Annalea A Journey Through Strangers At Journey's End by Stephen

  • Model: FIDO000032
  • Manufactured by: Stephen Shore


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 Please allow us to present to you, ANNALEA, A JOURNEY THROUGH STRANGERS~AT JOURNEY'S END.  This final volume in the ANNALEA Trilogy brings the saga to an exciting and surprising conclusion. Old friends, familiar enemies and intriguing new characters undertake incredible adventures as the journey nears completion and the mystery of Annalea is ultimately resolved.

Within the pages of this novel, you will find adventure and romance, history and mystery, conflict and conspiracy, piracy and nobility and the unending quest for justice.  And you will also find humor and heroism alongside vanity and villainy.  All aspects of the human experience appear in this story.  If, for you, the pleasure of reading a novel comes from intimate familiarity with strong characters and a sense of sharing in their lives and adventures, then you will thoroughly enjoy reading the saga of Annalea. .

No, this is not just a book about pirates.

Word Count: 54,690

Historical, Action/Adventure



And that little amusement was begun today–with the advent of tailors and seamstresses whose arrival upon our doorstoop preceeded the cock’s crow.  

Soon enough, we broke off into various bedrooms and unoccupied parlours–each of us to be sized, fondled and fitted discretely, and with a modicum of privacy.  Aye, Cap’n, only a modicum of privacy, as each one of us was now surrounded by his or her own small retinue of garmenters.  And they would quite often call upon their fellows (of either sex) to come and gawk at your ungainly posed, naked frame, in order to provide a professional opinion on how best to disguise nature’s more obvious mistakes.

They tried this, and they tried that, and they dressed me up and they stripped me down.  Cap’n, they even wrapped me in garments that most resembled a lady’s undergarments... and then asked if I’d be suited to walk about in such!  I was grateful when they unwrapped me!

Of course, that left me standing naked, nervous, and a wee bit humbled, afore those assembled.  Finally, one of them commented to the others, “It is just no use.  I really don’t know.  We must show him to Mr. Fousey!”

That disturbed me, Cap’n.  Who was this “Mr. Fousey?”  And why did I have to display meself to him?

The thrall who’d spake, abruptly departed the bedroom–returning after several moments, arm-in-arm, with the greatest fopping Flossy I’d e’er seen (‘least since the courtiers at Versailles).  All heads (‘cept mine) were bowed a bit, upon the entrance of this peculiar, little man.  All in attendance (save meself) uttered a reverent, “Mr. Fousey,” as they nodded–to acknowledge the presence of the master.  And I sincerely did hope, Cap’n, to find this man’s knowledge superior to his appearance. 

Aside the puffery and plumage adorning this man (sufficient to embarrass a peacock) and the odd fragrance he seemed drenched in (something akin to the odour of lilacs, stored too long in a damp hold), he had the chalkiest complexion I’d put me eyes upon since viewing a portrait of olde Queen Elizabeth.  Cap’n, the man was heavily powdered from wig-top to shoulders.  When he turned his head, quickly, a wee cloud of white dust was emitted into the air.  And from the sweat upon his forehead and neck, the stuff had congealed into an eggshell-coloured paste–affecting the semblance of so many disgusting boils.

This was Mr. Fousey.  This was the man expected to suit Crockett to meet his king.  Cap’n, I knew not whether to laugh or just leave.  But Fousey spake afore I’d time to decide.  “Oh!  Oh, dear!  Oh... deary-dear!”

Aye, Cap’n, them were the man’s words–I swear.  And from his disciples come a long, confirming, “Hmmm.”

Then the old foppy put a bit o’ glass rimmed with horn up to his eye and proceeded to spy me with it–close-up–head to toe.  Somewheres upon his return from me toe to me head–‘round about me knee–his back locked up, and he needed the assist of two young disciples to bring him erect, again.  Now I was laughing, Cap’n: boisterously.  I did manage to stop, ‘though, when I noticed all others in the room looking at me, aghast.

But it was Mr. Fousey who spake again.  “I can do nothing, here.  The light is poor.  Take him into the front parlour.  There is where I have been viewing these... clients.”

Whereupon, two of his disciples took me arms in theirs as they moved me naked carcass down through the hallways to the appointed parlour.  At the entry to said parlour, I was informed that I must wait a few moments afore Mr. Fousey could attend me.  “The old love moves a bit slowly.”
Rather unceremoniously, I was pushed across the threshold and the door was shut behind me.  Fortunately, Cap’n, that is a most bright and sunny room.  Most fortunate, in me present condition: as I’d not a stitch upon me to provide for warmth.  Nor modesty, for that matter.  And... Cap’n... ‘twould appear it did so matter.  For I was not alone in that warm and brightly-lit parlour.  I heard the agreeable consonance of feminine voices waft ‘cross that room.  Soon, I found meself once again gazing admiringly upon the unadorned backsides of the sisters–Sarah and Cynthia.

Apparently, they’d not heard me enter the room–what with all their chatter and giggling.  Apparently, I could escape detection by quietly departing the parlour.  Apparently, me attraction to the contours of the female form is much greater than me desire to escape embarrassment.  I could not move and I could not remove me eyes from this enchanting vision.  Were judgement day to arrive at that very moment... were St. Peter hisself calling me to come to accounts, I would have to say, “But a moment.”

Of course, every moment has its ending.  And moments like that one end all too quickly.  Me enchanted moment ended when Sarah turned her head just enough to spy me gawking (leering?) at the two of them.  And then she gave signal to Cynthia.  Both lasses turned full-front to face me (so’s to speak).  Sarah studied the situation carefully, focusing her attentions on whate’er stood out–and then bringing the matter to her sister’s attentions, drawing her keen eyesight to that which seemed most significant.

“Look there, sister!  This cur has a bone of his own.”

“Aye, sister.  And I believe he means to share it with us!”

Well, Cap’n... you can just imagine what happened next: what I did next; what the sisters did next.  And I should allow you to imagine the conclusion to this tryst.  I’m quite certain you could use the amusement.  But as creative as your imagination might be, and as entertaining a tale as it might devise, ‘tis for certain your imaginary conclusion would widely miss the mark when compared to reality.

For true, I felt meself more warmed by the attendance and attentions of the sisters than by the bright sunlight which filled the room.  But a purely physical gesture–a most natural response–was all I’d the time for.  The door to the parlour burst open!  (Or so it seemed to the startled sisters.)  In come Mr. Fousey, propped up by two attendants.  When he spied that which had held the rapt attentions of the sisters (even without benefit of his glass) he aroused hisself and once again exclaimed, “Oh!  Oh, dear!  Oh... deary-dear!”

Now, Cap’n, you may imagine whate’er outcome amuses you!


This product was added to our catalog on Saturday 30 July, 2011.


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