PRIMAL Unleashed (2) by Jack Silkstone Read Free Book Online Page B

traffic-lined roads into the quiet cobblestone streets.
    When he finally remembered to check his map, he had been walking for nearly thirty minutes. He looked around to gain his bearings. The streets were old and narrow, hemmed in by ancient sandstone walls. By pure luck it looked as if he had stumbled into the Barri Gotic . He checked the brass plaques that announced the names of the streets, searching for his destination. Bingo! Carrer de Cervantes , the street he was looking for.
    The ancient alley narrowed, the old buildings closing in on both sides. Stones underfoot were worn smooth by centuries of pedestrians. Bishop could almost hear the cries of medieval street merchants hocking their wares. He paused at a small doorway cut into the sandstone wall. An ancient sign that hung from rusted chains proclaimed, ‘Libreria de Viejo’.
    A brass bell jingled as he pushed open the sturdy door. He inhaled the musky smell of gently aging books. A weather-beaten man perched behind an antique cash register beckoned him in, smiling.
    Bishop gave the old man a once over, scanning the rest of the shop for any potential threat. It looked empty, the narrow room heaved from ceiling to floor with leather bound books and manuscripts. Several rolled parchments gathered dust on the highest shelves, evidence that the annals of this establishment had graced Barcelona for more than a few decades.
    “He said you would come.”
    The voice startled Bishop and he turned back to the man. “Excuse me?”
    “Your friend, he said you would come.” The old man had left his stool and was hobbling towards Bishop, a book tucked under one arm.
    “I’m sorry. What do you mean?”
    The shopkeeper laughed. “He said that a lost soldier would come. You have the presence of a soldier, but you wander like a man with no path.”
    “I used to be a soldier, but that’s another story. Tell me about this man. What did he look like?”
    “Like you: once a soldier, always a soldier.”
    Bishop’s eyes narrowed and he handed over the card from the Internet café. “Have you seen this before?”
    The old man adjusted his glasses and studied the card intently. “This writing, it is Latin.” He ran a finger along the script that crested the shield embossed on the card. “Justicia ex Umbra. It means Justice from the Shadows.” The shopkeeper handed the card back. “I have never seen a card like this, but those words—I have seen those words before.”
    “Justicia ex Umbra?” Bishop queried. “Where?”
    The old man handed Bishop the book he was holding. “In the book your friend sent you to find.”
    Bishop took the battered text from the old man and studied the cover. A single world was embossed in the wrinkled leather: Susurro.
    “Your friend is wise. Books do have a way of finding those they will help the
    most,” the shopkeeper said as he turned and hobbled back to his stool.
    Bishop followed him to the counter. “Sometimes the answers we’re looking for can’t be found in a book.”
    The old man frowned as he sat, his features disappearing into a landscape of crevices. He spoke quietly, “There is always someone who has walked the path before you, my friend. In books they leave their lessons for those who are wise and lucky enough to find them.”
    Bishop considered the comment. The old bugger has a point, he thought as he opened the yellowed pages of the book and scanned a page. How many soldiers have doubted their cause over the years? How many have found themselves at a crossroads? He closed the book and placed it on the counter.“Are you sure you don’t know anything more about this so-called friend of mine? Or this card?”
    The old man stared back blankly and shook his head. “But you can have the book; it is already paid for.”
    “Thanks.” With a sigh, Bishop stuffed it in his satchel and pushed open the door, returing to the cobbled streets of ancient Barcelona.
     Lounging in bed that evening and aiming to read a couple of