tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21656497141374655212024-02-02T16:26:19.775-08:00Monkey Queen BooksThe official blog for news and background on the adventures of Michiko and Beth, with commentary by their author, Robert Dahlen.Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.comBlogger586125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-43931635696964561252021-12-24T16:20:00.000-08:002021-12-24T16:20:00.526-08:00A Splendid Solstice! (A Peavely Manor short story, of sorts)<p> <em style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Last year, I was invited to contribute to a holiday-themed newspaper that was distributed by PDF to members of the Patreon for the splendid Madame Askew. I wanted to write a Peavley Manor story, but I decided to take a different approach – since this was for a newspaper, I wrote it as a newspaper article. So, here’s Alice’s first Christmas / winter holiday in Darbyfield, as written up for the Emerald Dell Courier.</em></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Our thanks for Madame Askew for her support for this, and many other, stories. Do consider backing her Patreon, if you would, at <a href="http://www.patreon.com/madameaskew" style="border: 0px; color: #1c9bdc; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">www.patreon.com/madameaskew</a></em></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><p class="has-text-align-center" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">A Splendid Solstice!</p><p class="has-text-align-center" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">Recapping Darbyfield’s Christmas Jubilee</p><p class="has-text-align-center" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">by Augustus Thurston</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This last Saturday, Darbyfield hosted its annual Christmas and Winter Holiday Jubilee and Wassail. It was expected to be an entertaining and festive celebration, and even with some surprising twists and turns, it certainly did not disappoint.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Most of the communities of the Emerald Dell, and indeed the Crescent Sea, celebrate the Yuletide or the Winter Solstice at this splendid time of year. When Darbyfield first emerged following the Great Relocation, its populace shared their tales of an unfamiliar holiday which took place at around the same time as those, and shared many of the same traditions. Those holidays blended together, and a Christmas celebration took place in Darbyfield that winter, and every winter since.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The committee in charge of organizing this year’s Holiday Jubilee wanted to avoid a repeat of last year’s, when Professor Rigby P. Holsapple was the host. While the Father Christmas automaton that the professor showed off was an impressive creation, its built-in roasted chestnut launcher left a bit to be desired in terms of aim; many of the businesses around the town square spent the next day cleaning up broken glass. A different approach was called for.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This year, the committee was presented with an obvious choice for host. This newspaper has reported quite thoroughly on the arrival of Darbyfield of Alice Peavley, the heir to Peavley Manor, and her many adventures since. The committee asked Ms. Peavley to host the Jubilee; she readily agreed, and joined in the planning with the same energy she has brought to many other events.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Ms. Peavley was in high spirits as the Jubilee began. She was dressed splendidly, in a full-length powder blue coat trimmed with white faux fur over a kelly green winter gown. She happily mingled with the crowd, handing out small treats to the children. As always, she was accompanied by her valet, Mr. Macalley. The esteemed gnome wore a black suit and greatcoat, and on his head – at the urging of his employer – was a red Father Christmas hat, again trimmed in white.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was a perfect day for a holiday celebration, clear and not excessively cold. The children of the Emerald Dell had many entertainments to choose from, including games, singalongs, storytime with librarian Ms. Clarinda Topping, and a petting zoo featuring animals from Mr. Vic Ray’s farm. For the adults, there were roving entertainers, delectable foodstuffs, and hot tea, cocoa, and toddies (the latter were, per Ms. Peavley, of the highest quality).</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">After several hours, the attendees turned their attention to the stage that had been set up by the large pine tree in the town square. It had been decorated with strand after strand of tinsel and numerous sparkly baubles, and it was topped by a beautiful five-pointed star. Ms. Peavley was called upon to flick the switch that would activate the enchantment that Mx. Aurielt, our resident wizard, had cast upon the star, casting brilliant light throughout the square. The audience froze as Ms. Peavley reached for the switch, no doubt recalling last year’s Jubilee, when Professor Holsapple’s reindeer tree-topper launched itself into the hot cocoa stand, pelting the onlookers with marshmallows. Such was not the case this year; Mx. Aurielt’s enchantment worked as promised, and the crowd cheered at the sight of the illuminated tree.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Next on the program was the lighting of the ceremonial Yule log in front of the tree. The torch had been carried from the Elfking’s palace to Darbyfield, and was handed off to that doughty constable, Alf Matterhorn, by Arbora Hillrose of the Consulate, to cheers from the crowd.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">A flurry of chaos erupted after the handoff, caused by the sudden appearance of Beauregard, the official bloodhound of the Darbyfield Constabulary; reports say that he was chasing one of Mr. Ray’s goats, who had slipped through a half-closed gate. Constable Matterhorn had to dodge to escape being trampled by goat and hound, which led to him juggling the torch, which led to his winter coat being set ablaze. Thankfully, the day was saved by fast action from Mr. Macalley, who removed his Father Christmas hat and used it to beat out the flame, with no damage to the Constable’s person and further cheering from the crowd. The hat was not as fortunate, and Mr. Macalley used that as an excuse to tuck it away and slip a plain black cap upon his head, much to Ms. Peavley’s visible disappointment.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Beauregard was soon gathered in, the Yule log was properly lit, and the musical portion of the program began. Holiday music has always been a highlight of the Jubilee, and this year was no exception. The chorus from Darbyfield University was in fine form, Mr. Ridley Talbot fiddled holiday jigs that led some in the crowd to dance, and Ms. Maya Fizkin of Withers’ Farm surprised and moved many with a stirring rendition of “On This Long Winter’s Eve”.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">A touch of peculiarness was added to the proceedings by Mr. Eldric Bludergard and his valet, Mr. Stibbins. The duo teamed to sing an original composition by Mr. Bludergard, “Ollie, The Lonely Christmas Orange”. Their performance, which was earnest if not entirely professional, was capped by them conducting a dance called “The Peppy Pip Polka”. They described their act as a “zesty toe-tapping entertainment!”; at least one person in the audience opted to describe it as “mercifully brief” instead.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Following Bludergard and Stibbins the itinerant pooka, Mr. Reginald J. Cheshire, came on stage to tell jokes and stories of the season. His tales were met with favor from everyone in the audience except for a pair of farmers, Mr. Jonah Harrisburg and Mr. Shilo Ogden, who interrupted Mr. Cheshire with some catcalls and “witty” asides. Their chortles were interrupted when an unexpected blanket of snow landed upon their heads. The farmers blamed each other for the chilly bounty, and had to be dragged apart and away before they could start another snowball fight similar to the one that disrupted the Jubilee the year before last. Mr. Cheshire continued his storytelling, with a wink to the crowd.</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The Jubilee concluded with Ms. Peavley leading the musicians and the audience in a hearty version of “Sweet Solstice Time”. She then wished all the happiest of holidays, and we can think of no better way to conclude this account than to do the same. To all our readers – a Blessed Yule, a Pleasant Winter Solstice, a Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!</p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">© 2021 Robert Dahlen. All rights reserved, except those permitted by your local jurisdiciton.</em></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Thanks for reading. I’m honestly not sure when I’ll be posting here again, but I’m glad I get to share this with you. I hope you enjoyed it.</em></p>Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-69856600981122723362019-08-27T11:03:00.000-07:002019-08-27T11:03:57.773-07:00Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley) - out today!<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley)</i> is out today! Huzzah! Order your copy, pour yourself a cuppa, grab a scone, and enjoy your reading!</span></span><br />
<span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3GRfnO3lZk04Rj-kjuVf_0dmFF1Tia0s2jrlO-ZNk0twsEqn4iEGUQaqCVV2QGx2rGzBiQnZDMPft1HVsdhd1rYMf4HnPfW1iFD5_mnGjBFz06bTBx5QBQLJ_JhyNxveirQslHFbH7A/s1600/PM+promo+post.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3GRfnO3lZk04Rj-kjuVf_0dmFF1Tia0s2jrlO-ZNk0twsEqn4iEGUQaqCVV2QGx2rGzBiQnZDMPft1HVsdhd1rYMf4HnPfW1iFD5_mnGjBFz06bTBx5QBQLJ_JhyNxveirQslHFbH7A/s400/PM+promo+post.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">You can get the ebook at </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><a href="https://amzn.to/2ZhlCiJ" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, </span><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/peavley-manor-or-introducing-macalley" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"></span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/peavley-manor-or-introducing-macalley" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1476228087" target="_blank">Apple Books</a>, and</span><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1476228087" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"></span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/peavley-manor-robert-dahlen/1132922846" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a>!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> Outside the US, search your ebook retailer for “Peavley Manor”! If it doesn't turn up right away, give it another day or so.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The paperback is currently available through Amazon. I've ordered some copies for myself, and should be getting them in 1-2 weeks; I'll be offering some for sale through the mail at that point.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Thank you for all your support! I worked hard on </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><i>Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley)</i>, and I'm glad it's out for the world to see and read! I hope you enjoy it!</span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-f2acaf2a-7fff-7131-c96e-b05191c8868e" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Merriweather,serif; font-size: 13.999999999999998pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"></span>Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-18293014244995457822019-08-16T20:55:00.000-07:002019-08-16T20:55:42.954-07:00Barry HughartToday, it was announced that fantasy novelist Barry Hughart died on August 1. He only published three books, but the first one, <i>Bridge Of Birds</i>, won the World Fantasy Award.<br />
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His novels were set in “an ancient China that never was.” The main characters were the naive farm boy Number Ten Ox and Master Li, “a sage with a slight flaw in [his] character.” They traversed China, unraveling ancient mysteries and often leaving chaos in their wake.<br />
<br />
<i>Bridge Of Birds</i> was a wonderful book, blending Chinese myth and folklore with moments of comedy, tragedy, suspense, horror and beauty. It’s not a perfect book, and I can see some problematic elements in it now, but it was my favorite novel ever at one time, and it may still be.<br />
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Barry Hughart’s writing was a big influence on mine when I started writing novels, possibly one of the biggest. The fourth Monkey Queen book, <i>A Tiding Of Magpies</i>, tried to pull the same trick Hughart did with reworking the Qi Xi/Tanabata legend, and I suspect you could feel his style in my words and ideas. I dedicated the book to him. I tried to track him down, so I could thank him and send him a copy of the book, but his last publisher had lost touch with him. I suspect that he valued his privacy...but I deeply regret not having a chance to tell him how much I appreciated his work.<br />
<br />
These are the final words from <i>Bridge Of Birds</i> (spoiler free). I wanted to end this by sharing them with you:<br />
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“I shall clap my hands together and bow to the corners of the world.<br />
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“May your villages remain ignorant of tax collectors, and may your sons be many and ugly and strong and willing workers, and may your daughters be few and beautiful and excellent providers of love gifts from eminent families that live very far away, and may your lives be blessed by the beauty that has touched mine.<br />
<br />
“Farewell.”<br />
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Farewell, Barry Hughart, and thank you.<br />
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Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-60140628243969955392019-08-15T11:10:00.000-07:002019-08-15T11:10:21.796-07:00The Peavley Manor Novelettes: An Update I thought I'd take a break from incessantly promoting my upcoming novel
<i>Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley)</i> (Coming August 27! Preorder today at <a href="https://amzn.to/2KMPObB" target="_blank">Amazon</a> and other sites!) to make this
announcement:<br />
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The individual Peavley Manor novelettes (<i>Book Fair
Frenzy</i>, <i>The Thorn Harbour Road Rally</i>, <i>The Missing Mallard</i>, and <i>The Rebellious Rooster</i>) will be removed from sale at all ebook sites this Sunday, August
18.<br />
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<a href="https://amzn.to/2H9BN6Z" target="_blank"><i>Tales Of Peavley Manor (Or, Macalley Gets It Together)</i></a>,
which collects these four stories in one ebook (and in paperback), will
still be available, and should be for years to come.<br />
<br />
I'm doing
this to avoid confusion among readers. Instead of having to figure out
which of six titles they need to buy then giving up and going out for a
cuppa, now they'll know that they have to just get two books, the novel
and the collection of novelettes.<br />
<br />
If you still want to buy the
individual novelettes, you have until Saturday to do so. However, if you
haven't bought any of those, I'd urge you to buy the <i>Tales Of Peavley Manor (Or, Macalley Gets It Together)</i> collection
instead. Due to <a href="https://amzn.to/2H9BN6Z" target="_blank">Amazon</a>'s pricing and royalty structure, it'll be
cheaper for you, AND it makes me more money than buying the single
volumes! Wins all around!<br />
<br />
Do let me know if you have any questions. Thank you, as always, for your time and your support!</div>
Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-70728462287997163942019-08-11T17:27:00.000-07:002019-08-11T17:27:18.669-07:00Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley) - coming August 27!Hello. It's been a while, hasn't it? I owe everyone an explanation at some point for going quiet here, but I'm back with good news: After over a year and a half of work, the first Peavley Manor novel is finally on its way! <em>Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley)</em> is coming August 27, and you can preorder the ebook now on <a href="https://amzn.to/31t9OXi">Amazon</a>! It should be up soon on iTunes, Kobo and other stores, and there will be a paperback edition as well.<br />
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Read Chapters One and Two after the cut!<br />
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<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<br />
<em>Chapter One:</em><em>That Fateful Tuesday</em><br />
<br />
I showed up for work on that fateful
Tuesday wearing my second-favorite outfit, a yellow ankle-length sundress with
navy blue trim. Had I known it would be my last day of employment at the Thorn
Harbour Book Shop, I might have chosen something different to wear.<br />
<br />
Monday had been a bit of a rough day, as
the new Skybright book had just been released. We had people coming in all day
to obtain their copy, and in some cases buy the three earlier books or catch up
on another series or two. While Mabel, who owned the shop, was grateful for the
business, a few customers had been somewhat willful, and I had been blessed, or
perhaps cursed, to deal with all of them.<br />
<br />
As a result, I had needed a bit of
self-pampering that Tuesday morning, and I had just enough shillings set aside
to do it. I dressed a bit fancier than I usually did for work, and stopped off
along the way at my favorite bakery for a cup of tea and an apple tart. By the
time I arrived at the book shop, I was almost back to my usual level of
chipperness.<br />
<br />
Mabel, however, was not very chippery. She
was pacing around the store, her pale face creased with worry as she ran her
fingers through her curly blond hair. As usual, she wore an abundance of
jewelry along with a swirly green dress, and s0 she rattled as she walked,
startling more than one customer. “Anything?” she asked of anyone who would
listen as she finished yet another circuit of the shop floor.<br />
<br />
The Thorn Harbour Book Shop had been in the
doldrums until Mabel Blissbottom had bought it a decade ago. Since then, she
had worked hard to turn its fortunes around. Many other elves looked down upon
her for her career choice, but she paid them no mind, as the shop’s daily
operations gave her more than enough to fret over as it was.<br />
<br />
One would have thought that a splendid day of
sales on Monday might have briefly set Mabel’s mind at ease, but she had found
another thing to worry about, and this one was with some justification. We were
almost out of the new Skybright book, and we still needed to get the orders
customers had placed by mail packed and posted, but the additional copies the
publisher had promised us hadn’t arrived.<br />
<br />
“Not yet,” I said as Mabel passed a table near
the front door. Before her nerves had
driven her into the incessant pacing, Mabel had stacked the remaining
Skybrights on the table in an attractive yet wobbly arrangement.<br />
<br />
“They have to get here soon!” Mabel clutched
herself in a fit of melodrama. “We’ll be ruined if they don’t!”<br />
<br />
“Perhaps I should I prepare my CV,” I said
with a grin.<br />
<br />
“There’s a library hiring somewhere, Alice?”
Priscilla Wentworth said as she walked past, carrying a small stack of Dilly
Dell books. “Or is it serving beers at the pub for you?”<br />
<br />
I cocked my head as Priscilla set her books on
the counter. “My, aren’t we cheeky today!” I said to my co-worker.<br />
<br />
“Just today?” Priscilla winked as she smoothed
out her black and red dress. She and I had become fast friends at Thorn Harbour
College, where I had majored in library studies. She had graduated two years
before me, and taken a job at the book shop; I visited there frequently, and
usually left with a book or two. When it was my turn to graduate, Priscilla
persuaded Mabel to hire me, as an opening had come up in the shop’s staff.<br />
<br />
I had told myself that it would only be until
I had found a position in a library. I was still there, three years later.<br />
<br />
“That reminds me,” Priscilla said to me as she
sorted through the Dilly Dells. “How is your Uncle Clarence?”<br />
<br />
My face reddened. “I haven’t heard from him in
a while. He mentioned in his last letter that he hadn’t been in the best of
health of late.” Priscilla nodded and glanced away.<br />
<br />
I had been born and spent my earliest years in
Odgley, but my parents passed away when I was in my early teens. I was swiftly
placed in a year-round boarding school in Thorn Harbour. This was due to my
uncle, Clarence Peavley, who lived on the outskirts of the nearby town of
Darbyfield. He preferred to not have company in his residence except for his
wife, my dear Aunt Loretta; he chose to make up for it in my case by financing
my education.<br />
<br />
I was an only child, an avid reader and a
regular visitor to Odgley’s library. In spite of the sad circumstances that
brought me to Thorn Harbour, it worked out as well as it could. There was a
splendid library there, and fellow readers at my school who became friends, and
a college that was the only one on the Crescent Sea to offer a degree in the
profession of my dreams.<br />
<br />
Clarence made it a point to keep up with how I
was getting along. He would make regular visits to the boarding school, and
then Thorn Harbour College when I started classes there. He was always a welcome sight, showing up
with some little thing to make student life a bit more pleasant, some baked
goods or a new gadget for my room. He always came to visit me and never invited
me to his manor, which struck others as odd. I was fine with it, as it allowed
me to see my dear uncle without the expense or hassle of travelling to do so.<br />
<br />
I hadn't seen Clarence since I had graduated
from college. Shortly after that, Aunt Loretta had died of a sudden illness.
Clarence retreated to his manor, and within himself. His letters to me, which
had been pleasingly long and frequent, dwindled to a few short notes. I still
persisted in writing him often, because I held out hope that the next letter,
the next anecdote I related, the next joke I had to tell would be the one that
stirred him from his melancholy.<br />
<br />
My train of thought was derailed when the
shop’s front door opened. Mabel swooped towards the entrance, shouting,
“They’re here!” but stopped when she saw it was a customer. He glanced at her,
raised an eyebrow and hurried towards the adventure books.<br />
<br />
“Well, at least he wasn’t scared off,”
Priscilla murmured.<br />
<br />
“They’ll never get here!” Mabel grabbed her
forehead and spun about dramatically, whirling close to the table with the
Skybright books.<br />
<br />
“Careful, Mabel!” I said quickly. She veered
away from the table at the last moment.<br />
<br />
“Alice!” Priscilla said sharply to me.<br />
<br />
I raised an eyebrow. “How have I caused
offense?”<br />
<br />
“You might have startled Mabel. If she backs
into the table, it’ll come down like a house of cards!”<br />
<br />
“And we wouldn’t want that.” I smiled. “At
least, not until tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
“Why tomorrow?”<br />
<br />
“Cybelle told me about your wager.”<br />
<br />
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Bloody tattletale,
she is. Do be careful around that table, would you?<br />
I chuckled as the front door swung open again.
A man carefully shepherded his charge inside, a girl with black bangs who
couldn't have been more than four. Priscilla retreated to the counter as I
hurried over to the little girl. I adore children, at least for the first half
hour of our acquaintance. After that, their welcome wears thin, and I look to
hand them off to their guardian and escape silently. “Hello!” I said to the
man. “How can we help you today?”<br />
<br />
“Well…” He gestured down at his daughter.
“Today is Lenore’s birthday, and I promised her that we would pick out a new
picture book for her bedtime story.”<br />
<br />
“How marvelous!” I exclaimed. “May I?”<br />
<br />
“Please.”<br />
<br />
I squatted down and smiled. “Hello, Lenore!
I'm Alice. It's a pleasure to meet you!”<br />
<br />
Lenore looked up at me with wide eyes as she
silently chewed on a mitten. “She's a bit shy,” her father said.<br />
<br />
“I like the shy ones,” I told him. “So,
Lenore, what do you want to read about? Puppies? Bunnies? Princesses?”<br />
<br />
Her father discreetly cleared his throat. “She
likes adventures more.”<br />
<br />
“Oh!” I said. “With heroes and elves and
automatons and dragons?”<br />
<br />
My smile widened when Lenore nodded very
slightly. “I like dragons,” she said in a voice I had to strain to hear. “But
I’m a little bit scared of them.”<br />
<br />
“I think we have just the book, then,” I said.
“If you could wait here for a moment?” The father nodded and patted Lenore’s
head. She continued to look around at the store and the other customers, acting
as if everything was remarkable and magical and frightening all at once.<br />
<br />
I hurried over to the shelves that held our
selection of children’s books. We had several that were about dragons. The one
I chose told the story of Bashfa, who was rather shy and always tried to hide
in places where she wouldn’t quite fit.<br />
<br />
I brought it back to the father, who thumbed
through it carefully. “Are there dwarves?” he asked.<br />
<br />
“Here.” I flipped towards the back of the
book.<br />
<br />
He looked at the drawing on that page and
chuckled. “I didn’t think a dragon could hide behind that wheelbarrow.”<br />
<br />
“Does Lenore like dwarves?”<br />
<br />
“She does, but she’s a little bit scared of
them.”<br />
<br />
“Of course,” I said. “There’s another book
where a group of dwarves gets into trouble, and a brave princess has to rescue
them.”<br />
<br />
“Could I take a quick look?”<br />
<br />
“I’ll get it for you. Did you want to show
this one to her?”<br />
<br />
“That’s probably a good idea—” He glanced down.
“Where did she go?”<br />
<br />
I looked around the store, and I was
completely unsurprised by what I saw. Lenore had toddled over to the table by
the front door, and was staring at the books plied there. “Oh dear,” I said
very softly.<br />
<br />
“Lenore!” the father said. “Come over here, my
sweet.”<br />
<br />
She wasn’t listening. She started to reach
slowly towards one of the Skybright books. I was caught for a moment, trying to
choose between letting the table fall or seizing Lenore before that happened
and risk having her scream in my ear as a reward.<br />
<br />
“Well!” I saw Mabel emerging from the shelves,
all a-rattle, smiling at Lenore. “What do we have here?”<br />
<br />
Lenore froze in place. “Does she like elves?”
I asked her father softly.<br />
<br />
“She does,” he said, “but she’s—”<br />
<br />
“—a little bit scared of them,” I finished.<br />
<br />
Mabel stopped in front of Lenore, hands on
hips, asking, “So what can we do for you, young lady?” Lenore lowered her hand
and started to chew on her mitten. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no
interest in cleaning up a book spill, and Priscilla would be rather peeved to
lose her bet in this manner.<br />
<br />
The front door started to open. All of us,
including the father, turned our heads to face it. “Please let that be the
delivery,” Mabel said softly as she hurried past Lenore. She reached the door
and threw it open. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. “You’re not
who I thought you'd be,” she said.<br />
<br />
“Yup.” Grenzalt the troll stepped through the
door, his tools swaying from where they hung on his belt. “Sorry I’m late,
ma’am. Had a bit of an issue with a touchy spice rack.” Lenore stared at him
with wide eyes; she probably liked him but was a little bit scared of him.<br />
<br />
“But why are you here?” Mabel said. “I didn't
call you, did I?”<br />
<br />
“I did,” I said quickly.<br />
<br />
Mabel glanced with narrowed eyes at me. “What
for?”<br />
<br />
“The table by the door.”<br />
<br />
Priscilla spun to face us. “Alice!” she said.<br />
<br />
“It's been needing repair for a while,” I said
carefully. Dear Priscilla could have quite the temper at times.<br />
<br />
Mabel nodded. “Well done, Alice. I'd let that
slip my mind. I've been so worried about the Skybright delivery.”<br />
<br />
“But…” Priscilla bit her lip. “If the table
gets fixed, the wager is off.”<br />
<br />
“Wager?” Mabel glared at Priscilla.<br />
<br />
Grenzalt cleared his throat. “What table am I
supposed to be fixing again?”<br />
<br />
I turned towards the wobbly table. “This—” I
started to say, stopping at the sight.<br />
<br />
While the adults had been distracted, Lenore’s
attention turned again towards the copies of the Skybright book on the rickety
table. Just as all of us remembered she was there, she reached up with her
soggy mittened hand.<br />
<br />
“Wait!” Priscilla shouted, seeing that she was
about to lose her wager. She startled Lenore, who waved her arm and struck the
stack of Skybrights.<br />
<br />
The books toppled over, sliding into the other
stacks, sending them all to one side of the table. The extra weight caused the
wobbly leg to give way. The table
collapsed, and the books all tumbled off, piling up on the floor in front of
Lenore.<br />
<br />
She was unhurt, physically, but the shock
proved to be too much. She started to cry, stopped, ran over to her father,
wrapped her arms around his leg, and resumed her bawling at a rather high
volume. I quickly dropped to my knees and covered Lenore’s ears with my hands.
“Why are you doing that?” her father asked.<br />
<br />
I nodded towards Priscilla, who was taking a deep breath. She launched into a string of loud, detailed curses that would make a drunken goblin wince. From where I was kneeling, I could see that even Grenzalt was blushing. “She reacts that way every time she loses a wager,” I said with a sigh.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
There was one positive to the whole situation
from my perspective. By the time I had finished reassuring Lenore that we
weren’t mad at her and everything would be fine, then reassuring her father
that we weren’t mad at him and everything would be fine, and finally calming
down Priscilla and cleaning up the spilled books, it was time for my lunch
break.<br />
<br />
I walked over to the fountain near the shop.
There was a small plaza that surrounded it, and food carts, one of which had
the sausage roll I purchased. I took a seat on a bench near the fountain, in
the part of the plaza that was shaded by the nearby airship docking tower, and
dug into my lunch with gusto, though sadly without mustard as the cart had run
out.<br />
<br />
I was surrounded by the familiar sights of
Thorn Harbour as I ate. Omnibuses, carrying workers to the site where the new
train station was being built, passed taxis rushing tourists to and from the
airship terminal. Across the plaza, the old tea houses and pubs battled for customers
with the new coffee shops. The fountain itself, which had been commissioned to
commemorate a dragon-slaying knight, featured a brass dragon statue, breathing
water instead of fire, due to an epic miscommunication, and that thrilled the
children who played there, though there seemed to be not as many of those as in
the past.<br />
<br />
As had been happening more and more recently,
there were fewer laborers, fewer families, and more professionally dressed
people strolling by during lunch. The cities of the Crescent Sea had been
growing more prosperous, and one of the results of that increasing wealth was
that those with lower incomes had been pushed to the outskirts of Thorn
Harbour, or out of the city entirely. I was facing an increase in next month’s
rent myself.<br />
<br />
I was starting to feel, in an odd way,
imprisoned. I kept sending out CVs every time there was a rumor of a
librarian’s position being open, but when there was a return letter, it was
always to notify me that the post had been filled. Since I was unable to find
the job I truly wanted, I had to stay with the book shop, and even though it
was a suitable job and I liked my co-workers, Mabel couldn’t afford to pay us
too much, which meant I was living on an ever-tighter budget.<br />
<br />
Part of me was wondering if I could move
somewhere, start over. But where could I go? And what could I do? I was
actually grateful when I saw the delivery wagon go past, as it took my mind off
that path of thought. I quickly finished my sausage roll and hurried back to
the shop, to help with unloading the extra copies of the new Skybright book.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
Cybelle had come in to work while I was
out at lunch. She had waited until I returned to cheerfully collect her
winnings from Priscilla, who silently fumed all the while. I was relieved when
Mabel sent me to the stockroom to work on posting the mail orders, for while it
might have been long and tedious work, it was preferable to facing Priscilla’s
withering glare for the next several hours.<br />
<br />
We didn't know when the post would be
picked up, so I worked as quickly as I could. I wrapped each book in white
paper and tied it up with string. I then started to paste our return address
labels on each one; the labels with the recipients’ addresses would be added
later.<br />
<br />
I was almost halfway done with the shop
labels when Mabel peeked into the stockroom. “Alice?” she said cautiously. As I
looked over, she continued, “There's someone here for you.”<br />
<br />
Mabel stepped away, and a middle-aged man
walked in. I thought for a moment that he was there for the post, as he held a
letter, but I saw he was wearing a business suit instead of a postal uniform.
“Alice Peavley?” he said.<br />
<br />
“Yes?” I sat up straighter.<br />
<br />
“My name's Troutal. I'm here on behalf of
Beadle & Smoot.”<br />
<br />
“What can I do for you?” I tried to keep
my expression calm, but my heart started to pound. Beadle & Smoot was a
legal firm, with offices across all the cities of the Crescent Sea and beyond.<br />
<br />
“I've been asked to deliver this to you.”
Troutal handed me the envelope he held.<br />
<br />
I glanced down at the envelope, then back
up at him. “Am I being summoned?” I asked.<br />
<br />
Troutal coughed. “I was not briefed on the
contents,” he said. “I was just told to deliver this to you, and to let you
read it in private.”<br />
<br />
“Ah. Thank you, then.”<br />
<br />
“You're welcome, ma’am.” Troutal tipped
his hat, wished me a good day, and departed.<br />
<br />
I broke the wax seal and removed the
letter. I felt a faint sense of dread as I read the first paragraph. The
solicitors said that my presence was required in their office the following
morning at 9:00 A.M.<br />
<br />
My mind was turning over all the
possibilities of why I was being called in as I finished the paragraph. Was
this some sort of bizarre job offer? Was there a mix up with the university,
and they thought I had a loan to repay? Was I being sued? I tried to steady myself
as I read the next few lines.<br />
<br />
When I had, the letter slipped from my
hands and landed in my lap. I covered my face and wept.<br />
<br />
Beadle & Smoot were calling me in to
discuss the disposition of the estate of Clarence Peavley. My dear uncle, the
man who had done so much for me, had passed away two nights before.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Chapter Two: </em><em>Greetings And Goodbyes</em><br />
<br />
I thought I had been weeping quietly, but
my co-workers could hear me. Mabel hurried into the stockroom, listened as I
choked out the story of what had happened, and did her best to comfort me.
Priscilla followed her in a moment later, holding me and murmuring soothing
words. Mabel immediately excused me for the rest of the day, and for the next
day as well; she would handle the Skybright postings after the shop closed. She
told Priscilla to see me home.<br />
<br />
All of Priscilla’s anger, all the
frustration she had felt over losing her wager, had vanished when she witnessed
my sorrow. She led me back to my apartment, made sure I ate, and held me when
the tears came again. She refused to leave my side until it was time for bed.<br />
<br />
I do not exaggerate when I say that it had
been one of the worst afternoons of my life. I am thankful that I did not have
to face it alone. I will always be grateful that Mabel and Priscilla were
there; no matter how much we may joke around and sometimes be cross with each
other, the friendship between us was strong, and I hope it will always be that
way.<br />
<br />
The next morning still came, as mornings
have a bad habit of doing, and I had to rise early because of my appointment at
Beadle & Smoot. I was still grieving, though my primary emotion was no
longer sorrow, but numbness. I walked to the solicitors’ office in a daze, my
expression blank. I wore a long black skirt with a matching blouse and jacket,
a far cry from my colorful outfit of the day before, and those who passed me on
the street saw my clothing and my red eyes and gave me a wide, respectful<br />
berth.<br />
I soon arrived at Beadle & Smoot, and
the staff there could not have been more understanding. There was tea waiting,
and muffins, and kind words. At 9:00 AM sharp, I was led into the office of
Anarbella Beadle, one of the firm’s junior partners. She was seated at one side
of a table, flanked by a human in a formal suit and an elf in a traditional
green robe. “Miss Peavley?” Beadle said as I entered. “On behalf of my
colleagues, I would like to offer my condolences on the passing of your uncle.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you.” I smiled very faintly as I
sat at the opposite end of the table from her.<br />
<br />
“These are Garton Menders, our financial
consultant, and Professor Larch Parklin from Darbyfield University.”<br />
<br />
“A pleasure,” I said politely. I did
wonder why there was a professor in attendance, but a more pressing matter had
been foremost in mind all morning. “Ms. Beadle...If I may ask a question before
we start?”<br />
<br />
“Go ahead.”<br />
<br />
“How—” I had to stop to compose myself.
“How did it happen?”<br />
<br />
“Mr. Peavley’s physician said that his
health had started to decline, but he was in decent shape for a man of his age.
He still took his morning walk every day, stopping to talk with one of the
residents of the manor. That resident realized on Monday that he had not seen
your uncle since Friday, and he notified the Darbyfield constabulary. They
found Mr. Peavley in his bed. The physician who examined the body said that it
had been natural causes, and that he apparently passed away as he slept.”<br />
<br />
“Has he been laid to rest?”<br />
<br />
“Yesterday, next to his wife in the town
cemetery.”<br />
<br />
I blinked. “Thank you,” I said softly.<br />
<br />
Beadle nodded. “We kept a certified copy
of your uncle’s will. We’ve already acted on part of it, which involved cash
bequeathals to certain relatives and acquaintances of his.”<br />
<br />
“It’s important that you understand this,”
Menders said. “The bank drafts have been drawn, and the funds have been taken
out of your uncle’s account.”<br />
<br />
“Why is that so important?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Because of the terms of the will.” Beadle
slid a thick envelope across the table towards me. “There is another copy in
here.”<br />
<br />
“Terms?”<br />
<br />
Beadle picked up a paper in front of her
and read aloud, “‘I, Clarence Peavley, being of sound mind and body, do leave
the specified sums listed in Appendix One of this will to the people listed
therein. The balance of my account at the First Bank of Darbyfield, along with
my estate and all upon it, and all my worldly possessions, I leave to my niece,
Alice Peavley, of Thorn Harbour.’”<br />
<br />
As my jaw dropped, Beadle looked into my eyes. “Ms. Peavley, you are now the owner and master of Peavley Manor.”<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
The dazedness I had been feeling swelled
up, almost to the point of overwhelming me. Beadle continued to speak, but the
words barely reached my ears. Why had Uncle Clarence had chosen me as his
principal heir? Were there not others he was closer to? Why did he never tell
me? I vaguely heard Beadle mention something about a valet, but I was too
rocked by what had happened to notice.<br />
<br />
“Ms. Peavley?” Beadle said loudly. “Are
you all right?”<br />
<br />
I blinked. “I’m sorry,” I said as I
blushed. “This all comes as a great shock to me.”<br />
<br />
“Perfectly understandable. Have you ever
been to Darbyfield?”<br />
<br />
“No. Uncle Clarence generally did not care
for visitors.”<br />
<br />
“Are you familiar with the unusual history
of the town, then?”<br />
<br />
I had to pause before I could answer her.
The unusual circumstances surrounding Darbyfield had not been well-covered in
my schooling, which focused more on ancient than recent history. I had heard
about the literary angle at university, during my library studies courses, when
several books found in the town were republished to wide acclaim. Beyond that,
all I had to say was, “Not as much as I suspect I’m going to need to be.”<br />
<br />
“We thought that might be the case.”
Beadle gestured towards the elf. “This is why we asked Professor Parklin to
join us. If you would, Professor?”<br />
<br />
“Of course.” Parklin turned towards me.
“If you were wondering, I am an instructor at Odgley College in the recent
history of the Elflands. I was in the perfect position to observe the
complications that followed the Great Relocation.<br />
<br />
“Up until seventy-eight years ago, the
land where Darbyfield now sits was a stretch of forest preserve under the
direct mastery of Elfking Barkbirch. One fine spring morning, he decided to set
off for that preserve to engage in his annual viewing of the whippoorwills.
Instead of birds, though, he and his part were quite astonished to find a town
filled with rather confused humans. They claimed to be from England, a part of
the United Kingdom, and wondered if this was a plot of some sort launched by
someone they called the Kaiser.<br />
<br />
“Some of Barkbirch’s advisors urged him to
send in the Elflands army to confront the townsfolk, but thankfully cooler
heads prevailed. Elfish sorcerers were called in, and an investigation was
launched that soon centered on the University of Darbyfield. It turned out that
a group of students there had been conducting some sort of magic ritual that
they hoped would open a portal to a place of joy and wonder they called ‘Soho’.
As they had no training in sorcery, and as magic in their England was scarce
and unpredictable, it came as no surprise that things went awry.<br />
<br />
“It was evident that no one involved knew
what they had done, who had done it, how they had done it, and how it could be
reversed. Like it or not, the realm of Elfking Barkbirch now included a town
populated by humans. He was somewhat unhappy about this, until it was pointed
out that there was the possibility of increased tax revenue.<br />
<br />
“This point was raised by the human we all
came to call the Great Detective. He had been retired, keeping bees on his
modest estate outside of town. When what had happened became apparent, the
council of Darbyfield implored him to lead the discussions with Elfking
Barkbirch and his advisors.<br />
<br />
“An agreement was quickly reached.
Darbyfield would handle its own affairs. The elves would offer advice, but
would have no say in the final decisions. In return, a percentage of the taxes
collected from Darbyfield’s citizens would be turned over to Elfking Barkbirch.
And that arrangement continues to this day.”<br />
<br />
“That’s all well and good,” I said, “but
what does all that have to do with me?”<br />
<br />
Beadle glanced at me. “Peavley Manor is
more than a residence. Your uncle’s property includes a good deal of farmland,
where several families live and pry their trade.”<br />
<br />
A rush of realization swept through my
brain. “I suspect that there is paperwork involved in the upkeep, then?” I
said.<br />
<br />
“There will be,” Menders said. “Unless you
were to sell off the property, that is.”<br />
<br />
“If I may…” Professor Parklin leaned
towards me. “I daresay that the residents of the manor, and the people of
Darbyfield, are worried about what the future holds with Mr. Peavley gone. It
would help to reassure them if his heir were there to oversee everything in
person.”<br />
<br />
I could see where this path was heading,
and I took a tentative first step down it. “If I were to move into the manor house,
would there be sufficient funds to cover it?” I ventured.<br />
<br />
Menders pointed at the envelope. “Among
the contents there are the keys to the manor house and your uncle’s bankbook.
We have taken the liberty of updating it to reflect all recent transactions.”<br />
<br />
I nodded as I opened the envelope and
removed the bankbook. I flipped through it to the last page with entries and
studied it for a moment. My eyes sprung open, wider than a goblin’s mouth at
lunchtime. “This total is accurate?” I said slowly.<br />
<br />
“As of this morning.”<br />
<br />
“No decimal point left in the wrong place
in error?”<br />
<br />
“None,” Menders said. “Your uncle held
numerous investments, which he sold for significant profits after his wife
died.”<br />
<br />
“And all the bequeathals have been
accounted for?”<br />
<br />
“They have, with one exception,” Beadle
said. “We’re still tracking down one of the inheritors, a certain Reginald J.
Cheshire. His bequeathal is being held in escrow for now.”<br />
<br />
I glanced down at the bankbook again. “I
suppose this might be sufficient, then,” I said, in what was perhaps the most
understated of understatements ever.<br />
<br />
“The provisions of the will do call for us to lend any assistance that you might require,” Beadle added. “All you need to do is give the word.” I nodded as I stared absently at the bankbook. My head was swimming again, and while it was being silent, my heart was speaking up. I listened attentively.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
“What?” Mabel’s mouth was wide open as she
stared at me, her body almost vibrating from the shock. I had brought her and
Priscilla into the shop’s back room to break the news privately.<br />
<br />
“I’m leaving the book shop.” I chewed very
softly on my lower lip as I looked away. I caught sight of Priscilla, who was
sitting on the edge of a table, her head lowered as she absorbed what I had
just said.<br />
<br />
“You can’t quit!” Mabel wailed. “It’ll
take forever to find a replacement!”<br />
<br />
Priscilla sighed. “I’m sure that there are
a great number of underemployed library studies majors looking for work.”<br />
<br />
“Mabel,” I said with the tiniest bit of
reproach. “I was hoping you’d be happy for me.”<br />
<br />
“But I am! Inheriting a manor house in the
countryside with steady income...” Mabel waved her arms so fiercely that I
feared her bracelets would fly off and smite us.<br />
<br />
Priscilla looked up at me. “Must you go
live in the manor?” she said softly.<br />
<br />
“It was advised that I do so,” I said. “I
need to learn how to handle the financial matters and deal with the tenants,
and it’s best to be there in person to do all that.”<br />
<br />
Mabel’s face lit up. “You could commute!”
she exclaimed.<br />
<br />
I smiled sadly. “I think it’s a bit too
far to be workable.”<br />
<br />
“Fine!” Mabel threw up her hands, her
jewelry all a-clatter. “I’ll just put an advertisement in the Times. I hope
they can read the form when it’s stained with my tears!” Her melodrama was
making me want to both giggle and cry, and my lip was bitten a bit harder as I
held both reactions back.<br />
<br />
Mabel spun dramatically and strode out of
the stockroom. “Priscilla?” I said as she stood and started to follow Mabel. “A
moment.”<br />
<br />
“For what?” Priscilla said.<br />
<br />
“I was thinking that after you were done
here today, you could come over to help me pack.”<br />
<br />
“That sounds like work to me.”<br />
<br />
“There might be takeaway fish and chips.”<br />
<br />
“Well—”<br />
<br />
“And a bottle of wine that I won’t be able
to fit into the trunks.”<br />
<br />
Priscilla grinned. “Consider my arm properly twisted.”<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
It turned out that making the arrangements
was the easy part of relocating, as Beadle & Smoot had prior experience
with previous clients. They had boxes and wardrobes sent to my tiny apartment,
and scheduled a carriage and wagon to collect my possessions and me late
Thursday. I returned home and got down to the hard work of tucking everything I
owned away, books and dresses and the rest, for transport to the manor.<br />
<br />
I took a break as night started to fall to
step out for the promised fish and chips, and they were ready, along with the
wine, when Priscilla arrived. As one might expect, there was very little
packing and a great deal of reminiscing, with laughter that came more
frequently as we worked through the wine. “Do you remember that one elf in the
rather fancy robe who came in last year?” Priscilla said as she set her glass
down. “The one who was too nervous to tell us what he was looking for?”<br />
<br />
“Until Mabel went out for lunch.” I
chuckled. “You’d never think that an elfish noble would be looking for troll
romance novels.”<br />
<br />
“I know! It takes all kinds!”<br />
<br />
“Still…” I stared at my half-empty glass.
“I wonder if it was more than a lark for him. Perhaps there was something in
his heart that he could never act upon, and he had to deal with it vicariously.
I hope that he was able to work through it, that he took whatever chance he’d
been denying himself.”<br />
<br />
“Alice.” I looked up at Priscilla. “Are
you sure you don’t have something in common with that elf?”<br />
<br />
“A hidden attraction to trolls?”<br />
<br />
“No. Taking a chance.” Priscilla stared
intently at me. “You could just take the money and stay here. Why leave? Why go
to Darbyfield?”<br />
<br />
I sipped my wine as I mulled over my
reply. “Places change. I like Thorn Harbour, but it seems to be becoming a city
for ambitious rich people. It’s lovely if you’re one of them, but it’s not for
me.”<br />
<br />
“It’s not just places, is it?” Priscilla
said softly.<br />
<br />
“No, it’s not.” I shook my head. “I did
enjoy working at the book shop, and I could never had asked for better friends
than you and Mabel. But in a way, it’s stifling me.”<br />
<br />
“How so?”<br />
<br />
“It seems that all I do is work, read, and
overindulge in food and wine. It’s passable, but it’s...boring. It seems like a
dead end.” Priscilla nodded as I continued, “I’ve been wondering if that’s all
I’ll ever do with my life, especially since librarian jobs are so scarce. If
I’m ever going to find out what else I can do, what I’m capable of, perhaps I
need to step away from here and move on.”<br />
<br />
Priscilla rested her fingertips on my arm.
“And what if things go wrong? What will you do then?”<br />
<br />
“Return to Thorn Harbour and sleep on your
sofa until I find work.” I smiled cheekily.<br />
<br />
“Alice!”<br />
<br />
I chuckled. “I haven’t even set foot in
Darbyfield yet, Priscilla, and you’re already expecting doom and gloom!”<br />
<br />
Priscilla reddened. “I just want you to be
well and happy. I’m worried that this won’t work out as you expect it to.”<br />
<br />
“You made a wager with Cybelle, didn’t
you?”<br />
<br />
“Would I ever do such a thing?” Priscilla
folded her arms and glared at me.<br />
<br />
“Early and often.” I refilled her wine
glass. “I assume there’s a time frame as to when I’ll be crawling back to Mabel
to be re-hired?”<br />
<br />
“Cybelle said it would be within two
months.”<br />
<br />
“Extra incentive to succeed, then.” I
stared at my wine glass. “Have you ever been to Darbyfield?”<br />
<br />
“I stopped there briefly some years back
when I was traveling from Thorn Harbour to Odgley. It seemed like any other
small town.”<br />
<br />
“Ah. Do you remember if there were any
decent restaurants or bars?”<br />
<br />
“There’s a steakhouse that’s supposed to
be quite good,” Priscilla said. “G.H. Wollenhall’s.”<br />
<br />
“An idea is coming to mind.” I smiled.
“You do know there’s a public coach that runs from here to Darbyfield and back.
The last trip is quite late.”<br />
<br />
“You’ll be using that to come and visit
the book shop?”<br />
<br />
“Capital idea, but instead…” I refreshed
my wine. “I was thinking of having you and Mabel come with me to my new manor
tomorrow. You’d ride down with me and the movers. After I get settled in, we
shall pop over to that steakhouse for one last rousing celebration before my
new life begins. You can take that last coach back afterwards.”<br />
<br />
“And who’s going to pay for this rousing
celebration?” Priscilla pointed a slightly shaky finger at me.<br />
<br />
“You shall. With the winnings from your
wager when I’m still in Darbyfield after two months.”<br />
<br />
“Alice…”<br />
<br />
I chuckled. “I hope whoever takes my spot
at the shop appreciates your sense of humor.”<br />
<br />
Priscilla grinned. “I hope I can talk them into the wagers that you had the common sense to turn down.” I smiled as I lifted my glass.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
When the feelings struck me, all I could
do was wonder why they had taken so long. It was Thursday afternoon, and the
packing was done. The movers who had been contracted to handle my possessions
were carrying my trunks of clothes and boxes of books down the stairs to the
coach. My landlord had arrived, and we had chatted briefly about my departure.<br />
<br />
I had told him that I was moving to
Darbyfield on short notice because of unexpected family concerns. I chose not
to reveal my inheritance, as I suspected it would bring out his baser
instincts. I knew I’d had to deal with others acting on those down the road.<br />
<br />
The movers had brought down the last box.
All that was left in the small apartment I had lived in for years was the
furniture that had been there when I first moved in. I checked around the rooms
one last time, to confirm I hadn’t missed anything, and walked to the front
door. The landlord was there, and he held out a hand and asked for the keys.<br />
<br />
“The keys?” I said slowly.<br />
<br />
“Right. It’s sort of the standard procedure.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”<br />
<br />
“Yes,” I said as I opened my handbag. It
was a complete and utter lie at that moment, as the enormity of what I was
about to do swept across me like a tidal wave striking a sandcastle.<br />
<br />
I recalled the day I first took the
apartment, shortly after I started at university. I thought about all the
little frustrations and triumphs at my job. <em>The
danishes at the corner bakery…</em> I thought. <em>Will they be as good in Darbyfield? Will the tea be proper? Will there
be fog in the spring and fall, settling in about me as it does in Thorn Harbour
when I’m walking to work early in the morning? Will the people be friendlier?
Will I be accepted, welcomed?</em><br />
<br />
As I dug for the keys, I shook my head
slightly. I had come to feel that I didn’t quite fit in to Thorn Harbour, but
now that I was about to leave it, I realized that there were parts of the city
I would miss, things I’d remember fondly. To use that as an excuse to stall any
further, however, was ridiculous. I pulled out the keys, handed them to the
landlord, and wished him well. With that, I left the apartment for the last
time to start my trip to my new home.<br />
<br />
I will admit, though, that before we set off to collect Mabel and Priscilla, I had the movers stop at the corner bakery. The raspberry danishes they had left over from the morning crowd were quite tasty.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
It seemed fitting that my final stop in
Thorn Harbour was at the book shop that had been my place of employment and, in
many ways, the center of my life there. Mabel had my last wage packet ready,
and while it might seem that it was somewhat redundant, I wouldn’t be able to
access Uncle Clarence’s bank account until I went to the First Bank of
Darbyfield. Since I needed funds to pay for dinner and for a gratuity for the
movers, the wages came in handy.<br />
<br />
We spent most of the ride chatting about
old times, laughing more often than not. There would be maudlin moments coming,
we knew, but those were for later, most likely with the third bottle of wine with
dinner.<br />
<br />
I had insisted on a seat by the window,
and I peeked out often as we went along. The route from Thorn Harbour to
Darbyfield started up a sharp hill before it reached a grove of elder pines. As
we snaked our way through the trees, I could see a family of elves walking the
opposite way, and I was reminded that we were now passing through Barkbirch’s
kingdom. For a moment, I was struck by the sense of history and tradition of
the Elflands, but that feeling passed when the coach was overtaken by a trio of
dwarfs in a clanky motorcar.<br />
<br />
After an hour’s travel, the texture of the
forest abruptly changed. The trees were now oak and maple, and the afternoon
sun lit up the spaces between them. The road straightened out and took us
further up the hill at a gentle angle. “Are we there yet?” Priscilla asked
playfully.<br />
<br />
“Almost,” the coachman shouted from his
perch.<br />
<br />
“Thank you!” Priscilla said with an impish
grin. “Alice? What do you expect it’ll look like?”<br />
<br />
“The manor?” I said.<br />
<br />
“It could be big!” Mabel said. “With a
great hall for music and dancing! And quiet corners to slip away to!”<br />
<br />
“Mabel. Uncle Clarence never mentioned a
great hall.”<br />
<br />
“You’ll have to build an addition.” Mabel
smiled. “How else will Priscilla meet a handsome stranger at one of your
soirees?”<br />
<br />
Priscilla snorted as the coach turned off
the main road. “Handsome strangers are rather overrated.”<br />
<br />
I chuckled as I peered out the window. I
could see an elderly man there, walking a goat on a leash, gaping at us as we
rolled up the turnoff. For a moment, I wondered if he was a resident of the
manor.<br />
<br />
“Alice!” Mabel’s excited cry caught my
ears, and I turned towards her side window. I started to smile.<br />
<br />
The coach was nearing a two-story
building, white and weathered, with ivy growing up the sides. There were two
wings that flanked a courtyard; the wing on the right adjoined a large shed,
with a small cottage next to that. The path we were on led to the shed, with
stepping stones marking the way to the building’s entrance. “Is this…?”
Priscilla said expectantly as the coach neared the manor.<br />
<br />
“It is.” My smile nearly split my face.
“My new home. Peavley Manor.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, you’ve named it after yourself
already?” Priscilla said.<br />
<br />
“Cheeky devil, aren’t you?”<br />
<br />
Priscilla chuckled. “If I had a house this
nice, I’d do the same thing.” We all laughed as the coach slowed to a stop.<br />
<br />
The coachman opened the door and helped us
down from the carriage. As we stretched our muscles out after the long ride, an
older woman in a flowery dress approached us. “Alice Peavley?” she asked.<br />
<br />
“Indeed,” I said. “You’re with Beadle
& Smoot?”<br />
<br />
“Serina Quatrill, at your service.”<br />
<br />
We shook hands, and I introduced her to
Priscilla and Mabel. “You’re here to supervise the transfer?”<br />
<br />
“I am. It should be fairly
straightforward. Did you want a short tour?”<br />
<br />
“Gladly!” I smiled.<br />
<br />
Quatrill lead us to the courtyard as the
movers unloaded the coach. It was a grassy stretch, with a trellis arched
above. “You do have the keys?” she asked as we stepped onto the wide porch.<br />
<br />
“Of course.” I had hand-carried an
overnight bag with me, which held, among other things, the envelope I had been
given at Beadle & Smoot’s the day before. I took out the keys and walked up
to the front door of the manor. I swallowed faintly, nervously, as I fumbled
with the keys and unlocked the door.<br />
<br />
I stared into the darkness beyond the
doorway, not quite sure what to expect. Quatrill cleared her throat quietly.
“The light switch is to your left,” she said. “The generators were charged the
other day.”<br />
<br />
“Of course,” I murmured as I reached inside
the doorway. I quickly found the switch and flipped it upwards. I could hear
Mabel gasp as the room flooded with light.<br />
<br />
The roomy atrium was illuminated by a
crystal chandelier which hung two stories above us. There were two flights of
stairs, one on each side of the room, that led to the second floor. Past them
were a number of doors, all of which were open enticingly. I stepped inside the
manor house, ready to accept their invitation.<br />
<br />
“It’s beautiful,” Mabel whispered as she
and Priscilla followed me in.<br />
<br />
“And roomy.” Priscilla winked.<br />
<br />
I chuckled as Quatrill swept past us. “To
your right—” She gestured. “This door leads to the garage and a storage room.
You should inspect what’s there later.”<br />
<br />
“Clarence’s effects?”<br />
<br />
“And his motorcar.”<br />
<br />
Priscilla’s jaw dropped. “Motorcar?”<br />
<br />
“Alice now has the keys.” Quatrill moved
along. “This door leads to the kitchen. There’s a pantry built in, and a
separate wine cellar with temperature and weather enchantments. Next to that is
the dining room.”<br />
<br />
She pointed at a door, and I peeked
through it. The dining room was small but well-lit, with windows looking out
onto the garden and two doors on opposite walls. “The one door leads to the
kitchen, I assume,” I said. “The other?”<br />
<br />
“The drawing room. It’s the largest room
in the manor, and it’s used for parties and gatherings. The small room past
that is the parlour, for more intimate meetings.”<br />
<br />
I rolled my eyes as Priscilla chuckled.
“And the door next to that?” I asked.<br />
<br />
Without a word, Quatrill walked over and
swept the door open. It was my turn to gasp.<br />
<br />
Uncle Clarence shared a love of the
written word with me, and would always cap his trips to see me in Thorn Harbour
with a visit to Mabel’s book shop. The end result was the library I beheld,
which took up nearly all of the wing. There were more than a dozen shelves,
rising up past my head, each holding hundreds of books, all neatly organized
and dust-free. In the center of the room, set near a welcoming fireplace, were
a lushly padded highchair and a matching end table.<br />
<br />
I stepped into the library and glanced
about. Thankfully, there was still some room on the shelves for my book
collection, and I suspected that I would be trying to find a home for my
duplicates, as Clarence and I had somewhat similar tastes in reading. I walked
over to the chair, glancing at the table next to it.<br />
<br />
I saw a book there, along with a pair of
reading glasses and an empty teacup. I looked at the book cover, and was hit
with a sudden wave of sadness as I saw the words “Rum and Bumbles”. The newest
book in that series about the misadventures of two pubsmen had been, I suspect,
what dear Uncle Clarence had been reading that terrible night. “Is everything
all right?” Quatrill asked.<br />
<br />
I blinked and nodded. “Was there anything
else of note?”<br />
<br />
“Yes, this.” Quatrill gestured towards
another table, this one set in an alcove between two shelves. “I wanted to make
you aware of this should anything come up.”<br />
<br />
“A telephone!” Mabel squealed.<br />
<br />
“Now, we can pester Alice any time we
wish.” Priscilla grinned.<br />
<br />
“I shall have to hire someone to answer it
for me, then,” I said with a smile.
“Shall we see what’s upstairs?”<br />
<br />
“Of course.” Quatrill led us up the left
flight of stairs. There was a railed landing that ran from the top of those
stairs to the right stairway; it overlooked the atrium below.<br />
<br />
Across from the top of the stairs was a
set of double doors. “Which room is this?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“The master bedroom.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll bet it’s rather posh!” Priscilla
said.<br />
<br />
“How exciting!” Mabel exclaimed. “Will
this be your room, Alice?”<br />
<br />
“I…” It took me a moment to put together
what I wanted to say. “Is this where they found Clarence?”<br />
<br />
“It is,” Quatrill said softly. “It’s been
left the way it was.”<br />
<br />
“I think I would prefer not to sleep in
that room.”<br />
<br />
“Of course. There are other options.”
Quatrill led us along the landing. “These are guest rooms,” she said as we
passed several doors, “but they’re a bit small. This one might be more to your
liking.”<br />
<br />
We stopped by the right landing, in front
of another set of double doors. “This was another guest bedroom?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Yes. It was intended for couples.”<br />
<br />
“And Clarence’s favorite guests?”
Priscilla said.<br />
<br />
“Let’s hope that none of them outstayed
their welcome.” I opened the doors and stepped inside.<br />
<br />
The bedroom was perfectly clean, no dust
to be seen anywhere, but it still had a feel of disuse. The air was faintly
stale, and the wooden shutters were latched firmly into place. I was slightly
surprised by the lack of spiderwebs.<br />
<br />
There was a king-sized bed on one side of
the room, with a fluffy comforter and a preponderance of pillows. I sat on the
edge of the mattress; it was just soft enough. There were tables on both sides
of the bed, an armchair across the room next to a drawer, and an armoire that
loomed over the other furniture.<br />
<br />
I walked over to the shutters and threw
them open. I was rewarded with a view, in the first blush of twilight, of a
small, fenced-off balcony that overlooked a garden. “Marvelous!” I exclaimed.
“That’ll be a lovely place for summertime reading.”<br />
<br />
“Of course,” Quatrill said. “There’s an
entrance in the kitchen.”<br />
<br />
“Not through those doors?” I smiled as I
pointed across the room.<br />
<br />
“Those are to the closet and the W.C.”<br />
<br />
“Splendid!” I clapped my hands. “This will
be my bedroom, then. Please have the movers bring the trunks and wardrobes up
to this room and leave them outside. The boxes can be taken to the library.”<br />
<br />
“Did you want them to start unpacking?”
Quatrill asked as I closed the shutters.<br />
<br />
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle that
myself as I go.” I set the overnight bag on the bed. “Please make sure that
this is undisturbed.”<br />
<br />
“Absolutely. Did you have plans for
tonight?”<br />
<br />
“Well…would it be possible to arrange for a ride into town shortly? We have reservations at Wollenhall’s.”<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
The coachman did not require much
persuading to give the three of us a ride to Darbyfield. By the time we set
off, the sun had fully set. It was the new moon, so I didn’t bother with
looking out the window as there wouldn’t be much to see. I spent the trip
chatting happily with my friends, only pausing when the coachman announced that
we had arrived at the steakhouse.<br />
<br />
G.H. Wollenhall’s had been recommended by many
a travel book, and it did not disappoint. The staff took the three of us to a
private booth and made sure that we never wanted for wine. Mabel was quite taken with the house salad,
but I insisted on the prime rib, and it was sumptuous, perfectly grilled. No
matter what else might come out of this new phase of my life, I had found a new
favorite restaurant.<br />
<br />
After dinner, and a splendid chocolate cake for
dessert, we were left with our third and final bottle of wine. I was inebriated
just enough to be getting sentimental, as were Mabel and Priscilla. “Must this
be the last bottle?” Priscilla said as she refilled our glasses.<br />
<br />
“It has to be,” I said with a touch of
reluctance. “The last public coach to Thorn Harbour leaves soon.”<br />
<br />
“I’m not leaving.” Priscilla scowled. “I’m
going to stay here with you and eat this prime rib for three meals a day.”<br />
<br />
“You are not!” I said indignantly. “Mabel,
talk some sense into her.”<br />
<br />
“She’s right.” Mabel burped. “You need to have
a salad once in a while.”<br />
<br />
“As long as we have this wine, I’ll be fine.”
Priscilla lifted her glass.<br />
<br />
“You two are so cheeky.” I half-smiled. “And
in spite of that, I shall miss you both so much.”<br />
<br />
“Alice…” Priscilla stood up and walked over to
me. “You’re going to make me cry.”<br />
<br />
“I know.” I rose from my chair and embraced
Priscilla. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, Alice…” Mabel joined us in the embrace,
and I could feel her tears on my shoulder.<br />
<br />
My smile was full and sad as we separated. “My
dear Mabel. My dear Priscilla. You both have done so much for me, and I shall
never forget it. You will always be welcome at my home.”<br />
<br />
“You wretch.” Priscilla took a napkin and
wiped her eyes. “We won’t let you forget us. Just you wait.”<br />
<br />
Mabel reached for her wine. “A toast?” she
said.<br />
<br />
“Of course.” I lifted my glass. “To new
beginnings and adventures, and to never leaving the best parts of the past
behind.”<br />
<br />
“To Alice!” Mabel said. “May she have nothing
but happiness!”<br />
<br />
Priscilla grinned wickedly. “To Alice being a
success here so that I can win my wager with Cybelle.” I could see Mabel
rolling her eyes, but we still touched and then drained our glasses.<br />
<br />
“There’s a bit of wine left.” Mabel pointed at
the bottle.<br />
<br />
“I shall claim that for myself.” I reached for
the wine.<br />
<br />
“You?” Priscilla raised her eyebrow.<br />
<br />
“I have the right. I paid for this meal.”<br />
<br />
“Very well.” Priscilla folded her arms. “But
Mabel and I claim the rest of the cake.”<br />
<br />
“Seems like a fair trade.” I smiled as I
poured the last glass.<br />
<br />
It could be surmised from this that all three
of us were thoroughly soused, but in truth, it was only me. Priscilla had
barely gotten drunk enough to be noticeable, and Mabel, with her elfish
constitution, was just rather weepy. All the same, it was a good thing that
none of us had to rely on driving a motorcar that night.<br />
<br />
It was quite late when we finished our dinner,
and we had two cabs called before we left. One was to take Mabel and Priscilla
to the station where they would catch the public coach back to Thorn Harbour.
There were promises to visit before they boarded their cab, and more embraces
and tears, and as they rode away my heart hurt from knowing how much I would
miss them.<br />
<br />
My cab arrived a minute later. I could almost
see the driver’s jaw drop when I told her that my destination was Peavley
Manor, but she still brought me there without any incident. I was sure to tip
her generously, but I waited until she was gone before I stepped inside.<br />
<br />
Even in my condition, I could see that the movers had finished and departed. The boxes with my books were stacked up outside the library. I staggered upstairs to my new bedroom and managed not to stumble into the trunks and wardrobes piled near the door. The overnight bag was still on the bed, and I had just enough presence to change into my nightclothes before the weight of the long day caught up to me. I slumped onto the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.<br />
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<em>© 2019 Robert Dahlen. All rights reserved.</em>Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-2896024267141589622018-09-23T10:39:00.000-07:002018-09-23T10:39:12.127-07:00Sunday Catchup: September 23, 2018Time for a quick Sunday catchup! First: If you somehow missed the news, I had two releases earlier this month. The new edition of <a href="https://amzn.to/2xHcAuZ">Skyblade's Gambit</a> is out, and is now available worldwide, on <a href="https://amzn.to/2xHcAuZ">Amazon</a> and elsewhere! (Search for the book title or my name at your favorite e-book retailer!) Take to the skies!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2aiBgYDfhJYDhXFjW-FO4uLONCJyUeamgfxx4Vr-nVzaMcZfA7-jP7qxdijwQJAAc4UKEJSqxMSrm4epYQyTV95bnO4H71mmRET-aelwSJnm-2mxi9Ocl1Ir1GaIUZrF01INYn9IuyM4/s1600/Skyblade-Cover2500x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2aiBgYDfhJYDhXFjW-FO4uLONCJyUeamgfxx4Vr-nVzaMcZfA7-jP7qxdijwQJAAc4UKEJSqxMSrm4epYQyTV95bnO4H71mmRET-aelwSJnm-2mxi9Ocl1Ir1GaIUZrF01INYn9IuyM4/s400/Skyblade-Cover2500x.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
And the fourth Peavley Manor novelette, <a href="https://amzn.to/2Dx0drk">"The Rebellious Rooster (Or, Macalley Gets Cocky)"</a>, is out! Alice's plan to assist a friend backfires in hilarious ways! Get it on <a href="https://amzn.to/2Dx0drk">Amazon</a> and other sites!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmF5MFuIwctzdY33yYVSn67Uf9NR1ESlIzYZE8hma4OOwDdOfq346Bk1xFu7Tu2ViKeQ753v8v91X_Ldg7l_CxuEJIKhKzsFp3p86NhYgu95IzR_Iel5UMedfDRDXtlfrQzKSp0ou1Sw8/s1600/Rooster+cover+1.0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1003" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmF5MFuIwctzdY33yYVSn67Uf9NR1ESlIzYZE8hma4OOwDdOfq346Bk1xFu7Tu2ViKeQ753v8v91X_Ldg7l_CxuEJIKhKzsFp3p86NhYgu95IzR_Iel5UMedfDRDXtlfrQzKSp0ou1Sw8/s400/Rooster+cover+1.0.png" width="250" /></a></div>
<br />
More after the cut...including a hint at what's next!<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
A quick reminder: If you've enjoyed <i>Skyblade's Gambit</i>, "The Rebellious Rooster", or anything else I've written, please leave a review, or tell your friends and acquaintances on social media! It does help, a lot. Thanks.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.gaslightexpo.org/">Gaslight Expo</a>, that fine steampunk convention, will be returning to San Diego October 5-7! I will be in attendance; you can find me at the tea dueling events, or just aimlessly wandering, if you want to say hi. And with any luck, I'll have paperback copies of <i>Skyblade's Gambit</i> with me...and a certain upcoming collection as well.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, after an extended absence, our friends at Darksbane Books are getting back into action! Annathesa Nicola Darksbane (along with her wife Shei) has just released a new edition of <a href="https://amzn.to/2I9j76w"><i>Dead Girl's Ashes</i></a>, the first book in the Dying Ashes series! There'll be new editions of the second and third books shortly, and then a brand new fourth book! If you like your urban fantasy dark, vampiric, and with plenty of queer rep, this is for you! Grab it on <a href="https://amzn.to/2I9j76w">Amazon</a>!<br />
<br />
Kate Danley, the mind behind the Maggie MacKay books, has just released her latest project - <i><a href="https://amzn.to/2DqaYfb">Olde Robin Hood</a></i>, her take on the legendary outlaw! Two years of research went into this fresh look at this legend! Available on <a href="https://amzn.to/2DqaYfb">Amazon</a> and elsewhere!<br />
<br />
And I've sung the praises of Melissa Pagluica's wonderful webcomic <i><a href="http://atcloudscomic.com/">Above The Clouds</a></i>. Melissa has launched a <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1218772682/above-the-clouds-the-complete-graphic-novel">Kickstarter</a> campaign to bring out a printed collection of the entire series! It closes on October 4, so jump in now!Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-45499497181340293952018-09-18T06:00:00.000-07:002018-09-18T06:00:08.755-07:00Skyblade's Gambit - new edition out today!<span id="docs-internal-guid-56e822c2-7fff-a359-22b2-d9946cb26958"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time to take to the skies...again! The new edition of <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i> is now available! Get it on <a href="https://amzn.to/2Ot7FVr">Amazon</a>! </span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">This version has been expanded and rewritten, and is the definitive edition. (Due to last-minute production issues, <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i> will only be available immediately on Amazon. It should be up on other platforms, including Kobo and iTunes, by the end of the month.) (Also, <i>Skyblade's Gambit</i> is not suitable for most younger readers.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Captain Annabel Skyblade commands the Peregrine, the most feared pirate airship to sail the skies of Aldarre, plundering the rich and powerful. The rulers of the great sky realms have had enough of her, and Victorie Brassfeld, Cerindel's top Navy intelligence agent, has a plan to capture the pirate, using a lure too strong to resist—a valuable, beautiful sapphire amulet.
But the amulet hides a great secret, and when it is stolen by sinister forces, Annabel and Victorie must join together to retrieve it. And as they face danger and adventure, they also have to face their feelings for each other, feelings they have never had before, when they discover...
Hearts can be stolen too.</i>
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<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You can read a sample of the new edition of <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i> on <a href="https://amzn.to/2Ot7FVr">Amazon</a>, including an expanded scene with Annabel in action. After the cut, you can read an excerpt from a new scene, featuring Victorie on the job. Enjoy!<a name='more'></a></span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A man in a black greatcoat brushed aside the straw that covered the crate’s contents. “Mead?” he said with a sneer as he picked up a bottle. “Hardly worth the effort to smuggle out of Svendar, Letticutt.”</span></span></div>
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“Master Wordyne…” The man who had ordered the crate to be opened absently rubbed his hands. “Perhaps you should dig a bit deeper, as they say.”</span></span></div>
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Wordyne grunted as he bent over the crate. He removed several bottles and tossed straw aside. There was a more satisfied grunt as he pulled out a pistolere. “There you are,” he said as he held it up, examining it closely. “Splendid worksmanship. How were you able to get these?”</span></span></div>
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Letticutt coughed softly. “One does not question these things, Master Wordyne. After all, I don’t question what use your men will be putting these to.”</span></span></div>
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“And if you’re wise, smuggler, you’ll keep it that way. The shot is there?”</span></span></div>
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“A generous supply.”</span></span></div>
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“This’ll do. The agreed payment, then?”</span></span></div>
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“It depends. Are you expecting to take possession of the mead as well?”</span></span></div>
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Wordyne grinned. “Keep it. I may prefer Svendaran weaponry, but not their liquor.”</span></span></div>
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“A pity.” Letticutt smiled sadly. “I was hoping to offer it as a toast—”</span></span></div>
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“I’m afraid not. We’ll need that as evidence.”</span></span></div>
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The men all turned to see a woman striding down the street towards them. She was wearing a red tailcoat over a white blouse and black trousers; the coat had gold trim, and there were two stripes on each shoulder. She wore two overlapping belts; one had a scabbard that held her rapier, the other had a holster for her pistolere, though that weapon was in her hand. She was slender, with braided blond hair that went past her shoulder blades. Her eyes were gray and seemed to have the faintest twinkle, as if deep down, she found things endlessly amusing. “Navy,” Bert muttered half to himself, raising his prybar.</span></span></div>
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“You may want to think twice about that.” The woman pointed her pistolere at Bert. “Major Victorie Brassfeld. You are all under arrest for smuggling and purchasing smuggled goods.”</span></span></div>
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Wordyne glared at Letticutt. “What happened to your lookout?” he snapped.</span></span></div>
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“He had a slight accident.” Victorie smiled. The smuggler glanced past her and saw the lookout sprawled on the corner.</span></span></div>
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“Maybe it’s your turn for one.” Letticutt smiled. “You are rather outnumbered. Bert?”</span></span></div>
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The smuggler took a half step and waved his prybar. “I’ll teach you to mess with my pal—”</span></span></div>
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Victorie aimed her pistolere and fired. The shot tore into Bert’s forearm. He screamed in pain and dropped the prybar; it hit the cobblestone with a loud clatter.</span></span></div>
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Letticutt reached for the broadsword hanging from his belt. “We’ll have to pay to get Bert patched up now,” he growled. “Shall we take it out of her hide, Wordyne?”</span></span></div>
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Victorie could hear the footsteps. “A better question to ask…” She paused, enjoying the shock that was slowly spreading across the smuggler’s faces. “...might be, why did we assume that she came without any backup?”</span></span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>© 2018 Robert Dahlen. All rights reserved, except for those protected by “fair use” laws where you live. </i></span></div>
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Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-50078745969015005342018-09-04T06:30:00.000-07:002018-09-04T06:30:00.606-07:00The Rebellious Rooster: Out Today!It's here! The new Peavley Manor novelette, "The Rebellious Rooster (Or, Macalley Gets Cocky)" is now available at <a href="https://amzn.to/2PXEn2u">Amazon</a> and other ebook retailers! (Search "Rebellious Rooster" or my name to find it!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSckMNf36aBCTA_mFH_pW5gYAH-bkcljkOxyYvhQFq2TkCk-yFJ4y5hi3UTSgYW9kfzkQ4bh45AoxQM3Ots74lDfhY610sdcxVQDwEEPBP6bZLZgc0mpBCT1-xpnhk_9QbpqYPbA1iRQk/s1600/Rooster+cover+1.0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1003" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSckMNf36aBCTA_mFH_pW5gYAH-bkcljkOxyYvhQFq2TkCk-yFJ4y5hi3UTSgYW9kfzkQ4bh45AoxQM3Ots74lDfhY610sdcxVQDwEEPBP6bZLZgc0mpBCT1-xpnhk_9QbpqYPbA1iRQk/s400/Rooster+cover+1.0.png" width="250" /></a></div>
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<i>When heiress Alice Peavley runs into her old friend Maia, the last thing she expects is the string of chaotic events that follows. There’s the loud and cranky chicken to contend with. And Reg, the playful but well-meaning pooka. Not to mention the impending moa race, and the characters it’s attracting. Can Alice, with the help of her trusty gnome valet Macalley, keep her wits and come out on top? Grab a scone, some snarkleberry jam, and a cup of tea, and find out!</i><br />
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And there's an extended preview after the cut! Enjoy!<br />
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As Klondike said to Canfield in one of their detective novels, “Nothing good ever comes out of meeting old classmates.” I do not necessarily agree with this, particularly since this observation came after one of those old classmates had just poisoned the other, but there was still enough truth in the phrase for it to stick in the back of my mind. It resurfaced soon after I ran into Maia Fizkin.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She and I had attended university at Thorn Harbour some years back. We had wound up in the same class through a scheduling quirk, though she was a senior and I a freshman. Our friendship swiftly took hold, but when Maia graduated, she moved away and we lost touch with one another.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some reunions with old friends take place at momentous events or pivotal times, but mine and Maia’s took place in a more mundane fashion. Macalley, my valet, and I had gone on our usual Sunday trip to Vyannva’s Preserves to stock up on spreads, for nothing went better with Macalley’s freshly-baked croissants and scones. I had exchanged my usual pleasantries with my friend Vyne Ashgrove, who owned the shop and made the jam sold there, and was trying to choose between apricot and blackberry for the coming week when I saw a woman walking in. She looked familiar, tall with wavy black hair and a red and black floor-length dress, and any question of who she was vanished when she saw me, smiled, and said my name in that soft, familiar voice.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We embraced warmly and then moved our conversation outside, so as not to get in the way of Vyne’s other customers. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again, Alice!” Maia said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And you,” I said happily. “I was concerned when that last letter I sent was returned with the ‘Not At This Address’ stamp.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This was soon after I graduated? I went through a bit of a tumultuous time there.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“With that one gentleman who was trying to woo you?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maia snorted loudly. “If Moncreith was a ‘gentleman’, they need to find a new word for the real ones. But all those stories I’ve been reading about you in the papers!”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Those?” I waved my hand dismissively. “You should hear the ones they don’t print!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maia laughed. “I was so tempted to write you! But I knew how busy you are.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You should have anyway.” I let the tiniest bit of reproach slide into my voice. “But you’re not in Darbyfield, are you?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No, I had a friend give me a lift from Larchburg. I just adore the strawberry jam they sell here.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It deserves all the adoration. But how did you end up in Larchburg?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well…” Maia paused. “Promise you won’t laugh?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I promise.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m working at a moa farm just outside of town.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I blinked. “Moas?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Owned by Sal Withers. I started there last year.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Giant flightless birds?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maia smiled. “They’re really sweet once you get to know them. I mostly work in the office, but I help with the chores as well. It’s quite amusing to hear them squawk at feeding time.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Madame Alice?” We turned as Macalley walked up to us. “Have you selected your preserves, or has indecision struck yet again?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This must be Macalley!” Maia said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He is quite identifiable, yes,” I replied. “Macalley, this is Maia Fizkin; she’s a friend from university.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A pleasure,” Macalley said. “Are we flipping a coin this time, Madame?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, just get both, Macalley. Apricot and blackberry.” He nodded and stepped back into the shop.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A valet.” Maia sighed wistfully. “It must be wonderful.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“He came with the manor. But a moa farm must have its charms as well.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It does! You should come for tea!”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was about to accept her invitation, but I paused before I spoke. I was no fan of birds; it seemed as if every interaction I’d ever had with them ended badly for me. But I knew it would be rude to refuse, and I could see the eagerness in Maia’s eyes. “How about Tuesday?” I said carefully.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Perfect!” Maia smiled. “Just one thing…”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do wear your boots. And not your best pair, either.”</span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-a36b235b-7fff-e506-71e4-c58d964e63b6" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I made it a point to read up on moas before I started the drive to Withers’ Farm. They came from Phorcush in the far south. They were rarely seen in Darbyfield, as the residents had grown accustomed to horses, but they were common in other cities around the Crescent Sea and beyond. They were often used as draft and pack animals, though with proper equipment and training they could be ridden by humans, dwarfs and others.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even armed with the knowledge I had gained, though, I was still in for a shock when I reached the farm. No amount of reading could have prepared me for the sight of fully-grown moa. They were easily twelve feet tall, towering well over my head, covered in drab brown and green feathers. It was rather disconcerting to have four or five of them near me as I stepped through the front gate, their beady eyes all fixed upon the stranger.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thankfully, Maia was there. She murmured to the moas, putting them at ease. She had dispensed with the lovely outfit she had worn to Vyne’s on Sunday, replacing it with a white jacket and trousers, worn but sturdy boots and a helmet. She was carrying another, which she handed to me. “Just in case,” she said. “Sometimes, the younger ones can get frisky.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A wise idea,” I said. As I removed my hat and strapped the helmet on, I was thankful that there didn’t appear to be any beak-shaped dents on my temporary headgear.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maia took my arm and led me on her tour. The other employees of the farm were pleasant, ready with quick answers to my questions. I noticed as we walked along that one moa, who was a bit shorter and stockier than the others, was following us. “We seem to have company,” I said softly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, that’s just Beatrice,” Maia said. “She seems to be fond of me, but she’s too shy to come close, unless I have a treat.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course—Ye Gods!” I shouted as a moa thrust its head into my face.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maia chuckled. “Oh, that’s just Constantine,” she said. “He’s always curious. Connie!” The moa turned his head towards Maia’s, and she reached into a trouser pocket. “He’ll calm down once he’s had a treat.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She took out a handful of apple slices. Constantine bent down, and Maia fed him one. Beatrice ran up to Maia, followed by other moa, and they all took the proffered treats. I smiled to cover my nervousness at being surrounded by so many giant birds.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“See, Alice?” Maia said as the last apple slice vanished. “They’re not so bad, are they?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I glanced down and saw that some of the natural results of feeding birds had landed on my boots. “That is open for discussion,” I said quietly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s why I told you not to wear your best boots.” Maia smiled. “There’s a pump by the office. We can wash that off before we go inside for tea.”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maia and I split a pot of Oceano’s Sassy And Spicy, and there were scones with Vyne’s strawberry jam. We chatted as we took our tea, filling each other in as best as we could on our former classmates at university. “I thought Seville was bound for trouble,” I said as I refilled my cup.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You would think that anyone who took a job in Tirnog would brush up on their manners.” Maia shook her head sadly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Seville never knew the first thing about manners anyway.” I sipped my tea and gathered my thoughts. “So, Maia…”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I suppose this is where you ask me about considering taking out a stake in this farm.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh,” Maia said quietly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I did some asking around, and I understand that demand for moa seems to be slowing.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Alice…” Maia stared down at her tea. “I’d decided not to ask you.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could see her cheeks reddening. “Why is that?” I asked gently.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re a friend, Alice,” Maia said without looking up. “I didn’t want to impose upon you, to make you think that all I cared about was your fortune. That would be a horrible thing for a friend to do.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, Maia.” I smiled slightly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Master Withers was expecting me to ask. He shall be most cross with me now.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I laid a hand on Maia’s arm. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pardon?” Maia looked up, and I could see a hint of hope in her eyes.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Had you pushed this upon me, I would have said no. But you made it clear that my friendship was more important, and I could never turn down a friend who needs my help.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Alice!” Maia smiled brightly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I took a card from my handbag and gave it to Maia. “Have Master Withers contact my accountant, Ernesto Caudillo, and give him all the information he’ll request. Once I have that, I’ll review it with Ernesto and make my decision.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Thank you!”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re quite welcome. Now, shall we return to important matters?” I smiled. “I have some rather interesting stories to tell about Priscilla Wentworth.”</span></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It came as little surprise that Withers had the information in Ernesto’s hands the next day. I suspect that the call had been made while I was telling Maia about Priscilla’s misadventures. Ernesto, with his usual thoroughness, was able to offer me his opinion the following day. I decided to seek out a second opinion, which just happened to coincide with my Thursday tea with Vyne.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had met her shortly after I inherited Peavley Manor, and we had become friends very quickly. Vyne was an elf, curly-haired and perpetually smiling, with a green denim apron and a nearly boundless energy. Even when we were sitting down for tea in the back room of her shop, she always seemed to be about to jump from her seat. “Ernesto thinks it could be a good investment?” Vyne said as she poured the tea, a fresh pot of Travers’ Afternoon Aurora.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Indeed.” I spread grape jam on my scone. “The biggest concern is whether there’ll still be demand for moa in the future.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You would expect there to be,” Vyne said as she passed a cup to me.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“But he is concerned about mechanization,” I said as I added generous amounts of milk and sugar to my tea. “The improvements that inventors keep coming up with to—”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mum?” We both glanced at the doorway. Vyne’s son Leif was there, holding a broken spatula. “The snarkleberries are being a wee bit stubborn. Hello, Alice.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hello, Leif,” I said as I lifted my tea cup.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Leif!” Vyne smiled. “Are you going to let some berries tell you what to do?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well—”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course not. They can’t even talk. Now get back in that shed.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, Mum,” Leif said with a sigh.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And stop wasting time flirting with Ackley!”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s never time wasted where he’s concerned, Mum.” Leif winked as he spun about and left.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Snarkleberries?” I asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We just got in a shipment from Tirnog,” Vyne said. “I’m trying to get the preserves properly done before the berries have a chance to spoil.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It sounds like a challenge.” I sipped my tea.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Leif can handle it. No matter how much he might complain.” Vyne grinned. “You were saying?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded. “I can afford to risk some of my savings on an investment or two. The question is, why should I? At this point, I hardly need the money.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“But have you considered what you could do with your profit from the investment?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought this over for a moment. “Buy more books?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Vyne sighed very faintly. “Alice, you know there's more to the world than just books.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You must be joking.” I grinned.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ms. Ashgrove?” Vyne looked towards the doorway at Ackley Thornmantle, Leif’s boyfriend, whose curly hair and fine clothing had acquired, in spots, a layer of greenish muck. “Leif asked me to tell you that the snarkleberries are revolting. Good afternoon, Ms. Peavley.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good afternoon,” I said with a smile.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Tell Leif not to add so much limburger cheese, then.” Vyne waggled a finger. “The snarkleberries disagree with it.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“But Ms. Ashgrove—” Ackley tried to say.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ackley, dear. I am having tea with Alice. Let Leif know that when I am done, I shall look in you two. And I expect that I will find you both working and not kissing.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The elf blushed and nodded as he ducked out of the room. “A bit stern there?” I murmured.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, I don’t mind them kissing. Ackley’s a splendid sort. It’s just that they need to pay attention. This may be a questionable batch of snarkleberries.” Vyne sipped her tea.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How can you tell?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The slime on Ackley’s clothes should have been more bluish. But where was I?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Telling me how I should spend my money.” I took a bite from my scone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Exactly! You like using it to help people, don’t you?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I do.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And Maia is your friend, isn’t she?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course!”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There’s your answer, then.” Vyne sat back and smiled.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ms. Peavely?” I turned to see Juniper, Vyne’s shop assistant, in the doorway. “Mr. Macalley called and asked me to tell you that Harrisburg and Ogden were having another one of their discussions.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Blast.” I finished my tea. “I suppose I’d best be—”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There was a rather loud bang that shook the room. Vyne jumped from her chair. “I’d better go as well,” she said as she hurried towards the doorway. “That was definitely a questionable snarkleberry shipment.”</span></span></div>
<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-4630142987393251152018-07-15T11:19:00.000-07:002018-07-15T11:19:12.017-07:00Sunday Catchup: July 15, 2018It's been a while since I've done one of these posts. Let's do this...after the cut!<br />
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First off: The early removal of <em>Skyblade's Gambit</em> and <em>Skyblade's Claim</em> by Amazon was by mistake; both books were put back on sale the next day. I expect that they'll be taken down - along with all of the other Kindle Worlds titles - by the end of this week. I wanted to thank the Kindle Worlds staff, Alex Westmore, Melissa Storm, and especially Shei Darksbane for bringing me on board and encouraging the creation of Annabel, Victorie and their stories.<br />
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Work is underway on the new edition of <em>Skyblade's Gambit</em>, and it should be ready later this year. Here's a peek at some of the material in this new version (text not final):<br />
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<em>“Tom!” Annabel’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the deck around her. She saw the rapier thrusting towards her; she barely had time to twist around and knock it to one side with her sword.</em><br />
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<em>“Skyblade.” The man in the black clothing and the outlandish tricorn hat holstered his pistolere and pulled his sword arm close to his chest. “Fancy meeting you here."</em><br />
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<em>“Montalvo,” Annabel hissed. “I thought you were taking a vacation in the dungeons of Kirtorf.”</em><br />
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<em>“You’d be amazed at what a well-timed bribe can accomplish.” Montalvo smiled. “Alas, said bribe left my coffers in rather sad shape. The bounty for bringing you in should help replenish them.”</em><br />
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I also wanted to mention that all of my titles that aren't in the Skyblade Saga - the Monkey Queen novels, the Peavely Manor novelettes, and <em>Copper Cove</em> - are available for libraries to purchase through <a href="https://www.overdrive.com/">Overdrive</a> and <a href="http://www.bibliotheca.com/3/index.php/en-us/">Bibliotecha</a>! Feel free to request them through your local library! (The new editions of the Skyblade books will also be available for libraries when they're published.)<br />
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I've mentioned Madame Askew, the Grand Arbiter, and their Temporal Entourage before. but I wanted to let you know that they've started a <a href="https://www.patreon.com/MadameAskew/overview">Patreon</a>! Back them to help support their adventures and buy them a scone or two! Patrons get early access to their fashion shoots, limited edition buttons, and much more!<br />
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Madame Askew and the Grand Arbiter are also now doing two <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MadameAskew/">Facebook livestreams</a> a week, on Friday night and Saturday morning, though for the next two weeks they'll be doing livestreams from the San Diego Comic Com (Madame Askew next weekend) and GenCon (the Grand Arbiter the weekend after next). Do join in the fun, won't you?<br />
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Congratulations to <a href="https://www.twitch.tv/meriamber">Meri Amber</a> for being named a Twitch Partner! Meri is still doing four shows a week most weeks on Twitch, and she keeps the videos up for a few weeks so you can watch even if you can't catch her live. She's lots of fun, and the chat is lively and welcoming. Just remember to bring your cheesecake...or crepes...or waffles.<br />
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And just for fun: Rejected Peanuts Specials!<br />
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"Why Do We Even Have That Lever, Charlie Brown?"<br />
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"Hey! Ho! Let's Go, Charlie Brown!"<br />
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"We've Got Movie Sign, Charlie Brown!"<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-81218376684066228812018-07-08T11:33:00.002-07:002018-07-08T11:33:31.792-07:00Skyblade updateIt's been a while, but I wanted to bring everyone up to speed with what's happening with the Skyblade Saga. It's been confirmed that as of July 20, I will gain all rights to the stories and characters. The only condition, which I mentioned earlier, is that I need to remove all references to Alex Westmore's stories, which will be done. My thanks to Sara-Jayne Slack with Inspired Quill Publishing for her help with this!<br />
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If you want to obtain the original versions, you still have about a week to get <a href="https://amzn.to/2u9Eu0S"><em>Skyblade's Gambit</em></a> and <a href="https://amzn.to/2uetf7y"><em>Skyblade's Claim</em></a> at Amazon's US store. I have started work on the new edition of <em>Skyblade's Gambit</em>, which will be coming out later this year. This version will be available worldwide, on Amazon and other platforms.<br />
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Did you want a peek at what's being added to this new edition? Here's an excerpt from one of the expanded scenes! (Note that this may not be the final text.)<br />
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<em>“Skyblade.” The man in the black clothing and the outlandish tricorn hat holstered his pistolere and pulled his sword arm close to his chest. “Fancy meeting you here.”</em><br />
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<em>“Montalvo,” Annabel hissed. “I thought you were taking a vacation in the dungeons of Kirtorf.”</em><br />
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<em>“You’d be amazed at what a well-timed bribe can accomplish.” Montalvo smiled. “Alas, said bribe left my coffers in rather sad shape. The bounty for bringing you in should help replenish them.”</em><br />
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Stay tuned! Soon, Skyblade and her friends and foes will take to the skies...again!Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-58769013032330796472018-05-20T10:35:00.000-07:002018-05-20T10:35:03.143-07:00Kindle Worlds and The Skyblade Saga [ANNOUNCEMENT]Popping out of my mostly-unintentional blogging hiatus with some news...about Captain Annabel Skyblade, Victorie Brassfeld, and the future of the Skyblade Saga. More after the cut.<br />
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On May 15, Amazon announced that it was ending its Kindle Worlds program and removing all the titles in it from sale on or about July 16. For those of you who weren’t familiar with it, Kindle Worlds was where Amazon worked with the owners of popular properties to sell stories based in those fictional worlds, including Valiant Comics, <i>The Vampire Diaries</i> and a number of romance settings.<br />
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In October 2016, I was recruited to join the first wave of authors for the <a href="http://alexwestmore.net/pirates/">Plundered Chronicles</a>, a new Kindle Worlds based on Alex Westmore’s stories of Quinn Gallagher and her pirate adventures. I quickly wrote a novella, <i><a href="https://monkeyqueenbooks.blogspot.com/2016/11/skyblades-gambit-sneak-preview.html">Skyblade’s Gambit</a></i>, which was not set in the original setting (as we were encouraged to do). It was a steampunk-flavored fantasy tale with floating kingdoms, airship pirates, adventure, romance and LGBT representation. A second novella, <i><a href="https://monkeyqueenbooks.blogspot.com/2017/06/skyblades-claim-out-today.html">Skyblade’s Claim</a></i>, followed in June 2017. The Plundered Chronicles was the first LGBT+ setting for Kindle Worlds, and I was (and still am) honored to be part of that launch.<br />
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I have had ideas for further stories in the Skyblade Saga, but I opted not to pursue them because I had to give up a great deal of the rights to get the first two published. I was fine with that, in part because I received a participation bonus from Amazon for joining in the launch. But the Skyblade titles weren’t selling any better than my other books, and I decided that I’d rather put my time and energy towards stories that had a chance of selling better, and that I owned fully.<br />
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The closing of Kindle Worlds changes all that. Amazon is returning all the rights they held to those books to the authors. They can try to get the books republished, but that would need the approval of the rights holders of the property the story was based on. In most cases, the book will be gone for good. (I’m sure that some authors will try to file off the serial numbers, but I doubt that “G.I. Jake” or “Lying Little Pretties” will get past the rights holders.)<br />
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Thankfully, this is a different case for the Skyblade Saga. I have been told that there will not be any problem with me or the other Plundered Chronicles authors getting the rights back to their books from those rights holders. I will need to remove all references to Alex Westmore’s stories, but all that means for my books is that several character names and one business name will need to be changed.<br />
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I’ve taken the time to reread <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i> and <i>Skyblade’s Claim</i>. I still like most of what’s there, but both books were written in a hurry, and it shows in parts. I can do better. With all that in mind, here’s the plan:<br />
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The original editions of <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i> and <i>Skyblade’s Claim</i> will be taken down by Amazon on or around July 16. They will no longer be available from that point on.<br />
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I’ve decided to revise those two books. For <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i>, I’ll be expanding the backstory and world-building, and probably adding some new scenes. <i>Skyblade’s Claim</i> ended much sooner than I had originally plotted due to time constraints; I’ll be writing a continuation that picks up very soon after the original book ended, and carries the story through to its planned conclusion.<br />
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The new edition of <i>Skyblade’s Gambit</i> should hopefully be ready late this summer. <i>Skyblade’s Claim</i> will take longer, so expect that sometime in 2019. And, fingers crossed, there’ll be a brand new Skyblade book in 2020, and more after that until I reach the end of the series.<br />
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For contractual reasons, Kindle Worlds ebooks were only available on Amazon’s US store. Once KW closes and I get the work done, the revised versions of the first two Skyblade books will be available through Amazon stores worldwide and the sites where my other books are sold (Kobo, iTunes and the like), as will the new books. And there will also be paperback editions.<br />
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I know that you’ve been waiting for new work from me for a while. <i>Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley)</i> is taking longer to write than I expected, and real life has been putting roadblocks in my path. I’m hoping that <i>Peavley Manor</i> will be ready this summer as well. (If you want to help me out along the way, I’ve set up a <a href="http://ko-fi.com/peavley">Ko-Fi page</a> for donations.)<br />
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Thank you for your patience and support, and stay tuned. Soon, there’ll be announcements and previews...and once again, we’ll take to the skies!<br />
<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-81306808953277692202018-02-18T11:21:00.000-08:002018-02-18T11:21:37.693-08:00Sunday Catchup: February 18, 2018Starting this Sunday with a reminder: If you've enjoyed any of the stories I've written, please consider taking a moment to leave a review. They do help convince other readers to buy and read my stories! Amazon, Goodreads, your blog, Facebook, Twitter - any place where people can see them. Spread the word! Thanks! More after the cut.<br />
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<i>Black Panther</i>...I have not seen it as of this writing, but I'm hoping to make it out next weekend. I am excited about this; it sounds like everyone involved has made an excellent movie!<br />
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I am, however, not sold on the Thirteenth Doctor wearing a fanny pack. Unless it's a metacomment on her jacket not having any pockets.<br />
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Meanwhile, <a href="http://bit.ly/sarahshayKS">Sarah Shay's Kickstarter</a> wraps up today; she's just a few dollars away from hitting her stretch goal. She'll be doing a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8F-BkbCNhD0">livestream on YouTube</a> to celebrate the ending of her campaign at 4:00 PM Pacific / 7:00 PM Eastern today. This video requires a bit of explanation: A few months back, someone mashed up the <i>Space Jam</i> theme with "This Yeat" by the Mountain Goats. As a thank you to the backer who got her over the funding goal, Sarah did a cover version of that mashup on ukulele. And it's very very good.<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/oQcAE1Pxlis/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oQcAE1Pxlis?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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Finally, just in case you're not following Willow: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/willousan/posts/1214368795362679">She's back. Holy cats, is she back.</a><br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-87080753906503327362018-02-11T11:21:00.000-08:002018-02-11T11:21:45.231-08:00Sunday Catchup: February 11, 2018Sunday is here, and I hope you'll forgive me for starting off with a blatant plug. I have set up <a href="https://ko-fi.com/peavley">a page on Ko-Fi</a>, where you can buy creative people a coffee (or, in my case, a cup of tea...or two donuts) by making a small donation. If you want to support what I do between books, this is one way to do so. More after the cut!<br />
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There's a Kickstarter under way right now that I recommend to all fans of nerd music. Sarah Shay is working on her first studio album, <i><a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1827874682/you-have-queer-street-cred-a-new-nerd-folk-album">You Have Queer Street Cred</a></i>, and needs help to pay for the production and distribution. She's almost reached her funding goal, but could use some help to reach her first stretch goal, which would add a lyric booklet and let her pay the musicians she's hired a bit more. <a href="http://www.sarahshay.com/">Check out her music</a>, and consider <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1827874682/you-have-queer-street-cred-a-new-nerd-folk-album">backing her</a>!<br />
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Steampunk gathering alert! One of the very best steampunk conventions, <a href="https://www.wildwestcon.com/">Wild Wild West Con</a>, is coming up in just a few weeks! It'll be held March 1-4 at the Old Tucson complex in Tucson, AZ. There'll be robots, dinosaurs, tea, a concert by Abney Park, and shenanigans, and Madame Askew and the Temporal Entourage will be out in full force! Freshen up your compliments and keep an eye on your lemons!<br />
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And finally: <a href="https://misbehavinmaidens.com/">The Misbehavin' Maidens</a>, that delightful and risque nerd music quartet, recently commissioned a run of six-sided dice with the band's logo on the "6" side. They were intended for sale at conventions and concerts, but they held a one-time mail order sale last weekend, and I scooped some up. I do want to use these to roll up a D&D character at some point, but it may have to be a multi-class rogue/bard.<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-82572110953085318532018-01-28T12:04:00.001-08:002018-01-28T12:04:37.023-08:00Sunday Catchup: January 28, 2018<i>"'Well, I'm back,' he said."</i><br />
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It's been a while, hasn't it? The holidays took a lot out of me, like they have been in recent years, and just when I was over that, the flu hit. If you've had it, my sympathies. If not, be careful; everything that's been said about it being a monster is true. It took me nearly two weeks to get over it.<br />
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That's when updating this blog ran headlong into my New Year's goal. Although it may not seem like it when you look at my output in 2017, I felt I slipped a bit in terms of how much writing I was actually getting done. I want to change that, so I set a goal of writing every day, even if it's just a few paragraphs. I've met that goal every day this year, but to do that, I had to allocate my time and energy, and this blog dropped by the wayside for a bit.<br />
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It's back, but there will be a few changes. I don't plan on updating on a schedule, but when there's something I want to share. That means that I won't commit to updating every Sunday (though I'll try to have something every week), and I'm dropping the format of the post titles (with thanks to David Bowie for the 2017 inspiration). This way, I'll post when I want to post, which I think will be better for the blog.<br />
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I appreciate your patience, and your support. Thank you.<br />
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And for reading this far, you get an announcement:<br />
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<i>I showed up for work on that fateful Tuesday wearing my second-favorite outfit, a yellow ankle-length sundress with navy blue trim. Had I known it would be my last day of employment at the Thorn Harbour Book Shop, I might have chosen something different.</i><br />
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Coming later in 2018: <i>Peavley Manor (Or, Introducing Macalley)</i>, the first Alice Peavley novel. Cheers!<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-18437601970276544392017-12-24T09:42:00.001-08:002017-12-24T09:42:54.044-08:00I pray my wish will come true, for my child and your child tooSunday catchup! Sorry I missed last week's. That's what happens when you catch a cold ten days before Christmas and have to do your darndest to fight it off in time. I don't recommend my solution - eating a package of raisin pastry and sleeping as much as I can - to everyone, but it worked for me.<br />
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Don't forget that if you want to show your support for what I do, my <a href="http://amzn.to/2l4UVqI">Amazon wish list</a> is up and running, and <a href="http://amzn.to/2l70sgr">ebooks</a> make great last-second gifts! More after the cut.<br />
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I have thoughts on <i>Star Wars: The Last Jedi</i>, and many of them are good ones. The movie is bleak in parts, but it had to be to tell the story it had to tell, and I liked how it implied that there would be light at the end of the tunnel. I didn't have the issues with Luke that some others seem to; his character development worked for me. I liked Rose. I liked porgs. And am I the only one who noticed that BB-8 was easily the smartest and sharpest character in the movie?<br />
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We're only one sleep away as I write this from "Twice Upon A Time". I hope it doesn't descend too much into a nostalgia fest, even though that's been part of <i>Doctor Who</i>'s appeal for me. I'm looking forward to seeing Bill again, and watching Twelve's goodbyes...and the first glimpse at Thirteen. I'll try to have my reaction next week, along with a quick look at my 2017 musical favorites.<br />
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But what's that? You say that you need more doom in your Christmas? (Is that even possible this year?) Meri Amber has you covered.<br />
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If you'd prefer something less doomy in your carols...well, the PDX Broadsides know it's been a rough year. You and I may need to be someone else's light this holiday season, and we may need someone to be ours.<br />
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And in keeping with the theme of the blog titles this year, I'll close with this. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-64495223685036037712017-12-13T10:40:00.002-08:002017-12-13T10:40:58.553-08:00Willow Wednesdays: an updateWelcome to Willow Wednesdays! Featuring art by Willow, the cover
artist for the Monkey Queen series, with her kind permission! Read on
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You may have noticed that this feature has dropped off the map again. There's a reason for that, and it's not good. The tendinitis that disrupted Willow's drawing plans last year has flared up again, forcing her to curtail her Inktober. I'm really not sure when she'll be picking up her pen again.<br />
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The art she was able to complete for Inktober is still up on her <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/willousan/photos/?tab=album&album_id=1138522966280596">Facebook</a> page, so go take a look; here's a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/willousan/photos/a.1138522966280596.1073741828.155266807939555/1139045196228373/?type=3&theater">sample</a>. And be sure to send her good wishes! Let's hope she'll be back to drawing in 2018!<br />
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<i>Art © 2017 by Willow. All rights reserved; used by permission. You can view Willow's extensive galleries on <a data-mce-href="http://willow-san.deviantart.com/" href="http://willow-san.deviantart.com/" target="_blank">DeviantArt</a> and <a data-mce-href="http://willowsan.tumblr.com/" href="http://willowsan.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Tumblr</a>, see her updates and works in progress by liking her <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/willousan" href="https://www.facebook.com/willousan" target="_blank">Facebook</a> page, follow her on <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/Willow_San" href="https://twitter.com/Willow_San" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, and buy prints and much more at her <a data-mce-href="https://society6.com/willowsan" href="https://society6.com/willowsan" target="_blank">Society6</a> webstore, including exclusive Monkey Queen items!</i>Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-89400208507664035482017-12-10T14:27:00.000-08:002017-12-10T14:27:46.663-08:00I'm afraid of the blog, I'm afraid I can't help itSunday catchup, and here's a reminder if you missed it: "The Missing Mallard (Or, 'Duck, Macalley! Duck!')", the new Peavley Manor novelette, was released this past Tuesday! Click <a href="https://monkeyqueenbooks.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-missing-mallard-or-duck-macalley.html%20Done">here</a> to get buying links and read a preview, or head to <a href="http://amzn.to/2BQ4Bfm">Amazon</a>!.<br />
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Another reminder: If you enjoyed "The Missing Mallard", or anything else I've written, let people know! Reviews on Amazon and Goodreads help other readers make up their minds about buying a book, and social media shares can catch someone's attention. Spread the word around. Thanks! (And don't forget that e-books make great Christmas gifts!)<br />
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Keeping it short this week; I'm in wind-down mode after publishing one novella and four novelettes this year. (I broke 90,000 words for 2017, which was amazing.) But I did do a complete bit of dark silliness this past week, and here's a link to the Twitter moment where it emerged. Enjoy <a href="https://twitter.com/i/moments/938262010260623361">"The Night Before the War on Christmas"</a>!<br />
<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-60649401901080865812017-12-05T06:00:00.000-08:002017-12-05T06:00:05.810-08:00The Missing Mallard (Or, “Duck, Macalley! Duck!”) - out now!The time is here to unravel the mystery, as the feathers fly and the villains gather! "The Missing Mallard (Or, 'Duck, Macalley! Duck!')", the new Peavley Manor novelette, is now available at <a href="http://amzn.to/2AnWJVh">Amazon</a> and other e-book stores! Check for links below the cut, or search your favorite store for "Missing Mallard"!<br />
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<i>One would think that an auction of duck paraphernalia would not create that much excitement. Unfortunately for Alice Peavley and her valet Macalley, one of the items in the auction, a golden duck figurine, is attracting far too much attention...especially from a number of villains and scoundrels. Food fights, pixie sorceresses, mad scientists, adorable yet destructive automatons - can Alice and Macalley prevail, or has doom come to Darbyfield?</i></div>
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Read on after the cut for buying links and a sneak preview of "The Missing Mallard"!<br />
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Buy "The Missing Mallard (Or, 'Duck, Macalley! Duck!')" at these stores!<br />
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United States:<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/2AnWJVh"><br /></a>
<a href="http://amzn.to/2AnWJVh">Amazon</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-missing-mallard-or-duck-macalley-duck">Kobo</a><br />
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<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1320721864">iTunes</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-missing-mallard-robert-dahlen/1127581094">Barnes & Noble (for Nook)</a></div>
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Canada:<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B077X5TZD9">Amazon</a><br />
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Indigo/Chapters - coming soon<br />
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United Kingdom:<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077X5TZD9">Amazon</a><br />
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France:<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B077X5TZD9">Amazon</a><br />
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Fnac - coming soon<br />
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Australia:<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B077X5TZD9">Amazon</a><br />
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New Zealand:<br />
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<a href="https://www.paperplus.co.nz/book/the-missing-mallard-or-duck-macalley-duck-1230002033921">Paper Plus</a><br />
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"The Missing Mallard" is also available through Amazon, iTunes and Kobo worldwide!</div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-2e748219-1e1d-3b2a-9b8f-4d301008397e"></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-2e748219-1e1d-3b2a-9b8f-4d301008397e"><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No one is quite sure why the late Trenton Fotheringay had such a great affection for ducks. It does seem to the casual observer that his behavior was what could be expected from a man who would name his daughters Hesperia and Antigone. However, his obsession did not manifest until after they were born, which leads me to believe that it was a natural reaction to having to deal with two daughters who spent their days coming up with creative ways to hate one another.</span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-2e748219-1e1d-3b2a-9b8f-4d301008397e"><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His obsession took the form of a collection. Trenton Fotheringay amassed an astonishing amount of duck figurines, art featuring ducks, books about ducks, housewares adorned with ducks in some manner, and even furniture shaped like ducks. It should come as no surprise to learn that he was a vegetarian. He kept his ever-expanding collection in his study, where he would often retreat following yet another daughterly quarrel.</span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-2e748219-1e1d-3b2a-9b8f-4d301008397e"><span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The elder Fotheringay left this mortal coil some years back, most likely with a sigh of relief. He exacted his revenge on his only heirs, the daughters, by leaving all his possessions - including his mansion, his investments, and his collection of duck paraphernalia - to the both of them, to be owned and administered jointly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As time went on, the daughters tried on numerous occasions to reach a rapprochement. All those attempts failed, almost always loudly and either caused by or resulting in much consumption of alcoholic beverages. Finally, Hesperia and Antigone agreed to hire a manager to handle their financial affairs. Her first task was to dispose of Trenton’s duck collection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is what brought my valet Macalley to the Darbyfield library on viewing day. A distant cousin of his, Maccollin, had been hired to organize the sale. The manager had persuaded the Fotheringay sisters to take a vacation to the Tirnogs during this time, and had accompanied them to minimize their squabbling and prevent potential diplomatic incidents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maccollin had asked Macalley for his assistance in preparing for the sale. Macalley had confided in me that “assistance” meant, in this case, that he would have to do a significant portion of the work. Even so, family was family, and more importantly, Macalley had set the condition that in return for his help, a portion of the proceeds were to go the Darbyfield Public Library Fund.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It had not been the quietest of weeks for me. I had been busy with charity functions, a stubborn shower valve, and supervising the gardeners who had replanted the flowerbeds on the front lawn. I longed for nothing more than a few days of peace, a chance to catch up on my reading. Not having my reliable and versatile valet on hand did not seem peaceful. Still, I would dance a waltz with an unbathed goblin in a hailstorm to support our small but wonderful library, so I gave Macalley my blessing to assist Maccollin with the sale.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The event was to take place over three days. Monday would involve a viewing at the library, to give the buyers a look at the scope and contents of the Fotheringay collection. The duck items would then be moved to G.H. Wollenhall’s, our local steakhouse, where most of them would be sold off on Tuesday. The choicest items were to be held for an auction on Wednesday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had given Macalley a ride to the library, in part because I had an odd urge to see this collection for myself. I knew there were would be a great number of ducks for our perusal. What I hadn't expected, or even attempted to imagine, was the sheer size of the crowd. Every spot within 500 yards of the library where one could park a motorcar or a carriage had been taken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even after that discovery, I was slightly stunned when Macalley and I stepped into the library. There were humans from across the lands of the Crescent Sea and beyond, ogling every little item as if it were a 24-carat diamond, comparing notes and swapping stories. Elves examined eiders, trolls talked about teals, and a princely pixie in a scandalously revealing outfit pondered over a pintail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sight of so many people was overwhelming enough, but then I beheld what they were scrutinizing with such eagerness. There was table after table filled with duck items. There were somewhat practical things such as bookends and teapots, decorated ties and sweaters, and whimsical pieces such as a portrait of Elfking Barkbirch with the head of a duck, which I suspect would make listening to his long-winded proclamations much more tolerable. One shelf was filled with a selection of books and other duckish paper ephemera, and a large glass display case held some well-crafted if odd-looking jewelry. Several buyers were carefully examining an armchair with a duck's head mounted on the back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ye gods, Macalley!” I exclaimed softly as we started to wander the floor. “I never expected this large a turnout for…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ducks?” Macalley said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Exactly.” I shook my head slowly. “They are a respectable sort of bird, but what about them triggers such enthusiasm?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A man with a truly impressive set of graying muttonchops glanced up from a candelabra. “You're not a fan of these feathered marvels?” he said to me.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have no strong opinion either way,” I replied neutrally.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Or perhaps you mean, eider way!” The muttonchopped man chuckled.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I smiled quickly and politely. “Have we had the pleasure?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ah. Manners.” He held out his hand. “Arthur Storch.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Alice Peavley.” I shook his hand.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“From Peavley Manor?” Storch smiled. “That must be Macalley, then!” Macalley nodded quietly.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You've heard of us, then?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, yes! My local newspaper, the Copper Cove Courant, has published some of the accounts of your exploits from the Times.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They have?” Out of politeness, I fought back the urge to raise an eyebrow.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes! I quite enjoyed the one about the baking contest. They're a welcome change from those Weston Easterly stories. But we were talking about ducks, weren't we?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Indeed.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Adorable creatures.” Storch tapped his head. “I contracted a love for the dear things when I was young. I found it oddly endearing that they would swarm me for a handful of breadcrumbs at the pond.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is that so?” I said, again with a politeness that I must admit was slightly forced. I was not in the habit of feeding our feathered friends. I will not speak in mixed company of the last time I tried, and what those blasted birds did to my second best pair of boots.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Indeed.” Storch paused briefly. “I know it must seem odd to the casual observer. I care not what they think. The sight of those dear birds brings my heart joy, and I hope it always will.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Do you collect duck items?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I do, though not to the degree old Trenton did. But who could? He had deep pockets, and would spend gleefully on whatever he…”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Storch paused and stared at a painting of a weary looking woman of early middle age. She sat in a chair by a pond, surrounded by ducks. “An interesting choice of subject matter,” I observed.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Macalley cleared his throat. “I do believe that the woman shown in the painting is Fotheringay’s wife, Ethelind.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Wife? Whatever became of her?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Once she had finished posing for the painting, she ran off with the artist.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ah.” I found myself unable to blame Ethelind, but I opted not to share that thought aloud.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“An interesting work nonetheless,” Storch said. “It might—”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Retract that at once, Glitterglim, you scoundrel!” We turned our attention away from the painting and towards the far end of the library. The speaker, a rather short woman with waist-length braided blonde hair and a red pantsuit, was pointing a finger at the pixie we had seen earlier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I must beg your pardon,” Glitterglim said with a smirk. “What offense have I caused today, Peirea?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Your remark!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“About ducks?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Peirea swept her hand towards the back wall, where a figure was being displayed in a glass case set upon a pedestal. It was a small golden duck, lovingly detailed, with miniscule black gems for eyes. It might have been a trick of the afternoon sun, but it seemed to me to be glowing.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“This is a mallard, you simpleton!” Peirea snapped. “A mallard! Not just another duck!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Glitterglim feigned a yawn. “They’re all ducks to me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 14pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll fry you like a rasher of bacon!” Peirea shouted, fire in her eyes.</span></div>
</span></div>
<div>
<i>© 2017 Robert Dahlen. All rights reserved, except for those protected by "fair use" laws in your country of residence.</i></div>
</div>
Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-69130945929647909792017-12-03T11:50:00.000-08:002017-12-03T11:50:19.223-08:00spreading holiday cheerSunday catchup, and we're taking a break from the themed post titles. Why? Well, hold on to your Santa hats - "The Missing Mallard (Or 'Duck, Macalley! Duck!')" will be coming out this Tuesday, December 5!<br />
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(An important note: "The Missing Mallard" will only be available through Amazon and other e-book vendors, no free offers as with the other Peavley Manor novelettes. However, the price will be just 99 cents US.)<br />
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Check back on Tuesday for the official release announcement, with buying links, or keep notified by signing up for my <a href="http://eepurl.com/XXmlv">mailing list</a>, liking my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/monkeyqueenbooks">Facebook page</a>, or following me on Twitter! There'll also be a full sneak preview on Tuesday! Here's another little snippet to (hopefully) whet your appetite until then. In it, Alice has a few words for a sinister pixie countess...<br />
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<em>“This auction was intended to be for duck enthusiasts, not villains and their sworn enemies!”</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>“‘Villain’ is such a harsh term,” Gylburnt said.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>“What term should I use, then?”</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>“‘Destined future ruler of Tirnog, conqueror of the lands of the Crescent Sea, and subjugator of humanity.’”</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>I shook my head. “That might be a bit too long, Countess.”</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>“Spoilsport.”</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
After the cut...an annual tradition.<br />
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I've always been a fan of Christmas and the holiday season. The music, the oddball foods you can't find the rest of the year, the TV shows, the fun of finding that perfect gift, the time with friends and/or family, all of that. That's why I wanted to write a story for the season with Michiko and Beth. Whether this is the first time you're reading this, or a welcome reread, I hope you enjoy it all the same. (I'd also like to remind media content creators that the rights to "Freddie, The Little Christmas Fruitcake That Could" are still available. Have your people call my people.) Gentle readers, I give you..."Best Christmas Ever".<br />
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<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"There!" Michiko carefully hung the last shiny ornament on the Christmas tree and straightened up. "I thought I'd missed a spot!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">It had been a quiet holiday season so far for Michiko Koyama, the young hero known as the Monkey Queen, and her best friend and partner in adventure Beth McGill. One of Michiko's duties was watching over the various communities of Emigres in and around the town of Nortonville. December was the quietest month for her, as Emigres celebrated their New Year starting with the winter solstice. This was marked by low-key ceremony, somber reflection, and staying warm indoors. Much to her joy, Michiko had had plenty of free time to prepare for Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The main beneficiary of this was the tall Christmas tree that dominated the small living room of the apartment she and Beth shared. Every square inch of the tree was smothered in ornaments, strands of beads and tinsel, and so many lights that the power grid cringed when Michiko plugged everything in. Michiko was also dressed for the season, wearing a glittery red, green and gold sweater that was almost as shiny as the tree and matched the decorations on the walls, doors and windows. The laptop in her bedroom was playing streaming holiday music, and "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" echoed through the apartment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Missed a spot?" Gregor said to himself as Michiko, all smiles, admired the crowded tree. "How on Earth could she tell?" Gregor had been a powerful but selfish sorcerer in a past life, and had agreed to be reincarnated to seek redemption. No one had told him about the catch, and as a result, he was in a near-perpetual state of crankiness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"She found another ornament?" Beth asked the guinea pig as she walked into the living room. In contrast to Michiko, Beth had chosen not to show off what Christmas spirit she had; she was wearing a Grinch t-shirt along with blue jeans and black sneakers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I wouldn't be surprised if she ran out and bought another box," Gregor grumbled from inside his cage, which was the only space in the living room that had somehow escaped Michiko's decorating spree. "She's lost whatever mind she might have had."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Christmas Eve can do that to anyone," Beth said. "Just be glad she didn't hang any mistletoe over your cage."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I knew I forgot something!" Michiko slapped her forehead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Gregor shuddered. "The one thing that would have been worse," he muttered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"What time is Scylla picking you up?" Beth asked Gregor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"She'll be here shortly," the guinea pig said. "Thank heavens. I'd rather chew off my own foot than have to spend Christmas here."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"What's wrong with that?" Michiko asked, joining Beth by Gregor's cage.</span></div>
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<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"That horrible racket coming from your computer, to start with."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"The holiday music?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I love it!" Michiko said. "It's so festive!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"If I have to hear 'Frosty The Snowman' one more time," Gregor growled, "I'll chase the singers out of town with a broomstick!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"So crabby!" Michiko grinned. "Somebody's going to get coal in their stocking!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"And look at this place!" Gregor waved his forepaws. "It's smothered in tinsel and sparkly things! It looks like the holiday aisle at the dollar store!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I like tinsel," Michiko said meekly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It may be a bit overblown," Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"But it's Christmas!" Michiko said. "I love Christmas! I want everybody to see how Christmasy we are."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"They can see that tree from orbit," Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Christmasy'," Gregor snorted. "Bah!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The doorbell rang. "Sounds like Scylla's here, Ebenezer," Beth said as she walked over to the intercom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">A few minutes later, Scylla had picked up Gregor and left, after a round of Merry Christmases and goodbyes. They were headed to the world of Fip for a conference of magic-using professionals, which was focused on recent thaumaturgic developments. Gregor was almost as happy to go talk shop and pick up new tricks as Michiko and Beth were to get him out of their hair for a week.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After Gregor was gone, Michiko went into her bedroom, coming out a few minutes later with a large suitcase and a garment bag. She had changed into what Beth jokingly called her "Monkey Queen costume"—her yellow karate jacket, black t-shirt and leggings, and red sneakers and pillbox hat that matched her very long scarf. "You never did tell Gregor about your conference, did you?" Beth said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko sighed and shook her head. "I wish I didn't have to go," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It's okay," Beth said. "We'll do Christmas when you get back."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I know." Michiko pouted. "It won't be the same, though. Why does this have to be on Christmas?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Because the Council of Eight got a good deal on a block of hotel rooms up in Ashland?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah. And Grandmother Fox said that I really had to come to their semiannual conference this time, since it's her turn to host." Michiko looked at Beth. "I tried to talk her into taking you too, but she said there weren't enough rooms."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Awww," Beth said with a faint smile. "At least you get to be with her." Grandmother Fox had taken in Michiko when she was a baby, raised her, and supervised her training.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"But I hate leaving you alone on Christmas!" Michiko said. "I wanted to do...Christmasy stuff with you!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Don't worry, Michiko. I'm used to it. I was by myself last Christmas, too."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You were?"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Yeah. It was before we met," Beth said. "I just had a roommate move out—I think this was the one who changed schools after trying to blackmail the TA—so it was just me. It wasn't so bad."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko's eyes widened. "You didn't go home to your parents?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth shook her head. "They were on one of their 'empty-nest' cruises. We had an awkward ten minute talk on the phone and that was it. Thank God."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"But they're your mom and dad!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah, but they barely act like it. Their idea of a fun Christmas is arguing</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">with each other all day, having Chinese food delivered for dinner, and trying their best to find me the most inappropriate gift possible."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Inappropriate?" Michiko asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Very." Beth stared at the tree. "They never paid attention to what I wanted or anything like that. When I was twelve, they pushed me into trying out for soccer. During the first practice, I got hit in the head with the ball. Twice."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Ouch!" Michiko winced.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Tell me about it. I missed two days of school with a concussion. The coach and my family doctor agreed that I shouldn't play again." Beth smiled slightly. "I really didn't mind that part. So for Christmas, I asked for a pile of </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Doctor Who</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> and </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Lord of the Rings</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> stuff...and got a soccer ball and a pair of cleats."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko tried not to laugh and barely succeeded. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it's not funny for you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It's okay." Beth took a deep breath. "So, basically, my Christmas usually stinks. Being by myself is a step up."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"So what will you do tomorrow?"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Eat too many Christmas cookies, watch sappy movies and cool cartoons, and try not to be asleep when </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Doctor Who</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> comes on. When is Grandmother Fox picking you up?" Beth asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Any time—" Michiko was interrupted by a burst of music.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Linus and Lucy'?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yep! That's probably her now," Michiko said as she dug her smartphone out of her pocket and answered it with, "Hello?" She snapped to attention. "When?" she asked the caller. "Who is it?...Okay. We'll be there."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth could see Michiko scowling as she hung up. "That wasn't her, was it?" she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"No. It was Linden. There's trouble at the faerie encampment."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"What happened?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Runaway. A girl, seven years old." Michiko put her smartphone away. "A lot of faeries are off at that conference or visiting family for the holidays. Linden's worried because it's getting dark and cold. They need to find the girl before anything happens to her."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'll go," Beth said without hesitation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Me too," Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Michiko, no!" Beth said. "If you go, you'll miss your ride! And the Council meeting! I'll find her."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It won't take long." Michiko straightened her pillbox hat. "I can hurry back before Grandmother Fox gets here."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth peeked out the window. "It's too late for that," she said. "She's here already."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko turned pale. Without a word, she walked out of the apartment, leaving her baggage behind. Beth swore quietly and ran to her bedroom to grab her jacket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">By the time Beth had made it downstairs, the argument was in full swing. Michiko appeared to be wearing jeans and a plain yellow sweater, but with her second sight, Beth could see past the seeming to the "Monkey Queen" outfit underneath. She was standing by a six-door white limousine. A rear window was rolled down, and Beth could hear Grandmother Fox saying, "How could you! We've been planning this for weeks!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'm sorry," Michiko said. "I know this is important to you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"And to the Council!" Beth could hear the disappointment, and the hint of anger, in Grandmother Fox's voice. "They're expecting you to be there, with everything that's happened this year. It will look bad for both of us if you're not."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I know." Michiko swallowed. "But there's someone here who needs my help. I can't walk away from that, Grandmother Fox. You taught me that. I'm sorry, but I can't go."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Fine. We'll discuss this when I get back," Grandmother Fox said as the window rolled up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The limousine drove off. Michiko watched until it had turned a corner and was out of sight. She folded her arms and stared down at the sidewalk, her face expressionless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth walked up to her partner and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko nodded. "I'll be fine," she said in a flat voice. "Let's go." She turned and set off down the street, Beth following.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">They were met just outside the faerie encampment, in the forest that surrounded Nortonville, by Linden, the mayor. "Her name is April," he said. "She went missing about an hour ago. Here's a sketch."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko took the drawing of the faerie girl and studied it. "How do we know she wasn't abducted?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"She left a note," Linden said. "She said that everyone was treating her mean because...she wanted a Christmas celebration and no one else did."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Christmas?" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"She found some human books about Christmas and got very excited about it. She also took some things that a kidnapper would have left behind."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Like her favorite doll?" Beth said, looking up from the sketch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Linden nodded. "A stuffed brown fox."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko handed the sketch back to the faerie. "Any tracks?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"We saw some small footprints heading north, but we're not sure they're hers," Linden said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Makes sense," Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"We'll head that way," Michiko said. "Let's go, Beth."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">They walked quickly, in silence, for a few minutes. The sun had set, and the fog had come in, so the only light came from the flashlights Beth had brought. The winter wind, strong and cold, had started to blow through the tall trees, scattering leaves and snapping the Monkey Queen's scarf back. "Beth?" Michiko asked. "Why did you think it made sense for April to go north?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"She ran away because she was upset about Christmas," Beth said. "She might have decided to go to the North Pole."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"To find Santa Claus?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah. She probably thinks it's really close by. Some kids have no sense of scale."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Okay. Should we split up?" Michiko asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah. We need to find her before it gets too cold or she gets much further."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko pointed with her staff. "I'll go this way," she said. "If you see her, yell first, then call; we know how spotty smartphone reception can be out here. I'll do the same."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Got it." Beth set off into the woods.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth's thoughts kept drifting back to Michiko as she searched. She got mad at herself for that; there was a little girl who might need her help, and that was what mattered. But Beth felt bad for Michiko; she could tell that her friend was still heartsick after her argument with Grandmother Fox. She scowled and reminded herself to focus as the wind blew harder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth heard a rustling above her. She pointed her flashlight upwards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The redwood pine tree was old and tall, with a gnarly trunk and branches that grew every which way and stretched down almost to the ground. It seemed to have been designed for children to climb, and one had. She was a young faerie girl with blond hair and pointed ears, wearing a thin green sweater and a small backpack with the head of a fox doll sticking out. She was on her hands and knees on a branch thirty feet above the ground, clinging to it like a security blanket as she shivered in the cold.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth cleared her throat. "Michiko!" she shouted as loud as she could. "I found her!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The girl winced. "Sorry!" Beth said. "I wanted to let my friend know you were here, April."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Her eyes widened. "How did you know my name?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Mayor Linden asked me and my friend to help find you. Everyone's worried about you. I'm Beth, by the way. Are you okay?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">April nodded. "I'm scared up here," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"I know," Beth said. "Hold on tight, and when my friend—“ She stopped and shouted, "Michiko! Get over here now!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"What's wrong?" April asked. "Why are you yelling?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"April," Beth said, "the branch you're on is starting to crack." Beth shone the flashlight's beam on the spot where the branch met the trunk; there was a visible crack there, about one-third of the way through. "It could break. I need you to stay calm. Okay?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">April nodded. "Okay," Beth said, silently pleading for Michiko to hurry. "Now, I need you to move back down the branch, towards the tree trunk. Move slowly, and be very careful."</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The girl swallowed and cautiously moved one hand, then the other, along the branch towards the trunk. She then slid her body slightly. The branch held. "You're doing great," Beth said. "Keep—“</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The wind suddenly gusted. The tree swayed, and April's branch was pushed back with a creaky groan. The crack widened. "Hold on, April!" Beth shouted as the wind died down. "Hold on!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The wind picked up again, blowing harder than before. "Micihko!" Beth screamed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The branch broke. April tumbled backwards and down, crying out, "Mommy!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">There was a flash of yellow, black and red.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The Monkey Queen flew through the air and easily snagged April in one hand, pulling her close as the branch she had clung to fell to the ground. Her momentum carried Michiko towards the old pine tree; she stretched out her free hand and grabbed a sturdy branch. She spun around the branch and let go, flying up in the air again. She somersaulted in mid-air and landed standing on the branch. April was trembling, but seemed to be fine. Beth exhaled with relief.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Hi!" Michiko said to the faerie girl. "I'm the Monkey Queen! And you must be April!" The girl nodded, and Michiko continued, "We need to get down from here. Hold on tight to me. Really tight."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She reached into her pocket and pulled out her staff, which had shrunk to pencil-size to leave her hands free. She held it out with one end pointed down. That end quickly grew, stretching downwards until it hit the ground. "Ready?" Michiko asked as she started to step off the branch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"No!" April shouted, wriggling in Michiko's arms. "We might fall! I'm scared!" Michiko stopped and tried to gather April in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"April!" She and Michiko looked down at Beth. "I know it's scary," Beth said. "She did that once to get me down from a roof. But she'll be real careful. Just hold on tight to her and you'll be fine. Okay?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">April nodded, biting her lip. She wrapped her arms around Michiko and nestled her head into Michiko's shoulder. The Monkey Queen stepped off the branch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Her body swung into the staff; she shook slightly but held on. The staff began to slowly contract. Two minutes later, Michiko set her feet firmly on the ground. "We're down!" she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Are you okay?" Beth asked April; the girl nodded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Let's go!" Michiko said. Her staff shrunk back down to pencil-sized; she slipped it into her pocket and set off, still carrying April. Beth followed as Michiko asked the girl, "How did you get so far up that tree?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"There were some scary noises," April said. "I thought there might be wolves or something, so I started to climb, as high as I could."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You're a little monkey," Michiko said with a smile. "Just like me!" April giggled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Why did you run away?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">April shifted in Michiko's arms. "He was so mean to me," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Who was?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"August. He's my brother, and he's always mean. He said that Christmas was dumb, and that only dumb humans like Christmas, and he stepped all over a Christmas card I was drawing!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Oh, no," Beth said, shaking her head. Michiko pouted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"And then," April said, "he said there wasn't a Santa Claus! He said it was something dumb that humans had made up!" She looked at Beth. "There is a Santa Claus, isn't there?"</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Well..." Beth paused. "There isn't...but there is."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">April's eyes widened as Beth continued, "If you're asking if there's a jolly man dressed in red who sneaks down chimneys and leaves presents under trees, well, no. There's no such person.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"But a funny thing happens this time of year. People start being nicer to each other. They help people who need a hand. They think about friends and family and reach out to them. They smile and laugh a little more.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"And even in the darkest, coldest days, they put up decorations and make cookies and invite everyone to big dinners and sing Christmas songs. And they buy each other gifts, not because of obligation but because of love. And I think that every time someone does any of that, it's because there's a little bit of Christmas spirit inside of them, a little bit of Santa Claus."</span></div>
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<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth smiled at April. "Hey, tomorrow's Christmas. Even if your mom and dad and brother don't realize how special the day can be, you can still have fun. Sing carols, decorate your room, maybe finish that card. Maybe they'll realize that it's important to you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah!" Michiko said. "Tell them we said it was okay!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Okay!" April said with a bright smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Let's sing carols!" Michiko said, and so she and Beth walked the rest of the way back to the faerie encampment teaching April all the words to "White Christmas" and "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">When they reached the encampment, April was reunited with her parents, who were overjoyed to see her and showered Michiko and Beth with thanks, and her brother, who stuck to glowering and staring at the ground. Beth spoke briefly to the family about doing something Christmas-related for April; August redoubled his glower, but the parents seemed receptive. Meanwhile, several other faerie children had followed April's family, and Michiko put on an impromptu show for them in the encampment's public square, with lots of acrobatic feats, staff tricks and goofy faces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Finally, the parents of the appreciative audience ended the show by taking their children home to bed. April's parents were about to do the same, but April shouted, "Wait!" She darted over to Michiko, who scooped her up in her arms for a big, gentle hug. "Goodnight, Monkey Queen," April said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko pulled back and grinned. "My friends call me Michiko," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She set April down as Beth walked over. April looked up at her and said, "Goodnight."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth dropped to one knee. "Merry Christmas, April," she said, smiling warmly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">April threw her arms around Beth. "Merry Christmas, Beth," she whispered as Beth hugged her back. She pulled away and ran over to her family, smiling as her father picked her up and carried her home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Beth," Michiko said as they left the encampment, "I'm surprised with you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Why?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"The things you said to April! I wasn't expecting you to be so Christmasy."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah, I know," Beth said. "But just because my Christmases always stink doesn't mean I have the right to ruin anyone else's."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko nodded sadly. "It's too late for mine." She stared at the ground as they walked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Hey!" Beth said. "Stop that! You're supposed to be the upbeat one! I'm supposed to be Miss Mopeypants! It's Christmas Eve, not Opposite Day!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko sighed. "I know. I'm just sad about what happened with Grandmother Fox. I just don't feel that Christmasy any more."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'm sorry, Michiko," Beth said, laying a hand on her friend's shoulder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It's okay. It wasn't your fault."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"But you missed the meeting. And you had to stay home."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah. And that means that tomorrow..." Michiko's eyes widened. "I'll be hanging out with you on Christmas!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth grinned. "Took you long enough to figure it out."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yaaay!" Michiko smiled gleefully, throwing her arms in the air.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Michiko!" Beth said. "Not so loud! People are trying to sleep!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Oops." Michiko blushed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beth opened one eye and squinted at the clock on her bedside shelf. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Six-thirty? </i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">she thought blearily. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Maybe I should sleep in a little more. Michiko would understand.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">She heard clattering from the kitchen, and a burst of laughter. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Michiko's already up, </i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beth realized. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>It's the holiday break on campus, so I can sleep in the rest of the week. And it is Christmas.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beth threw the covers aside and climbed out of her bed. She put on her glasses, stuck her feet into her favorite pink bunny slippers and pulled a robe on over her pajamas. She softly opened her closet door and took out a smallish, simply-wrapped, well-hidden box. She placed it on her bed and pulled the covers over it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Good morning!" Michiko said as Beth opened her bedroom door. "Merry Christmas!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Morning," Beth mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot. She glanced around as she reached for her mug. Her eyes snapped open.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">There were cookies everywhere, stacks of sugary snowmen and Santas, piles of peanut butters, a small cascade of chocolate chips. A tray of snickerdoodles was cooling on the counter. Beth noticed that Michiko had traded in her gaudy sweater for an equally gaudy Christmas tree apron. "That's a lot of cookies," Beth said as she fixed her coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I got a little carried away," Michiko said, blushing.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"No surprise there—wait. You used frozen dough, didn't you?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth grinned. "I did that last year. Thanks for all the work."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You're welcome!" Michiko smiled. "Try some! They're yummy!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"After breakfast...you've already eaten some, haven't you?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Two or three," Michiko said. "Or four."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"And you've had your coffee?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Two cups."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth raised an eyebrow. "Am I going to have to pry you off the ceiling again?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Maybe." Michiko grinned impishly.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beth shook her head, mostly to help stifle a giggle, as she headed to the living room. She sat on the couch and sipped her coffee, noticing that Michiko had been watching a performance of </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Nutcracker</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> while baking. She set her mug aside, snuggled into the couch and closed her eyes, listening to the music.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Beth?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She opened her eyes and saw Michiko standing in front of her, smiling bashfully. "I remember what you said about never getting good Christmas gifts," Michiko said as she started to blush. "I...I really hope you like this." She handed Beth the present she'd been hiding behind her back. It was thoroughly wrapped, with plenty of ribbon and a big yellow bow.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"That box is way too small to hold a partridge in a pear tree," Beth said, smiling to cover a sudden attack of nerves. She started to open the present, no easy task considering how much effort and material had been put into wrapping it. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>I hope it's not one of those nesting doll wrapping jobs</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">, she thought as she pulled off the last layer of paper.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beth's eyes widened as she opened the box. Her heart jumped, and she had to stifle a gasp. Beneath all the ribbons and wrapping paper was a remote control shaped like, of all things, a sonic screwdriver. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A Doctor Who gift,</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Beth thought.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> I don't believe it.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I know how much you like the show," Michiko said with a big smile, "and we needed a new remote after what Gregor did with the old one."</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Beth stared open-mouthed at Michiko's present, barely hearing her roommate.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> I've never gotten a Doctor Who gift before. No one's ever gotten me a gift this cool. And—and—!</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Beth?" Michiko asked, her smile fading. "Are you okay?"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Michiko—" Beth jumped up from the couch and carefully put the remote on the end table. "Stay—stay there. Don't—don't move, just...just stay. I'll be—don't move—I'll be right back. Stay."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">As a very confused Michiko watched, Beth ran across the living room to her bedroom, barely missing the Christmas tree. She threw the bedroom door open, jumped on her bed, flung aside the covers, and grabbed the box hidden there. She climbed off her bed, ran back into the living room, screeched to a sudden stop to keep from crashing into the tree, spun around it, and hurried over to Michiko, pushing the box into her hands. "Here," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Beth! Thank you!" Michiko sounded genuinely surprised. "You didn't have to get me anything!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Of course I did," Beth said. "It's Christmas. Go on, open it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yay!" Michiko smiled as she tore the wrapping off and opened the box. She pushed the paper covering aside. Beth realized she was holding her breath as Michiko reached inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko gasped as she pulled a small stuffed penguin with a sour expression from the box. "Badtz-Maru!" she shouted, smiling happily as she clutched the doll in both hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You like it?" Beth asked, trying not to sound nervous.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"He's a Hello Kitty penguin! He's adorable!" Michiko's eyes lit up, and she sprinted to her bedroom. She stopped by the doorway and motioned Beth over. "Come on!" she said. "Come on!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth followed Michiko into her bedroom. Next to the door was a small desk where Michiko kept her laptop. Near the computer were two framed photos. One was a posed shot of Michiko, in formal wear, next to a splendidly overdressed Grandmother Fox. Beth recognized the other; it was the photo Michiko had taken of the two of them, dressed to the nines, the night they had crashed Duke Wrexham's gala.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">There was a small empty spot on the desk next to the photos; Michiko set the Badtz-Maru doll there and smiled. "I love it!" she said. "Thank you, Beth!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"You're welcome," Beth said. She left Michiko in her bedroom as she went back into the living room. She stopped at the end table and stared down at the remote. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>This is such a great present,</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> she thought. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>It's silly and sweet and awesome. Just like Michiko. And she decorated, and she got up early to make cookies, and she loved the gift I got her...</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko walked up next to her. "Beth?" she asked. "Are you sure you're okay?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Michiko...I was just thinking..." Beth looked at her friend and tried to keep her voice steady as she said, "I've only been out of bed ten minutes, and...and it's already the best Christmas ever." She grabbed Michiko and held her tight.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Michiko slowly put her arms around Beth. "Did—did you like your present?" she asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Oh, Michiko, I love it!" Beth said, squeezing Michiko just a bit harder. "It's wonderful! Thank you so much for everything, Michiko! Thank you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You're welcome," Michiko whispered, and her arms tightened around Beth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">When Beth finally pulled back, she saw that Michiko's eyes were sparkling, and her smile was so bright and radiant that it made their Christmas tree look like a cheap flashlight. Beth realized that she was feeling like the Grinch, because her heart seemed to be growing at least three sizes. She hoped it showed as she smiled warmly at her friend.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Beth...I..." Michiko paused, blushing furiously. "We—we need to get cleaned up. Breakfast!" Beth nodded and, with one last glance at her Christmas gift, headed for her bedroom.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">It was a cold, clear morning, and Beth and Michiko could see their breath by the time they'd finished the brisk walk to the Wonderland Diner and Tavern. As they reached the old seeming-concealed barn, Michiko reached into her pocket and pulled out two Santa hats. She put one on her head and pushed the other into Beth's hands. "Michiko..." Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"But it's Christmas!" Michiko said, smiling hopefully.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth sighed and put the Santa hat on. "Happy?" she grumbled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yep!" Michiko said. "Now we're all Christmasy!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"I thought we were Christmasy enough already...you know, is that even a word?" Beth had worn a </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Christmas Story </i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">leg lamp t-shirt under her jacket as what she had thought would be her one concession to Christmas fashion. Michiko had donned her sparkly sweater again, and had somehow found matching tree-shaped earrings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It is now!" Michiko said as they entered Wonderland. "Merry Christmas, everybody!" she added as the door closed behind them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">It was much less crowded than usual. Many of the regulars had left for the conference on Fip or were visiting relatives for extended Faerie New Year celebrations. Most of the patrons were engrossed in their meals or conversations, though the dwarves did smile and wave hello.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">There was a loud grunt from the back of the diner. Michiko and Beth looked to where Sam, the giant reptilian, sat in his favorite oversized chair. He stood and held up a battered lift-and-erase board. On it were written the words "Merry Xmas".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas!" Michiko said with a big smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas, Sam," Beth said. Sam nodded as he sat down and reached for his coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"There are my favorite jingle bells!" Michiko turned and beamed as Mandy wrapped her up in a hug. "Merry Christmas!" The pixie waitress was wearing a glittery red dress along with a green apron and candy cane-striped leggings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You seem happy," Beth said as Mandy hugged her in turn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I've always liked Christmas," Mandy said. "Besides, I can get away with singing on the job this time of year, as long as I don't sing that one song."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer'?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Okay, two songs," Mandy said as she led Michiko and Beth across the restaurant floor. "You weren't around last year, Beth, when Mary Crimble showed up with her accordion and played us her holiday polka carol."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Do I want to know what it was called?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Freddie, The Little Christmas Fruitcake That Could'." Mandy shook her head sadly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I remember that!" Michiko said, smiling excitedly. "I loved the Candied Cranberry Dance!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'm actually sorry I missed that," Beth said slowly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Someone did get a smartphone video," Mandy said as Michiko and Beth sat at their favorite table, "if you're really that desperate. I'll get your coffee." The pixie headed off, breaking into "Fairytale Of New York" as she walked to the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Like the hats." Michiko and Beth looked over their shoulders and saw Mec. The gremlin had added a Santa hat of his own to his usual jeans, goggles and grease-stained t-shirt getup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry," Mec said as he dropped into a chair. "You two having a good day so far?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yep!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Very much so. How's yours?" Beth asked the gremlin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Quiet. For a change." Mec grimaced. "Been so busy at the store. I'm almost finished with your project; I should have it for you by the weekend."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Great!" Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah. Sorry it took so long. I had to finish the commission I've been working on all month."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"That big, splashy, clockwork Christmas tree?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Check this." Mec pulled his smartphone from his pocket and tapped the screen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"That is so cool," Beth said as she and Michiko watched the video. "Are those reindeer rocket-powered?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I love the tin soldier chorus line!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'm glad you didn't see this before you put up our tree!" Beth said with a grin, nudging her roommate in the ribs. Michiko giggled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I thought the built-in voice box on the angel topper was a nice touch," Mec said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You didn't program it with stock mad inventor sayings, I hope."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"No. Just generic Christmas music." Mec smiled mischievously. "But the thought was there."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Do it next year," Beth said. "She can say things like, 'Enjoy your presents before they rise up against you!'"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Fools! You'll be sorry you laughed at Christmas!'"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Bwah-ha-ho-ho-ho!'"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Beth, don't encourage him," Mandy said, rolling her eyes as she brought a coffee pot and two mugs to the table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It's way too late for that," Mec said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Speaking of late..." Mandy said as she set the coffee pot down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Mec glanced at his watch and jumped out of his chair. "Bye, guys," he said to Michiko and Beth. "Bye, sugarplum," he said to Mandy, followed by a quick kiss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Bye, sweetie," Mandy said. "See you tonight." Mec nodded and hurried out the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"'Sugarplum'?" Beth asked. "Why does he keep calling you that anyway?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"He says it's because visions of me keep dancing in his head," Mandy said with a sigh; Beth could tell she was hiding a smile. "The usual for you two?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Sure," Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Pancakes!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Got it." Mandy headed to the kitchen, singing "Happy Holidays Too".</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She walked through the swinging doors. "Three...two...one," Beth counted down slowly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">As she finished, a purple bat-winged giant with fiery red hair and eyes and a chef's hat and apron barged out of the kitchen and hurried towards their table. "Merry Christmas, you two!" Aloysius shouted with a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas, big guy!" Beth said, jumping from her chair and hugging the chef.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas!" Michiko said as she hugged Aloysius in turn. As she did, Beth took off her Santa hat and placed it on his head, pushing back his chef's hat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Aloysius straightened up and patted the Santa hat. "It looks good on you," Beth said as she and Michiko sat back down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Now you're all Christmasy!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Aloysius scowled. "I don't know," he said. "It might fall off. There's only room on this head for one hat."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Maybe if we get some string—" Beth started to say.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Get back in your kitchen," Mandy said to Aloysius as she walked past. She reached up and snatched the Santa hat off his head. She set it on hers, singing "All The Right Reasons" as she strolled away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Awww," Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Don't worry about it," Aloysius said as he headed back to the kitchen. "It looks better on her anyway."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"He does have a point," Beth said, reaching for the coffee pot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She turned in her chair as the front door opened. "Good morning, all," Puck said as he entered Wonderland, waving to the other diners as he headed for Michiko and Beth's table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">As he reached them, Beth stretched out a hand. "Merry Christmas, Professor," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas, lass," Puck said, smiling as they clasped hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas, Michiko," Puck said as he sat down. "I will warn you that if you expect me to wear that Santa hat, you are sadly mistaken."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Darn." Michiko pouted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Puck raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you supposed to be at the Council meeting with Grandmother Fox?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I was," Michiko said. "Something came up."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Rescuing another stray faerie child?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You heard," Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"It seems to be a hobby of hers," Puck said. "How many is this now? Four?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Maybe five. I've lost track."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"By the way," Puck said, "I should let you both know about something interesting I saw on my way here."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"An angel getting its wings?" Michiko asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Or chestnuts roasting on an open fire?" Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Neither," Puck said. "It was actually a white limousine. It drove by while I was at the bottom of the hill."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko froze in her chair. "Not one of those really long ones?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"No. Just a six-door model."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Mandy set a coffee cup down in front of Puck. "You mean like—" She glanced out the window. "Like the one that just pulled up outside?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko turned pale. Beth felt a lump in her stomach. The door opened.</span></div>
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<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Grandmother Fox walked in to Wonderland. She was wearing an embroidered white and gold gown with a flowing full-length skirt and billowing sleeves, ceremonial jewelry, and an up-do held in place with gem-topped hairpins. Since the informal dress code at the diner was "determinedly casual", she stood out like a beautiful porcelain doll on a shelf of Raggedy Anns.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The other diners looked down, concentrating on their food, their reading or their coffee. Mandy backed away quickly from Michiko's table. "Amazing what cold weather does to one's bladder," Puck said as he got up and headed for the restroom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Michiko stood as Grandmother Fox approached her. "You want me to come with you to the Council meeting, don't you?" she said, staring at the floor. "We'll have to stop off at my apartment first—“</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Michiko?" Grandmother Fox asked quietly. "Did you find the girl?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko blinked. "We...we did. We got her home. She's doing fine."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Grandmother Fox nodded. "Thank goodness. Michiko...I've been thinking about what happened all night. I was upset when you told me you weren't going, but I was thinking more about myself, Christmas with you, all the plans I had made, when my thoughts should have been with a runaway girl who needed your help. And to think I shouted at you! How selfish of me!" She shook her head disgustedly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"And then, when I arrived at the meeting, everyone asked where you were. And when I told them..." Grandmother Fox paused, looking down and away. "They all said how selfless and caring you must be to give up Christmas with me to help a stranger, and how proud I must be of you." Her face reddened. "Michiko...I was wrong. I'm sorry."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko walked over to Grandmother Fox and hugged her. "I'm sorry too," she whispered. Grandmother Fox bent down and held Michiko gently, smiling as she stroked her hair. Beth found herself blinking away a tear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko grinned. She took the Santa hat off her head and placed it on Grandmother Fox's.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">As Michiko stepped back, Grandmother Fox reached up and touched the hat, wide-eyed in surprise. As she did, Michiko pulled out her smartphone and took several quick photos. She moved next to her foster mother and showed her the pictures.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">For many years thereafter, they spoke of the morning that Grandmother Fox's laughter echoed through Wonderland like a bell ringing in Christmas Day.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">As the laughter faded, Beth stood up. "Give me that phone," she said with a grin. Michiko did, and Beth took several photos of her friend and Grandmother Fox, both smiling happily.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Ahem." Beth looked over and saw Mandy, reaching for the smartphone. "There's someone missing from those photos," the waitress said with a wink.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Come on, Beth!" Michiko said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Beth handed Mandy the smartphone and hurried over to Michiko, standing next to her. Michiko draped one arm around Beth's shoulders and the other around Grandmother Fox's waist. All three women were all smiles as Mandy took photos.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Finally, Grandmother Fox took the smartphone from Mandy and gave it back to Michiko. "Thank you," she said, her smile still lingering. Mandy smiled back shyly and hurried off.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko and Beth sat back down. "Did you still want me to come?" Michiko asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Grandmother Fox waved her hand. "You'd probably be bored," she said. "All the interesting discussion takes place behind closed doors anyway." Michiko giggled, and Grandmother Fox added, "But some members of the Council would like to have a...is 'video conference' the right term?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yep!" Michiko said.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"They would like to hold one with both of you tomorrow. Could you do it then?"</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 20.8px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"If she doesn't have to get a cat off a roof or something," Beth said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Sure!" Michiko said. "Call me when you know what time."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Alright," Grandmother Fox said with a nod.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Maybe then, you could...stay a little longer?" Beth asked. "Join us for breakfast?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Please?" Michiko added.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Grandmother Fox paused for a moment, then shook her head. "I wish I could," she said, "but it's a long drive. My driver has been quite patient, even though I made her get up so early, never mind waiting for breakfast until we got back."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Allow us to help with that." The women all turned to see Puck, emerging from the kitchen carrying a cardboard drink tray, a container and a paper bag. Behind him were Mandy, smiling nervously, and Aloysius, grinning ear to ear. "A pancake breakfast for you," Puck continued, "along with raspberry chocolate croissants for your driver and two coffees."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Thank you!" Grandmother Fox said as she took the food and drinks from Puck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You're welcome." Puck smiled. "It was a pleasure to see you here. I hope we'll have the honor again soon."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah!" Michiko said. "We're here every Sunday!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Grandmother Fox smiled. "Perhaps you will," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"What a morning," Beth said as she and Michiko left Wonderland, carrying coffee and two Christmas lunches to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I know!" Michiko said. "How do we top that?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'm not sure we need to." As Beth spoke, Michiko took two Santa hats from her pocket, slipped one onto Beth's head and put the other on her own. "How many of those do you have?" Beth asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Lots!" Michiko said. "So, what's the plan?"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">"Eat too many Christmas cookies, watch sappy movies and cool cartoons, and try not to be asleep when </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Doctor Who</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> comes on."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"You were going to do that anyway!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yeah." Beth smiled. "But it'll be a lot more fun with you around."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Michiko smiled back and wrapped her arm around Beth's shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Beth."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Merry Christmas, Michiko." Beth wrapped her arm around Michiko in turn, and they set off down the hill, heading for home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>With thanks to: Charles Schulz and Vince Guaraldi, Dr. Seuss and Chuck Jones, Charles Dickens, the Pogues, Kirsty MacColl, the Doubleclicks and Dressy Bessy.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>To all of you, and to all the world, I wish you: Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukkah, Season's Greetings, a Blessed Yule, a peaceful Feast of St. Nicholas, Joyeux Noël, Feliz Natal, a Pleasant Winter's Solstice, an Awesome Hogswatchnight, a Festivus with no grievances to be aired, a Glorious Beethoven's Birthday, Happy Holidays, and the very best of New Years! And anything else I forgot! May your days be merry and bright, may your holiday season be dear, may your travels be safe, and may your eggs always be nogged. And thank you all for reading this story, and all my stories, and for all your support.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Robert Dahlen, 11/27/15</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>© 2014-201<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">6</span> Robert Dahlen. All rights reserved, except for those guaranteed by fair use laws where you live.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Blatant Self-Promotion Department: Don't forget that you can support Michiko and Beth by heading to </i></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1SZUkQU"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><u>Amazon</u></i></span></span></span></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>. Buy their books (or borrow them if you're in Kindle Unlimited or Amazon Prime) there, or just click that link before you start your holiday shopping. OK, plug over. Go wrap some presents or something, and save some of that dark chocolate pretzel peppermint bark for me. Thanks.</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-59274790251653632702017-11-26T11:18:00.000-08:002017-11-26T11:18:50.980-08:00look at his blog, did you see his crazy blogSunday catchup ahoy! It'll be a short one today, but with some good news - the main draft of the next Peavley Manor novelette, "The Missing Mallard (Or, 'Duck, Macalley! Duck!')", has been completed! I'm not going to give a confirmed publication date today, but you might want to keep December 5th open just in case. Please enjoy this short excerpt from the midpoint of "The Missing Mallard"! Duck enthusiasts can be quite fanatical...<br />
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“Honored guests!” The quarrelers fell silent as Bludergard rose to his feet, clanging a spoon against his wine glass much as a best man at a rather trying wedding reception would, and punctuating his remark with a loud hiccup.<br />
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I winced. “This cannot possibly go well.”<br />
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“Alice!” I could hear the reproach in Clarinda’s voice. “Let him have his say. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, you know.” I nodded and held my tongue as Bludergard resumed his speech.<br />
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“Look at us!” he said, swaying slightly. “Quarreling over such trivial things. Which breed is best. We all love these marvelous creatures, and no breed should be placed above another.” I could hear murmurs of “Hear! Hear!” from the crowd.<br />
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“Is this how we honor the memory of Trenton Fotheringay, the greatest of us all?” Bludergard continued. “We should respect each other’s opinions. We should focus on what brings us together.” I could see people nodding in agreement or dabbing at their eyes.<br />
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Next to him, Stibbins nodded and lifted his wine glass. “Well spoken, guv’nor!” he said.<br />
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Bludergard snatched the glass from his valet’s hand and held it high. As Stibbins glared at him, he said, “I propose a toast to that most marvelous of birds!” This was met with another, louder round of “Hear! Hear!”<br />
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“Honored guests…” Bludergard paused and smiled drunkenly. “To geese!”<br />
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Stibbins sighed deeply. “Not so well spoken, guv’nor.”<br />
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As Bludergard drank Stibbins’ wine, most of the other guests glanced at each other, then at him. They began to mutter threateningly. “Clarinda?” I said. “Your clock analogy failed to take into account that one that always runs several minutes slow is never right.”<br />
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Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-4416016991718104092017-11-19T10:02:00.000-08:002017-11-19T10:02:46.867-08:00I could blog for a thousand yearsSunday catchup ahead, and since it's almost time for holiday shopping to begin, I'll remind you that ebooks make great gifts. <a href="http://amzn.to/2zhVzes">Even mine</a>. [grins] More after the cut!<br />
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Speaking of holiday shopping and shameless plugs: Should any of you be so inclined, I do have two wishlists on Amazon. One is for <a href="http://amzn.to/2B2ms3q">ebooks</a>, though I use it more to keep track of titles I want to buy someday. The other is my <a href="http://amzn.to/2yV6kPv">goodie list</a>, which mostly includes figures and graphic novels. Be warned: If you buy me something, you do run the risk of having me thank you profusely across several social media platforms.<br />
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I've realized that I missed two artists whose Inktober work I wanted to share. Better late than never applies here! First is Maureen Casulli, whom I've featured on this blog before. Her dark and mysterious Inktober work is collected on <a href="http://anatole-the-genius.tumblr.com/post/166983519106">this page</a>, and you can see more of her nifty art on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/maureencasulli.illu/">Facebook</a>.<br />
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Also, the French artist Fei did a nice series, mostly pirate-themed. You can see the Facebook album <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/Feilynillu/photos/?tab=album&album_id=939258332891523">here</a> and follow her page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Feilynillu/">here</a> (she's currently selling some rather odd Christmas cards).<br />
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Finally, the talented cartoonist Katie Cook (<i>Gronk</i>, <i>My Little Pony</i>) has recently launched a new webcomic called <i><a href="http://www.webtoons.com/en/fantasy/nothing-special/list?title_no=1188">Nothing Special</a></i>. It's a charming fantasy about Callie, a girl who's decided she'll never amount to anything...but she'll have to try when a mystery turns her life upside down. And there are radish spirits. It updates every Tuesday, and there have only been nine updates posted as I write this, so go read it <a href="http://www.webtoons.com/en/fantasy/nothing-special/chapter-1/viewer?title_no=1188&episode_no=1">from the beginning</a>. It's quickly become one of my favorite webcomics, and I think it'll be one of yours as well.Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-4041164395383231082017-11-12T10:20:00.000-08:002017-11-12T10:20:16.540-08:00modern love gets me to the blog on timeHelloooo Sunday Catchup! This exchange may just have been written for the upcoming Peavley Manor novelette, "The Missing Mallard (Or 'Duck, Macalley! Duck!)":<br />
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<i>Macalley raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried that you might actually have to find a space to display that duck, madame?”</i><br />
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<i>“Not at all, Macalley. I never win these raffles,” I said with a grin as I started the motorcar.</i><br />
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Not much happening this week, but I did have two Kickstarters of a musical bent to bring to your attention. First up is Juliana Finch. She's a folk-rocker from North Carolina with bedhead tendencies and some righteous anger about being told to "shut up and sing" instead of being pissed about the last twelve horrible months. The album she's planning will be called <i><a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/julianafinch/juliana-finch-will-not-shut-up-my-new-album/">Way Down</a></i>, and it'll include this track, "Just The Start".</div>
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I backed this Kickstarter once I heard this track; it's reached its funding goal, but it still has a number of stretch goals to meet, and plenty of time (as of this writing) to meet them. Jump in <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/julianafinch/juliana-finch-will-not-shut-up-my-new-album/">here</a>.</div>
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Now, watch these videos:</div>
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The band is named Kali Kazoo, and they're running a <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/kalikazoo/support-kali-kazoos-third-album-extravaganza">Kickstarter</a> for their third album so they can work with a top producer and make the record of their dreams. Unfortunately, they're still about $1800 short as I write this, with just two days to go.<br /><br />I'm being selfish here. I hadn't heard of this band until this week, but I've enjoyed the heck out of what I've heard, and I want to hear more. I want this album to get made. I hope you'll indulge my selfishness and <a href="https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/kalikazoo/support-kali-kazoos-third-album-extravaganza">back Kali Kazoo</a>. Thanks!</div>
Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-87950605653478377052017-11-05T09:17:00.000-08:002017-11-05T09:17:45.209-08:00watching some good friends blogging, "Let me out!"Sunday catchup, and did you know that today is National Redhead Day? Here's a quick story: In <i>Copper Cove</i>, I never specified Tabitha Miles' hair color, but I always saw her as a blonde. However, when Shei Darksbane was preparing the book cover, she found a stock image with a ginger model and pleaded with me not to change the hair color. I gave in. More after the cut (and a reminder that <i>Copper Cove</i> is available now at <a href="http://amzn.to/2y5aQug">Amazon</a>)!<br />
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Best of luck and good writing to those of you taking part in NaNoWriMo this year! I'm skipping it to concentrate on getting the next Peavley Manor novelette completed, but I may take another run at it in 2018. If you're in it, feel free to leave a comment with your NaNo name and project so we can cheer you on properly.<br />
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I missed a couple of Inktober participants last week that I wanted to bring to your attention. <a href="http://maureen-casulli.fr/">Maureen Casulli</a>, who I've mentioned before here, told a spookily delightful story with her Inktober illustrations. You can find a link on the front page of her <a href="http://maureen-casulli.fr/">website</a>, along with a fine selection of her art.<br />
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I haven't mentioned the work of Fei before, but allow me to correct that here. Her artwork is quite lively, with a good sense of humor and an eye towards diversity. Find her Inktober work on her <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Feilynillu/">Facebook page</a>, or check out her <a href="http://feishop.tictail.com/">webstore</a>.<br />
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Finally, Amber, secret goddess of K-Pop, strikes again:<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-48462146974365183172017-10-29T10:44:00.000-07:002017-10-29T10:44:00.052-07:00scary bloggers and super creepsIt's Sunday, and here's a bit of overdue catchup: The first two Peavley Manor novelettes, "Book Fair Frenzy (Or, Macalley Turns The Page)" and “The Thorn Harbour Road Rally (Or, Macalley Takes The Wheel)” are now available on iTunes, Kobo and Barnes & Noble (for your Nook) as well as Amazon! Search your store of choice for e-books by "Robert Dahlen"! You can still read "Book Fair Frenzy" for free <a href="http://monkeyqueenbooks.com/index.php/short-stories/book-fair-frenzy-or-macalley-turns-the-page-a-tale-of-peavley-manor/">here</a>, and you can get your e-book of "Thorn Harbour Road Rally" for free by subscribing to my <a href="http://eepurl.com/XXmlv">mailing list</a>, but you can also show your support for what I do by buying one of my e-books or gifting one to a friend! More after the cut.<br />
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<br />Just in time for Oktoberfest and Halloween, Kate Danley has just released the ninth Maggie MacKay book, <i><a href="http://amzn.to/2idEfMe">Eine Kleine Nacht Maggie</a></i>! Our favorite snarky magical tracker's newest adventure involves lederhosen, oompah music...and vampires. If you haven't read any of Kate's Maggie books, you can get the first, <i><a href="http://amzn.to/2ieNJHl">Maggie For Hire</a></i>, for free on Amazon! But be warned - once you read it, you'll want more!<br />
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Inktober is wrapping up, and so much wonderful art has been created and spread this year. I have three to call to your attention. Mya Gosling, creator of the splendid Shakespearean webcomic <i><a href="https://goodticklebrain.com/">Good Tickle Brain</a></i>, has been using the prompts to create some nifty art based on Shakespeare's dialogue. You can see it on her <a href="https://www.facebook.com/goodticklebrain">Facebook page</a> or her <a href="https://twitter.com/GoodTickleBrain">Twitter timeline</a>.<br />
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Brian Kessinger, creator of the Otto and Victoria books, is doing his annual series of robot designs for Inktober. See them, and more nifty art, on his <a href="https://www.facebook.com/briankesingersteagirls/">Facebook</a> page.<br />
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I've mentioned the wonderful art of French artist Rosy Clockomaton before. She's been taking a bit of time off, but she's returned with an album worth of art of her steampunk original characters for Inktober. See the album on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/rosyclockomaton/photos/?tab=album&album_id=726346107551328">Facebook</a>, or follow her blog on <a href="http://rosy-clockomaton.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.<br />
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Finally: If listening to a song over and over because it's helping me plot the endings to the second and third Tabitha Miles books is wrong, I don't want to be right.<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2165649714137465521.post-21030880053385074042017-10-22T11:01:00.000-07:002017-10-22T11:01:05.026-07:00I never blogged anything out of the blueSunday catchup, and I'll start with this reminder I post from time to time: If you've enjoyed <i><a href="http://amzn.to/2xXR17G">Copper Cove</a></i>, or any of my other stories, would you be so kind as to leave a review somewhere? Reviews do help people decide if a book is for them, and increase its visibility. They're one easy way to support any author whose work you enjoy, not just me. So, head over to <a href="http://amzn.to/2xXR17G">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36305922-copper-cove">Goodreads</a>, or your social media of choice and spread the word. Many thanks! More after the cut.<br />
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A quick reminder: The amazeballs Meri Amber is doing several live streaming shows weekly on Twitch. The exact number varies, but it's usually at least three every week, and they're always fun and music-filled. You can keep up with when she'll be on by following her on <a href="https://www.twitch.tv/meriamber">Twitch</a>, or on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/meriamber/">Facebook</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/meriamber">Twitter</a>.<br />
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The new Magic: The Gathering set <i>Ixalan</i> is out, and while it's not as awesome as <i>Kaladesh</i>, it does provide the tools for someone to build a pirate deck for Commander. I still don't have all the cards yet, but I'm off to a solid start. And I just had to include my all time favorite MtG character, Kari Zev, as she happens to be a pirate...<br />
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And footage of the final round of tea dueling from Gaslight Expo has been released! You'll notice a familiar figure sitting next to Madame Askew during the pre-duel footage at the beginning, tea bag at the ready.<br />
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<br />Robert Dahlenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650736456780910216noreply@blogger.com0