The Messengers Menagerie (The Courier Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Legal

  Social Links

  Series List

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Author Notes

  DEDICATION

  To Family, Friends, Teachers, and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  Her Royal Runner

  Courier Chronicles Crew

  Beta Editor / Readers

  Dorene Johnson (US Navy (Ret) & DD)

  Diane Velasquez (Chinchilla lady & DD)

  JIT Beta Readers

  Micky Cocker

  Bruce Loving

  If I missed anyone, please let me know!

  Messengers Menagerie (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2017 Joseph N. Anderle

  Cover by Jeff Brown www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, 2017

  Version 1.0

  The Courier Chronicles (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Joseph N. Anderle.

  Want more?

  Join the Facebook Group Here:

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  I don’t know much, but I’m confident with the awesome efforts from my beta editors to artists to say you’re going to enjoy what else we have in store.

  Thanks for reading!

  Joey Anderle - March 5, 2017

  The Courier Chronicles

  Series Titles Include:

  Her Royal Runner

  The Courier Chronicles book 00

  Messengers Menagerie

  The Courier Chronicles book 01

  Freelancers Folly (?)

  The Courier Chronicles book 02 - TBD

  Affluent Affiliations

  The Courier Chronicles book 03 - TBD

  CHAPTER ONE

  The lanky male elf paced around his living area. Alphonse circled the stretching young man like a hawk as he tried to figure out how to appropriately scold the young Runner.

  A seemingly forever-burning fireplace set the solemn tone.

  The young man in question swiveled his head as he watched Alphonse walk around, Booker rested in the seat with his jacket draped over his shoulders and eventually gave up the effort to watch Alphonse when the room started to spin.

  “Sterling,” Alphonse addressed the young man, stopping behind the chair directly opposite of where Sterling sat sipping on his drink, his eyes trying to focus.

  “Yessir?” Booker’s brown eyes looked at Alphonse from beyond the rim of his cup.

  “I gave you one job Booker,” Alphonse reminded him, “what was that job?”

  Booker’s eyes rolled up as he tried to recall Alphonse's exact words. Taking an exaggerated gasp of air Sterling answered the question, “Keep the Princess safe?” Booker leaned forward, laying out the argument to his defense in a spit-fire hurry, “Which I did do, she hasn’t suffered so much as a scratch.”

  “No,” Alphonse admitted,“she hasn’t, but you were also supposed to keep her in hiding, correct?”

  Sterling shifted in his seat awkwardly as Alphonse reached for his TV remote, “Question Booker; When I turn the TV on to hear the news what do I expect to find?” Alphonse asked.

  “The weather?” Booker hoped.

  “So, what do you think I happen to find instead?” Alphonse turned the TV on showing a brown-haired woman in professional attire describing an accident scene on a stretch of road out of town.

  The reporter, wearing a red blazer, gave her description of the car crash to the camera. “The black sedan was found in the ditch after having tumbled several times. The seatbelts suggest there were survivors who managed to escape the wreckage. Further, there was a crossbow found at the scene. No word on where these survivors are now and what caused the incident on what locals call Bandit’s Stretch.”

  Alphonse turned the tv off as he looked back to Booker who was glancing around looking anywhere but at Alphonse, “Wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you, Sterling?”

  Sterling shrugged and shook his head as he looked to Alphonse. “Those poor survivors, I sure hope they’re Ok.”

  “Nothing, not even about the rather random crossbow comment?” Alphonse pressed. “Given the fact that I now have a crossbow bolt LODGED IN MY MUSTANG’S INTERIOR!” Alphonse articulated, loudly, the condition of his vehicle for Sterling.

  Sterling sucked air through his teeth, “Oh, that crossbow. I thought you meant…” he looked around for an answer to Alphonse’s question. “Yeah, I got nothing.” He looked up, “It’s not my fault they shot a bolt at me!”

  “Perhaps you are right, not a thing you could do about the assailants,” Alphonse crossed his arms on the back of the chair as he leaned toward Sterling. “However, you definitely had a choice on how much DAMAGE… OCCURRED… TO THE BODY… OF MY CAR!”

  Booker scoffed at the older elf as he waved a hand, “But Alphonse, ’tis but a scratch.”

  “It’s an obvious dent, to a painstakingly accurate, exquisitely restored, vintage replica of Steve McQueen's 1968 Mustang from the hit movie Bullitt.” Alphonse corrected.

  “For someone that’s lived, what, three hundred years?” The young man peered at his reaction to the guess, wanting to get a gauge for Alphonse's age. “You sure love your Steve McQueen,” he finished.

  Alphonse pointed his left hand towards the now dark TV, “That doesn’t change the fact that you used it as a stunt car and flipped that sedan.”

  Sterling grinned as he remembered the event. “Oh, you should have seen it! Honestly, it was so cool. Have you ever done a pit-maneuver?”

  “Sterling!” He snapped his fingers at him.

  “And besides,” Sterling continued, “why am I the only one catching flak? It's the twenty-first century." His arms introduced Princess Auralee with a grand gesture. "The Princess and I share this responsibility as equals.”

  Auralee, leaning against a wall with her ankles crossed, looked up from inspecting her nails and reading on Sterling's smartphone when he pointed to her. “I don’t think your Civil Rights Movements apply to Elves,” she answered.

  Alphonse took a moment away from Sterling to question the Princess, “When did you have time to read U.S. political history?”

  “At least it's not Flappy Bird again,” Sterling conceded.

  The Princess looked at the clock, “It was a long ride here, and you were walking around forever figuring out how to yell at him.”

  Sensing the opportunity, Sterling slammed his hand onto the armrest, “What’s im
portant now, is that we take the progressive steps forward to accomplishing Martin Luther King Jr’s dream, by the two of us sharing this blame equally.”

  Princess Auralee frowned, then stepped into the argument, “Your Martin Luther fought for race equality, the name you’re probably searching for is Susan B. Anthony.”

  Sterling turned to look at Auralee. “Did somebody just send you a link to the Wikipedia page to counter the fallacies in my argument?”

  Alphonse waved a hand to the side to dismiss Sterling's conjecture, “Doesn’t matter, I could’ve called you out on it as well since I was there.”

  Sterling looked at the two, his eyes and mouth wide open as he set a hand on his chest, “I came here to have a fun time, but I’m feeling very attacked right now.” Standing up, Sterling started toward the door, “Good day, Sir!” He exclaimed as he swiped a set of keys off the wall.

  “Booker,” Alphonse snapped his fingers again to get his attention.

  “I SAID GOOD DAY!” Sterling dramatically swung open the front door and stepped into the night.

  Auralee’s eyes looked from the door to Alphonse, “Does he know I still have his phone?”

  “The better question is,” Alphonse walked around the chair, “What does he plan to do with the keys to my Condo in Las Vegas?”

  —

  Sterling closed the door behind him leaving the Elves behind. Wiping a hand across his brow as he remarked out loud, “Close one there, sounded like blame was coming my way.” He jogged down the porch as he twirled the keys around his index finger, “Now which car did I snag? Camaro, maybe. Perhaps another Mustang. Ooh, what if it's the Tesla?” His greedy smile spread as he looked at it under the porch lights, “Well these sure don’t look familiar.” Sterling dropped his head as the realization dawned on him, “House keys,” he observed.

  Sterling turned around looking at the cabin, shivering as a breeze came through, “Now,” his eyes repeatedly scanned the exterior of the house as he formulated his plan. “How do I enter that cabin with as much dignity as possible?”

  __

  The Princess waved her hand trying to dismiss Alphonse who had retrieved a drink and a doily, “No need for such formalities Alphonse.”

  “I’m sure there isn’t Aura,” Alphonse set her glass on the center table, proceeding to sit in the seat perpendicular to Auralee.

  “Then why do you do it?” Auralee questioned, bringing the drink to her mouth.

  “It’s a matter of respecting your Father,” He attempted to peer out the window from where he sat, “believe it or not, your Father and I go back to our youths.”

  “Then why don’t you serve alongside him in the government as an advisor?” She inquired before inspecting the drink.

  “It’s hot chocolate,” He informed the Princess, “Besides, the political wait times that go along with the Elven kingdoms governance is far too long, I could barely stand it when I had the opportunity to serve in the Senate.”

  She took a sip and nodded to Alphonse, “What do you think Booker is up to?”

  Alphonse held up a finger to signal for her to wait as he took his drink, after swallowing and clearing his throat he explained, “Well, after realizing his mistake and likely complaining he will have to find his way back in. Sterling has too much pride to try and enter the front door. He’s probably walked around this place a couple of times looking for an unlocked window.”

  Auralee turned her head to the surroundings trying to figure Booker's position.

  Alphonse looked at his expensive watch, “He should be trying to climb a nearby tree to get onto the roof.”

  The Princess frowned at Alphonse, “I thought this was a one-story cabin?”

  “To the outside, it looks that way. The second floor is disguised as a rather steep looking roof, and it's closer to an attic than a second floor, but works just the same.” Alphonse tilted his head waiting for something.

  The soft thumps of Sterling's feet landing on the roof sounded through the living room.

  “That must be him,” Alphonse remarked.

  A sliding noise soon followed his words and accompanying muffled ‘Whoas’ from Sterling on the roof. Auralee and Alphonse listen to the ‘whoas’ crescendo, then the sound suddenly cut off followed by a loud thud and a little sliding noise.

  “What was that?” Auralee seemed concerned.

  “Well, if I were a gambling elf,” Alphonse rubbed at his chin, “I’d say Sterling launched himself from the tree and landed on the roof, but forgot about how he should have stood since the roof is a little slick right now and he started to slide. He proceeded to fall and slide down, probably off the roof, but I didn’t hear the thud he’d have made if he hit the dirt.”

  Alphonse rose from his chair and walked toward his windows, “I’ll make a quick check around to make sure he’s not lying broken and twitching on my lawn.” Leaving the Princess alone in the living room he walked down the hall.

  She watched Alphonse disappear and considered the situation, letting out a sigh. Auralee pursed her lips and considered options.

  Option one, knowledge is power, continue researching the affairs of Booker’s people. That way she would not be so in the dark concerning this world. The second option was to go outside and investigate herself, stretch her legs and get some fresh air.

  Or... She could investigate that second-floor Alphonse mentioned.

  Perhaps she would need to know the layout of the building in case of an attack; Auralee decided as she rose from her chair and moved deftly about her surroundings. She tried to figure where the trap door or hidden bookshelf was to show her to the second floor.

  Outside the cabin, Booker rolled back onto the roof and winced as he put pressure on his left arm, “Scrooge McFucked that one up didn’t I?” He looked back at the branch where he jumped from and watched the broken wood dangle. “Now, where’s that panel?” Booker questioned as he looked around trying to get a sense of where he was. He noticed a shadow slowly pass over the lights from window to window on the perimeter. “Either.” Booker sounded slightly concerned as he witnessed the haunting, “This cabin also happens to be haunted, or Alphonse is looking for me. And honestly?” Booker started to crawl away from the edge, “Neither of those choices bode well for me.”

  Booker patted his hand around for the hatch, “Now the last time I had to sneak in it was around,” He felt the cold metal of the handle, “here!” Opening the panel and sliding into the crevice, he quietly recollected to himself, “The last time I was in this hole, I was attempting to sneak out,” Booker told the walls, “look at me now.”

  Booker dropped into the large attic; an area carefully maintained to allow Alphonse to make his way around without issue. “Tonight, on Hoarders,” Booker whispered to an invisible camera, “what does an Elf who’s lived hundreds of years keep in his attic? Well, it may surprise you.” His head slowly looked around the black surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the lighting. “What does an elf keep in his attic?” Booker carefully stepped around the clusters to make his escape, “Am I a genius or what?” He patted himself on the back for his brilliant reentrance.

  —

  “Booker is a goddamn idiot.” Alphonse swore as he didn’t discover the broken body of a particular human on his lawn, “If I were an immature child what would I do?” He groaned at the most likely option, “If he’s in my attic I will force him to drive the Edsel!” He promised as the elf made his way to where he suspected Booker to be.

  —