Where the beer flows, there go I
In the pub snug bar I lie
Drinking beer until the cry:
‘Last orders, please’ when I sigh.
Until summer merrily.
Verily, merrily
Shall I go then
Into the beer garden, to drink with friends!

E.M. Swift-Hook

The Working Title crew bring you the exclusive opportunity to enjoy the wisdom of the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica...

Aries. 

The mythical ram with his thick woolly coat and his sharpened horns is the father of this house. His children are simple folk, and as sheep to those they love – following without thought or complaint. But make an enemy of one and the whole flock will turn upon you stamping you into the mire of their ordure with little hard hooves and spearing your very breast with the weapons on their foreheads. 

Good as winter clothing.

Bad side? Often having hairy bottoms that can be crusted with faeces.

Taurus.

After the ram comes the bull. Slow of intellect and lumbering in movement, the children of the bull are known for tenacity and a certain ponderous determination. The bull is a reliable, if boring, friend, but as an enemy he is implacable and deadly. He will get you however long it takes. Beware the horns of Taurus

Good on the barbecue.

Bad in that Taureans stick to one as if attached by Velcro, and they know stuff like train timetables by heart. Befriend one at your peril.

Gemini.

The twins have two faces and look both ways. They see both the future and the past with equal clarity making their offspring both difficult to lie to and impossible to believe. Those outside their coterie will never know which face they are looking at. Beware the obfuscation of Gemini.

Good as observers at obtuse junctions and busy interchanges

Bad – unimaginably untrustworthy and two-faced. Remember this: while one twin is fornicating with your beloved the other is available to keep watch.

Cancer.

As the crab scuttles sideways about his work so do his children approach life from the side. No scion of Cancer will be straightforward or clear in any action, and they possess a nasty nip too. On the upside they are rather tasty. Beware the claws of Cancer.

Good in a sandwich.

Bad on a country ramble as the silly bastards keep sidling off into the undergrowth.

Leo.

The king of the savannah spends twenty hours of each day asleep, and his children are similarly unlikely to put themselves to too much trouble. They tend to be large, handsome, golden people whose physical attractiveness cannot be overstated. They like sex, but they also like raw meat. Beware the appetites of Leo.

Good as a soft toy or fictional hero.

Bad as a friend, partner, or workmate as they are unbelievably lazy but so persuasive that somebody else does the work and they get the credit. And they make a lot of pointless noise

Virgo.

The ‘virgin’ smiles primly self-satisfied by her own virtue. She ignores her offspring as they make liars of her virgin state, preferring to cut them loose, armed only with rigid moralistic views of life and very little charm. Beware the dogma of Virgo.

Good in nunneries.

Bad anywhere people are living normal lives. 

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return...

Adakichi the beautiful was the most treasured concubine of a man with enough wealth to buy the stars should he so desire. 

She pleased her master greatly.

In a moment of rare whimsy he desired that she explain her attachment to a beaten silver hand mirror of little value. She smiled her secret smile.

“It is flattering to this poor face, Tokugawa Sama.”

He laughed.

Eventually alone, she lifted the mirror and looked into its depths, seeing a toothless crone smile back at her and knowing that one day she too would be free of the probing fingers of men.

©️jj 2019

One.

If it wasn’t so freaking cold I would have had a cappuccino to go, but the frost still rimed the pavement, and my hands were freezing. I grabbed a small table and the waitress brought me an extra-large. She also brought me a slice of coffee walnut cake and a neatly folded note. I raised my eyebrows and she pointed to a corner booth where a very thin man sat staring fixedly at me. I looked down at the note, then opened it.
My dear Katarina, I read. My name isn’t Katarina, and I don’t read other people’s mail so I handed the paper and the plate back to the waitress.
“Whoever he’s after, it isn’t me.”
She shrugged and took the stuff away.
Me? I sipped my coffee, opened my book, and forgot all about strange men and slices of cake.

Two.

If it wasn’t so freaking cold I would have had a cappuccino to go, but the frost still rimed the pavement, and my hands were freezing. I grabbed a small table and the waitress brought me an extra-large. She also brought me a slice of coffee walnut cake and a neatly folded note. I raised my eyebrows and she pointed to a corner booth where a very thin man sat staring fixedly at me. I looked down at the note, then opened it.
My dear Katarina, I read. My name isn’t Katarina, but I was fascinated in spite of myself. I turned to face the man and he smiled coldly. I tore a page from my notebook and wrote three words before passing the folded sheet to an obviously amused waitress. She passed him the note and he glanced at it before getting up and coming over to where I sat. He looked down at me.
“Then why do you wear Katerina’s face?”
I shrugged. Then screamed as the acid he threw hit me.
I don’t drink cappuccino any more…

© jane jago

She didn’t understand fear of the dark. Darkness was a friend, and she walked unafraid through the night. The sound of night animals and the susurration of wind in the trees were as familiar as her own heartbeat. 

It was in daylight they called her scarface and the children threw stones.

She met the devil at sunset, and tried to hide her cicatrised visage. He laughed, but his laughter was different. It was kindly and he lifted her face in one clawed hand. She walked the dark pathways at his side, and he understood her stumbling speech.

Scarface never returned.  

©️jj 2018

If your world is short on giggles 
If your poor brain moans and wriggles
If you’re feeling bored
If your head is not amused
Abused by idiots on the news
If you feel ignored
This little book I’ll recommend
In solitude it is your friend
If you take it home
It’s on the Zon – a tiny price
Get your copy, don’t think twice
Order ‘On the Throne?’

Jane Jago offers you the perfect book for your ‘throne room’. Still unconvinced? Here’s a tiny sample of the comfortable madness this little book shares…

You are old so you shouldn’t bedazzle
You should be both faded and frazzled
It shouldn’t be you
With a Harley (brand new)
And a Swarovski Crystal vajazzle

***

It ain’t all beer and skittles 
The sun don’t always shine
Some days winter dribbles
And you run fresh out of wine

It ain’t champagne and chocolate 
Coz them things make you fat
You’re gonna have the odd regret
You can be sure of that

It ain’t all beer and skittles
And I ain’t the perfect wife
And if the sweet brings bitter
Well, that’s just the way of life

And just to sweeten the pill further the book is on ‘special offer’ for one week only.

April 8-15: eBook 99p; tree book £3.25

The champion stood completely at his ease in the arena. It was just another job for him, but for the baying women…

The fighter they sent against him was barrel-chested and long of arm, this could be tough, but he smiled at his opponent anyway. A smile is a good way to unsettle a fighter.

It worked better than he anticipated, as the fool lost it completely coming in hard and low instead of making use of his superior reach. One rabbit punch to the back of the neck and it was done.

The women threw flowers and underwear.

©️jj 2018

An extract from The Fated Sky - the first book in Fortune's Fools.

The day was beautiful, a jewel of Temsevaran summertime and the thin red sunlight was strong enough to make a shimmer of mist rise from the flat-topped roofs of the brightly painted houses, as Durban made his way towards the plaza. He chose a back street knowing that the main roads would already be jammed solid with people jostling at the barriers to have the first pick of the bargains on offer. Even so, the way he chose had already drawn quite a crowd. Those that knew him smiled and let him pass but others resisted blocking his way with knees and elbows.
“Let me through,” he appealed. “My wife is having a baby – our first child.”
No one stopped to consider why that should be any reason to let him into the plaza, the crowd just drew apart as if by magic and helpful hands guided him to the front whilst congratulations and good wishes were offered. They were very simple folk, the good people of Alfor. As he ducked under the barrier he was challenged by a fierce looking young Zoukai who did not know him. Durban smiled winningly.
“I am the bird doctor,” he explained. The young man stared at him, then spat in the dust.
“So? What’s that to me?”
“Your end of run bonus, I suspect. You see one of the singing birds has feather cramps and if it is not treated immediately that will spread like wildfire. Before you know it – wumph.” He threw up his arms expressively.
The Zoukai struggled with that for a moment.
“Wumph?” he repeated in a doubtful tone.
“Yes, wumph,” Durban’s voice took on a ring of confidential urgency. “All two thousand of CaravansiNedriq’s precious singing birds would go ‘wumph’. And that would be the last you’d hear about your end-of-run bonus, I can tell you.”
He fixed the younger man with a penetrating amber glare. The Zoukai’s confusion seemed to clear at the mention of Nedriq’s name.
“Of course – the bird doctor. Well, you better go in then.”
Durban treated him to his sunniest smile and headed quickly to the nearest caravan, which as he already knew, belonged to Caravansi Nedriq.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Portrait of Durban Chola by Ian Bristow of Bristow Designs

Hamiko was exquisite, expensive and virginal. When the patron of her house called her to his office she attended with modestly downcast eyes.

He stood to greet her and both bowed from the waist.

“Tokugawa san.”

“Hamiko sama. There has been an offer for your person.”

She inclined her head.

“As my patron wishes.”

“I do not wish. But the Shogun commands. He requires a companion for his son.”

“I have no choice then.”

A single tear fell from Hamiko’s eye but neither mentioned this breach of decorum.

Twenty years later Ashikaga succeeded his father with Hamiko at his side.

©️jj 2018

Arthur Dux Bellorum by Tim Walker is a fresh look at the Arthurian legend, combining myth, history and gripping battle scenes. Although in a series, it can be read as a standalone novel.

From the ruins of post-Roman Britain, a warrior arises to unite a troubled land…

A COCKEREL CROWING its defiance to rivals always marked the start of his day. Shifting uncomfortably on a straw-stuffed sack, he turned away from the damp wall to see how far the first fingers of daylight had stretched across worn paving slabs. But the cockerel’s call was distant, muted and distorted – filtered through a narrow opening high up in his cell, making his first waking thought a cruel reminder that he was no longer in the sanctuary of his parents’ farm. Absent were the homely sounds of dogs barking, birds fighting, workers busying themselves, and the fountain splashing an invigorating melody.
Artorius sat, scratching at his woollen garment, then pushed aside the filthy blanket and ruffled his long, tangled hair, freeing some strands of straw. The rattle of keys interrupted his woeful reflection, signalling the entry of his jailor, Ahern, with a bowl of weak gruel and a pewter mug of water. He was a sullen, wordless giant who expressed himself with grunts and kicks.
“You are a happy man, Ahern, for you have found your true calling in life,” Artorius muttered, receiving a snarl in reply. Three months in his narrow cell had afforded him plenty of time to reflect on the words of Merlyn that had led to his arrest. Merlyn had exposed him to a cheering crowd as the true heir to his father, Uther Pendragon, and had showed him how to pull the sword of Ambrosius smoothly from the cleft in a rock, made possible by the removal of pressure due to Merlyn and Varden’s subtle easing back. A trick to fool an expectant crowd. No sooner had he entered the royal hall than the doors were barred behind him, and Caradoc, the army commander, had him arrested. Merlyn too, and Gawain the knight who had supported his claim. But not Varden, the ex-soldier and Merlyn’s bodyguard. He was at large and represented his only hope of rescue.  
“But my destiny as the son and heir to Uther, if indeed I am, has proven to be a false calling,” he moaned to the closing cell door. He had received no visitors or news from the outside, but the fear of execution had receded as the weeks had passed. They had locked him away and would no doubt parade him or dispose of him once the reign of the new king was bedded in – the boy-king Mordred, whose mother had tried and failed to free the sword on his behalf. He gloated over the memory of Morgana’s desperate and unsuccessful struggle.
Left alone with his thoughts, he shouted his anger and frustration at the impassive stone walls. “It was a conjuror’s trick that landed me here! It was YOUR ambition, Merlyn, not mine!” He had practised it over and over. This is what he would say to the mysterious healer should they ever meet again.

A Bite of... Tim Walker

Q1) How much of you is in your hero?

They say ‘Thursday’s child has far to go’ – I was born on a Thursday and I guess Arthur must have been too. He is long-suffering but gets there in the end. I have tried to create a likable character so that it would be a believable progression for him to become a charismatic leader. Arthur is reliant on the wisdom, strength and guidance of those around him to make it from adolescence to adulthood in the dangerous world of Dark Ages Britain. He is patient, steady and a good learner. He gets there in the end, through trial and error. Arthur has a sense of humour, is easy to get on with, but has a temper when crossed. He soon learns to fight his own battles and gradually takes on the responsibility of leadership. He adheres to a moral code, is not cruel and treats people well – except his enemies. I suppose where we differ is that I don’t carry weapons and don’t use violence to resolve disputes! Oh, and my father wasn’t a king of Britain.

Q2) Would you rather live in this world or the one you create in your books?

In evoking the world of Fifth Century Britain, barely a generation after Roman governance and protection ended, there would have been a regression to brutal and perhaps random acts of violence with little or no protection for ordinary people. Tribal leaders came to the fore and most likely would have enforced some code of conduct, but for most there was the constant threat of attack from other tribes or invaders. The monk Gildas, writing in the Sixth Century, talks of a time of widespread fear, anguish and slaughter, with people taking to the old hill forts that were re-occupied after the lowland towns built by the Romans proved too easy for raiders to enter and pillage. It would be fascinating to time travel back there to see what was really going on, but on reflection, I’d rather sit in my armchair with the remote watching it on TV!

Q3) Why do you write?

My creative writing journey began in 2013 when I was struck down with cancer. My battle was tedious and drawn out, lasting years, and has left me managing a chronic illness. I started writing short stories to keep my mind occupied and, after visiting the site of an old Roman town nearby, I came up with the idea for my book series, A Light in the Dark Ages. I’ve been working on it ever since, and am now bringing out book four – Arthur Dux Bellorum. My concern was to find evidence of a real historical Arthur hidden beneath the legend. I’ve been inspired in my storytelling by the writings of Ninth century monk, Nennius, in his ‘History of the Britons’. He names Arthur and gives us a list of his twelve battles. He also gives us an enigmatic quote – “Then Arthur fought [against the Saxons]… with the Kings of the Britons, but he himself was Dux Bellorum.” ‘Dux Bellorum’ literally means ‘Duke of Battles’ or leader of battles. Nennius leaves us with a riddle – was Arthur a mercenary hired by the (tribal) kings of the Britons, or was he also a king and the first amongst equals? It fascinates me that historians and archaeologists might yet find evidence of the real Arthur – a Dark Ages warrior, possibly king, and leader of the combined army of the kings of Britain. Until then, he remains in the realm of fiction, and I’ve invented my own version. Yes, the power and will to create is another motivation to write.

Tim Walker is an independent author based in Windsor, UK. His background is in marketing, journalism, editing and publications management. He began writing an historical series, A Light in the Dark Ages (set in Fifth Century Britain), in 2015, starting with Abandoned, set at the time the Romans left Britain. This was extensively revised and re-launched as a second edition in 2018.
Book two, Ambrosius: Last of the Romans, was published in 2017 and the third instalment, Uther’s Destiny, was published in March 2018 (winner of One Stop Fiction book of the month award, April 2018) and the furth book, Arthur Dux Bellorum has just been released.
His creative writing journey began in July 2015 with the publication of a book of short stories, Thames Valley Tales. In September 2017 he published a second collection of short stories – Postcards from London. These stories combine his love of history with his experiences of living in London and various Thames Valley towns.
In 2016 he published his first novel, a dystopian political thriller, Devil Gate Dawn, following exposure through the Amazon Scout programme. In 2017 he published his first children’s book, The Adventures of Charly Holmes, co-written with his 12-year-old daughter, Cathy, followed In 2018 by a second adventure, Charly & The Superheroes.

You can catch up with him on Facebook, Twitter and his Author Website or sign up to his newsletter to be sure you never miss anything.