Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

I whistled sharply and my German Shepherds, Stan and Ollie, ambled in from the garden. Both went into alert mode gazing fixedly at the window. A slightly different whistle brought reinforcements in the form of a pair of Staffordshire Bull Terrier brothers called Bud and Lew, notable for their muscularity if not their intelligence. With the canines in attendance I turned my face to the window. The interloper seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.
“Morgan. Is that door locked?”
“No.” She looked worried.
“Right. You sit on the floor behind the bar and phone Ben.”
She sat down with bump, and I beckoned the man. He smiled wryly and came in on soft feet. Once he was inside, Bud and Lew circled around until they were behind him.
“The German Shepherds only bite of I tell them to. The Staffies are less reliable so I wouldn’t recommend any sudden movements.”
He stood still and I got my first proper look at his face. It was John Smith, whose undistinguished appearance hid, I was sure, the soul of a conscienceless killer. I wondered what the hell he wanted, and a worm in my gut told me it wouldn’t be anything nice. I kept my voice cool and even as I addressed him.
“Mister Smith. You have some explaining to do, and I suggest you make it convincing. I dislike being followed and/or spied on.”
He spread his hands and Lew growled deep in his barrel of a chest.
“I’m sorry Mrs Beckett. I wanted only to speak to you. For preference out of the range of prying eyes.”
“Speak then.” I kept my voice coolly neutral.
“Very well. But can you call off the dogs?”
Ben appeared in the doorway behind Smith and I couldn’t help thinking how much my husband’s sneaking skills had improved under the tuition of a couple of poachers turned gamekeepers who were among our regular clientele.
“I think the dogs stay where they are until I’m satisfied your intentions towards my wife are purely friendly.” To give Smith his due, he only flinched at the deep, deep voice behind him. I’ll admit he went up in my estimation, though not far. At the same time, I marked him down as being a person not to turn my back on. This guy really was hard – a would-be would have jumped and squeaked like a teenage girl at a horror movie.
“I’m glad you’re here Mr Beckett. As to why I’m here.” He showed his teeth in a rodentine travesty of a smile. “I’m here as the bearer of sad news.” Only he didn’t sound particularly sad. “In the early hours of this morning, Amos Proudly crossed into the arms of his ancestors.”
He stopped speaking.
“And?” I prompted .
“And that leaves a vacuum at the head of his family. A vacuum his granddaughter seeks to fill.”
“What. The silly girl who makes a living by means of theft and intimidation?”
“Yes. Her.”
“But what’s that…” I hadn’t finished the question before the analytical side of my brain took over. I started again. “What it has to do with us is in the matter of making examples, isn’t it?”
“My father thinks it might be. The way he reads it, the family aren’t going to accept a female rom baro without a bloody good reason to do so. He thinks she has two options to prove herself worthy. She can start a feud with the Lovell clan, which would be as stupid as it would be dangerous, or she can go after the people she blames for her recent humiliation. I’m sent to warn you, as Tata dislikes the Proudly clan, and he likes your food very much.”
I stood the dogs down with a gesture and saw Smith’s shoulders relax.
Ben came fully into the room.
“Okay. I’ll buy that. How did you get here?”
Smith looked puzzled but answered readily enough. “My car is parked up the lane that leads to your market garden.”
Ben chuckled. “Do you remember Jed Lovell’s dog?”
“The one that makes your German Shepherds look like chihuahuas?”
“Yup. Him. He’s gonna be sitting beside your car just waiting for you to reappear.”
Smith shuddered.
“Not a dog person, are we?” I put a little bite in my voice.
“No. What do I do now?”
I let him squirm for a minute.
“I suppose we owe you for the information, so I’ll walk you to your car.” I turned my attention to the small figure seated on the floor behind the bar. “Morgan. Will you pop over to the kitchen and sort out a box of baked goods for Mr Smith senior?”
“I will. But my dad’s been listening in. Wants a word with this bloke before he fecks off.” She stood up and handed me a bright pink iPhone. “Don’t let him pinch my phone,” she said cheekily before whisking off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Her dad?” Smith attempted to sound jaunty.
“Mark Brown,” I said and handed him the phone.
He took it with the same enthusiasm as if I had handed him a live cobra.
“Where can I?”
“Just go over into one of the booths. Neither of us is interested enough to eavesdrop.”
He went, carefully sitting with his back to us. Ben put his mouth close to my ear.
“Why don’t I trust that guy?”
“Same reason I don’t. He wears too many faces,” I breathed.
The dogs didn’t trust him either, as they stayed alert even though I had stood them down.
Whatever Mark had to say didn’t take too long, and it didn’t seem to require Smith doing more than murmur agreement. When the call ended, he stood up and walked carefully back to me, handing over the phone with a wry half smile.
Morgan came across the grass with a white baked goods box in her arms.
Smith smoothed his hair and it seemed to me that he was settling back into his harmless accountant persona.
“Mister Brown seems to be a more reasonable human being than I was led to expect,” he said primly.
Morgan handed her box to Ben and poked Smith sharply in the chest. She indicated a carefully folded paper bag on top of the bakery box.
“I brought you a couple of brownies in case your old man wasn’t into sharing, but I can soon take them back if you keep on referring to my dad as if he was a bug in a pin.”
To my great surprise, Smith actually laughed. A properly amused laugh.
“Apologies Miss Brown. And point taken.”
She studied him narrowly for a moment, before lifting a shoulder.
“Okay. You get to keep the cake.”
“My thanks. And I do sincerely apologise. The patronising primness is part of my unthreatening persona. But even so…”
His voice tailed off and Morgan snorted.
“I guess it’s difficult pretending to be an ineffectual pissant, but why’d you climb down so fast?”
“I’ve got a daughter. She’s fourteen and I’d like to think she defends me like you just defended your father.”
Morgan gifted him her prettiest smile. “If you love her and she loves you, of course she do. And now, if nobody minds, I’ve work to do and you’re rather in the way.”

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

“Nice belt that.”
Milla looked round at Glory then down at the belt. It had a definite shimmer to it. Small motes of coloured mulit-coloured light danced around it, so close in as to seem part of the fabric itself. Her heart swelled with affection and gratitude, One Eye Rye had given her a magic item.
But there was no time to wonder what it might do, the boat had arrived and a couple of Visitors got off it, giving Milla odd looks as the three of them scrambled on. She held her head high and gripped Pew’s hand tightly as the ship pulled away from the dock almost immediately. It had to be a magical vessel as there was no crew and the sails seemed to manage themselves.
But the view as they slipped from the shore and out into the bay was incredible. For the first time Milla could see the whole of Wrathburnt Sands, from the far end of the beach, on one side to the palm trees that surrounded the pyramid on the other. She was so taken by the scene that she didn’t notice when they sailed over the Boundary only that in the next moment she was feeling very sick and the view had changed completely.
Above, clouds scudded across the sky, and sometimes darkened it. The land ahead of them was green and the sea more grey than blue. Almost completely green. So many trees and bushes and even the ground itself was covered in low growing grass and flowers. So very different from the familiar yellows and browns of home that she drew in a sharp breath of surprise and delight.
“You alright?” Pew was still gripping her hand and there was real anxiety on his face. He was worried for her. That made her feel warm inside and she found she was smiling back at him.
“I’m fine. But this place.” She gestured to the approaching coastline with a sweep of her free arm. “It’s amazing.”
Glory made a very unelven snorting noise. “Not so amazing when you have to spend day after day grinding here.”
“I like Barren Steppes,” Pew said. “It’s kind of like where I live.”
Milla blinked. “You live in Barren Steppes?”
“No. Of course not. I just meant…”
But whatever he just meant Milla didn’t find out as Glory was suddenly shouting and reaching for her bow.
“Incoming! Firedrakes! Don’t let them get close!”
Milla instinctively clutched at her pendant and looked up to see half-a-dozen dark shapes with leathery wings circling around the top of the mast. They looked much too small to be dangerous. Then one opened it’s oddly shaped beak and a massive gout of flame shot out, engulfing the rigging and setting it alight.
A moment later the flying creature shrieked and plummeted to the deck, pierced through by the shaft of an arrow. It vanished before it landed. The others swooped down to attack in a tight V formation. Milla found herself being pushed roughly behind the other two by Pew as Glory drew her sword.
“By the power of My Skull!” she yodeled, slashing at the nearest one and slicing into it. Pew had raised his hands and pushed them outwards, just as the drakes breathed their fire. It hit Pew’s invisible shield and barely any of the flames got through, enough to singe Glory’s eyebrows. But Pew’s shoulder’s were slumping with the effort of maintaining the shield
“Powerfeed me, Milla!”
Without really thinking, Milla grabbed her pendant and sent the magical energy it contained towards Pew. He straightened up almost immediately and keeping the invisible shield raised with one hand he threw out a series of small fireballs with the others.
A few moments later the last of the drakes had exploded into nothing and Glory was counting coins she had found somewhere. Pew wiped his brow.
“Where the frack did those firedrakes come from? I’ve never been attacked zoning here from WBS before.”
Glory looked up. “Oh yeah. Sorry about that. Just a class quest I’m on. I get randomly attacked now and then until I’ve finished.” She tipped the coins into her pouch and looked about as un-sorry as it was possible to be.
Pew drew a breath and Milla thought he might be about to say something very rude, but at the last moment he closed his jaw with an audible snap. She felt oddly proud of him and squeezed his hand to tell him so.

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 18th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

The drunk biggers in the house started a countdown.

‘Ten, nine, eight…‘

At one nothing happened, and Big set out across the wet garden to see what was wrong.

Luckily for him, he had only gone about three paces when there came a flash and a bang and the ‘rocket launcher’ lurched to one side as the big flaming thing flew… 

…straight towards the revellers gathered on the balcony.

The biggers threw themselves to the ground as the firework flashed through the open doors and exploded dramatically in the middle of the room.

Mayhem ensued, watched by the curious nomes.

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

almunus (adjective) – deeply fond of charity shops and dime stores

amborsal (adverb) – of sleeping – making noises like a bathtub emptying

bearst (adjective) – of ursine appearance

chacater (noun) – small marsupial of the genus ventus conputrueruntus best known for the pungence of its farts

catcomba (noun) – feline trichologist 

dinga (noun) – one who hits first and asks questions after

ephelant (noun) – elderly woman with very wrinkled skin

fiender (noun) – particularly inept ghost hunter 

gnnat (adverb) – of speech – gruff and without charm

krean (adjective) – of women airheaded, entitled and unable to spell

lunimous (adjective) – pale, dull and vaguely unsatisfactory

mitger (noun) – very stingy person

psrson (noun) – priest with bad skin

ragrine (noun) – complex dance form practiced by thin men in leotards

revtim (noun) – me time for catholic priests

streuggle (noun) – apple cake with the addition of egg noodles (for no apparent reason)

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

Growing older is sometimes quite fun
When you look back on all that you’ve done
And can take a deep breath
At each shibboleth
You once suffered but have now overcome

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Dear Reader Who Writes,

As ever it falls onto my shoulders to ensure you are aware whose words of wisdom you are imbibing from the breast of pedagogy. I am Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV. My claim to a seat at the high table of the literary elite is rooted in my credentials as author of the science fiction and fantasy neo-classic “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth”. At one point, this work of incredible creativity achieved the giddy heights of Amazon’s one millionth on the bestseller charts. As such, you can rest assured I am indeed over-qualified to dispense guidance on how you can best write your own delightful fantasia.

I may have mentioned in passing that my father has long since gone to a better place. In truth I do not recall too much about my father. He was seldom at home even when he was still with us. But I do recall one conversation. I was still in shorts being a mere lad of seventeen, he sat me on his knee and grunted a bit, then told me: “Moony boy – you have to learn the facts of life. Fact One – life is a shit heap and only those at the top get to smell the sweet clean air. Fact Two – you only get to the top if you use the heads of others like a ladder. You got that son?”

At the time I had no idea of his meaning. I had little idea of what his job was either I had always believed he was some form of landscape gardener. After all what else should one think a hedge fund manager did all day? Tragically, before I had any opportunity to ask him to elucidate in depth, he was gone forever.

So whilst Mummy and I share a suburban semi-detached residence, he has gone to paradise. I think it is the Bahamas although it may be Bermuda – the pictures on Facebook are always very vague as he has no wish to alert the tax authorities to his present whereabouts.

Which brings me neatly to my topic for today.

Settings

I can not express strongly enough how crucial it is to provide the precise and perfect backcloth against which to unfold your torpid little tale to transform it from mediocrity (or worse) to stella-luminescence in the literary sphere. Location. Location. Location.

Imagine for a moment if Robinson Crusoe had been set on an island near Tonbridge not Trinidad? Would ‘A Thousand and One Nights’ be as beguiling were the stories set in Swansea? These are things to ponder and as you do so, here is my list of questions to ask yourself when choosing the best locale for your literature.

• What is the weather like?

Vital as it determines your character’s style of dress!

• What is the geography like?

Vital as you need to know if the sea is nearby for a swim or if your characters will be hiking through mountains.

• Does everyone there speak English?

Best to avoid this location if not as you and your readers won’t understand anything.

• Does it have to be a real place?

One of the key advantages of writing science-fiction and fantasy, you can make up everything about the place to suit however you want it to be.

And that is pretty much it. Get those basics right and the rest will fall into place.

Until my next, oh disciples of Calliope!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

Your truth is built on shifting sand
On words that move and drift
One day proffers a helping hand
The next, opinion shifts
Your truth is like a house of cards
As brittle as your smile
I’ve felt your scorn and take it hard
I may be gone a while

©️ jj 2024

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

It was early summer and the weather took it into its head to be idyllic, which meant the pub was heaving from opening time until we shoved the last customer out into the the starlit car park and locked the door. Between the office, care of my children, and pinch hitting in the kitchen, I had no time to think about disaffected Romany daughters or the possible ramifications of a feud between the Lovell and Proudly clans. The purchase of the orchard and the other bits of land went through more or less on the nod, with my only input being the transfer of twenty-five thousand pounds and my signature alongside Ben’s on a sheaf of documents our solicitor was kind enough to bring to us. Ben and I waved his expensively tailored figure farewell as he exited the car park in his shiny Volvo. I looked up at Ben’s face to see him wearing his confused look.
“What’s up love?”
“Larry the Law Wrangler. Dresses like a rabid Tory. Drives that exceedingly boring Swedish monstrosity like your maiden aunt if you had one. But…”
“But he’s further out on the political left than you or me could ever be, and spends his weekend thrashing a souped up Beamer up and down vertical slopes.”
“Something like that. I mean, how come?”
“Necessity Benny. He couldn’t be a successful solicitor in rural Hampshire if he looked, or acted like his true self. So Monday through Friday he puts on his work face and gets on with the job.”
“That makes so much sense. Like a uniform. Like me not wearing my favourite trackies with a hole in the arse, and your designer threads and carefully assembled image.”
“Pretty much.”
“Why have I never thought about it before?”
“Mostly because you rarely deal with him. It’s my job.”
“That’s a truth too. I think today is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with him. Wouldn’t have had that if he hadn’t brought the papers for us to sign.” He paused and scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, why’d he do that?”
I had to laugh. “Because he likes our food. And because he can pig out and still tell himself he only had tapas for lunch.”
Work called, but at least we went back to the grindstone laughing.
With the month of June drawing to a breathless end, the pub continued to be frantically busy, but our hard-worked ‘family’ at last achieved a bit of a break in the form of an influx of students from the local catering college. We have always taken youngsters on work placements and apprenticeships, and it has also been our practice to beef up the brigade with the best among them during the Easter, summer and Christmas breaks.
We originally decided on a dozen, six in the kitchens and six front of house, but the mad busyness encouraged me to add in three more in the tapas kitchen. To my relief, and that of all the pub staff, the kids bedded in well and everyone got a bit of breathing space. Within a week I was able to lift my head and look about me.
Once I had breathed for a couple of days I got a sinking feeling I was missing something. When it hit me I was ashamed to admit, even to myself, that I hadn’t given a thought to the Ice Cream Parlour/American Diner we had created in one of the barns to the side of the main building. It was currently only open weekends and Bank Holidays, and was under Morgan’s management. Although I had complete faith in her vision and her ability, I thought I should at least see show an interest.
It was Friday, and bidding fair to be another scorcher, so I stuck my head into the kitchen just to make sure there were no problems.
“Everything okay?”
Neil smiled happily and gave me a thumbs up.
“All present and correct, and we’ll even have time for breakfast before the starving hordes arrive.”
“Where Morgan?”
“Sorting the ice cream parlour for tomorrow.”
“I’ll pop along and see her. I’ve got my phone and the office won’t run away.”
Neil snorted and I went, laughing. The back door to the ice cream parlour leads onto the private garden and this morning it was wide open, letting in a warm wind from the forest.
Morgan was busily restocking the soft drinks bar. She grinned at me.
“Come to see how we’re doing?”
“I have. I’m feeling guilty that I haven’t been offering any support. Plus I just noticed that everywhere else has extra staff, but you haven’t.”
“No. But we don’t need anybody.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. Look Joss, we’re as busy as we can handle in this space and we manage just fine. Any more bodies back here and we’d just get in each other’s way.”
I looked around me and could see the justice in what she said. The diner had a dozen booths with seating, a dozen tall tables where people had to stand to eat, and a dozen stools at the bar. Even at full capacity, I could understand how two waitresses, a bar person, and two in the kitchen could perfectly manage. I nodded.
“Is there anything you need then?”
”Yes. Maybe. Perhaps. If it’s not running before we learn to walk, we’d like to take over the little storeroom beyond that door. Not to put any more tables in, but as a takeaway window for ice-creams and stuff.”
That seemed to me to be an eminently sensible idea and I nodded. “That’s a good notion. But you will need someone to staff it.”
“We will. And we’ll have to look at managing days off and stuff when we increase the opening hours for the summer holidays.”
“You will indeed.” I grinned into her eyes. “So tell me what you have in mind and I’ll see if it’s doable.”
She bent down to pick up her tablet from under the counter.
“Joss,” she whispered, “don’t look now but there’s a man outside the window staring in.”

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

Milla spun on her heel and picked up the pace into the village, not stopping until she had reached One Eye’s shop. The old ryeshor rubbed at his eye patch as the elf’s armour lit up the rather dingy interior. Ruffkin was happily snarfing some fish guts from a bowl in the corner and Pew looked pleasingly surprised.
“You found a tank!”
“Better,” Milla told him I found a…”
“Blessedknight Gloryjammer,” the elf announced, then her eyes narrowed. “Don’t I know you? You an alt of Pewpowerpewpew? Used to be in Forgotten Order of Lost Souls before it had a drama fest and fell apart?”
Pew looked a little awkward.
“That was a while ago and it wasn’t me. I didn’t do what they said I’d…”
“You were the best Firecaster on the server in vanilla – everyone knew that.”
“Well, not really, I was one of the many good…”
But Glory wasn’t listening. There was a fervour of hero worship in her words. “You won’t remember me but you gave me my first decent weapon. Said I’d grow into it one day. I was just a newby, and you were one of the greats, but you took the time to group with me.”
Pew was looking increasingly as if he wanted to be somewhere else, but Milla was too intrigued by this glimpse into his history to stop it. In the end it was One Eye who came to Pew’s rescue.
“It’s what we all do, isn’t it? Pay it forward, they call it. Help the next ones in so they can help the ones as follow them.”
“Yes. What he said.” Pew snatched up the backpack he had been filling. “I’ll be outside.”
One Eye lifted an eye ridge at Milla and sniffed.
“I’ll be looking after your little Ruffkin, but you should know I don’t approve of this. Your a Local not a Visitor. Locals don’t go on ventures.”
“I already did,” she protested.
“Yes. You did. ‘An’ that were one too many in my view. But you’re as wild as a sandylion, young’un and there’s no point telling you what to not do. So have my blessing for what it’s worth and here…” he held out an old belt that seemed to be made from strips of plaited fabric. “You wear this and come home safe.”
Milla took the belt and felt a tingle as she buckled it around her waist, surprised that it seemed to fit perfectly. Then she hugged the old ryeshor impulsively and left him to find provisions for Glory, as she went to join Pew who was sitting on the seawall staring out to sea.
“You don’t have to come,” he said. “Thing is, it could be dangerous. I’m not sure what is going on. Someone could really get hurt.”
“If what you say about String is true, someone already is.”
“I know but…”
“So I’m coming.”
He gripped her hand tightly, looking into her eyes as if trying to read something there.
“I know. I don’t deserve you. And if anything happens to you I’ll never…”
She stopped his words with another kiss, then sat back quickly as she heard footsteps on the cobbled street.
“I’m not interrupting anything?” Glory was smirking again.
Pew pushed himself from the wall and stood up.
“Not a thing. We need to get a boat to the Barren Steppes.”
And that was the one thing that had been troubling Milla. Locals never went on the boats. She’d not known any to even try because, well, everyone knew you just couldn’t do it. But then, as One Eye had said, Locals didn’t go on ventures either. So she stiffened her crest frills and strode after Pew as he headed along the dock. He stopped by the mooring place where the ship would come in and looked at her with concern.
“Barren Steppes is in a different zone. I don’t know what it’d be like for you to move cross zones. I don’t even know if you can do it. I mean for us zoning is just something that happens, but for you… I can’t imagine what it might be like.”
“Neither can I,” Milla admitted, pushing out a brave smile, although inside her stomach was feeling queasy. More from the prospect of leaving Wrathburnt Sands, the only place she’d ever known than from any real worry about travelling. “I guess I’m going to find out.”

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 17th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

It was council of war time. The nomes had very long, very bad memories of Big and the things he called fireworks.

“It isn’t even November,” Granny snapped.

“Neither it is, but I doesn’t see what us can do.”

“There must be summat.”

The brangling went on for a while, but to no avail. Even the foreman of moles couldn’t see her way clear to do anything.

Night fell, and the house was full to the brim with drunken biggers. Big strode out into the darkness clutching something to his fat belly. He plopped it into the ground and ran…

Jane Jago