Seamus Tripp & the Thunderbird

By Jon Garett

Over the dusty canyons of the Arizuma Territory, an ancient legend rises. Can Seamus Tripp and his nephew Gordon discover its secret before a band of trophy hunters? He’s Seamus Tripp, Adventurer.

World-famous adventurer Seamus Tripp embarks on his most daring venture yet: deep into the Arizuma desert in search of a mythical creature so elusive and so magnificent that no one can remember ever seeing it...

But when Seamus, accompanied by his earnest nephew Gordon and reluctant business partner Myron, comes upon a Civil War veteran and his band of trophy hunters looking for the same creature, the trip becomes even more dangerous.
Join Seamus Tripp on a fast-paced adventure across the American Southwest in search of the Thunderbird!

The Adventure of Seamus Tripp & the Thunderbird is a full, novella length story that can be read in any order with the rest of The Adventures of Seamus Tripp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Garett
• Release date: Apr 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301785766

Jon Garett

Jon Garett and Richard Walsh are the creators and co-authors of The Adventures of Seamus Tripp.Jon and Richard are both Virgos, and they throw the full planning and attention-to-detail typical of the sign into the world of Seamus Tripp. The stories are woven with humor, a memorable stable of characters, recurring narrative arcs, and - of course - lots and lots of adventure.The authors have been friends and creative collaborators for more than 20 years, with much of their previous creative energy going into roleplaying games, board games, and individual projects.The world of Seamus Tripp represents an equal partnership that blends their shared interests in genre fiction, world religions and spirituality, cryptozoology, and - of course - adventure.

Book preview

Seamus Tripp & the Thunderbird

By:

Jon Garett & Richard Walsh

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Jon Garett & Richard Walsh

Cover art by H Elizabeth Killmer

Cover design by Tom Vogel

Chapter One: A Package From Three Rains

The sun had not yet risen out beyond Boston’s North End when the proprietors of Tripp’s Imports & Antiquities, Seamus Tripp and Myron Fish, and their two employees, Gordon Tripp and Mrs. Doolittle, began the herculean task of preparing Mrs. Gristmill’s party packages.

Mrs. Gristmill was Seamus Tripp’s best client.

What she lacks in tact, he often said, she compensates for in curiosity.

And what she lacks in curiosity, continued Fish, she compensates for in money.

And so the foursome found themselves up early in order to prepare the elaborate packages for a Mystic Dinner, one of the monthly soirees the socialite hosted at her mansion on the other side of the North End. She occasionally employed professional psychics to ensure the correct atmosphere of the events, but had recently become confident enough to lead the Mystic Dinners herself.

When Seamus heard mystic, a word he hated, all the more so because Gristmill deployed it so wantonly, he thought crystals. So he set his nephew Gordon to placing one small crystal into one small fur-lined bag. Each party packet would have one bag, and each crystal would, of course, because they were mystical, be unique to the recipient. No doubt the recipient who saw himself as cool and rational would see a crystal blue as a sign of his temperate emotions, whilst the shy one would see the blue of the ocean, pacific and deep. In any case, Mrs. Gristmill was skilled enough at the mystical arts to help her guests come to these conclusions.

But getting the crystals into the fur pouches was turning out to be an inexact task, and clumsy Gordon was beginning to drop the tiny crystals on the store’s knotty wood floor.

Damn! said Seamus, watching a crystal disappear from view. Watch better where you’re stuffing those. They are mystic crystals after all, not penny candies you are trying to get into your mouth as quickly as possible.

Sorry, said Gordon mournfully.

Please, said Mrs. Doolittle as she spritzed a light sandalwood scent on the packets. Seamus assumed she was referring to the profanity. He’s just a lad and he’s doing his best.

Besides, said Myron, looking up from his task handwriting fortunes in the style of an Oriental soothsayer, the damned mystic crystals were your own idea. I told you they would either be too small or too expensive.

Please... muttered Mrs. Doolittle under her breath again, but Seamus was already responding to them both. The sun had barely risen, foot and horse traffic just picking up outside the shop, and these two laying into him for such trivialities.

"I’m of a mind to turn over all the duties to Gort, even with his sodden clumsy fingers! And I’ll start with yours. Myron, your handwriting isn’t much better than if you were to grip the pencil like an orang-outan and write the notes in all capital letters.

"And Doolittle, you’ve practically soaked these packages with your liberal sandalwood treatment. They’re to be spritzes, ma’am. Spritzes!"

Seamus heard Myron mutter, yes, those essential oils are quite expensive.

Just then the front doorbell chimed. An arrival, and earlier than normal. Mrs. Doolittle shuffled over to the front vestibule, avoiding Tripp’s eyes when she passed.

Really, said Myron to Seamus when she had left. I take no offense and even young Gordon I’m sure is accustomed to your flights of temper. But Mrs. Doolittle? She will remember this to her grave if you don’t apologize.

"Apologize? For suggesting a change in technique for preparing a product for a very important customer? I’d sooner pay Gort a dime for cleverly hiding those crystals beneath our floorboards.  Whoa be to the burglar seeking loot here."

She shouldn’t even be helping with this. The kitchen’s a disaster since you insisted she help. I’m afraid her heart’s just not in it. And you’re being sensitive to the sandalwood. I’d hardly noticed it. Though, as I said, those oils are quite expensive.

Seamus considered. The morning was early, breakfast had been too early, they were already receiving deliveries. None of this suited his love of living each day on his own schedule.

Mrs. Doolittle shuffled back into the parlor carrying a square package. From the Post. Too large to be part of the morning delivery, so they sent it along separate. From the Arizuma Territory. She put it down and stood sniffing.

Wait, Mrs. Doolittle, said Seamus, slowly. Myron was right, of course, that an apology was required and soon. At the very minimum, her services were absolutely indispensable in the kitchen, even if she was a superstitious old bat. I am sincerely sorry for my rash language. Thank heavens this da... this blessed package has arrived to break up the tension of the situation. I will commence opening it if you would prepare us one of your unmatched tea services.

I’d be happy to, she said cheerily and headed back to the kitchen.

Seamus opened the box with a craft knife they were using for Mrs. Gristmill’s packets. He extracted a folded letter and scanned it quickly.

A letter of introduction, he announced to Gordon and Myron, from the sender, one Sam Sanchez of Sunset, Arizuma Territory. Dated five weeks ago. Took its time getting here. He cleared his throat. "‘Dear Mister Seamus Tripp’ it begins..."

"I write with the purpose of proposing a profitable business relationship. I am a trader and one of the proud Navaho people. We are master craftsmen and no doubt you have seen many of our wares in fine stores in Boston. But we create other objects of a more selective nature, an example of which I have sent to you as evidence of our quality workmanship. These are items which tend to appeal to the enlightened and wisdom-seeking and your reputation for dealing in such is well known in these parts.

Please accept the sage smudge stick within for your own. It is for your use and inspection. Should it meet your standards we would like to sell them in your store in Boston. I am sure we can come to an arrangement that is fair. Such an arrangement would be a great benefit to us Navaho people.