The shop is small and cluttered. Incense drifts like a haze through the air, 
accompanied by the soft strains of what Raman takes to be a sitar. Roots and 
plants dangle in bunches from the ceiling. Stones and crystals line the shelves. 
Cups and flasks of powders and more exotic materials fill the transparex-lined 
display cases running up the sides and across the rear of the place. These cases 
also contain a variety of ornate knives, sticks, scepters, drums, rattles, and 
jewelry. A number of cats, ordinary cats, lie about the place, on the floor, the 
shelves, and the display cases.