The noise of engines being switched off died away, and as there was so much of it, that took some time. Hiding behind curtains people carefully looked out into the street, doing their best to stay out of view. The motorcycle gang was back in town, and usually that did not bode well. They also didn't like to be stared at.
"Dammit, Skull, when you gonna to fix that stinking carburetor!" one of the men yelled as he got off his Harley. The woman that usually was behind him had already jumped off to get herself to safety. Her man Bubba was angry, and when he was like that he didn't pay attention to anything, as several kicks in her side had taught her long ago.
"Yo, Bubba, I thought I done so!" Skull kicked the innocent and abused engine block. "I'll look at it later, I need a piss and a drink first."
"Yeah!" the rest of the gang joined in. They trotted off towards the nearest bar, which was by default destined for an involuntary remodeling. The six big bikes remained in the middle of the street, unattended. Nobody would dare to touch them.
-=-=-
The proprietor of Bantrey's Bookshop hurried to the window. "Oh dear. They're back."
William Connoley stepped up to the window and saw the motorcycles. "They? No friends of yours I assume?"
"The motorcycle gang. It’s run by someone they call Bubba," Bert Bantrey explained. "The obnoxious yellow machine is his property, although I'm not sure how he obtained it."
"I see," said William Connoley, not so interested in motorcycles. "Now... about this book..." He returned to the table where a large, leather-bound book lay open. The sides of the pages had a thin golden lining, the paper was old and yellow, and the writing had more resemblance to the patient copying-work of an old monk than something a modern printer would produce. "I do want this book, but the price you ask for it is outrageous, my good man." He carefully tapped a page, making sure he did not touch the text or the gold. The book was old enough to be handled with respect.
Bert Bantrey sighed and looked at the tome. "I know, the price is high, my dear friend, but it is worth it. Every single penny. I cannot lower the price unless I want to cut into my own flesh. I mean... look at the leather. Look at the printing. Feel the paper and its original texture..."
William Connoley slowly was pulled over. He knew that the price was not at all over the top, but his merchant spirit didn't want to give in so easily. He slowly paged through the book a bit longer, looked at the words. He held one up against the light to see how the pattern in the paper was perfect everywhere. He mumbled something to himself, then looked Bert Bantrey in the eye.
Bert already sensed that he had won. A smile was on his face, his hand was in position to be shaken. "Come on, Bill, do it. You know you want it. It has your name all over it, in your favourite typeset. The smell of that book is irresistible and you bloody well know it."
William shook his head. "You are one mean person, Bert, but I’m going to buy this book from you."
-=-=-
In a world that no bookseller nor motorcycle gang member would believe true, a woman stood in front of her mirror. She had no knowledge of those people nor the machines, as she was unreachably far away from them. She looked at the silvery glass, touching the necklace she wore. The mirror showed an image of a young woman with black hair and a fair skin, who was walking along a field covered with flowers.
"Yuck," the woman spat. "Look at that thing go. I'd forbid the existence of them, if I had a say in it."
The young woman in the mirror seemed to sing as she picked flowers.
