Book One First encounter

4

The sound of fishermen calling out to each other, their voices hoarse from shouting rang out across the harbour, accompanied by the sound of churning engines as one by one a large group of fishing boats, of various sizes, shapes, and colours, docked at the harbour, in preparation for the days market.

Standing with my back to the ocean, I watched with a blank expression on my face, as a flock of seagulls flew in ever growing circles around the small row of houses just across the road from me. Lined up neatly alongside each other, each one was painted in bright vibrant colours, of pinks, and reds which clashed dramatically with everything around them.

Situated next to the row of houses stood a few shops, pulling myself up of the railings I headed over to them, stumbling, and very nearly losing my balance when a group of tourists pushed past me, cursing softly to myself I watched as they continued on, blanking me completely as if nothing had happened.

"Nice people," I muttered to myself, my voice tinged with an edge of sarcasm as they walked over to the section of railings I had been leaning against a moment ago, directly below them was another group of tourists on the pathway below, boots crunching heavily on the hard gravel; Pointing and clicking away with their camera's at anything, or anyone who was unlucky enough to come within their line of sight. Rubbing my shoulder from where I had been hit, I took a deep breath to calm myself down, and walked the rest of the way to the row of shops that I'd been travelling towards, before I had been so rudely distracted.

Just a few feet in front of me was a bakery, the name of the shop painted in large gold letters above the door, the smell of freshly cooked bread drifting up the street towards me, reminding me of the small breakfast I'd had, and how hungry I was. Next door to that was an expensive looking seafood restaurant, the restaurant's name 'The harbour view' situated on a plaque to the left of the doorway, written in gold letters, and set against a green backdrop.

The menu placed at a somewhat precarious angle on the opposite side.

Moving on swiftly I resisted the urge to go over, and look at it, and instead made a mental note to go back there when I had more time on my hands, and someone to go with.

Turning on my heels, I then walked on down the narrow street, pushing my way though the crowds that had suddenly accumulated there, as if by magic, pausing to catch my breath outside a small, and rather musty smelling old bookshop, called Gilmour and son. Its huge bay windows covered in a thick layer of grease, so that it was impossible to see inside.

From the outside it appeared cube like in shape, and seemed chokingly claustrophobic, however when I rubbed a part of the glass clean, and peered inside, I realised with some surprise that it was actually bigger on the inside.

Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched out across the wooden floor as far as I could see, making the shop appear like some sort of intricate maze or labyrinth, and for a brief moment, I pictured a terrifying image of a Minotaur stamping through it. Weaving in, and out the bookshelves, and frightening away anyone who dared touch the books that were stacked tightly on them, then for a few minutes I just stood there, sure that at any moment my mind's creation would come charging through the glass, and leap out at me.

My curiosity finally getting the better of me I made my way over to the rickety looking door, and pushed it to, wincing as the hinges creaked noisily when the door swung inwards. Closing the door behind me, I made my way down a row of bookshelves, running a finger along the books that had been squashed uncomfortably together, and sneezing as a thick layer of dust rose up cloud-like towards me.

"Can I help ye?" said a voice from behind me

"Wha" I spluttered, banging my shoulder against the edge of one of the shelves. Then wiping the remnants of dust from my previously black t-shirt, I took a moment to examine what I could now make out to be an old man, possibly in his late fifties, dressed in a velvet green suit, the elbows covered in dark patches that had been stitched on.