The Gift of the Quoxxel Author: Richard Titus

What would you do if you were the monarch of a
perfect, tropical paradise without a care in the
world? Well, King Norr would like to leave, and
always has.

"Where else but Nibb?" his subjects would contend.
Venturing away from Nibb was only inviting misery
and "haddock."

Nevertheless, the King was intent to experience
the world beyond and this is the story of the
adventures that found him during that pursuit.

Telling too much would ruin the surprises in store,
but some of the mysteries include --

Who was the curious, little girl who would not speak?
Had Doctor Hinkus fallen prey to marauding drumbkins?
Whose prank set the Palace afloat?
What's a spudcake?
Do pirates bathe?
Did Uncle Fenwad roll out of the Palace?
What's a Sober Tooth Tiger?
Do Nibbian pigs have a future in aviation?

These questions and more arise just as Norr may
have found what he had always wanted. Never
mind his world had become perfectly chaotic. It
was also chaotically perfect, and nothing that
couldn't be remedied with an additional nap.

CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE
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R E V I E W S --

Marigold Deidre Dicer @ Versus Blurb -- Brisbane, Australia
https://versusblurb.wordpress.com/2015/02/16/childrensbookreviewgiftofthequoxxel/

Maxine @ Parakeet Book Reviews -- California
http://www.parakeetreviews.com/2015/02/gift-quoxxel.html

Deborah Gafford -- writer & book blogger -- Texas
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1237342153?book_show_action=true&page=1

Bethanie Armstrong @ Bethanie's Books -- Alabama
https://bethaniesbooks.wordpress.com/2015/04/24/the-gift-of-the-quoxxel-by-richard-titus-review-by-bethanie/

Laura W @ Blue Eye Books
http://blueeyebooks.blogspot.com/2015/12/r-review-thursday-gift-of-quoxxel-by.html

Trang @ Bookidote -- Montréal, Québec
https://bookidote.com/2016/01/20/the-gift-of-the-quoxxel-by-richard-titus/

Saradia Chatterjee @ The Page-Hungry Bookworm
http://www.pagehungrybookworm.com/single-post/2016/03/05/Review-The-Gift-of-Quoxxel-by-Richard-Titus


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AUTHOR'S BIO --

The Gift of the Quoxxel is Richard's debut novel. His life
experience includes visual arts, freelance graphic design and
illustration, truck driving, verb conjugating, military service,
and mastery of an adequate meatloaf.

A Michigan native and parochial school survivor, Richard resides
with wife Marina close to, but far enough from New York City. 

---

EXCERPT

"Chapter One

EXILED ON ISLE X

King Norr rubbed his weary eyes. He no longer needed shade now as the sun slid ever closer to the sea. A rising offshore breeze refreshed the land and set his umbrella to dance a one-legged jig while winking stars bid farewell to daylight.

Marathon sitting had taken its toll, and the King’s idling joints were pleading for relief. A therapeutic twist-turn-stretch would do the trick to get him on to more urgent matters, that being a fast approaching supper. Eating was all he was capable of in his depleted, end-of-day condition. Doctor Hinkus referred to it as “fatigue-fogged.” Higher brain functions had closed shop and gone fishing hours ago leaving the King to his own devices, in this case, forgetting he was sitting on the Palace parapet with legs dangling on the outer wall. Fortunately, reflexes triggered a lifesaving pirouette backward onto the veranda when he rose to leave.

“BINGUS!” the King paled. He came through the close call undamaged even though his thrashing foot had dislodged a sizable piece of masonry and launched it into space. Down it tumbled endangering branch-dwelling neighbors who shrieked in terror as rubble tore through their treetop homes.

Fearing the worst, Norr looked over the ledge to check his neighbors’ status and instinctively pulled back when meeting projectiles of retaliation rising in his direction. He was in no actual danger, he realized, being far beyond the range of hand-thrown objects. Shortly they would reach their zenith, reverse course, and rain with a vengeance on their launchers. And that is precisely what they did.

“Most sorry, sorry,” Norr called down apologetically. “Oh, that will be a long time remembered among the primates, I fear. Dingley will need to make amends with roller skates, funny hats, and fruit baskets.” As he wondered just how many fruit baskets it would take to appease the monkey community, King Norr did a backward crawl to a safer distance.

Sitting a moment stupefied from his near fatality, Norr caught a glimpse of Queen Vayla through a chambers window. He dreaded telling her what happened. She called it “parapet perching,” and it drove her crazy. In spite of her pleading and threats, Norr continued to do it. Finally, she decided to manage her discomfort by busying herself elsewhere when he precariously propped himself to scan the sea.

“I’m leaving the Palace now,” she called to her husband who decided he should look too busy for conversation.

“Did you hear me, Norr?” Vayla said more loudly. “I’m going out. I’m supervising the moat excavation. You know -- the deep, water-filled trench to catch you.”

“Grand plan, dear,” Norr said fiddling fastidiously. “If we need more trenches, you're just the person to do it. You’ve got my vote to moat.”

“I won’t be long,” were her final words.

Did the King detect a sense of exasperation? He did not wish to worry his wife about his obsessive pastime. Feeling guilty he was causing his wife distress reminded Norr how terrible he felt about endangering the branch dwellers just moments ago. Heated screeching rising from the leafy canopy cheered him a little as it indicated the return of customary peer heckling meaning life there had returned to normal.

“Scandal averted,” came a non-human voice from nowhere in particular. Norr turned but saw no one, only rustling palms in pots ranking the far side of the veranda.

“What’s this I hear about a moat? Redecorating and leaving me out of the design loop?” the voice complained.

Norr went taut as a turtle’s tether. He hadn’t expected a visit from Yill which, he should have known, would be the exact time he would appear.

“I know, I know. My decorating skills rely heavily on throw pillows. Let me have a go at it, anyway. I know LOTS of moats. Some of my best friends inhabit them, with and without throw pillows.”

Bloffix! thought the King. He had made it nearly to supper without Yill's pestering. Norr blamed himself for not seeing it coming -- the Yill ambush. It was the manic mite's most-used maneuver to catch the King unawares again and again. Norr realized the chance of getting away unscathed grew slimmer by the second.

“Before we toss around some decorating motifs, I’ve just one question, o-Monarch-of-mine -- how does a moat work exactly? That is, what tower height to water depth ratio do we need to neutralize the effects of gravity? Pardon me if I’m confusing you with pertinent data. Take your time to answer. I’m in no hurry.”

Norr sat with his back to his unwanted guest but had a general sense of his movements in peripheral vision.

“Don’t you worry about accurate calculations? Mangled math could result with you reduced to royal remnant, if you know what I mean. How embarrassing would THAT be? I can’t imagine.”

Yill watched Norr for body tells. Every encounter between the two ended in a competition of wits, a vanishing capacity in Norr at Yill's every appearance. Today, however, the King felt he might put the tutelage of past conflicts to his advantage and beat Yill at his own game.

“You realize, of course, the fall isn’t the problem,” Yill continued. “IMPACT is the real deal-breaker! There are no do-overs when you’re corkscrewed into bedrock! Believe me!”

It was a second-by-second struggle for the King to hold his tongue feeling his anxiety swell by the second.

“I grant you -- it’s a classic exit and a great opportunity for Nibbian wordsmiths. You’re giving them great stuff to work with. Tragicomedy is great fable fodder. You’ll be immortal before the broom and dustpan consortium collect your canceled carcass. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have a skillful spinmaster in your employ. If legacy is left to amateurs, you might be remembered more sap than saint. It’s up to you of course, but I’d recommend saint.”

Yill paused waiting for Norr’s reaction and was slightly encouraged at what might have been a lip tremble. For his part, Norr maintained his stoic resolve by gluing full concentration on his toes, worrying only how long he could watch them without wiggling or giggling.

“I almost forgot,” Yill dug deeply into an imaginary pocket, withdrew an invisible paper, and unfolded it. “I’ve got something for you. You didn’t think I’d neglect you in your time of need, did you?” Officiously, the would-be orator grabbed the nonexistent page, top, and bottom, and commenced to read.

“Ahem!” Yill cleared his throat. “Are you sure you're awake?""

“Let us explore the lore of King Norr . . .”

“It’s your epitaph,” Yill announced with pride. “I’ve got it nearly worked out. No, no. Thank me later! OK, here goes . . . are you ready? Of course, not. I’ll read it anyway.”

“Let us explore the lore of King Norr, Nibbian regent whom all did adore.”

“Good start, right? Compelling? Suspenseful?” Yill’s eyes danced like lit firecrackers ready to burst. “Not literal, of course. In your case, accuracy isn’t advisable. ‘An epitaph should make none laugh,’ my old dad used to say, and he was right. The congregation cried buckets when he kicked, and not entirely on account of the jalapeño punch.”

Yill tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “OK . . . where were we?”

The King lay on his back along the parapet wall and closed his eyes half-contemplating a final leap that very moment. Across the veranda, he could see his tortoise, Clem, disappointed now with the disappearance of the warming sun. It must be nice being a tortoise, Norr told himself -- living in your portable fortress, safe from harm, withdrawing from the world whenever you pleased. Norr wished, at that moment, he possessed such a practical talent. Sadly, his chief feature was a firm instep -- ideal for ballroom dancing, but nearly useless in self-defense.

“He rolled off the tower . . .” Yill continued with sweeping theatrical gestures. “Hmmm, what rhymes with 'tower'? Sour? Well, that suits you, but what else? What are your good attributes? Do you have any? Mind you -- they need to rhyme with ‘tower.’”

Norr opened his eyes and spotted a wisp of cloud drifting just perceptibly, timeless on the blue. He marveled at its poise, its grace, its serenity, its lack of Yill. How grand it must be floating carefree, unbound, and able any moment to leave earthly concerns behind.

“Bower . . . Cower. . . Flower,” continued the animated amphibian swinging its tail in rhythmic accompaniment. “Hey, I think I've got it! How’s this?”

“Let us explore the lore of King Norr, Nibbian regent whom all did adore. He rolled off the tower at half past the hour and now is a lump on the shore.”

“I have to hand it to me,” Yill applauded himself. “We'll discuss compensation later. I’m thinking a granite likeness to capture my chiseled jaw line -- but before we get to that . . .” Yill went still for an instant, “there is one glitch to itch. Do you see it?”

Coming nose-to-nose with the reclining sovereign, Yill addressed the King's closed eyelids. “Half past the hour -- how can we make that happen? And do we NEED to make it happen? We have our public to consider, yes. Will they expect punctuality? Maybe not. Perhaps free pastries and balloons for the kids will suffice. What do you think?”

Yill’s words buzzed like insects in the King’s ears. Norr imagined himself smaller and smaller, only making the idiot droning louder and louder. Unconsciousness, the King thought. Where was it when needed most?

“King, old boy, I know you're a busy monarch (or so some say). May I ask a favor? It’s not for me. It’s for you. How will you be remembered -- a cretinous cube of complacency or heel-less, half-baked, halfwit? What’s the difference, you may well ask? You won’t be around. Why should you care? Why indeed, my friend. I’ll tell you why. You owe it to future generations. They need to know about the tragic Norr of Nibb, lackluster legend filling pages still unwritten, and nourishing minds yet unbored!”

Norr clutched his diminishing resistance and thought. Monolithic -- that's what I am -- cold, stony, and unmovable. Norr could ignore like no one before -- maybe that should be my epitaph.

“Say, that’s not bad!” Yill replied to the unspoken remark.

Bloffix, thought the King. How does he do that? Must stop thinking . . .

“Half past the hour,” Yill ripened. “That’s the plan. If you don’t go out at half past (any hour, your choice), you, and more importantly I, will lose all credibility. You’ll become more laughable (if possible), like a horse with mascara. Is that what you want? As your authorized epitapher, I’d find it humiliating, to say the least. Even if you’re dead, how could you live with yourself?”

“Snithering Limpid!” Norr blurted.

“Snithering Limpid? Oh, I forgot. Your dinner hour approaches. How does Chef prepare Limpids? Heads on or off? Personally, I like the toes,” said Yill licking his fingers. “Human behavior is so fascinating. You’d eat almost anything if it doesn’t eat you first.”

“I really must be off,” the indignant King said attempting to leave. “You can show yourself out, not that I believe you will.”

“I understand, O Famished One. Or should I call you Nearly Departed? Let’s do lunch, sometime soon. We’ll discuss your epitaph then . . . unless you fall off the tower in the meantime, of course.”

Unclear on human customs, Yill grabbed the King’s unwilling wrist and shook it forcibly. “Now give us a kiss!” said Yill, but Norr stepped aside before his tormentor could muster a pucker.

“I should warn you, Yill,” the King said ominously, “ravenous pelicans were here earlier. I've seen them carry off BISCUITS larger than you.”

“Don't worry about me. I come from a long line of beak benders,” Yill said. “We're one tough species and barely digestible.”

“And what species is that?” Norr asked. “Even Hinkus is puzzled. He's never seen the likes of you.”

“Likewise, I'm sure,” Yill said. “He’s . . . WHAT exactly? You’re always asking him questions. Does he really know stuff or do you just like to annoy him by knowing so little?”

“Doctor Hinkus is my top advisor, go-to, know-it-all,” Norr explained. “I confer with him on all rigorous rationale. Brainy is what he does best.”

“Wow! And what happens when he doesn’t have an answer? Does he make one up? That’s what I do,” Yill said with pride. “Even so, I’m sure Hinkus is an astute fellow, probably knows how long to cook a three-minute egg, why wind blows sideways, and why water is wet.”

“Exactly,” agreed Norr. “For example, he recently cured me of a stabbing pain in my eye that occurred every time I drank from a cup.”

“He told you to remove the spoon first, right?” Yill suggested.

“How’d you know that?” asked a bothered Norr. “At any rate, the Doctor’s contributions are invaluable and too numerous to mention.”

“He’s one sparkly speck on Humanity Beach, for sure,” Yill appraised, “but can he do this?”

At that moment, Queen Vayla popped her head through the doorway from the inner chambers. “Did you say something, dear?”

Norr fired a glance at Yill and felt his throat tighten. “G-, G-, Geck!” was all he could push out. Vocal chords had frozen and would not respond no matter how hard Norr tried.

“Yes, it is a lovely day,” the Queen agreed, taking in the view. “Hinkus will have fine weather for his expedition. You know, Bink will be staying at home alone while his father’s away. Maybe we should invite him to stay with us in the meantime.”

“Geck! Geck!” Norr quacked excitedly to no avail while Yill contorted behind the potted palms in stifled laughter.

“Maybe you’re right,” Vayla answered. “Bink is clever enough to take care of himself. Just the same, I’ll have Chef send him a food basket. Speaking of which, our meal will be ready soon,” Vayla smiled and disappeared indoors.

Yill rolled across the deck laughing. “You certainly have a way with words, Norr-man, no doubt a useful skill as head duck. I'm impressed.”

Norr gasped for air and probed his neck repeatedly. He half expected to find something lodged in his windpipe but found it clear and in the location where it had always been.

“You were about to introduce me to the missus, weren't you?” Yill accused. “Well, perhaps some other time. Darn thoughtful of you though.”

Taking two steps, Yill launched himself across the veranda to lightly land at the King's curioscillator, an elaborate device of questionable usefulness through which Norr enjoyed watching the comings and goings about the island.

“Ah, the tele-snoop!” Yill called it, randomly pressing buttons and spinning knobs to no effect. “Oh, I do love these fantastic toys Hinkus contrives. They don’t do anything, but they certainly are pretty!”

Norr continued to pat about his throat and jaw, fearful of the sound he would produce next.

“Ship watching today, weren't we?” Yill asked knowingly. “Bloodshot eyes and frequent sighs -- you have all the symptoms.”

King Norr clenched his fists. With supper just a minute away, he knew he could tolerate Yill a few seconds longer.

“I saw one today -- three masts,” Yill recounted. “You couldn’t have missed it. Did you see me? The cats invited me aboard -- tabby sisters, very friendly. They asked me to lunch, but I wasn’t in the mood for rat. More than once a month is a bit much for me. I mention that should you wish to invite me for a meal.” Yill looked sideways to catch Norr's reaction. “I also chatted with the men on the ship. Almost went with them. The captain invited me, you know.”

“Unlikely!” Norr rejected the notion.

“You think?” Yill said enjoying Norr's irritation. “Although, it is somewhat funny, isn’t it?”

“No!” the King brooded wanting in no way to be agreeable.

“I mean, here you sit, day after day, craving an offshore guest yet none arrives. I, on the other hand, freely associate with passing travelers almost daily. I'd say that was downright ironic.”

Why indeed, Norr wondered. It was always the same -- a ship approached, hesitated, and departed. It had been the recurring situation since his childhood. It was maddening. Over the years, he had filled seven journals with notes of passing vessels yet not one had made landfall, nor had he ever welcomed strangers to his shore.

“A friendly lot they were. I was ready to go with them,” recalled Yill. “Do you know why I didn’t? I didn’t go because I knew you'd miss me.”

Having been mocked by Yill so many times, Norr did not put much credence in the sincerity of the gilled gadfly.

“Not only that,” Yill went on, “I had no toothbrush. And I knew they had none aboard. How did I know, you may ask?”

King Norr shrugged.

“Because they had no TEETH!”

Norr paid no attention as he was still thinking about Yill’s previous comment, “I knew you’d miss me.” As much as he hated to admit it, the King knew this was true. And why would he have missed Yill? Sadly, he was the only one with whom Norr’s passion could be discussed -- foreign ships that came and went about Nibb.

He couldn't speak to his wife about it. Queen Vayla had long ago chosen not to acknowledge his behavior. There was a time when she sought to dissuade him from spending “lost hours,” as she called it. In the end, she realized her husband would never give up the obsession and so she chose to avoid the subject altogether.

As a boy, Norr’s parents had also discouraged what they considered an unnatural interest. Nevertheless, young Norr always managed to sneak away to secret viewing points from which he would squint in secret to his heart’s content.

The Nibbian Royal Family decreed that nothing of importance lay beyond Nibbian shores. There were no people elsewhere, therefore, no vessels. What were the origins of the passing ships? They were oddities of the sea, rising from somewhere, returning to nowhere. If they were of any importance, Nibbians would be the first to know.

“Where else but Nibb?” was the favorite adage. Norr's father, King Blint, had railed on the subject. “Nibb is perfection. Why look elsewhere? Speculation will only bring haddock!”

Nevertheless, each passing craft had always fired Norr's imagination with dreams of exotic places. He was sure the travelers had marvelous tales to tell. Certainly, whatever lay beyond the horizon had to be unbelievable and remarkable. If not, why did so many travel so far?

“You know, Yill,” the King barely believing what he was about to say, “I envy you.”

“I know,” Yill said admiring his reflection in a lens of the device. “Perfection -- is it a virtue or curse? Who can say? That debate will go on long after I’m gone . . . and that could be any time now.”

“You say that yet here you remain,” Norr said irritably. “Don't give me false hope. If there’s anything I can do to expedite your departure, just name it.”

“There is one thing,” Yill swung the scope about and aimed it at Norr. “Can you tell me if Hinkus has departed?”

“I wish he hadn't,” admitted Norr. “It means I'll bear the brunt of your mischief in his absence. You aren’t planning any waggery while he’s gone, are you?”

“My wagging days in this neighborhood are over,” Yill said. “However, before I leave, there’s something you should know about the respected Doctor.”

“Don’t tell me,” quipped Norr, “you’re his estranged, evil brother.”

“Wrong,” countered Yill. “Hinkus is the reason I'm here.”

“How did that happen?” Norr asked. “Did he reel you in from the lagoon?”

“Hey, good guess! That’s almost how it happened.”

“Sorry, but I don't believe it. If Hinkus had caught you on a line, we'd have figured you out long ago. Excuse me,” the King tugged his cap brim lower. “I've activated my nonsense filter. I can no longer hear a word you're saying.”

“Har, har! You are a jocular gem, but SO linear,” Yill poked fun. “I haven't ARRIVED yet. And, if Doctor Hinkus is away for another four days, I will never have been here!”

Norr covered his mouth and yawned. “And now, from the observation deck high atop the Coral Palace, we come to you with the evening Yill Forecast for town and coastal area. Expect moderate hummdummery throughout the evening, intermittent obfuscation past midnight, and intervals of annoyance before dawn.”

The King paused listening for the typical thorny retort he was sure would follow.

Silence.

After a moment, he realized Yill had made his customary, unannounced departure and wondered if all amphibians (if that's what Yill truly was) were equally rude. The King had little experience with reptiles, certainly with none who could talk, so an accurate assessment was impossible. Relieved at Yill's absence, Norr marked the occasion with his longest sigh of the day.

He looked out upon the setting sun gilding the Nibbian towers -- the foreboding sentinels of Nibb -- and wondered if similar towers on foreign shores looked back towards them. Maybe the world held a population of structural giants regarding one another across the waves, communicating silently over miles and centuries. Then again, Norr’s father was possibly right -- nothing in the far world surpassed the wonders of Nibb. Still, Norr thought, he would like to find that out for himself.

The King allowed himself a final restorative stretch and unleashed a cavernous yawn when the sound of clicking hooves and tinkling bell announced the arrival of a messenger pig. This was Chef's courier announcing the evening meal.

Doctor Hinkus said swine were incapable of smiling. Looking down at the welcoming face, Norr found that doubtful. With a last glance towards the watery expanse, Norr hurried behind his four-legged escort towards a table of steaming spudcakes, patiently waiting, and eager to make his acquaintance. "