Prologue: The City of Going Somewhere

What!? MadMoomin is UPLOADING?! Yeah, I really don't have a good enough excuse... You see, I'm suffering from Sequel Syndrome, which is a form of Writers Block. Sequel Syndrome is where you have written something, and no matter much you enjoyed writing it or how much people liked reading it, you sit down to start number two and you can't find a drop of inspiration in yourself. I know there are people waiting for the sequel of The Third Heir, but I'm really struggling to write it, so I hope you don't mind if I write this story first to get my self back in the mood? Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

One way to describe London is with a single word: busy. The place never stops, and is unlike any other place in England. In the countryside, if you were to take a stroll at night, you would encounter a noise that was made of a lot of very quiet noises all piled on top of one another; the distant cry of cattle, the crunching of stones and twigs beneath your feet, the sigh that repeated itself every time you released your breath (which, on colder nights, with come with a perfect cloud of vapour which would disperse as quickly as it came). A small street would come with its own night time sounds; cats yelling at one another, doors slamming, cars sloshing through puddles on their way to nowhere in particular, but still peaceful enough so as not to wake the neighbors. Cities are loud, even at night they roar of traffic, angry businessman, gangs in the nearby alleyway, all adding up to terrifying experiences for those used to the former situations. However, London has a completely different effect, if you see someone in the streets of London, 9 times out of 10 they'll be going somewhere and are far too busy to talk thank you very much (not that you'll have the time to ask them, as you will also be one your way to somewhere or something and if you even stop to wonder where everyone else is going, you're going to miss the bus). That is the thing that makes London awe inspiring; it is not a 'waiting around for something to happen' city, it's a constant going places city. Whether you're a businessman on your way to an important meeting in Cambridge or a tourist getting lost on your way to the London Eye, you're always on your way somewhere. London, the city of going somewhere.

Now, make your way to the Thames (even the river is going some place or another), follow it East until you reach the very center of London, take a left turn and soon you'll come across the Scotland Yard Headquarters. Now, just a hop, skip and a bus ride away, we find an old, Victorian style building, just to the North of Westminster. Even in the black cloak of night, this place is full of young adults and older citizens going this place and that, all with different reasons and missions, as the day after tomorrow marks the beginning of a brand new year at Gressenheller University, and, for the young man in the silver car driving through the short, gold painted gates, the start of lifetime of adventure.

The engine rumbled to a stop. Roland Layton laid back in his seat and rested his hands behind his head, he gave a sigh of relief and glanced about the car park that was lit with street lamps. "Ah, Gressenheller, oh how I've missed you!" this caused a giggle from his wife Lucille, who sat beside him. "Some of the best years of my life were right here, back in my University days. You chose the right place, my boy, best archaeologists ever to walk the planet studied here, you'll fit right in!" He turned to face his son, who, to his dismay, hadn't stirred for the last couple of hours. Hershel Layton was perched on the edge of his seat, rubbing his knees nervously, his head was leaning on the window that he was staring blankly out of, his face the definition of despair. Roland frowned. "Hershel?" The boy jumped out of his trance and looked back at his father, his expression unchanged.

"Hm?"

Roland smiled sadly at him. "What do you think? Do you like it?" Hershel turned back to the window, this time taking in the scenery.

"Urr, it's okay, it'll do..." Then, after seeing his father's worried expression, he hurriedly added "It's nice, I like it." The three sat in silence for another minute or so, when Lucille spoke.

"You don't have to stay, you know" she offered without turning. "Any time you want you can just… Come home." Hershel sighed and leaned over forwards until he faced the floor. He ran his hands through his afro hair and looked up, with such a pained face he looked close to tears.

"To what, Ma? Home to what? To Stansbury? Where Angela hates me and everyone else pitties me?" He sat upright and turned to the window, where the faint figure of young man was looking back at him, his mouth set in a straight line of determination. "No," he said softly, almost to himself. "I need to get away from it all, from everything, everyone…" He only just managed to stop himself adding 'including you'. Lucille bowed her head sorrowfully, and Roland took her hand.

"He's right, sweetheart" He assured his wife. "What Hershel needs right now is a fresh start, the best thing we can do now is take a step back." She nodded slowly, then her shoulders began to shake, and soft sobs could heard. A large lump of guilt settled in Hershel's stomach, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, she looked over to him smiling sadly at her, which she returned, and and took his hand in her free one.

"Oh, Hershel…" She sighed, for there was nothing else to say.

"Right! These are the last bags!" Roland gasped as he placed them on the floor, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve and grinned at his son. "Phew! Several floors up is not a good place to be on day 1!" Hershel returned the smile and dropped his own bags.

"I quite like it" he said, looking around small room (which he didn't mind as he was lucky enough to get a room to himself). He made his way to the window , to find that he could see pretty much the whole of campus.

"Wait 'til you have a back like mine." Roland continued, stretching. "Then it won't be so much fun!" Hershel sat on his bed and looked around, it wasn't much yet: The bed and bedside table, with a sink at the other end of the room, and over that was a mirror. Not much, but he was already picturing how to make it more like home.

Roland sighed. "Well, we'd better be going" he glance at Hershel, "Do you want to come and wave us off?" Hershel rubbed his knees.

"I'll, stay here, if that's okay?" Roland smiled.

"Of course." Hershel followed the old man to the door. "Oh! Almost forgot!" He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out an envelope, he handed it to Hershel who looked at it in bewilderment. "I, got that out of the bank for you, so, you know, you can get something nice for your room." Hershel looked up in surprise, the Laytons had never been the kind parents to hand over money to their son, they spent money on Hershel's various trips and fencing clubs, but he had never got pocket money like all the other kids. So, being handed money he hadn't earned himself was completely new to him. He smiled gratefully.

"Um, thank you." He stammered. Roland nodded and gave a slight smile.

"Have a good one." He uttered, then made his way down the corridor. Hershel watched him go for a bit, then retreated to his room and locked the door. He stared at all the unpacking he had to look forward to and sighed. I'll do it later, he thought to himself, instead he went to the window and listened to the night sounds of London, the sounds of people going somewhere. He looked sadly down at his hands, that was something very one at Gressenheller had in common, they were all going to be archeologists, or going to be a scientist or whatever else they were going to be. Who, and what, was Hershel Layton going to be? Up until now, all that he had know was that he was going to Gressenheller, because, well, because that's what he was going to do anyway, even if Randall hadn't… Passed away. Hershel looked up, the stars were barely visible against the street lamps and car headlights. "Hershel and I are going to be archaeologists, and when it comes to archaeology, there's no place like Gressenheller University!" That was what he had said, or, at least, something along those lines. A tear ran ran down the young man's cheek, yes, that was what he was here to do, he was going to study at Gressenheller, he was going to become an archaeologist, he was going to walk the path Randall had intended for them both…

… But he was going to have to walk it alone...

Awwwww poor Hersh! Luckily, next chapter he'll meet someone...