The Messengers Menagerie (The Courier Chronicles Book 1) Page 7

  “Yes, Mordecai,” The Teacher sounded impressed, “I’m disappointed he didn’t pursue the scholastic offerings, but his reasoning was fair enough. Not wanting to spend this portion of his life doing something as safe as studying.”

  “Ok,” Auralee grew frustrated again, “How do you know about all these characters, but I didn’t until I was stuck with Booker as my bodyguard?” She sighed, casting her thoughts aside to something she thought more pressing, “While talking about me being sent off, how’s the Senate? Are the rest of the Noble houses still in hiding like me?”

  “I’d say keep your head down for a bit longer; the Red’s still aren’t on terms with your Father and your Uncle Twinvall.” Ezra rubbed at his chin, “and as far as your new friends? Each of them has made names for themselves on what bandits and smugglers like to call The Undermarket, really just another black market.”

  “How have they made names for themselves,” she asked, worried that she might be the weak link in the chain.

  “Delvar, the dwarf,” as a book thudded solidly on the other side of the call as Ezra moved from book to book, “There’s not much that guy can’t do, and what he can’t do he sure can fake. His compatriot and muscle, Mordecai, he’s even known beyond urchin conversations, in the scholarly circles for his evident anomaly of being an intelligent troll, let alone a troll’s natural combat capabilities.”

  “But how do you know this?” Auralee repeated, “You’re a court wizard, shouldn’t you study laws and spells?”

  “Oh, I do,” He reassured, “At this point, I can’t remember if I studied some of these laws or wrote them, besides knowledge has no exact alignment. It can neither be good or bad all on its own, it is simply knowledge. So, learning what else goes on in the world is a service to those I advise, even the shadier side of things.”

  Auralee stood up in the water, making loud dripping noises as droplets slid back into the tub, “Alright but what about Booker, I feel like something is missing. There’s no direct correspondence on what his title suggests and from as far as what I can tell, who he is.”

  “The Booker title,” Ezra began, off tangent of what Auralee wanted to know now, “Possibly the oldest title in the entire circuit. As long as there have been desires, they always haven’t been legal, and people often wanted those things fast.”

  The Princess accepted her future as learning the backstory of the title, making it easier on her.

  It sounded like Ezra picked up a book and flipped through its pages as the flutter noise escaped into Auralee’s world.

  “Now there are a few missing links in my personal track of the titles dependents,” He admitted, “But I think I have the best list, save for perhaps The Booker himself.”

  Auralee wrapped a towel around herself as she repeated what Ezra had said, “So you have the best list then?”

  “The exact dates are fuzzy, but I’m proud,” Ezra smiled, “Now, you can see the title swap quite often when it was earned through combat and not reputation.”

  “That doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do,” Auralee pondered aloud, “The name is earned not with the attributes that merit such a name.”

  “Early Booker’s weren’t the smartest folk,” Ezra agreed, “However once their new rules, came to be that become the common form of challenge. Often skill based tasked around the medium versus raw strength which didn’t quite fit the job description..”

  Auralee nodded, this concept seemed more fitting than a trial by combat.

  “Although interesting, but where does Sterling fall into this?” she inquired.

  “He earned the title rather recently, having dethroned Martel Alcester,” Ezra glanced at his notes, “From what I’ve dug up it was one of the few peaceful transitions that dot the entirety of Circuit history.”

  “Cause, of course, it is,” Auralee grumbled to herself.

  The teacher called back into the small portal with new excitement, “Did you know, speculation and the common word is that Booker was involved in the Belleci incident, you know the one that sent the Senator's twin brother right into the dirges?”

  Auralee debated internally, “That’s what he and Alphonse had said, but I wasn’t entirely trusting their word.”

  “Alphonse?” Ezra was inquisitive at the new name.

  “Alphonse,” Auralee repeated, “Elf on the Circuit, runs most of it come to think about it.”

  The sound of more pages fluttering filled the Princess's echoey bathroom as Ezra raced about his office flipping through pages of notes, “I don’t know of any Alphonse of note connected to the Circuit,” He commented.

  “You have to have something, He’s Booker’s boss,” Auralee commented, “Alphonse must have been at this for at least a couple hundred years, even my Father has respect for him since he is who my dad called on when stowing me away.”

  “Well, I won’t have nothing for long,” Ezra set his books aside, “What does any of this have to do with Ranquel?”

  “There is,” She paused a moment debating how much hope to answer, “some,” she finally decided to say, “evidence that Ranquel and Izimandius ended up here, on Sterling’s plane. As stones.”

  “Petrification?” Ezra thought, “It makes sense, such a result was one of the more common side effects, along with actually getting lost in magic and a couple of other nasty things.”

  Auralee continued to fill her Teacher in on the plan, “Sterling and Delvar want to follow the lead, in hopes of reviving the legend.”

  Ezra pulled at his small beard, “Makes sense,” He commented. “On cases where petrification was the only side effect of using portals, they had to use some combination of magic and sheer force of will to break elves out. Often with a piece of their history and lots of coaxing.”

  “Why would it need coaxing?” Auralee questioned.

  “When left with nothing, but his thoughts,” Ezra sounded jaded as he explained, “It’s impossible for one to not contemplate their meaning, the petrification can be seen as an easy way out, simply slipping into the magical plane and becoming one with the winds.

  The Princess nodded solemnly, suicide by petrification.

  Ezra thought aloud for a moment, “Who’s to say Ranquel already hasn’t made that choice? It has been a long, long time since his battles.”

  “Hold on,” Auralee paused, “You said they could be thrown forward in time, maybe that lessened the impact.” She suggested to her Teacher.

  “Yes,” He admitted, “But those examples of successful attempts oft-times only happened a few weeks after the incident, even if you got lucky and he was sent to only a fraction of the time, that could still be tens if not hundreds of years.”

  Auralee still tried to defend the point, “But there’s still a chance, he was a Ranger, after all, aren’t they known for their fortitude of will?”

  “Was,” Ezra emphasized, “Whether or not he was the best Ranger is still up to debate if you ask me, but Ranquel could be either a genius or absolute madman if he managed to live after all those years.”

  “Alright,” She answered, still willing to accept some form of hope as her stance on the adventure changed, “If you hear about a Ranger, you know where to start looking.”

  “Good luck,” Ezra wished and closed his portal, making Auralee’s dissipate into the air.

  “We’ll need it,” The Princess reaffirmed the mirror.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The disgraced elf stumbled across the cobblestone of Cladestine Street, internalized anger and frustration resulting in rigid and forceful steps. The stars rose over the horizon, the moon's light refracting off the small puddles that dotted the street.

  With clenched fists, the elf made his way to the local tavern and Circuit spot Stacked Deck, an apt name since nothing would ever go your way if you wanted business to be done there. This locale also happened to be the only place on this road that was pulsing with light.

  He paused at the place’s entrance, resting his arm on the door in contempla
tion, taking a deep breath to boost his confidence and pushed his way into the place.

  Remembering the hazing tactics of the establishment, looked away from the bright light positioned near the door to give the patrons a second to evaluate who walked in while the new person was blinded.

  However, he didn’t have to do much more than entering before someone shouted his name.

  “Belleci,” The voice boomed to the room, causing activities to cease and heads to turn toward him.

  Belleci could feel the eyes burning into him hotter than the nearby candles.

  The bartender gave a whistle, “Can’t say any of us expected you to turn up after your incident.”

  Belleci spared no time in retorting the audience, “I am no mongrel that you can kick and expect to stay down.” His eyes finally adjusted, giving him a clear sight of tonight’s crowd, “I see the usuals are here.” Belleci observed and gestured to a trio of younger characters. “Even some new faces since I’ve been gone.”

  The brawniest of the three straightened up, rolling his shoulders back as he looked at Belleci, “New faces that have better credit than you.”

  The once great criminal broke into a smug grin, “Maybe so,” He shrugged moving across the wooden board floors to the table, spinning the only empty chair at the table to sit on it with his chest against the backrest.

  “But how bad do you want to find that out?” Belleci asked the three, drawing a small knife from his boot. The lithe elf splayed his left hand on the table, fingers widely spread apart as he tapped the point of the knife in-between his fingers in rhythm.

  The two slim built thugs looked at each other unsure what to do. Their friend, on the other hand, was unfazed.

  “I don’t need to find out something I’ve already learned,” He voiced.

  “Oh, ho, hoo,” Belleci chuckled, picking up speed with his dangerous game, “What’s your name big man?”

  “Takahati,” He answered, “and I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  “Appreciate,” Belleci quoted with surprise, lifting his blade into the air as the brute slammed his fist into the table rattling his hand. He calmly continued his knife game, “Big words from a big man, now tell me Takahati, what brings you and the two snakes you probably call friends into this establishment?”

  “Something that brings everyone else, money, power, and notoriety,” Takahati explained with a sneer, “You offering’ or are you as washed up as everyone else says you are?” Breaking apart his fist and tapping his fingers in succession onto the table, making a steady rhythm.

  Belleci slammed the knife into the table at the mere suggestion of being washed up, nodding in appreciation of the mind game. “Maybe you’re not as stupid as your size suggests,” He commented, “I can offer you and your compatriots all the chance to help me rebuild my syndicate.”

  Takahati scoffed, “What makes you think we’d want to be associated with you?”

  “Think about it Taka,” Belleci suggested, “how many opportunities are you going to get to help someone like me regain what I’ve lost? As cornerstones of my reconstruction, you get all the power and money you could dream, even if I am a disgraced name. Who else is as well-known as me in the Circuit?”

  “That new Booker fellow,” Taka answered smugly.

  Belleci gave a low sigh as his breathing became shallow in annoyance, “Yes, the new Booker,” He agreed, his insides aflame at the title of the person who perhaps contributed the most to his own downfall, “what if I can give you his title, is that enough notoriety for you?”

  Taka’s tapping stopped, “Not my preferred job,” he lamented.

  “Fair enough,” Belleci conceded, “But you have to start your résumé somewhere, and I doubt tavern muscle is as reputable as The Booker.”

  The Mercenary finally seemed interested enough, “What’s your idea?”

  “I can get the Booker to be at a certain spot for a limited amount of time, if you can catch up, challenge him for his throne , or execute him,” Belleci shrugged, “Whichever ruleset you use, I don’t care, just get him out of our way.”

  Taka looked Belleci over, “And how do I know this isn’t just a con?”

  “Here,” Belleci stabbed the knife narrowly between two of the brute’s fingers, “skin me with my own knife if it’s a trap, but know that there’s a small window for you to pull this off, and I hear he’s traveling with a dangerous crowd. So, if, or perhaps when, something goes wrong it’s on your shoulders.”

  Taka looked over to his two friends, they looked back at him with wild eyes, still unsure of what was going on.

  “We’ll take the job,” Taka answered.

  “Excellent,” Belleci spread his arms wide, “You have until day break to get your things together. Come back here and I’ll introduce you to the magi that will lead you to where you need to go. They will be with you every step of the way, so you won’t get lost or stuck.”

  “We don’t need a guy,” Taka clarified, “There isn’t a single corner of this or nearby kingdoms we don’t know.”

  “Trust me,” Belleci reassured, “where you three are going, you’ll need every guide you can get. Just make sure to stay on task and don’t turn to stone along the way.” The elf got up with a new sense of direction for his future.

  A soft flame burned in him at the opportunity to rid himself of Sterling Wells before the human could collect any more friends or power and become a possible Under Market juggernaut. Someone who could be a real pain to get rid of, later.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was just past dawn as Booker found himself in his closet trying to piece together the day’s outfit. There were softly playing tunes from his hidden Bluetooth speaker he kept in his sizable walk in.

  His bedroom probably found itself lonely as much time as he spent in his closet.

  “I’m going to need these regardless,” He muttered, picking up the chocolate brown sneakers and placing them next to his wrist before setting them aside to take. “Can’t let the shoe-match-the-bracelet idea go to waste.”

  Booker looked over the rest of the closet, coordinated to a tee, many shirts, button ups, jackets, and hoodies strung on hangers, parted to reveal the sweaters, jumpers, and a few more hoodies Booker had neatly folded in different boxes. He pulled at his cheeks, contorting it into various states of Salvador Dali as he questioned himself, “Belt or no belt, belt or no belt, belt or no…”

  He let go of his cheeks. “Belt,” he confirmed as he plucked a length of leather cord, a lighter shade of brown than either the pants or shoes. The rest of his outfit fell into place quickly after that.

  He grabbed a light faded pair of blue jeans, topped by a triple layering, artfully composed off-white cotton shirt, dark chambray button up and a draped, slim fit leather racing jacket.

  “Yeeeeesss,” Booker whispered, turning to his left, then his right in front of the full-length mirror he kept on the inside of the closet just opposite the door.

  The music changed to another tune. Soon, Booker was slowly swaying to the melodic hip-hop, with a stupid grin as he watched himself perform in the mirror.

  His closet door began to creak open as Booker moved his torso and his hips back and forth. His eyes flew open, his head turning back to the noise.

  It brought him to an immediate stop.

  “Yello?” Booker called out, grabbing the side of the door and keeping it closed to limit how much whoever was on the other end could see.