The Messengers Menagerie (The Courier Chronicles Book 1) Page 5

  “Because the orcs did,” Delvar finished.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Auralee looked at the Dwarf dismissively.

  “You’ve got to me kidding me!” Booker said with excitement, “What happened?”

  “Well, my Friend,” Delvar addressed the jovial Booker, “Those two proved to be vicious foes to the orcs, with a Ranger's reflexes and a Whelps speed, nothing seemed to be hitting the pair, so the orc warlocks got together while their soldiers were cleaved in two.”

  Booker now had both his elbows on the table, listening to Delvar’s side of the story as Auralee swiped the Humans drink, looking around.

  “These Warlocks decided that to get rid of their foe’s, they would need something big.” Delvar motioned for Booker to lean close, and Booker did just that as the dwarf whispered, “Opening a portal.”

  “No way,” The human exclaimed as his inner self slowly transformed to a five-year-old, “Did they, do it?”

  “Experimental, taboo, making it incredibly risky,” The Dwarf gave a quizzical look to his audience. “You bet they did. There was only one problem, where would they open it? They didn’t have much time as the fodder they called ‘troops’ were quickly dwindling,” he pointed under his ear, “even a couple of the warlocks had fallen by then, arrows jutting out their necks.”

  Booker instinctively rubbed at his neck due to Delvar’s description, doing his best to picture the scene mentally.

  “Now this is the tricky part, portal magic back then wasn’t nothing like it is now,” Delvar explained, “It was inefficient and as unstable as magic can get.” The dwarf held up a calloused hand and shook it to exaggerate his point, “So they decided that if they were going to do something like this, why miss by a cord?”

  Booker looked to Mordecai for a translation of the metaphor.

  “All or nothing,” The troll answered kindly.

  “Oh,” Booker nodded in understanding, swinging his head back to the dwarf.

  Delvar nodded at Mordecai, “Thank you.” He soon returned to his story, “So they decided to do away with all codes and honors, and attempt to bend life magic to their whim.”

  “Whoa wait,” Booker called for a halt and turned to Auralee, “There are different kinds of magic.”

  “Everything has got magic in it,” Delvar answered.

  “Not true,” Auralee countered.

  “Prove it, lassy,” Delvar challenged.

  “Rock’s don’t,” The Princess answered bluntly.

  Delvar cackled, “Well that's cause ye’ ain't a dwarf.”

  Booker looked at Delvar, noticing that the more excited he got, the more some odd Scottish sounding accent came out.

  “There are all sorts of magic, but that not the point right now.” Delvar pressed on ready to tell more of the tale. “They chose one of their own to embody the portal if you will, sort of becoming the portal, luring Ranquel and Izimandius into a trap. Once the pair connected with the chosen orc, they would be whisked away to wherever they managed to make a connection with.”

  Booker eyes Delvar cautiously, “Why didn’t Ranquel just shoot the…portal…orc.”

  “Cause Ranquel ran out of arrows long before then,” The Dwarf mimicked the action of firing an arrow as he went on. “I would say I’m surprised his sword was still sharp, but I know it was probably made by one of my great ancestors.” He humble-bragged, “By the time the Ranger and Whelp started to eviscerate the Orc magi.”

  “I thought they were warlocks,” Booker questioned.

  “Magi, Warlocks, Sorcerers, same thing,” Delvar answered. “They had cut down all of the Warlocks but one, the portal orc, as you called him, probably too busy with all the combat fervor they had going on to notice that no spells were launched at them. When Ranquel went to slice him in two,” Delvar made a big show of someone primed to cut down their foe and then swung, suddenly stopping short and spread his arms like a magic trick. “Poof, gone in the blink of an eye, all that was left was his armguard.” The dwarf pointed to his bracelet, “And some scales from the dragons wound.”

  “That's it!?” Booker exclaimed, “Where did they go?”

  Delvar shrugged, “That’s the part no one knows for sure.”

  “Dead,” Auralee answered Booker.

  Booker addressed the Princess, “Real buzz kill there.”

  “Where would we start looking, Booker? Seriously” Auralee asked him, frustrated.

  Mordecai finally joined the conversation, placing the folded newspaper back on the table, “New York?” The troll sounded unsure, but Booker couldn’t tell if it was because Mordecai was unsure of the places validity, or if he was unsure of how to pronounce it.

  “New York, where?” Booker questioned, snatching the newspaper as he was the only one familiar with the area.

  Mordecai reached over and pointed to where he found the suggestion and Booker mumbled along with the article.

  Auralee straightened up and looked over to the newspaper as Delvar sat back in confidence.

  “On Friday,” Booker quickly lost his patience and started to paraphrase, “Museum of Modern Arts gets their turn at a traveling gallery featuring a bunch of mystifying statues from history, and one of the centerpieces is a fantastical warrior and his accompanying mythical dragon.”

  The human made a big show of closing the newspaper with his best impression of a Jim Carrey grin, “Well ladies and gentlemen,” placing his hands carefully on the table, “Looks like we’re off to New York.”

  The three other-worlders looked amongst each other in confusion, as Booker’s mind already started to do the logistics of it.

  “Ohh no,” Booker groaned, “New York traffic is going to be god-awful, maybe I’ll take the detour to avoid New Jersey, they’re all assholes.”

  The trio before Booker now looked at their driver, even more, confused as he ranted on.

  “Nope, gotta take the 95 to 295, it's not all that bad,” Booker pinched his forehead and shrugged, “That's like what three hundred fifty something miles from here? At call it, fourteen miles to the gallon,” His eyes rolled up as he did the math, “twenty… twenty-five gallons? Say it’s thirty to be safe. Gas is no doubt going to be somewhere around two-fifty. Eighty dollars and change for gasoline?”

  Delvar looked to his compatriot, “The hell is he talking about?”

  Mordecai shrugged, “Not sure,” The troll brought his thumb across his chin, “I believe this is called, ‘Bitching and moaning,’ but I can’t be sure.”

  “Alright,” Booker began to stand up at Mordecai’s subtle snark, “Screw you guys,” He tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table to cover his drink and then some, “I’m going home.”

  “Well,” Delvar looked at Booker in anticipation, “are we going to New York or not?”

  “I mean,” Booker deliberated as he looked at Auralee, “What could go wrong if we take you?”

  Auralee rolled her eyes.

  “This technically counts as an adventure, why are you so jaded?” He questioned.

  “There’s no guarantee of adventure,” Auralee answered, “It sounds like a fallacy to me.”

  “Nothing in life is guaranteed but death and taxes,” Booker quoted, “Well assuming you’re an average person, and not royalty.”

  “Alright,” She folded her arms and looked up at him expectantly, “What’s the plan.”

  “So, “Booker leaned forward and swiped his drink, “we have one day to pull this off, we have to get there before it closes. If we leave by eleven o’clock tomorrow, we'll be fine.”

  Delvar raised a hand, “What about arms and armor?”

  Booker squinted, “Why would we need those?”

  The dwarf shrugged, “If we’re going on an adventure, I want a trusty axe.”

  “Where would we get those?” Booker questioned.

  “I know a guy,” Delvar assured him.

  Booker ran one of his hands through his hair. “See,” he ruffled the back of his head thinking aloud, “I
don’t think that’s a wise idea.”

  “It’s alright, he can meet us,” Delvar shook a disposable phone he pulled from his pocket.

  “I don’t want the Elvish equivalent of Samuel Cummings, knocking on my door.” Booker rejected.

  “That’s ok,” The small man put away his phone, “He’s always an hour away, or so says his business card.”

  “Mhmm, moving on,” Booker set down his drink, “I’ll meet you two back here at ten o’clock tomorrow then?”

  Mordecai raised a finger to get attention, “Small issue with that.”

  “What, were my numbers wrong?” Booker guessed.

  “Where will Delvar and I sleep,” Mordecai answered.

  Booker looked back down to Auralee, taking a long drink, raising his eyebrows as if to ask, where are they staying?

  “You wish,” Auralee nodded slightly to congratulate Booker on the effort.

  “But I don’t wanna sleep on my floor,” Booker remarked in a quiet voice.

  Clearing his throat, Booker gestured to Delvar, “I mean he’ll fit on the couch, that's no issue, but you?” He swung his arm to Mordecai, waving it up and down, “You’re like six foot six, you would snugly fit in my walkway, that’s about it.”

  “A roof is a roof,” Mordecai shrugged.

  “If you’re down,” Booker offered, “I have pillows galore.”

  Delvar leaned toward his partner, “Did he say I got a couch?”

  There was a thud underneath the table and Delvar suddenly straightened his back.

  “We thank you,” The Dwarf smiled at his host, no doubt a dull pain in his shin after Mordecai’s conspicuous leg jerk, “For your generosity.”

  Booker nodded, tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the table as well, “How did you guys plan to pay for your meal?”

  The duo looked at each other and stayed silent.

  “No way you guy’s planned to dine and ditch, Bounty hunters and Freelances would’ve been on you guys in minutes.” Booker looked surprised.

  “What, no,” Delvar waved a hand to dash such thoughts, “We aren’t that dumb, we have coins.”

  Booker watched as the dwarf produced a small handful of golden glimmering coins.

  With a quizzical expression Booker inquired further, “You think five would cover the meal?”

  “Why wouldn’t it, I would be surprised if two didn’t,” The Dwarf answered, “How much do you think these are worth?”

  Booker shook his head and looked around as he thought, “I’m not sure, I was always tipped with a few of them, so I assumed they weren’t worth a lot.”

  Everyone’s eyes widen at the implication.

  “Sterling,” Auralee wondered, “How many of those,” she pointed to Delvar’s hand, “coins do you have?”

  “I don’t know,” Booker began to search his memory to guesstimate.

  “About twenty?” Delvar guessed for the human.

  “In my car’s ashtray alone maybe,” Booker shrugged, still looking up, “At least, golly, two hundred and something? Not counting the ones I leave around the house and in either of my other car’s.

  The entire team looked ready to spit out their drinks had they been sipping on something.

  “HOW!?” Delvar asked first.

  “When I delivered something, often they would give me a handful of coins on my way out on top of what they were already paying Alphonse,” Booker answered.

  “Ok,” Auralee gained the attention for her question, “But how do you not know what they are worth?”

  “I can’t buy a car or computer parts with them,” With hands spread open, Booker raised them level with his head, “I don’t buy things on the black market since they don’t have anything I need, So I keep them in my piggy bank.”

  “What’s a Piggy bank?” Delvar responded.

  “Porcelain pig that people often put nearly worthless coins into to avoid keeping track of them,” Booker answered.

  Auralee placed her hand on Booker's arm, looking up to give him a warning, “You could ruin an average villages local economy with your amount of worthless coin.”

  “Alright, but again I remind you, can it get me a fresh set of brakes for my motorcycle project?” Booker countered.

  Delvar nodded his head, “I’m sure for the right price someone will learn about it for you.”

  “Who woulda known,” Booker realized.

  “We did,” Auralee pointed out, “Everyone other than you, actually. Your waitress friend probably could’ve told you.”

  Delvar looked at the slips of paper Booker threw on the table, “Are these how you pay for your meals.”

  “Yeah,” Booker answered, “Kinda makes the world go 'round.”

  “They’re pieces of paper,” Delvar held the bill with Alexander Hamilton up.

  “Sure, but there’s also a lot of history and economic implications of how we got to where we are now,” Booker took the bill away and placed it back on the table. “I would explain it to you, but it would take an hour or so to reach the middle ages, and we humans as a society just got over the misconception that money had to have intrinsic value in the modern era.”

  Delvar and Auralee looked up to Booker, apparently lost.

  “Exactly,” Booker stated.

  Mordecai straightened his back to bring attention to himself, “I want to listen.”

  “Alphonse hasn’t told you of their value?” Auralee questioned.

  “He offered me like, twenty dollars for each one or a hundred for four,” Booker shrugged, “But it’s such a long drive for a few hundred dollars.”

  The dwarf ran his clumsy hand through his already thinning hair, threatening to tear some of it out in frustration, “How much do you make as a Runner, kid?”

  “Enough to make Alphonse bitch every fiscal quarter when he does my taxes,” Booker answered.

  “Why would Alphonse do your taxes?” Auralee questioned.

  “He doesn’t trust me to, and I quote, not fuck it up,” Booker replied, “And the government doesn’t tend to look too deeply into things when you’re shoveling money their way.”

  “Fine,” Delvar conceded, “You’re the Booker, I’m sure you’ve earned it.”

  “You mean Booker?” Booker responded.

  The table became silent, eyes taking apart Booker’s expression to see if he was joking or not.

  “The makes me seem so much older,” Booker turned around and started to walk away, “leave it out.” He complained over his shoulder. Booker’s shoulders rose and fell as he slipped his hands into his jacket pockets.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mordecai and Delvar lounged comfortably in the back of the four-door Rolls-Royce as Booker sang to the car about him not throwing away his shot.

  Auralee’s face was illuminated by the blue light of Booker's phone; a white cord tethered the device to the car. Her slender finger slowly pulling the screen up to continue learning about Booker’s world.