The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1)
License
Copyright © 2015 by JF Smith
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at the email address below:
JF Smith
jfsmithstories@gmail.com
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Acknowledgments
I’d like to express my thanks to Lynda Wallis, the amazing talent who created the book cover design for The Gully Snipe as well as the constellation map illustration it is based upon. If you’d like to find out more about Lynda, her website is www.freelanceillustrations.com.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. All events, persons, and locations in this creative work are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, are strictly and entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Cover
License
Acknowledgments
Disclaimer
Prelude — Many Trickster Moons Ago
Chapter 1 — But For The Grace Of The Stars At Night
Chapter 2 — More Piss Than Vinegar
Chapter 3 — Cheese And Insults
Chapter 4 — Dinner Under The Stars
Chapter 5 — What Sort Of Man
Chapter 6 — Waylaid In The Ghellerweald
Chapter 7 — Negotiations Of A New Deal
Chapter 8 — Bound And Bloodied
Chapter 9 — The Rot Within Spreads
Chapter 10 — Confessions, Doubts, And Expectations
Chapter 11 — The Dagger And The Missing Letter
Chapter 12 — Bears And Wolves
Chapter 13 — The Blood Seal
Chapter 14 — The Dream That Was A Memory
Chapter 15 — A Borethorn No Longer
Chapter 16 — The Apple Cart’s Secret
Chapter 17 — A Humble Hospitality
Chapter 18 — The Conjure
Chapter 19 — The Last Of The Empire
Chapter 20 — The Storm From Beyond The Mountains
Chapter 21 — One Step At A Time
Chapter 22 — The Three-Headed Viper
Chapter 23 — The Plan Into Play
Chapter 24 — The Phantom In The Courtyard
Chapter 25 — The Madness Of Almonee
Chapter 26 — Sparks Into The Nighting
Chapter 27 — The Thief Of Iisen
Chapter 28 — Arrival In Lohrdanwuld
Chapter 29 — The Element Of Surprise
Chapter 30 — The Sword In The Field
Chapter 31 — Fleas And Humility
Chapter 32 — Upon Kitemount
Chapter 33 — Ascension
Chapter 34 — Judgment Of The Traitors
Chapter 35 — A Dissatisfied Court
Chapter 36 — The Thief In Irons
Chapter 37 — The Recompense
Chapter 38 — More Than One Reunion
Chapter 39 — The Emerald Star
Chapter 40 — One Too Few
Chapter 41 — What Comes Now Will Be Different
Chapter 42 — The Black Line Between What Was And What Will Be
Chapter 43 — The Constellations Shift
Chapter 44 — Things Begin To Fall Into Place
Chapter 45 — The Very First Day
Postlude — The End Of The Story
Other Works By JF Smith
About The Author
The
Gully
Snipe
Book One Of
The Dual World
JF SMITH
Prelude — Many Trickster Moons Ago
Tony’s eyes flew open to the sound of his own coughing fit, and he had to sit up in bed it was racking his chest so badly. He grabbed the pillow from behind him and buried his face in it, trying to muffle the sound as the hacks and heaves began to wind down. When they were finally finished and over with, he fell back into his bed, his little body aching and the pillow still over his face. He fruitlessly tried to breathe through his stuffed up nose.
He removed the pillow from over his face and listened carefully, trying to hear if there were any sounds outside his door. All around him, on the ceiling and walls of his bedroom, the stars and moons and planets projected from the sky-and-stars globe lamp on his desk spun slowly around in a warm and soothing glow. He could still hear the TV in the den, but no footsteps in the hall, so Tony decided maybe he had gotten away with his coughing fit this time.
The white cotton blanket and his Tampa Bay Bucs sheets that were bunched up around him had started to make him feel hot and sweaty, so he kicked them off and down around his feet. He lay in bed, looking up at the soft moons and stars circling overhead and wished he felt better. Maybe not well enough where he’d have to go to school the next day, but a little better. Staying home from school sucked if you weren’t well enough to enjoy it some.
Tony closed his eyes and was about to try to fall back asleep when a slight noise crept into his ear. His bedroom door was now cracked open and he saw two bushy, white eyebrows and dark, but fading, eyes peeking in at him. He scratched at his forehead, knowing his cough hadn’t gone unnoticed after all. The eyebrows and dark eyes pushed on into the room, followed by an elderly man wearing a light green oxford cloth shirt, khaki pants and a concerned look.
“You ok, champ?” asked the man when he saw that Tony was awake.
Tony shrugged, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t feel great, but he didn’t want his grandfather to worry, either.
“What time is it?” asked Tony.
“Not late. A little after 7,” said his grandfather as he came the rest of the way into the room. He walked over to the side of Tony’s bed and tried to pull the sheets and thin blanket back up over his grandson.
Tony pushed them back down with his bare feet and whined, “No, don’t, Pops! I’m hot!”
His grandfather considered him for a moment before sitting down on the side of the bed next to him. He put his hand on Tony’s forehead to see if he still had much of a fever or not.
“When was the last time I gave you some of the cold medicine?” he asked Tony.
Tony said, “Ten minutes ago.”
“Liar,” said his Pops through a grin.
“That stuff tastes butt-nasty,” grumbled Tony. “Whoever makes that stuff has no idea what a cherry or a grape really tastes like. They’re not exactly exotic tastes, you know.”
His grandfather ignored him and repeated, “What time? You’ll rest better if it’s safe to give you some more. And don’t say ‘butt-nasty.’ Who says things like that?”
Tony answered honestly this time. “Before lunch.” His grandfather was having a little bit of a harder time these days with details like this. It worried Tony, but he was hoping it was nothing. Really hoping.
Pops took the bottle of children’s cold medicine from the nightstand and measured out a fresh dose. He handed the little cup to Tony, who took it from him and looked at it with a sigh.
Pops said, “You’ll drink it, you’ll like it, and it’ll put hair on your chest.”
Tony tipped the little plastic cup back and swallowed down the medicine. He made an exaggerated sour face at his grandfather as he handed the cup back to him just to get his point across, earning him a fresh smile from the man sitting on the side of his bed.
“How about some ginger ale? You wan
t some?”
Tony shook his head no, but continued to smack his mouth to try to get the mediciney grape taste out of it.
His grandfather gently pushed a contrary strand of black hair off of Tony’s forehead. He studied his grandson and the smile faded to a more melancholy expression as he took the damp washcloth from the nightstand and wiped the fine sheen of sweat from his grandson’s brow. Tony hated seeing this look on his grandfather’s face. He hated it because he felt it too, inside him.
His grandfather lifted Tony’s left hand up and held it. He held his own left hand up, palm out, and pressed Tony’s left palm against it. He held their palms together and Tony could tell his grandfather wanted to smile even if he couldn’t quite manage it.
His grandfather pulled his eyes away from Tony’s and studied their hands, together palm to palm, instead. “My grandson...” he whispered.
Tony watched the frown deepen on his grandfather’s face as a drop of water escaped the old man’s eye and began to trail down his creviced cheek.
Tony said, “Pops...” trying to comfort him, but not sure what to say in the end.
His grandfather said with a suddenly cracked and broken rasp, “You remind me so much of him, Tony. You’re just like him when he was your age...”
The pain stabbed deeply into Tony as well. He felt the loss as well. He hated causing his Pops pain by constantly reminding him of what was no longer there.
Tony said, very meekly, “I... I’m sorry Pops. I wish that looking at me wasn’t hard for—”
His grandfather snorted and grabbed Tony, pulling him to his chest with all of his waning might. “No, no, no, Tony! Don’t say... don’t ever say that!” He rocked Tony against his chest and kissed the top of his head. “I wouldn’t change you for anything in this world or any other! Not one hair on your head, kiddo!”
He pushed Tony back by the shoulders and eyed him carefully again, a smile of pain, and love, and joy, and loss there, highlighted by a passing star from the lamp before it drifted on to somewhere else in the room. He nodded and his eyes glistened at Tony.
“It’s like having him all over again. It’s like I never lost him,” he said, the smile slowly returning.
The look in Pops’ face turned more mischievous and he added more firmly, “Only better, because you’re not the rotten little kid your dad was.”
Tony couldn’t help but giggle, and cough a little bit at the same time. His granddad always knew how to make him giggle like that.
His grandfather grabbed his left hand again and studied it a moment longer. He breathed, almost inaudibly, without looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, “I just wish you had him here instead of me.”
Before Tony could argue with him, his Pops said, “I tell you what, chief, how about I tell you a story, and then you can try to fall asleep again. Ok, big guy?”
Tony was torn. Stories were for little kids, and he was twelve now. But he wanted to hear the story anyway. He waffled for a few seconds while his grandfather directed a white, arched eyebrow at him waiting for his answer.
Tony finally sat up cross-legged in the bed. “Yeah, hit me!” he said with enthusiasm.
His grandfather kicked off his loafers and pulled up a pillow next to him. He told his grandson to shove over so he could get comfortable, too, and Tony gave him some room. He settled in against the pillow and headboard and pulled his grandson close to his side.
Pops rested his arm around Tony’s shoulders and began.
“A very many trickster moons ago, and very far away... way past where our real world ends and your imagination begins, things were very different than they are here. There was a good kingdom that had fallen on darker days—”
Tony groaned and squirmed. “Ugghhh! Not the Iisen thing again, Pops!”
He crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. He’d heard this fairy tale enough times, from both his father and his grandfather, that he could tell it better than either of them could! His grandfather was quiet for a moment and Tony wondered if he had played too strong a hand and had made him mad. He actually wouldn’t mind hearing the story again, really. He looked back up at his Pops to see if he had overdone his protest. The intense look in his grandfather’s aging eyes softened and he gave his grandson a squeeze with his arm.
His grandfather said, “You’re twelve now, Tony. Practically a man. How about...” He paused, as if to make sure Tony was ready for the offer he was about to make. He proceeded carefully. “How about if I tell you the full story this time?”
He had Tony’s complete attention now. The full story? Tony looked up to see if his grandfather was pulling his leg or not. He asked, “You mean all those times you told me this story, it wasn’t the real thing?”
His Pops laughed and said, “What I told you was a fairy tale. It took five minutes to tell and got you to fall asleep. And that’s all that mattered...”
Tony frowned at this and said indignantly, “Hey!”
Pops laughed even more. “Sorry, buddy, but when you’re a parent, that’s always mission number one,” he said. “Get the little bugger to fall asleep! But yeah, the version me and your dad told you had a lot left out.”
Pops started to get up from the bed and added, “But... if you’ve heard it and don’t want—”
Tony frantically grabbed at him and pulled him back down. “No! Wait! I want to! Tell me!” In his excitement, he started coughing again. His grandfather settled back down onto the bed and rubbed on Tony’s chest. When the coughs died down, Tony watched the stars march across his room and then closed his eyes.
His grandfather took a slow breath and began again.
“A very many trickster moons ago, and very, very far away... way past where our real world ends and your imagination begins, things were different than here. There was a proud kingdom that had fallen on darker days.”
“The kingdom was known as Iisen, or the Iisendom as it was sometimes called. It was a prosperous and peaceful kingdom, but for years, a cloud had been forming over the land and was worrying the people that lived there.”
“People were disappearing... not many, but when they did, it made the people afraid. There were rumors, of course. Rumors of gypsies and monsters in the woods, but no one seemed to know what was happening for sure. And the people of Iisen, the merchants and hostlers and iron mongers and farmers, couldn’t very well hide in their homes and farmhouses. They still had to earn a living. All they could do was hope they weren’t the next to vanish one day.”
“But the tale doesn’t really start with that. The tale starts with a thief. A thief who had just been caught and was about to be in very deep trouble...”
Chapter 1 — But For The Grace Of The Stars At Night
“Stop that infernal fidgeting, now! It’ll go worse for you if you keep with all this fighting!”
The guard pulled his arms tighter around his prisoner, trying to keep his hold on him secure.
He focused on his fellow guard again and grunted at him, “Come, Pollon, hurry up searching him and help me hold the wiggling piglet! And where are the others with the blasted irons? Wish I had known what a pot o’ honey and thorns this one would be!”
Pollon continued trying to search the pockets and pouches of the thief as his fellow guard held him, arms wrapped around his chest to keep him from running. There was an absurd number of hiding spots in the thief’s belt, tunic, and breeches, and every one he searched seemed to reveal two more to try to check while the thief continued to thrash about.
“Aye! I am as fast as I can!” huffed Pollon as he tried to search the prisoner’s legs. “The filthy bugger has more hiding places than a banker’s vault!”
Pollon had already recovered the small moneybag the thief, the Gully Snipe himself, had stolen not ten minutes earlier, but he still had more to examine. Even within the thief’s boots were nooks and crannies to be checked.
“You heard him! Be still, Gully Snipe!” commanded Pollon, and which immediately fell on deaf ears as the thief cont
inued to resist. He groped again and complained to his fellow swordsman, “Probably a filthy knocker anyway!” Then, to the thief as he tried to hold his foot still so he could search it, “Maybe I should just knee you in your beggar’s jewels to put you down for an hour or so, eh?”
Pollon pulled a lethal but scabrous throwing knife out of a leather sheath inside the Snipe’s boot. He held it up triumphantly and admonished him, “Aha! Don’t want to leave this where you can get to it, now do we?” He slipped the small knife into his own belt so he could continue looking.
The Gully Snipe continued his resistance and almost wormed his way out of the thick guard’s arms a couple of times. His eyes repeatedly glanced over the crowd pressing close; he had limited time before the other guards arrived with irons to slap on his wrists and feet, and then he’d truly have to start worrying.
He struggled more, trying to goad his captor, and thought to himself, come now, you sodden fool, stop letting me squirm!
There was quite a crowd gathered at the edge of the Swordsman Market, having been drawn from their hawking of wares, errands and work so they could watch. The flower stalls, carts laden with pannyfruit and apples and plums, crates with chickens and ducks for sale, all were mostly forgotten and abandoned for the moment; the sight of a criminal caught in the brazen light of early afternoon was far more interesting to those in earshot. Most wondered what foolish thief would attempt something in the middle of the day in the market closest to Lohrdanwuld’s largest garrison of the Kingdom Guard. But then rumors that this was perhaps the Gully Snipe spread like agitated squirrels through the crowd, which drew the curious attention, and the crowd, even tighter.