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

  “You know what,” Auralee brought up after Booker climatic crescendo. Although he was just below the proper key of his song no one commented on it since he appeared to have just as much fun singing as he did driving.

  “Probably,” Booker answered and raised his eyebrows as Mordecai leaned forward at the prospect of learning a bit more.

  The Princess rolled her eyes and persevered. “If you have your own way of transportation, at least two, why do you seem so reliant on Alphonse to get around?”

  Booker broke into a grin at the question, “Because my car is not as nice as this, one day it will be, but that day is away aways.”

  “What is your car?” Auralee questioned.

  “Well,” Booker paused a moment trying to figure how to explain it, “It started as a Mercedes, I won in a high-stakes race, but after about fuh-hu-hu…” Bookers voiced trailed into indistinguishable gibberish not willing enough to admit the absurd amounts of revenue spent on his car, “Amounts of money. It's like Theseus’ ship at this point having to outfit it for my modern comforts such as an actual bass and Bluetooth setup.”

  “I’m sorry how much?” Auralee inquired.

  Booker returned a shrug as he pulled the steering wheel, turning onto the road at his apartment complex.

  “Mmm,” Auralee set that information aside somewhere, sure she would be able to use it against him at some future point.

  He simply made small nods, slowing down as he approached the security cabin, rolling his window down to greet the man inside.

  “Evening my main man, Jenkins.” Booker greeted, making extra effort to emphasize Jenkins as his main man.

  Jenkins set his book down and gave a wheezy laugh, pressing his white curly hair against his head as if he was sliding in some hair gel.

  Jenkins slid open his window and called into the car, “How do you do, Mister Sterling?”

  Booker undid his seat belt so he could lean out the window, reaching an arm into the box and the two did a secret handshake that left them both smiling. Leaving the guard with a sense of youthfulness that he probably hadn’t seen in decades.

  Booker answered back trying to match the old man's style of speaking, “The world still spinnin' ain’t it?” Hiking a thumb to the rear of the car, he continued, “Brought me a pair of no-goods.” The youth suddenly cleared his throat, “I mean a couple of friends, promise you we won’t make much noise.”

  “Not sure about that Sterling,” Jenkins shook his head, “The Ds, down under you, gave me some pretty scathing words about a bunch of bangs and thuds from where your apartment is as if there was a fight?”

  Booker nodded along, remembering the elf that ruined his dinner plans with an attempted kidnapping, resulting in a teeny tiny brawl.

  “Look at me Jenkins,” Booker smiled, spreading his arms wide, “If there was a fight, wouldn’t I be a bit roughed up doncha think?”

  The Guard shrugged, tapping his book against the edge of his table with his index digit keeping his page. “I wouldn’t know, just passing’ on their kind words.”

  “Sure,” Booker agreed sarcastically, ‘Kind.’ He threw his chin at the tapping book, “What’s the story this time?”

  “Same series of books actually. The author just killed off one my favorite guys in book nine, though. I need to write the author a letter calling him a real son-of-a-bitch,” Jenkins licked his lips as he let out another soft chuckle, reaching over and pressing the button to open the gate. “Now you have yourself a nice night Sterling, I better not be gettin’ no more complaints from the Ds, they scare me.”

  Sterling smiled back, giving him a two-finger salute as he crept forward, “Have a good one Mr. J.”

  Once Booker rolled up his window, Mordecai tapped his shoulder.

  “Question,” The Troll started, “Why was that one so much darker than you?”

  “What?” Booker rose a single brow inquisitively, “I don’t know. Neither of us got to throw in our two cents on what ethnicity we got to be.” He turned his chin to the side, but kept his eyes forward, “Is skin color not a thing where you’re from.”

  Mordecai rose a hand and tilted it back and forth, “It’s not as contrast as the two of you are.”

  “Now,” Booker wondered, “Is that the same for the entire race or just your particular enclave.”

  “The race,” Mordecai explained, “There is light variation, but the ends of the spectrum are not dividing.”

  “Is that the same for all of you?” Booker questioned the other two characters as he parked the car, turning his head around after stopping the car.

  Auralee only shrugged.

  “There are different beard colors,” Delvar offered.

  “Not the same,” Booker shot down, unbuckling his seatbelt.

  Opening his door, Booker mouthed out ‘Wow’ in astonishment. Pulling the handle on the rear door and opening Delvar’s door as his mind ran with implications of such a society.

  “So, race wars aren’t a thing?” Booker questioned.

  Delvar frowned, “All wars that aren’t civil, are race wars.”

  Booker's face flashed red hot in embarrassment. Right, trolls, elves, dwarves, and orcs. I am an idiot, he thought.

  Booker led the three outsiders to the elevator, where they were held back for a moment as Delvar was incredibly cautious in trusting the machine in front of him.

  “I walk in,” Delvar repeated.

  “Yes,” Booker coached, readying to step forward as he heard the machine make a light chime.

  “And disappear,” Delvar finished.

  “Close enough,” Booker granted, “just note that If there’s anyone inside they get to come out before you go in.”

  They walked neatly into the confined space and Booker glanced around to witness their reactions. Mordecai glanced about, no doubt trying to figure out how all this worked, well below the roaming head of the troll was Delvar, still unsure in his confidence, jabbing a chubby finger at the box’s panels.

  With a stifled chuckle, he looked over to Auralee who seemed… uncomfortable? Booker flicked through his memory to her first time in the elevator, and while he remembered her being cautious. Booker assumed it was the cause of it being an elevator and all.

  Now she seemed genuinely discomforted by the situation. Booker dwelled on it, trying to figure if it was claustrophobia or not as he herded the guests out the elevator.

  Delvar glanced about the structural integrity of the place and questioned, “Now, why are your walls so thin?”

  Booker frowned, “They aren’t? At least compared to most other complexes.”

  The dwarf rapped his knuckles against the wall, and Booker made a little lunge to smack his hands away.

  “Dude, come on,” Booker scolded, “I just got in trouble for making a lot of noise, I don’t want to be a repeat offender.”

  Delvar looked up, then imagined himself tapping the walls and the sounds they’d make.

  This time prepared to open his door, Booker fished out his keyring, dancing his fingers around it at picking out the right key. With the twist of his wrists and the mechanical thunk of his locks sliding out of place, Booker pushed his door open.

  “We’ll set Mordecai about there,” Booker pointed down the hall and into the living area, then moved his arm sideways to point out the couch, “Delvar there.”

  Auralee cleared her throat as she stood in front of her door.

  Booker scoffed, “You’re staying in your apartment, it's ok, you won’t be getting your hands dirty.”

  “Ahem,” Auralee clarified for Booker.

  “Have you never used a key before?” He questioned, turning his head left to look at her as Delvar and Mordecai walked into his place.

  “I don’t have one,” Auralee answered.

  Booker gave a heavy sigh, dropping his shoulders and gave her a disappointed look. His right arm was patting down the frame of his door, keeping his eyes locked with Auralee as he pulled out his small lock picking set.


  “What?”

  “What do you mean what?” Booker took two steps and kneeled in front of her door, sliding the thin metal into the lock and getting to work.

  “You looked at me that way,” Auralee explained.

  “Yeah,” Booker confirmed, “you forgot your key, who does that?”

  Auralee shifted her weight to her right leg, placing her left hand on her hip, “If you're so good at remembering about it why do you have a lock picking set in your door frame?”

  “This isn’t about me,” He pointed out, starting to look concerned at the lock, “And this lock isn’t being as complacent as I want it to.” Booker updated.

  “I’m not staying in your room,” Auralee voiced.

  “You wish you had to,” He teased, “But it's ok cause you won’t.” Booker twisted the lock, and a metal bar slowly slid out of place, “Because I am just that good.” Pushing the door open as he looked back at Auralee with his cocky grin, “Your Highness,” He made a small hand gesture to her door.

  The Princess huffed as she strutted past, flicking the door closed as she went in.

  Booker straightened as the thud echoed into his ears, he questioned the empty hall, “Did she just close that without touching it.” He inspected the door shut in front of him, imaging a pair of Batman gadgets that would help deduce this mystery.

  Auralee ran her hands through her hair, taking apart the ponytail as she shook her head. Sending the small flow over her shoulders. She sat at the edge of her bed, taking off her shoes and staring blankly in front of her as her mind gently rolled with ideas.

  “How does the dwarf not know about Ranquel’s true mission,” Auralee questioned.

  Gently rolling her head around her neck, she answered herself, “Well, not like he’s royalty.”

  Her room had all the extravagances. Alphonse, the one who set her up with her lavish abode, probably dropped some pretty coin or at least a couple of favors to get the gold trims on nearly all her pillows and blankets. Rubbing the silk fabric between her two fingers in contemplation.

  “Why, of all the legends he wants to dig up,” She sighs, “Does Booker have to pick the only one that everyone still longingly searches for? If we don’t trip off at least a couple of alarms, I’ll call this a success. Regardless of what those statues hold.”

  Auralee maneuvered her way around the room into the connected master bathroom, drawing herself a bath based on what the folded piece of paper instructed her to do, plucking a bottle labeled bubbles and pouring a generous dose into the bath.

  With lazy hand gestures, she caused the steam rising from the bath to swirl in the air, eventually making a small floating oval once enough of the water had evaporated. Red particles snaked around her right arm, coming together to make a small red ball she shot into the target, watching it disappear in the makeshift portal.

  After undressing, Auralee sank herself into the tub, waiting for the reply from her teacher on the other side. Entertaining herself with the nearly overflowing number of bubbles she had caused.

  “Hello?’ An echoing voice called out from the oval, now gently pulsing red, “Someone asked for me?”

  Auralee remained silent, inspecting the back of her left hand, running her right thumb lightly across her nails.

  “Miss Auralee,” Ezra’s voice called back again, “Need I remind you, you are already my least favorite student?”

  Auralee cleared her throat and answered back, “I am also your only student, so I win that achievement by default.”

  “That doesn’t lessen the implications,” Ezra retorted.

  “Master Ezra,” Auralee responded to put the conversation on track, “How much do you know about the Ranger Ranquel?”

  Ezra hummed loudly; the princess could only imagine her teacher pulling at his collar as he thought.

  After a couple seconds of silence Ezra picked back up, “I'm sorry what was your- “

  “Ranquel,” Auralee reminded, “I know you pour into that myth in your spare time.”

  “Everyone has their hobbies,” The teacher defended, “Mine just so happens to be magic history, and that particular story contains the first written account of temperamental portal magic.”

  Auralee rolled her eyes, “How does it have the first account of portal magic’s?”

  “You don’t think they just up and disappeared, did you?” Ezra questioned, “They had to go somewhere and since no one found their bodies over here.”

  “So,” Auralee lifted an arm out the water, manipulating the bubbles to her entertainment, “Where could they be?”

  Ezra gave a mumbling sound of unsureness, “That’s up for speculation. Portal magic was in its infancy when Ranquel made his last stand. I’m surprised orcs had got to it before we did, although I suppose desperate times.”

  Auralee scoffed, “What do you mean desperate times? Orcs were knocking at our door when Izimandius was sent on the suicide mission. You were the one that taught me that.”

  “On paper,” Ezra corrected, “But think about it, we had been at war for nearly three hundred years, the generation that grew up with the war, almost bred by it, was on the cusp of combat readiness. It’s probably why the Elven kingdom had next to no military failures for the following couple hundred years as that generation was itching for combat.”

  “Hmm,” Auralee thought back on her history lessons with this new theory. “And what are the side effects of plane traveling?”

  “Now?” Ezra inquired, “Next to nothing, a bit more than a thousand years ago? With orc magi? Who knows, I mean,” Ezra laughed to himself, “They could’ve been turned to stone.”

  The teacher laughed a bit more.

  Auralee only groaned.

  “Why what’s wrong?” Ezra wondered, “Realize something?”

  “Did you have to specify stone?” Auralee complained.

  Ezra thought a moment, “Not exactly, technically they could’ve been thrown forward through time as well as back, anything is possible.”

  The Princess sank into the bubbly water in an attempt to escape the ramifications of such outcomes.

  “Alright now,” Ezra suddenly sounded serious and authoritative, “Explain these questions.”

  With a heavy sigh, Auralee started the story, “Booker- “

  “Who is Booker?” the Teacher questioned.

  “Sterling Wells,” the Princess answered.

  “Ah,” Ezra nodded and gave a knowing sigh, “The Booker.”

  Auralee lost her words for a moment; her mind clouded at the frustration that it seemed everyone else in the kingdom knew who Sterling was.

  But her.

  “Interesting character,” Ezra went on in his train of thought, “Word is he’s actually some Human, but I’m not entirely sure if that’s true, I mean, who names their child Sterling?”

  “Anyway,” Auralee eventually interjected to get the conversation back on track. “He managed to procure one of the numerous copies of Ranquel’s wrist protections, etched with Izimandius’ story. Now, he along with a dwarf named Delvar and troll who goes by Mordecai,” she paused thinking a moment, “not like normal ones. This troll is alarmingly intelligent.”