Review Response:
Strawberry Sweet Snow: Well, I never thought I'd see one either, and that's why I'm writing it. I was starting to wonder if anyone would review the prologue at all!
And now, without further adieu… it begins!
The Fifth Man
Chapter One: The Arrival
The dock fell into shadow as the metallic wall slid up next to it; the many people milling about turned for a moment to see the battered ship enter the dock- but only for a moment; they had enough business on their minds, too much to care about the relatively common sight of new arrivals to the country. The milling masses suddenly swelled as nearly a hundred people in various states of disrepair disembarked and went their separate ways, some in family groups, others alone; and it is to one of the latter that we cast our attention, not, perhaps, as tall as others, but with a certain confident, almost arrogant poise that compensated for it. The monocle didn't hurt either, out of place as it looked on someone arriving in such an undignified fashion.
It didn't matter, not to him. If this was the only way he could pursue his theories… then so be it.
Sunlight filtered into the bookshop as the door opened, then quickly closed again. The immigrant picked his way with some disdain through the piles of old tomes and cluttered tables, making his way to the back.
The only way to distinguish the proprietor's desk from the other tables was that it was slightly larger; it was hard to see the little man sitting behind all of the clutter. In fact, he looked quite similar to his surroundings, squinting up at his visitor like a portly, disheveled toad.
"Y'have business here?" he queried sulkily.
"I wasn't aware that I needed an appointment to browse a bookshop," the visitor grinned.
"Well, we don't get many visitors."
"I'm personally a Western fan. Do you carry Atlantis Found?"
The apparent non sequiter produced a remarkable transformation in the proprietor. "Not yet," he replied, standing and removing the padded coat and cap he had been wearing, revealing a biker's outfit and goggles over a lean, muscular frame and spiky light brown hair. "'Bout time you showed up."
"And you are?"
The biker smirked. "Just call me Valon. We don't have much use f'more'n one name around here… Gurimo."
So that's how it's going to be, the visitor thought grimly.
"What you're looking for should be in the back," Valon continued, turning to open a door through which a dark stairway could be perceived. He passed swiftly through.
Sergei Gurimo hesitated; this Valon struck him as a nasty, cocky character. But he wasn't the first one. And I've come too far to back off now…. He tread around the desk and through the portal, closing the door on the shop and the previous chapters of his life.