A Writers View

The client hadn’t specified what was in the package, just that Andres was not allowed to let it out of his sight.

“No, don’t even put it down,” the twitchy little man with the pencil thin mustache and the bony wringing fingers had ordered him. “Don’t ever let your fingers be off of it. Understand?”

If Andres had been a little less of a professional he would’ve laughed in the puny man’s face, but he was a professional. He was also a half-elf in mage territory and, by rights, half-elves were welcomed – pretty much anywhere. Mixed half-breeds they called him and his like. Everyone was happy to see the back of him, until they had a particularly dangerous package to deliver, then they shouted out to him joyously “Monsieur M’Andres! Monsieur M’Andres!” and showered him with more compliments and praise then their favorite beagle.

“You understand me, don’t you Monsieur M’Andres?”

“Perfectly, M’Lord,” Andres had bowed at the waist down to 90 degrees, “rest assured that your package shall not leave my hands until it has been most securely delivered to your respected recipient.”

That was all well and good to promise in the moment, but now Andres was in a bit of a bind. You see, it was all well and easy to keep your hands on the package when the carriages and trains ran on time, even easier when on your own horse or car, but when you were confronted by a group of disrespectful ogres in the rear-end of a dining car with no way out and no options then – well, what the client didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Andres dropped and kicked the brown paper package under the nearest seat just as the first ogres fist flew at his face.

“For Athanaaaaas!” the ogres shouted as one as they jumped him.

…

“Again, I really am terribly sorry about all of the blood. At least it matches the color of the upholstery though, am I right?”

The conductor gawped open mouthed at Andres as he stooped down to retrieve his clients little brown box from its ogre-blood free location. Not a drop of the green goo had stained the delicate brown paper. Not a bit of it had been scratched or marred in anyway.

“Oh,” Andres turned back to the conductor with conspirators grin, “and I’d appreciate it if you could keep quiet about the whole dropping the package thing, alright? My client was pretty explicit with his instructions.”

There were a million things that the conductor wanted to say, but none of them had had anything to do with the half-elf’s strange brown paper package. No, he was more worried about the fact that today had been his first day, he’d promised his wife that this job would be the one; this would be the one that lasted! But now, well, he wasn’t sure how trains ran their affairs, but most businesses frowned at dead customers. Especially on an employee’s first day.

Andres de-boarded that train at the next stop and switched to solo travel. ‘Woes come with foes’ his mother had always said and bodies usually attracted – well, more bodies. He wasn’t as eloquent with words as his mother had been.

Unfortunately, he’d had the bad luck of de-boarding at Chipsburg, the smallest, dullest, travel-free town in all the lands. Had he realized that Chipsburg was the next stop he would’ve waited to kill all of those ogres till a little later, so that he could’ve made his exit at a more palatable location. But, Chipsburg was where he found himself. A no horse, no car, no carriage, no boat, no wheel town.

Thankfully, Andres was fond of walking.

A couple of clicks as the raven flies or the horsefly dies Andres found himself at a most welcome bus stop. He plopped himself down on the ground beside the gangly sign and settled the box atop his knee.

What could it be, he wondered. What could a man such as he possibly prize so highly that he would hire a filthy half-breed to deliver it? It couldn’t be something all that precious or Andres would’ve never even been allowed to touch it, might Courier or no, much less be ordered to never remove even so much as a finger from it.

What could it be?

A diamond as big as a fist? No, it was much too light. The head of an enemy? No, there was no smell. A food item of some sort? No, not with this flimsy packaging. A – rare flower? Andres was not a very imaginative man, not when it came to anything other than his work, so he quickly gave up his curiosity and leaning back his head closed his eyes to a bit of sleep.

…

When Andres awoke night had severely fallen and wind had dramatically died. There was not a sound in the world to be heard – and not a mysteriously wrapped brown paper package in his hands.

It was gone.

The package was gone.

Andres leapt to his feet, his blade in his hand, when a sound gifted his ear. It was a musical sound, a heady sound, it was the sound of a street siren, a sound Andres had familiarized himself all too well with after a particularly well-paying job last spring. This was not just any street-siren.

“Julianna,” Andres called to the night as the notes grew more musical. A giddy little laugh bubbled in the air all around him, confusing his senses. Was she behind or before him? To his right or his left?

“Julianna, you know I have a restraining order against you, right?”

“Oh foo-ey,” the street siren puffed in his face, materializing out of thin air, her hair floating in the air as if she were underwater like her high-brow cousins. Her translucent skin was as iridescently beautiful as ever, her eyes just as clear and seductive as they always been, her touch on his cheek electric as before. Andres found himself slipping happily under her spell.

“You know, I’d never hurt you,” she whispered against his lips, her breath cool on his face. “Not fatally.”

“No,” he murmured, “but my client will if I don’t deliver his package on time.”

He pulled the package out from her back just as she pushed forward and kissed him. He could feel the familiar sensation of giving in, of letting her have everything, take everything, pull him down to the depths of her control.

“Julianna,” he breathed against her face, a small smirk on his lips as he pulled away, “if you powers didn’t work on me before, then what makes you think they would work on me now?”

Her face transformed, as it always did just before she tried to kill him, her nails turned to knives and her glowing skin to the dull gray of an eels. She reached for his throat as fast as a darting fish but the reflexes of a trained courier were faster. He clicked the button on his cuff and …

*EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*

Julianna disappeared in a huff, her beautiful song turned to agonized screeching at the piercing pitch of Andres’s wrist whistle.

“So long old gal,” Andres said, only a little sadly, just as the night carriage pulled up, the headless driver pausing only for the briefest of moments to allow Andres to board after depositing the last bit of silver that he had left.

It better be enough to get me to Pearberry, he thought to himself bitterly as he settled down on the black velvet cushions and, hugging the package tight, closed his eyes for more sleep.

…

It was enough.

Well, almost enough.

The headless coachmen stopped just a 10 minute walk outside of Pearberry, refusing to move again until Andres had fully vacated his convenience. Checking his timepiece against the sun Andres boasted to the grass and bugs around him.

“Ho ho, will you look at that! Just 30 minutes to drop-off time and I’ll be there in less then 20. Am I the best courier or what?”

The chipmunks in the field said nothing, but the mosquitos kissed Andres’s face in adoration – repeatedly.

Within 19 minutes Andres was stood outside of his recipient’s house, package tucked neatly under one arm as he rang the doorbell. A pretty young maid in a floral dress answered the door, and only closed it a little bit when she saw that it was a half-elf on her step. Nice girl.

“Can I help you?” she asked meekly, half hiding behind the frame even as she tentatively smiled politely.

“Package for you, Miss,” Andres smiled holding out the small brown paper covered box.

“Oh,” her face lit up. “Oh my goodness, thank you. Thank you so much!”

She took the box from him with trembling hands and opened it right there on the spot. Oh nice, Andres thought, now I’ll get to see what’s in it. Inside was a …

“Oh thank you, thank you,” the girl giggled and bounced, an enormous grin on her face.

“Not to be rude, but – what is it?”

“It’s sugar,” she said, holding out the plain small grocer container of sugar, “pure Fiddlesbrook sugar. Oh, I have been so longing for it. Thank you, thank you so much.”

And with that she closed the door and Andres was left alone to, once again, shake his head at the absurdity of his customers.

THE END.