"I'm puttin'the band back together." —j. blues

"We're off to see a wizard?" Wensley asked, as we pushed our way through the crowds of merchants and shoppers thronging the lanes through the tents of the Bazaar at Deva. Our visitor clung to my upper arm with limpet-like determination. His eyes were wide as he took in the variety of dimension travelers bargaining with Deveels and other sellers of goods and services. I had to admit that I'd gotten so used to the place that seeing the reactions of a newcomer reminded me how much of a racket filled the air. Among tents ranging from a tight fit for a Gnome to a canvas-covered space large enough to hold an Imp family reunion, red-skinned Deveels of all sizes, ages and shapes bargained with one another at the tops of their voices, denigrating one another's merchandise, parentage and general appearance, until they made a bargain, after which they'd be all smiles... but their voices would still be ear-bleedingly loud as they offered one another brief compliments before parting. No Deveel stuck around long after having bought or sold. There was always another sale to be made, and customers waiting. Folk of hundreds of other dimensions walked or glided or blundered through the shoulder to shoulder crowd, in search of that elusive item they had to have. If it wasn't for sale on Deva, or couldn't be obtained by legal or illegal means, then it was a rare commodity indeed.

Smells filled the air, too. Some of them, like spices, baking, and cooking food,