The Book of Gouval: The Sun Rises Over North Beach: The Books of Gouval, #6

By Lord Gouval

The third installment of The Dimension G7 Saga, and the sequel to Gouval Inc. Forever, The Sun Rises Over North Beach is a wild, touching and cinematically vivid ode to where it all began for Lord Gouval. Warm sunlight seeps through the invigorating calligraphy, moist sand glistens between the lines, and the softly breathing ocean's continually resonating in the background. After the epoch shattering chaos of Forever, The Sun Rises Over North Beach settles all scores and ushers in an age of peace. Once again breaking all laws and expectations, Lord Gouval takes drive and leaves a lane all his own. A truly exceptional novel from this generation's premier storyteller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gouval Inc. Press
• Release date: Apr 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201150662

Book preview

The Book of Gouval: The Sun Rises Over North Beach

The Books of Gouval, Volume 6

Lord Gouval

Published by Gouval Inc. Press, 2022.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE BOOK OF GOUVAL: THE SUN RISES OVER NORTH BEACH

First edition. April 14, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 Lord Gouval.

ISBN: 979-8201150662

Written by Lord Gouval.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

The Book of Gouval: The Sun Rises Over North Beach (The Books of Gouval, #6)

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For all the Goddesses with their feet born in the sand.

Told you this would be good. I looked at Kate to my right. We were sitting at the Tiki Lounge bar—the sun crowning over the ocean behind us—drinking margaritas and enjoying scrambled eggs drenched in Buffalo sauce. Buffalo’s the name of an octopus from South Gouval—renowned for his witchery with sauces.

I never doubted you. She smiled—wearing my peacoat, her hair in a loose bun. After that Gouval Court session, the Lounge turned into a chaotic drinking spree—everyone attempting to rid themselves of horrendous contrition. Some made it home, though the sand behind us were littered with bodies. Harold were to my left—enjoying his scramble with a side of Buffalo’s Buttered Toast. Jefferie, Bobo, Dr. Grant, Doc, Franz, Eddie, Alfonso, Jerry, Mr. Snuffles, Thunder, The Ref and Iggy were exploring those islands they’d found earlier. I’d heard reports of strange architecture, more Goddesses, and a pirate squirrel named Chuck. He didn’t have a crew with him, though he did own a dope ship apparently. I were eagerly awaiting more updates on Chuck.

I woke up in the Fuck Cab.. this is Emily, right?.. whew. Shit got pretty wild last night. For all I knew, I could’ve dragged Pandy in there.

Wake up. I shook her around a little. I were hungry, and had heard rumors of a bagel shop nearby. I’m an admitted fiend for bagels, though not cream cheese.

Emily groaned a little—yawned and stretched her immaculate body around, then got snug on my lap. Why is there a starfish on the dash?.. are those considered an aphrodisiac?

Morning. She smiled up at me, then smiled wider at seeing her visage on my chest. I don’t care what the others say—especially that asshole with Selena—I’m damn proud of that tattoo, and my zebra print shoes.

You hungry? I rubbed her arm, then pulled that pink starfish off the leather dash. He curled up into a ball—feeling kinda dry. I teleported him back to Sunken City—assuming one of the Goddesses from down there had tracked him in.

Very. Can we drive this thing? She asked while reaching back for my tank to wear. I slid us down the bench seat while teleporting my zebra print slims and shoes back on, then apperated a black and white tie-dye tank to my chest, and pushed a pair of white wayfarers with black lenses against my nose. It weren’t all that bright out yet, though it would be.

Might as well. If that cocksucker they stole this thing from shows up, well, we’ll blame it on Amy. I chuckled to myself while firing the engine up. Most felt guilty after Gouval Court. I were still pissed about her spitting in my face. Sure I did it first, but still. She could go fuck herself, or that weird me who didn’t bother to clean stains off his flannel.

Or we could just.. paint it. Emily said—then morphed the Fuck Cab into a white hover coup. I glanced back, then sighed at finding a backseat. Who steals backseats? That’s just strange, irrational behavior. Hehe.  

Better for over the sand. I said as we neared the pavement. Pandy and I were walking back to the beach—holding bagels. I slammed on the brakes and telekinetically forced the window down. Where’s the bagel spot? I asked while giving myself dap. He pointed down the street, then said he recommended the Everything bagel. I took my word for it, then kept the window down to air out the cabin, and follow the scent of warm bagels.

Nice fellow, that one. I said while putting my arm around Emily. She apperated a fifth of vodka and poured some down my throat. I shook my curls out, then paused so a cat could cross the street. He started taking his damn time.

Here kitty kitty. Emily turned the coup into a convertible, then chimed while leaning over the windshield. The cat hopped up the hood and smelt her fingers. He were an orange tabby with prominent striping. I deemed him Stripey Cat. Emily grabbed Stripey and put him on her lap. He curled up—likely glad we bought his bait.

Well now we have a cat. I smiled a little while looking at him, nose covered by his tail and resting on Emily’s white denim shorts. She had her hair form into a bun while I parked outside the bagel spot. Kath and I were passed out on the caramel brown tile. I hopped out to rifle through his pockets.. another starfish? Was he to blame for them all? That sick bastard. I taped a piece of paper to his chest, reading ‘I Suck Starfish Limbs’, chuckled to myself, then left the blue feller on his forehead. Emily were asking about the Everything bagel? Brad assured her it were a popular item this morning. I said we’d take two.. er, three, after looking at Stripey in Emily’s arms. Brad asked if we’d like a couple complimentary fifths of peanut butter whisky? I put a hand over my heart—thanking the higher force which imbued me with a hankering for bagels that morning, then said we’d take a case. Brad reached behind him, put a box in my arms, then tonged a few Everything’s from the glass display case. I heard him rousing back there, then apperated a blackhole behind my head before he could chuck the starfish at me. He were sent back to Sunken City with his buddy.

You fucking asshole.. He groaned while tearing that flier off his chest, then chuckled to himself. Brad put our thin paper bagel pouches atop the whisky case. I apperated a couple hundos into his tip jar, and added we’d be there often.

Well that’s what you get for leaving a starfish in our car, you weirdo. I said while he helped Kath up. She seemed unwilling to move.

Where to? I asked while putting the whisky in the back, then hopped in with my bagel. I could tell she liked it, and Stripey were readily nibbling at his.

Let’s go home. She kissed my cheek. I had the car ascend and start for that direction—flying over Beach Street Deluxe.

Never again.. Cassidy were groaning at her desk—having been typing all night to get the paper ready on time. Harold and I were putting near the vodka cooler in our business casual silk suits. Cassidy’s clone were offering a shoulder rub—Ferris asleep in her lap. Jenny and Carlene were fetching the pastries and coffee—checking around for signs of action or scoops. Carlene’s clone were sleeping on the photo copier.

Well you did it once. You’ll be expected to do it again. I chuckled while teleporting The Daily’s second edition across Gouval. Harold nudged me at the bar, and gestured at the paper. ‘We made the front page again.’ I assumed Amy weren’t gonna enjoy the monolithic photo of her being pummeled with bricks while chained to a chair, but.. that were someone else’s problem. Certainly not mine.

You’re a whore. Cassidy threw a stapler at my head. I yelled ‘HI-YA!!’ while bashing it down the hall with my putter. Harold said he felt we could invent some sport based around batting objects. I sent Dr. Grant a missive. He replied the action were currently too hot for him to worry about the various Gouval Sporting Leagues. I looked at Harold. We teleported onto Iggy’s Floating Battleship.

Doc and Chuck were locked into a vicious saber fight. Chuck’s a red squirrel. Jerry ran over and hugged me. I rubbed his head while Iggy swore he’d throw Doc overboard if he didn’t cut that fucker’s throat. Jefferie waddled up to me, and said he couldn’t believe it. We made the front page again—pointing at his eloquent slaying of Amy on page 2. Harold assured Bobo his review of the Peachanero jam were worth skipping to. Bobo asked if he were the real Harold? Harold hopped up behind himself, and assured Bobo he were the real Harold. I looked back at Kate and I walking over. We joined in on Dr. Grant and Alfonso’s frantic betting upon the saber match. Bobo said seriously, this is getting fucking annoying, which one of you’s the real Harold? Harold assured him he were the genuine article. Harold gestured at his suit—saying obviously only the OG Harold would wear something so dapper. Jefferie asked them to pull a stuffed yeti out their pouches. The Editor could not produce one, though Harold asked Jefferie if he wanted his prize from two nights ago? Jefferie asked him to hold onto it for now. Harold made a mental bet on how many times he’d be asked to do that.

That little fucker’s insane. We found him—drunker than all hell on his little ship down there. There was some heavy cannon fire, then he flew up and clung onto our sail—screaming bloody murder with that sword raised high, then he dropped down and bit Doc’s neck. Dr. Grant explained, and Chuck were wearing Doc out quick—flying around and spinning—producing a second saber in his left hand, then a third he gripped with his long bushy tail. Doc couldn’t even venture a leg out to kick him away with, lest he lose his foot.. again.

Gimmie. I teleported Chuck’s swords into my hand, tossed them over the port side, then held him midair with telekinesis after he launched at me—fangs bared and aimed for my throat. Doc collapsed from exhaustion. Alfonso collected after betting I’d be forced to intervene.  

Chill out, you rabid little fucker. You can either befriend us, or I’ll feed you to Jerry. I gestured at him behind me. He snarled and glared at Chuck, who were trying to free himself of my grip.

You puffy headed fuck!! He screamed—writhing around futilely. Dr. Grant bonked him hard with The Juju Club. That subdued him good. Thunder walked up from below deck, yawned with a hearty stretch, then asked about the action. The Editor said he just missed an epic saber duel. ‘I filmed it though.’ Jenny said while sliding down from The Crow’s Nest. Carlene were descending with a parachute.

You calm now? I walked up to Chuck—stars sprouting out his dazed eyes. Jerry made a short, guttural snarl over my shoulder. Daisy shoved Socky over the left and had her snap a couple times. I assumed there were about fifty clones and Goddesses behind me. Emily and Zebra Shoes pulled up in a white hover convertible—drinking whisky and.. ooh a cat.. calm down Mike.. you’re a raptor God. Leave the cats to the clones.

You evil warlock.. ugh.. He groaned while standing up. Franz asked Eddie if he’d eat a squirrel? Too gamey, he shook his head. How dare you invade my territory. I am GOD OF THESE SEAS!! He raised his little paws to the sky. I waited for lightning. No, just a slowly bluing horizon.

Jefferie asked if he had some form of verification? Pirates don’t deal with your legal bullshit! I am god of these seas because I travel them, alone, raping and pillaging as I so choose. The waves beckon and heed to the hull of my fine vessel. He gestured at his little dingy floating down to the starboard side. It was fancy, a little too ornate for a squirrel who claimed he ravaged foreign shores.

Chuck were either clearly insane, or just fucking wasted. Even his fur reeked of rum. He could’ve been Of Us, though he’d have to cool it, lest Dr. Grant play Whack-A-Squirrel again.

Well we’re not looking to interfere with your shit. Just don’t fire cannons at us, or bite my friend’s neck. I gestured at Doc, who were looking over his shirt for slash marks. There was a fatty C in the back.

You encroach upon my territory, it’s a proclamation of war. He glared at me. I gestured at Daisy. She whipped a wand from her non-Socky sleeve and blasted him towards the rising sun. Iggy dropped a bomb onto his ship, which were currently docked near a small island—bearing a lone palm tree.

He’ll be back. I shrugged, then broke and went to ask Emily about her cat.

His name’s Stripey. We met him near the bagel shop. She smiled while scratching behind his ear. I complimented Mr. Zebra on his dope tank. He thanked me sincerely.

Back to this sport involving bats though. Dr. Grant pulled a sheet of paper from his coat. There’ll be a stadium, two opposing teams—one on offense, one on defense. The offensive team will try hitting balls thrown by the defensive team.. that’s what I’ve got so far. He read off his notes. Jefferie asked about the rookie cards? Harold said he felt his would be a collector’s item in a few years. I keep it in a glass display case and gesture at it during dinner parties. ‘You have Harold’s rookie card?’ I nod, then flip it over and show them his signature on the back—making it legit. Kate rolls her eyes.

Let’s do nine players on a team.. and we’ll have some form of.. committee put in place to choose who plays on what team, for the sake of fairness. Jenny’s clone put in. Bobo said he felt it were safe to just let you clones group up on your own, as we’re gonna kick the shit out of you regardless. I immediately called dibs on Thunder for our team. Jenny’s clone grimaced. Thunder figured he’d have the Warriors craft some more clubs for what we tentatively called Bashball.

Can I play? Emily asked. Anybody can. I shrugged. Harold sent out a mass missive to his volleyball team, asking them to prepare for battle on a new field. I figured the more sporting Goddesses would get a kick out of Bashball. I weren’t about to play if I personally didn’t.

A few sets of brown eyes were peering over the bow. I walked over and looked at the Goddesses hanging and peeping the scene from a safe distance. I glanced back—assuming they must’ve been curious as to why there was a sea of me around the deck.

Hey uh.. we’re chill, just.. checking the ocean out. I’m Mike. I offered them a hand. The middle one snatched it first and clung to me—stark naked. Hmm.. uh, well..

How dare you! A new clone snatched her while glaring at me like ‘get your own beautiful brown Goddess.’ Two more clones helped the others up. Kate put her arms around my shoulders from behind, giving the newcomers an eye. Natalie gestured at their asses. I nodded on my deck chair to her right, sipping beer I had in a cooler/footrest.

Why do most Gods look the same? One squinted, then wondered why the other Goddesses were wearing clothing. I wanted to know their culture—what their homeland were like. I assumed it were amazing—possibly some tropical West Gouval.

They’re clones of him. Kate put an index above my head. The first clone assured them he were the real Lord Gouval. The second pshed him, saying he were the Progenitor. The third offered his Goddess a blunt of Danky’s Blueberry. She aimed the blunt at the sun. A quick shot of fire landed on the tip for her. Hailey thought that were cool. I were asking Megan if she knew the naked Goddesses. ‘Oh yeah, we go way back.’ She rolled her eyes. I told her there was no need for sarcasm here.

We can take them though? The first Goddess to receive a clone—owning long silky black hair, soft brown skin and the prideful eyes of a lioness asked, having sized Kate up as the Apex Lioness. The clones grew wings and flew them off to wherever they pointed.

And they’re off to Whore Island. Pandy rolled her eyes. I asked Mr. Zebra if he’d gone with the Everything bagel? He said after taking one bite, he ran in and ordered a hundred—the trunk’s full of em. I asked politely. He popped the trunk. I grabbed Pandy and I a couple more, then just smelt the warm bagels for a moment.

Their culture’s obviously much different than ours.. have them send us updates. Dr. Grant said while compiling our current knowledge and assumptions upon Island Goddesses.

That’d make for a good article. Cassidy said while looking over the good doctor’s scribbling. I balked at Ferris sitting on her shoulder, like a parrot. I no longer considered Chuck a true pirate. He lacked a shoulder cat.

Harold told Carlene to follow the flying clones—get some eye-witness accounts of their morning activities. ‘It probably involves orgies.’ Carlene made a wrumple-face. The Editor said she weren’t cut out for journalism. Carlene grimaced, then apperated a hang-glider and ran off the bow. A gentle breeze started to guide her along the path.

I’m starting to dig boats more than the beach. I say we put a bar somewhere around here. Doc were catching Boat Fever. That’s easy, especially while drunk and floating about a hundred feet above the ocean’s pellucid surface.

Nay—a boat bar. Alfonso said while using his sliding stick like a magical scepter—taking the wreckage of Chuck’s ship, rebuilding and expanding it until it became Alfonso’s Boat Bar and Grill—on the waterfront. Harold cleared his throat. ‘What? So you’re the only motherfucker who can use a stick like a scepter?’ Harold said he just wanted him to know who started that.

We set up some tables and chairs—the former made with seeming flotsam, and the chairs were rendered from rum cask planks. I planted a Gouval Inc. flag in the island’s mid, then Kate and I posed for a picture next to it—my peacoat back at home on a clean hanger. It were growing warmer as the sun furthered its assent. Seeing as though Gouval’s a flat plane, it rises until around four-thirty, then starts sinking back down. The moon bears its own mysterious luminous properties, and is so close to us, it wouldn’t require the sun to be viewable regardless.

Where’s Amy? Kate asked at our table for two near the flag and palm tree. I changed into a black short sleeved button up with a purple floral design, black slacks with the hems rolled up, and I let my feet enjoy the warming sand.

I shrugged while pouring us some rum shooters. I weren’t keeping tabs on all of them. That’d drive me fucking mad. Last I saw Amy and her clone, they were walking towards the beach.

They’re probably in Sunken City. I said while Jean handed us