She could tell the market would be closing down soon which meant her time was quickly shrinking and she would have to wait another whole week before she could come back. She straightened her coat and headed off further down the street. She knew there was one last corner of the market to scope out, but its reputation wasn’t flattering.
As she walked down past more food her stomach grumbled and she realized how hungry she was. She knew that it would be too easy to give into the temptation and fill her belly with some of the sweets who’s scent wafted in the air. With great restraint, remembering her first encounter with food of the day, she continued on down. The white mouse painting gave her a wink as she walked by and it fueled her with the confidence to keep going.
Down the side street was an empty parking lot. Ely stopped at the edge and looked past the chain link fence. People had driven up their vans and set up tables, dealing out goods from their home like a giant garage sale. The pickings were slim and her heart sank as she took in the scene. The people didn’t look half-bad so she let herself be coaxed through the gate.
As she surveyed each table, she was surprised people were actually getting money for their junk. That’s really all it was she thought, just junk from people’s homes that they didn’t want anymore. It gave her a little bit of hope that just maybe she would actually find what she was looking for. As she snaked her way through the few booths she passed toy trains, porcelain cups, paperback spellbooks, and clothing. At the end of one table, she stopped to kneel down beside it and began sorting through a pile of metal. A glint of gold amongst the rusty silver caught her eye and Ely began moving parts out of the way even quicker. With one final move, her prize was revealed.
Ely reached down and lifted up shiny silver handlebars. A smile spread across her face as the gold tassels danced in the wind. They were perfect. Ely turned to the vendor and paid him. He asked if she wanted a bag but she shook her head. She didn’t want to let go of it. The man smiled in return and Ely hurried out of the lot. She felt like skipping back down the street. Each misadventure was worth it; she’d face thieves made of steam or tempting labyrinths any day of the week to find a prize like this one. Finally, she could complete her project. With the magic she felt in these gold-tasseled handlebars, her bike would fly.
On Sunday morning, Ely put on her second-best pair of boots and made her way towards Brick Lane Market. She’d heard promising rumors about this place; it was brimming with magical items, according to her sources. Ely turned down Cheshire Street and headed towards the busy market ahead. On the brick wall beside her, a painted white mouse skittered down the street. Down the road, a blue painting of an elegant woman’s head floated across the side of the buildings before turning the corner towards the market. Curious, Ely followed her.
The market was humming with throngs of shoppers. Ely stopped in front of a set of glass doors, leading into a large concrete room filled with brightly colored awnings. Through the open doors, clouds carrying the smell of cooking food floated by the market goers, spitting sparks of hot grease as they went. Ely turned towards the delicious clouds and slowly approached the doors. Her eyes were drawn to a bright yellow sign, hanging in triplicate on every wall. “Beware! Thieves Operate in this Area.”
Ely stopped in her tracks. Although the market was much safer now than it had been several years ago, the idea of shadowy figures following her through the crowds made a shiver run down her spine. But the market was far from empty, and she was far from gullible; thieves would have no chance of tricking her into taking her eyes off of her possessions. She stepped through the glass doors and entered the food market.
The market was filled to the gills with the sounds of eating. To Ely’s left, people sat on benches or crouched by walls, their shoulders hunched over their plates as they ate ravenously. Petit-fours, empanadas, dumplings, and bonbons glistened beneath crystal bell jars, nestled in pastel paper. Above the dull chatter of the people milling about the stalls came the irresistible sounds of sizzling. Ely approached a stall with a bright red awning, watching the merchant expertly stirring a gargantuan wok filled with stir-fry. The bean sprouts glistened like glass filaments amid the vegetables dripping with sauce, and Ely’s mouth began to water as she stared at the food. A shout caused her to look around, and she saw a laughing woman standing at a pink booth covered with paisley print. Sitting behind a glass barrier were rows and rows of sweets. Egg tarts, chocolate cheesecake and shortbread twinkling with crystallized sugar sat primly on white trays, and behind it, all, a pot of melted caramel bubbled on a stove.
From the enormous steel pot came a face, grinning through the thick cloud of white steam. The steam grew a single sinuous arm from which protruded ghostly fingers. As Ely watched, the arm grew impossibly long, snaking above the heads of the marketgoers until it vanished into the purse of a woman wiping chocolate from her baby’s face. The hand reappeared, with a £20 note clamped between two serpentine fingers. The note looked so peculiar hanging in the air by these spectral claws, as though it were simply floating on a passing breeze. The creature retracted its arm until the money fluttered onto the paisley tablecloth decorating the merchant’s stall. The creature, appearing satisfied with its work, dove back into the pot and vanished.
Ely staggered away from the sweets and wove through the market, eyes flicking back and forth from stall to stall. Her eyes caught sight of more tendrils of steam reaching over the heads of the unsuspecting crowd, plucking Tube cards and passports, wallets and mobile phones from jackets and back pockets. She stumbled away from the steam, towards a flight of stairs at the far end of the room from which music was emanating, making the floor beneath her feet rattle.
Breathing heavily, Ely glanced around the space at the bottom of the stairs. She was surrounded by people in leather jackets with brightly colored hair. They stood in small groups, some laughing at jokes she couldn’t hear or understand, others pouring over racks of clothes so beautiful and vibrant that Ely almost couldn’t believe they were real. It was warmer here, so much so that she felt compelled to remove her coat and drape it over her arm. From behind, a couple in twin denim jackets jostled their way past her, pushing her into the room. This place was colorful and loud, music blaring from nowhere in particular, and Ely felt herself smile, lulled into a sense of comfort and safety.
She set off through this underground market, stopping every so often to gasp at sheer, iridescent coats and sturdy leather bags. Each nook offered new treasures. She paused to look at a skirt made of woven silver. “That’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A man emerged from behind a rack of shirts. “Why don’t you try it on?”
Ely looked down at her own clothes. They were dull compared to the pieces around her. She nodded at the man, returning his smile. He showed her to a little corner behind his merchandise where she could change. When she emerged from the makeshift dressing room, wearing the skirt, she pressed £25 into the salesman’s hand. “I’ll wear it out.”
The market twisted across cluttered racks and tables. Each time Ely thought she’d found the end of it, she’d turn the corner and find new rows of clothes in faded technicolor: skirts and dresses and heavy boots alongside umbrellas and sunglasses and bags. Ely moved through the humming crowd, drawn in by each new fabric, each vivid color. She tried on a few pairs of sunglasses and found that they were enchanted, one to illuminate a soft halo around magical items and the other to do the same for items that had been stolen from their previous owners.
Content in this underground wonderland, but aware that she wouldn’t find what she was looking for here, Ely decided to check the time. Surely she could spare another minute or two before heading off to search the rest of the market. She pulled her timepiece out of her pocket and flicked it on. For a brief moment, she thought it might be broken. How many hours had passed since she came down here? This couldn’t be right. Ely felt panic climb its way up her throat. Where was the exit? Ely’d heard of places like this before. If she stayed for much longer, she might never leave.
Ely turned and broke into a run, retracing her steps through the underground market. The way forward was likely infinite; hopefully, the way back had a definitive end. She passed vendors and their alluring wares and wanted to stop, to pinch fabrics between her fingertips and admire well-made boots. Everything here was wonderful: the sounds, the warmth, the colors, the energy that flowed around her like magic. But she could not stay. She hadn’t traveled far in the hours she spent here; distance was as illusory as time down here. Within minutes, she found the exit.
Ely burst through the door and scrambled up the steps before tumbling out into the cool air. She swung the door shut behind her, body pressed up against it as she breathed heavily. People walking by looked at her curiously and Ely blushed beneath her already flushed cheeks. She could tell the market would be closing down soon which meant her time was quickly shrinking and she would have to wait another whole week before she could come back. She straightened her coat and headed off further down the street. She knew there was one last corner of the market to scope out, but its reputation wasn’t flattering.
As she walked down past more food her stomach grumbled and she realized how hungry she was. She knew that it would be too easy to give into the temptation and fill her belly with some of the sweets who’s scent wafted in the air. With great restraint, remembering her first encounter with food of the day, she continued on down. The white mouse painting gave her a wink as she walked by and it fueled her with the confidence to keep going.
Down the side street was an empty parking lot. Ely stopped at the edge and looked past the chain link fence. People had driven up their vans and set up tables, dealing out goods from their home like a giant garage sale. The pickings were slim and her heart sank as she took in the scene. The people didn’t look half-bad so she let herself be coaxed through the gate.
As she surveyed each table, she was surprised people were actually getting money for their junk. That’s really all it was she thought, just junk from people’s homes that they didn’t want anymore. It gave her a little bit of hope that just maybe she would actually find what she was looking for. As she snaked her way through the few booths she passed toy trains, porcelain cups, paperback spellbooks, and clothing. At the end of one table, she stopped to kneel down beside it and began sorting through a pile of metal. A glint of gold amongst the rusty silver caught her eye and Ely began moving parts out of the way even quicker. With one final move, her prize was revealed.
Ely reached down and lifted up shiny silver handlebars. A smile spread across her face as the gold tassels danced in the wind. They were perfect. Ely turned to the vendor and paid him. He asked if she wanted a bag but she shook her head. She didn’t want to let go of it. The man smiled in return and Ely hurried out of the lot. She felt like skipping back down the street. Each misadventure was worth it; she’d face thieves made of steam or tempting labyrinths any day of the week to find a prize like this one. Finally, she could complete her project. With the magic she felt in these gold-tasseled handlebars, her bike would fly.