The Messengers Menagerie (The Courier Chronicles Book 1)

by Joey Anderle

  Well first off, my bow is meant for a trained Ranger to pull back. While you have some strength, it isn’t enough to reliably use a Rangers bow, Ranquel explained, so now your arm aches. I pulled a couple of muscles in your leg since we didn’t have the time to limber up as well.

  Booker breathed heavily as he held his legs on the ground, “I take it back.”

  I’m sorry what was that?

  Booker repeated his request for Ranquel, “Take the body back; I’ll point you to the car.”

  I thought you said you could handle it, Ranquel teased.

  “I lied, it's what I do,” Booker defended.

  Ranquel dragged it out for what must’ve seemed like an eternity to Booker before swapping places. Standing back up as if nothing bothered him when he had control.

  Show off; Booker accused from the recess of his mind.

  Booker had surprisingly little issue with leading Ranquel to the car; he was expecting the Ranger to gawk at every little thing they passed. The elf seemed rather calm around all the buildings and cars.

  Does any of this fascinate you? Booker questioned as they approached the parking spot.

  “What do you mean?” Ranquel replied.

  Look around, none of this is anything like your world or whatever, Booker pointed out, how does none of this intrigue you at least?

  “Because I was some form of conscious most of the time, I got to watch everything happen, albeit from a very particular spot in some king’s palace of someone else’s museum,” Ranquel answered.

  Booker accepted the answer, instructing Ranquel on how to get into the car.

  Alright, I need the body back, Booker requested.

  “We just saw how that went,” Ranquel pointed out.

  Can you drive?

  Ranquel didn’t respond, instead he closed his eyes to release control.

  Booker still groaned when he was in the driver seat, but didn’t crumble. Thankful for the invention of power steering and executive leather seat, Booker made his way back to his friends, pulling over like a taxi once he was back at their resting spot.

  Mordecai placed them in the back seat, taking the front spot for himself as Booker slowly slid back into New York traffic for the long way back.

  “What happened to Izimandius?” Mordecai questioned once he was buckled in.

  He’s probably relishing in his newfound freedom, Ranquel answered, He’ll be back around.

  Booker relayed the message for Mordecai, who nodded then asked his next question, “What now?”

  “It’s about a six-hour drive with traffic, stops and all,” Booker began, “So I have that long to refine my story for Alphonse, and we are good.”

  The king’s son is still alive? Ranquel questioned.

  “Ha no,” Booker responded, laughing at such a suggestion, “Alphonse is no Prince.”

  Ranquel wasn’t dissuaded, and what makes you say that?

  “Are you talking to yourself?” Mordecai joked.

  “Ranquel,” Booker clarified, “And he’s trying to convince me Alphonse is a prince.”

  Mordecai frowned at the statement.

  “See, even Mordecai doubts you. He’s like a scholar.” Booker retorted.

  There are no other well-known Alphonse’s in history, only King Attano’s second son, Ranquel argued.

  Booker sighed, “Mordecai, do you know Elven monarch history?”

  Mordecai nodded, “What about them?”

  “Who is King Attano’s second son?” Booker questioned.

  Mordecai thought a moment and then frowned, “Kortal, I believe.”

  No, Ranquel corrected, That’s his third son.

  “Ranquel says that is his third son,” Booker relayed.

  “That can’t be true,” Mordecai answered, “The entire Attano family was accounted for after their kingdom fell at the start of the Orc war. The First son even confirmed the bodies.”

  Booker could sense Ranquel squinting in suspicion inside his head.

  None of us ever trusted Morrigan, Ranquel seethed, Always something off about him.

  “You know what,” Booker said, “We can just call him and ask him.”

  With his right hand, he mindlessly used the small wheel to pair his phone and access his contacts, scrolling down and calling Alphonse. The phone had ringed three times before Alphonse answered.

  “Booker, you typically don’t call me,” Alphonse greeted.

  “And hello to you too,” Booker replied.

  What, Ranquel questioned, how?

  “So anyway,” Booker pressed on, “You’re an only child, right?

  “No,” Alphonse answered.

  This fact shocked Booker, “What! Since when!?”

  “Since I was born,” Alphonse clarified for Booker, “I have two brothers, Older brother and a younger brother.”

  “Why did you never tell me this?” Booker questioned, almost offended.

  “When did you ever ask,” Alphonse asked.

  “Well I am asking now,” Booker answered.

  “And I am telling you now,” Alphonse made the exchange sound as if they agreed on something.

  “Listen,” Booker moved the conversation away from his fault, “Do you know anything about the Orc War?”

  There was a pause from Alphonse who was no doubt frowning as he tried to figure Booker’s angle on the subject. “I see someone is getting history lessons when they are supposed to be keeping the Princess safe." He answered, “I’m old, but I’m not that old. Anything I can tell you, Auralee can too.”

  Booker looked back to the napping Auralee, “Well she’s a little out of commission, just tired is all,” He informed, “I was just wondering if your name came from King Attano’s son, like were you named after him or something?”

  “No,” Alphonse answered hastily, “and as far as I remember, Attano didn’t have a son named Alphonse, I am the first of my name.” He concluded.

  “Alright,” Booker answered, “Thank you, I’m on my way back over. I brought Auralee to New York, went to the MOMA, looked at some statues.”

  When Booker hung up Ranquel immediately went back to his assertion; He is without a doubt Alphonse Attano, Ranquel promised, No one else would name their child Alphonse after such a tragedy.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Alphonse hung up his phone, staring at it for a moment.

  “That was an oddly specific questioned,” He noted, “But then again it’s Sterling. Oddly specific or specifically odd are the two things he is so good at.”

  Alphonse set his phone down on the counter, walking around to the base of operations that was his laptop. Before he could so much as enter his password, the phone began buzzing again, “What is it now?” He questioned.

  When he picked up his phone, it didn’t read “Sterling Wells” as expected. Instead, it was one of his automated warning systems informing him that someone was approaching the premise. Unlocking the phone, Alphonse pulled up one of the camera feeds which showed a black haired woman in slightly torn attire sauntering toward his front porch.

  This scenario is usually no concern, the occasional brave solicitor who needed to make quotas might approach. Alphonse had to put on his best-disgruntled hermit face and tell them to go away, what did concern Alphonse was that the young lady approaching also tripped off all of his wards. Put in place to detect magi and sorcerers that might have more devious reasons to approach.

  The elf tapped the edge of his phone against the table, looking at his heavy door, debating how to react to this encounter. Alphonse narrowed his eyes, before choosing an answer by walking toward the stairs that went to his attic. “Let her show her cards,” Alphonse reasoned as he climbed the steps.

  Outside the cabin, Xandrie listened to her steps, the click and clack of her boots against the paved road leading up to the porch, “This was much more annoying than expected.”

  She admitted as she inspected her damaged outfit, “Why are these kids,” Xandrie spoke and sneered, “So important anyhow?
” She lifted her right hand up, flexing her fingers and drawing out her magic, “This would’ve gone a lot smoother if he just let me take care of the Princess, but no, he had to let Belleci have a bone.” The Sorceress flicked her hair aside, “Let him hire a thug, let him think he has power,” She quoted.

  She went up the wooden steps, knocking on the door three times once she reached the house’s porch. Looking around to find the area only decorated by a single weathered rocking chair, “This is what he’s been up to?” She remarked, knocking another three times when she got no response. “Alphonse,” She called out with a sing-songy tone, “your brother has a message he want’s to give you.”

  Alphonse sat at the top of his staircase, a sword inside its scabbard rested on his legs wrapped in linen, listening to her through the hidden microphone that played on his phone. “Oh?” Alphonse muttered to himself, “Would you look at that, he actually found me.”

  Xandrie looked around her spot again as she pressed her open hand against the door, leaving two burning dots. She then drew a circle and slowly burned a sigil into the wood, “I’ll tell him I left a note for you.” When the two points met and burned out, the Sorceress lifted her hand and inspected her work, blowing air at it and tapping it causing it to fade out and make the door appear normal again. “Hope to see you soon,” Xandrie wished, turning around and walking away.

  Author Notes

  Written Mar 6th, 2017

  Welcome, welcome one and all to Author Notes station, I would like to invite everyone to come aboard the train just now arriving, Thomas the Thank Engine as we travel along the railroad and give credit where credit is due.

  Messenger's Menagerie had notably fewer rewrites than my first book, Her Royal Runner. I think that might have some correlation with something I did that my dad refers to as ‘planning it out.' I have yet to see the scientific evidence, but that rarely stops some people.

  I wrote where the words took me for about the first five thousand words or so before a night of thought experimenting with my dad about my idea of this ‘Greek hero’ character joining the cast and crew leading through several versions of Ranquel until we had what we have here in the book.

  [Edit (his Dad) – For the record, I kept trying to kill Ranquel and Joey kept keeping him in the story. His idea was better. However, since he probably won’t read his own author notes after the book compiles, he probably won’t know that I added this and admitted he had the better solution…Bwuhahahaha!]

  [Edit Post Script (Joseph Anderle)- This is a reoccurring factor when outlining my books. I suggest a character or concept and my father tries to figure out how to kill said character as efficiently as possible. This forces me to create an actual reason for that character or idea to be in the book. (See Delvar and Mordecai from the last book, and Ranquel from this one.)]

  [Edit Post Post (his Dad) - I got busted because I italicized my comment above, and he was flipping through for review qc and then, “Hold on! I don’t remember italicizing anything in my author notes…”]

  The biggest fault along the way was how long it took for me to get around to finishing the story. This book is unforgivably late, and I apologize for that.

  I am unquestionably good at finding better things to do than what I need to do; I chalk it up to being a teenager. But I know I can do better. When it was time to buckle down and finish, I was able to do the last fifteen or so thousand words over the course of a long weekend.

  Those aren’t the best possible numbers (*cough cough Mr.-Martelle-you-show-off cough cough*) But I worked with what I had, and I can say I’m hype about it.

  I believe it is now an appropriate time to shower others with praise and thanks, last time we were a boat so this is now Author Notes the Thank Engine, CHOO CHOO.

  The first station in this celebratory train route is my father, who was willing to read this book at a painstaking 500 words at a time, which often ended mid-sentence leading him to endless frustration.

  In my defense I found his immediate proofread beneficial to help keep me from erasing those words.

  Departing this station, we move towards D’s Crossing. Ms. Diane and Dorene for their aid in initial full-scale editing, the amount of red on these pages are worrisome but there was less error in this versus book 00, so I’ll take the good with the bad even if they had to teach me a grammar lesson somewhere between chapters nine and ten.

  Thank y’all both.

  As we ride (write) along this trip, if you would care to look out your train cart windows and see the Just In Time team work this book to help catch final mistakes that managed to slip on by, Shout out to each and everyone one of you, thank you for your efforts.

  I would be remiss not to mention one last thank you, but due to several factors, most of which are personal I will have to redact this person’s name. For the sake of discussion, lets just call them B.

  Thanks B, it was fantastic having you come along with me as I wrote this, I look forward to the next one.

  With that we conclude our train ride on Author Notes the Thank Engine, now we step out onto Conclusion Station.

  I hope to see as many of you again in the next Author Notes after we see how Sterling gets himself into and then back out of another adventure. If you had any questions, comments, and/or concerns feel free to leave them in the Amazon review section or find me at www.facebook.com/jnanderle/. Tell me what you think Booker should drive next or which language Mordecai should tackle first, lo qué usted cree.

  Until we meet again,

  Joey Anderle