[i]Silent tension hung in the air like an unanswered question mark in the Three Ravens saloon. Dutch had two aces in his hand, and third was on the poker table. Could he pull the jackpot with this hand? Was the Sitting Hawk bluffing across the table? The stakes weren’t that high, as the game was friendly. No one’s life was on the line, but the Indian had a stone-cold poker face. He saw everything and showed nothing.[/i]

James was scribbling down a new story in the train into his notebook. He always had a couple on him, one for writing ideas down and writing short excerpts and the other for diary. He had grown tired of Dutch McAllen, the gallant sheriff of Country Galloway, Texas. Dutch had rescued ranchers’ daughters, faced bandits, Indians and cattle thieves. He also had faced cattle-thieving bandit Indians, bandits posing as Indians, and duelled at least two “fastest hands in the West”. James pondered, should he just kill Dutch McAllen in a spectacular fashion, like the writer of Sherlock Holmes had done with his hero.

The readers would be disappointed, but James could at least move on. He could write a new protagonist and new stories. He had a new protagonist in mind – an escaped Pict slave and barbarian of the ancient world, working as a mercenary, a thief and an occasional hero in the Mediterranean world, killing gorgons and harpies and other monsters and beasts. James had loaned quite a few history books and corresponded with a few other authors about his ideas.

The train was about to arrive in Arkham. James hadn’t seen Jeremy in years, but they had corresponded frequently. A month ago, Jeremy hadn’t sent any letters, and few days ago James had been mailed a letter from Jeremy’s house sitter to arrive to Arkham, as Jeremy had gone missing. James had been worried, but he also smelled an opportunity to take a slice of time off from his regular writing and journalist work.

He had heard of curious rumours and news from Arkham. He had heard from an old university acquaintance, who had majored in geology and chemistry that the Miskatonic University was interested in polar exploration, and James was intrigued to hear the University’s reports and research from the Antarctica expeditions.

As the train arrived in Arkham, James took his luggage and went out to find the 1111 South Curlew Drive. It shouldn’t take long, he thought. He had always been good at reading maps and almost instinctively navigate through an unknown terrain. He hummed a new jazz song he’d heard last week.

James neared the location and saw at least two figures by the house and a third in further distance. He had taken his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up, carrying a few days’ worth of spare clothing in a travel case. He had a black vest and tie and white shirt on him. And apparently, the two figures had their interest on the third. James slowed his pace and took a short while to examine the trio.