Take this exclusive opportunity to consult the wisdom of the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica…

Aries. 

Aries children are the cuddly lambs of the zodiac. They are warm, charming and utterly without aggression or ambition.

Managing your Aries child

Just lead. They will follow.

Taurus.

Taurean children are sturdily stubborn. They won’t argue with you, but equally they won’t listen to a word you say.

Managing your Taurus child

Get between them and their ultimate goal and wave your arms about. This sometimes works.

Gemini.

The twins are a conundrum as one side of your child’s complex character will always be obliging and persuadable. Sadly, the other half will spend all it’s waking hours looking to outwit you.

Managing your Gemini child

Dot every i and cross every t. And hope. Unless your Gemini offspring are actually twins, in which case the best advice is to sit back and enjoy the ride. 

Cancer.

Complicated and convoluted of thought, your Cancer child will sneak past you at any given opportunity, and may well nip your arse in passing.

Managing your Cancer child

The ostentatious opening of a large jar of mayonnaise may function as a deterrent to the worst behaviours.

Leo.

Lazy, handsome, amoral and fond of sleeping in the sun. A Leo child will be untroublesome, but also unhelpful and invisible if there is any heavy lifting to be done.

Managing your Leo child 

Just scratch his belly, he will roll over and play dead for hours.

Virgo.

Virgo children are prim and often humourless. This is the only birth sign that voluntarily tidies its bedroom.

Managing your Virgo child

Just tell her how perfect she is. They bask in praise and will bend over backwards if compared favourably to their siblings.

Libra.

Libran children are calculating and weighing up the opposition is their forte. No Libra child will pick a fight with a low probability of victory.

Managing your Libra child

Just make sure they know you are bigger and uglier than they are.

Scorpio.

Scorpio children are intelligent, charismatic, humorous and wholly unprincipled. They are capable of the most monstrous behaviour couched in such a way as to render you speechless with laughter

Managing your Scorpio child 

Good luck with that foolish notion!

Sagittarius.

Pointedly principled, Sagittarian children can be relied on to ask embarrassing questions in public places, in very loud voices. 

Managing your Sagittarius child 

Remember that the centaur has two stomachs. These children may be instantly bribed with chocolate.

Capricorn.

Amiable, clever and organised. You can’t keep a goat anywhere a goat doesn’t want to be. On the plus side they are not picky eaters

Managing your Capricorn child 

Logic works. Threats don’t.

Aquarius.

Interminably busy, these children are often convinced that life is not giving them a fair deal. Can be whiny.

Managing your Aquarius child 

I recommend applying alcohol by mouth.

Pisces.

There are two kinds of Pisces children. The serenely uncomplicated swimmer with the tide and their absolute opposites the bruised, battered and scarred children who spend all their lives battling upstream.

Managing your Pisces child 

The serene sort need no management, the other buggers are unmanageable.

It sometimes seems
That if I tried
I‘d find my dreams
Behind the sky
The molten gold
That warms my eyes
Defeats the cold
And when I die
I think the ridge
So far and blue
Hides the bridge
I’ll cross to you

JJ 2023

The boutique was a small, narrow shop, half-hidden in Brighton’s rambling lanes. The shop owner obviously knew Anna and Bonnie well, greeting them both with affection. “And who do we have here?”
“Mine,” Anna said laughingly.
“Well keep a tight hold on him. Now what can I do for you today?”
“I need a kick-ass dress for a big bash.”
“How kick ass?”
“Right up there.”
“I got three real belters in your size. You want to try them and let mister sexy have a say?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
The first dress was vintage, bronze-gold velvet. Sam hated it and said so. Number two was apricot silk jersey. Sam liked it better, but wasn’t knocked out. Anna shrugged and went back for number three. When she emerged from the changing room, Sam let out a low whistle. Anna stood before him in a skin-tight deceptively simple sheath of grey fabric shot with rainbow shades. Whenever Anna moved, a thread of colour picked up the light. He was stunned.
“That’s it princess. That’s kick-ass if ever I saw it.”
“I thought so too. I’ve got some dangly earrings, so jewellery is covered. Gotta get shoes, though.”
Shoes came from another shop in the Lanes; skinny strapped sandals with toothpick heels.
“My feet are going to hate you, Sam. I’ll be expecting a foot rub at the end of the evening.”
“That’s a deal, and those shoes are so sexy that I can promise more than your feet getting rubbed.”
She snickered wickedly.
“Now. What about you?”
“Got a monkey suit. Clean too. Still in the cleaner’s bag from the last time. Got shoes. Might need a new silly shirt. Think the old one is a bit crap.”
“Well. We’ll get that too. And a new bow tie. A proper one.”
“Shit Anna. I can’t tie one of those things.”
“I can.”
“Oh well. In that case.”

They finished their shopping happily and were just meandering back to the car when Sam stopped suddenly. He stood stock still in front of the window of a tiny jeweller’s shop.
“Look Anna.”
“Look at what?”
He pointed to a ring box in the corner of the window.
“Oh,” Anna said softly, “how lovely”.
“I thought so too. Let’s go see if it’s your size.”
He grabbed her unresisting hand and towed her into the shop with Bonnie at her heels.
“Can we see the emerald and diamond ring in the window please?”
The man got up from behind the counter and unlocked the window.
“This one?”
“No. The one in the red leather box.”
“Ah yes. That’s exquisite. But it is rather expensive.”
“Let’s see if it fits the lady before we talk money,” Sam said firmly.
The square-cut emerald was flanked with blue-white baguette-cut diamonds, and the ring slid onto Anna’s finger as if it had been made for her.
“Like it?” Sam asked tenderly.
“Love it. But it’s a lot of money…”
“So? You can’t have a cheap engagement ring.”
Anna couldn’t speak, so she just blinked and nodded her head. Sam turned to the shopkeeper.
“I think the lady likes it. We’ll take it.”
The jeweller’s face was wreathed in smiles.
“I have a particular fondness for that ring, and it looks as if it was made for your fiancée. It’s early twentieth century and was pretty battered when I bought it. I spent many hours restoring it. If it’s your engagement ring, I’ll throw in the matching wedding ring as part of the deal. It’s platinum too, set with diamond chips, and carved to match the shoulders of the engagement ring. How will you be paying?”
“Debit card all right?”
“Certainly.”
“Done.”
While Sam and the jeweller did business, Anna stood looking at the lovely ring on her hand. Then she bent and showed it to Bonnie, who wagged approvingly.
“I think this means you and me will be marrying Sam. Do you approve?” she whispered into one soft, black ear. Bonnie flattened those ears and wagged harder. Anna hugged her dog, too happy to be sensible. When she came back to herself, Sam had finished his business with the jeweller and was smiling down at her.
“Come on lovely, we’re cluttering up the nice man’s shop.”
He held out his hand and Anna put her own in it.
They left the shop handfast, clutching multiple shopping bags, and followed by a happy-looking black dog. The jeweller shook his head and smiled.
“Stupid with happiness,” he remarked to nobody in particular, “I wish them well.”

When they got back to the car, Sam stowed the bags and belted Bonnie into the back seat. Anna, still in a happy daze, just stood staring at the emerald as it winked green fire at her. Sam scooped her into the passenger seat and got behind the wheel.
“Now,” he said on a laugh, “you do realise you just promised to marry me, don’t you?”
“I guess I did. But it’s OK, Bonnie approves.”
He laughed, then leaned over to kiss his lady love.
“I ought to ask you properly, though. I love you, will you please marry me?”
“I love you back much harder, and of course I’ll marry you.”
“Good. Now direct me to the Lamb and Flag.”
“Not simple. I’d better drive. I just need to moon over being engaged to you for another five minutes, then I’ll be OK.”
In the end, they both mooned, entranced by the beauty of the ring and the sweet promise of a life together. They were brought back to earth by Bonnie’s wet, warm tongue.

From The Cracksman Code by Jane Jago

An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

Ginny woke to the sound of bird song and wondered why the ceiling was a pristine white instead of the warm magnolia-cream she had chosen for her bedroom in the cottage. Then she realised the answer and sat up swiftly. She remembered shouting at the vicar and then having the oddest impression that he was a giant rabbit, before she fell. Then she must have hit her head on the stone floor. 
The poor bats. If she was unconscious he might have-
But then maybe not. Presumably some kind person had helped her and perhaps they had been in time to save the bats from the crazy vicar too. Feeling the back of her head there was no trace of the kind of bump she might have expected. Perhaps that was why she was in someone’s guest room and not in hospital. Though it was very odd they hadn’t taken her straight to Bedchester General A&E.
Ginny sat up, and realised someone had removed her outer clothes and put her into a voluminous one-size-fits-elephants nightie in a rather ghastly fabric that looked like it had been inspired by an Edwardian tea set. She looked around, but couldn’t see her clothes anywhere obvious.
The room was spare and sparsely furnished, with a wooden floor, white walls, and shutters in lieu of curtains. There were no pictures or ornaments to give away anything about whose house she might be in. But the bed was superbly comfortable and the bed linens seemed to be of the most expensive quality, even if they were as white and plain as everything else about the room.
Through the window she could see the church and the little stand of trees from which she had made her mad attempt to protect the bats from the vicar’s malice.
She had barely had a chance to do more than take in her surroundings when after a brief knock, which seemed to be more by way of a warning than a request, the door opened and a woman came in carrying a pile of clothes.
Ginny was pretty sure this was a stranger, as she knew she would have remembered – with rueful jealousy – anyone this effortlessly chic. Never mind that the woman was neither young nor particularly slender, she had style to burn. It wasn’t that she was wearing designer jeans and a cashmere jumper Ginny mentally priced at several hundred pounds, it was the way she carried herself and the sharpness of the cheekbones that all but sliced through the skin in an obviously aristocratic face. Whoever this was, Ginny suddenly had the thought that she might like to become this person when she grew up.
“Oh good! You’re awake. I apologise for the dreadful night wear, Agnes has very strange ideas of such things, but at least it avoids any possible embarrassment when your hostess walks in on you unexpectedly.”
Ginny rather thought that if any apology was due it was not for the nightdress, more for walking in without asking, but she decided not to say so.
The woman put the clothes down on the end of the bed.
“I’m Emmeline Vanderbilt. We spoke on the phone last week as I recall. Call me Em.”
“Ginny. Ginny Cropper. But you probably knew that.”
“Yes. I did.” She held up a hand as Ginny opened her mouth to ask the most pressing of the many questions that rushed to her lips. “Breakfast – well more brunch – is served downstairs. We can talk when you’ve had something to eat and a nice cup of tea. En suite through that door and I brought a selection of things you might wear. Hopefully I’m a better judge of what might fit you and your style than Agnes. See you in a few minutes.”
Strangely, Em seemed to have gone, and closed the door behind her, before Ginny could say a word. Feeling a little put out, but very happy at the thought of something to eat – she’d had this odd gnawing hunger since she woke up – Ginny inspected the clothes on offer. 
Somehow she was not surprised to find that almost all of the items had designer labels – the discreet kind rather than the ones that were blazoned like a badge. She had a quick shower then chose an earth colour blend blouson top  and found a pair of slightly flared jeans that fitted well enough to go with it. 
Scrutinising herself in the mirror, Ginny decided the effect was not at all bad. She had feared she might find she looked ‘mutton dressed as lamb’, but far from it. She might not match Em Vanderbilt for chic, but she still looked pretty good. Her skin seemed to be glowing more than it had in months, her hair, though still thin on top, had a gleam about it and she was aware of feeling more confident than she recalled being since her heyday.
She gave herself a small nod of satisfaction in the mirror and then headed downstairs, feeling ready to take on the world.

Part 17 of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

They thought of themselves as wolves in human skins as they roistered and pillaged and stole. Their granite tower at the edge of the world rang with coarse laughter and its storerooms bulged with gold and precious gems.

When their dark horses boiled out of the hills those who could run ran, and those who could hide hid.

Until the day they came no more. 

One brave man walked for days, to find the black basalt walls of the tower had grown silent and cold.

Inside there was only the smell of blood.

In the woods a single wolf howled…

Jane Jago

Admirable advice from Madame Pendulica’s mystic moggy!

Whilst reclining on the motheaten velvet of a window seat in the sun, one idly tuned into the conversation between the wispy female human one owns and a thin male dressed as if it were some sort of a bloodsucker or nightcrawler.
“Of course, the ancient Egyptians worshipped cats,” he said, as his narrow hands fiddled with the fringes on the table cover.
One pricked up one’s ears, and her muddledness nodded.
“They did indeed, and felines are so in tune with the moon and the stars.”
Which is, of course, arrant nonsense.
“Is he psychic?”
Wispy laughed, a sound she sees as tinkling bells, but one that grates on feline ears. “She is, indeed.”
He seemed to lose interest then, suddenly leaning forward and staring into the myopic pallor of her eyes.
“Why does nobody understand my poetry?” His previously carefully modulated voice degenerated into a childish whine and he flapped his hands like the wings of a demented butterfly.
The wisps of handprinted cheesecloth that serve one’s particular human as garments waved and undulated as his breath disturbed the air around her skinny frame. One wondered, briefly, if the young fool might attack her, but for all her fey ways she is adept at handling bruised egos and she there-there’d and patted him back to some semblance of adult behaviour.
While she stroked his over-inflated ego I regarded him in some hauteur. It seemed to me as if they were both missing the point of this interview— the fitting of a sadly deluded human for a better and more useful life. As I turned widdershins thrice and settled back to sleep it came to me that the phrase he would find most useful in his lifelong career would be ‘do you want fries with that?’

Ailuros the Mystic’s Mog predicts she will be offering more advice sometime in the future!

Esme had lived alone in the cabin high in the mountains as long as she could remember, getting by on what she could find and on ‘make do and mend’. She liked it that way. People were a nuisance like the wolves and the bears – only more dangerous.

So when she found the unconscious man she was half-inclined to leave him be. But of course, she took him in and saw him right.

Two years later Esme regretted her decision as the mining company began to rip up her mountain on the report of the freelance geologist she had saved.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Take this exclusive opportunity to consult the wisdom of the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica…

Libra.

For children of the scales, balance is all. They hold no view that is not counterbalanced by another and opposite opinion. They have no allegiance that is not equalled by love of another faction. The truth to a Libran is no more valid than the lie on the other side of the coin.  Beware the measure of Libra.

Good in the kitchen or bathroom.

Bad if you want support. Also bad in the bathroom if you are carrying a few extra pounds, the bastards won’t sugar coat it.

Scorpio.

The sarcastic, unfeeling nature of the offspring of this poisonous crepuscular creature cannot be overstated. A Scorpio may be a fond friend for as long as it suits, but should you disappoint one such the poisoned barb in its tail will cause you pain and suffering beyond measure, while it laughs in unfeigned merriment. Beware the poison of Scorpio.

Good as comedians and purveyors of snark.

Bad. Well just generally bad. And mostly proud of it.

Sagittarius.

Often depicted as a centaur, the archer has his bow constantly trained on the hearts of those around him. He watches his children greedily, and without mercy, as they learn to aim their own arrows of dislike, distrust, disgust, disdain and disproportionate expectation at all who dare get close. Beware the barbs of Sagittarius.

Good at any sport requiring the ability to shoot straight.

Bad at being anything but judgemental assholes.

Capricorn.

The goat-headed satyr laughs as his children drag the unprepared into their tools of gluttony, sensuality, and amorality. The children of Capricorn are probably the most physically irresistible of all the houses, and they are born to use that attraction for mischief. Beware the lust of Capricorn.

Good in bed.

Bad anywhere else.

Aquarius.

The water carrier. The only house with responsibilities. And how they are resented. How the Aquarian hates his/her burden. How he or she strives to set it down. The house is characterised by bitterness and envy of those it sees as having an easier life. They may seem to be steadfast in friendship, but in reality they just want you to carry the bucket for them. Beware the hubris of Aquarius.

Good at carrying stuff.

Bad at carrying stuff without complaining.

Pisces.

If there was ever a fish that swam with the flow that fish is a child of Pisces. This family has no principles, very few opinions, and absolutely no intention of ever making waves. A Piscean will be excellent, undemanding company and will be agreeable at all times. Equally he or she will bay and roar as loudly as the rest of the mob at a lynching or other sporting event. Beware the compliance of Pisces. 

Good at taking the temperature of any situation.

Bad at looking out for anybody but themselves.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

Cold morning by the riverside
He turned and walked away
Never saw the tears I cried
Never heard me pray
Never cared about my pain
Nor saw my senses fray
They said he was a hero
And they buried him today
But I went to the riverside
And in the mist I lay

Jane Jago

Ante Diem Nonum Kalendas Aprilis MDCCLXXIX Anno Diocletiani

I

The working office of the Magistratus had changed considerably since Sextus Catus Bestia had taken over the role in Demetae and Cornovii six months previously. Dai Llewellyn, Submagistratus for the same area, still fondly recalled the simple and yet tasteful decor the previous incumbent had preferred. Bestia, by contrast, favoured opulence over simplicity and substituted extravagance for good taste. But then, unlike his predecessor who had risen through the administrative ranks, Bestia had transferred into the state sector after enjoying a successful career as a commercial lawyer. Dai assumed that impressing business clients required such an ostentatious display of wealth, but the same sat ill with the kind of civic dignity expected of Bestia’s present role.
Not that the man couldn’t easily afford the expensive artwork lining the walls, the rarewood furniture, the bejewelled and gilded bust of the Divine Diocletian and the elaborate full-length golden-framed painting of himself and his wife of a few weeks. That marriage had surely made him one of the wealthiest men in all of Viriconium.
Which was why this present meeting was beginning to make Dai move from frustration into anger. Bestia was sitting in his throne-like desk chair, hands resting on the carved lions that adorned the arms. The late afternoon sun had painted the window behind him with glowing light, adding to the regal impression. He also looked regally bored, as if he found the whole business of overseeing the administration tedious in the extreme.
“I see no reason to bend the rules just because your Senior Investigator has a gut-instinct about something. Cartivel must be close to retirement age and is probably just dyspeptic.” He smiled as if inviting Dai to share the joke.
“I’m not asking you to bend any rules. I’m asking you to sign-off further resources to investigate properly. I would if I could, but have already authorised this case to the limit of my authority.”
Bestia glanced down at the file on his desk. “Indeed. I see you granted SI Cartivel and his team an entire day in man hours. Time they have used to ascertain little more than that this woman was known to be a lupa and known to be willing to take money from clients who wanted more extreme practices than the usual. But there are no grounds that I can see here for me to extend the investigation any further. It would be a waste of public money.”
“If Malina Tesni was a Roman Citizen…”
For the first time, Bestia sounded annoyed.
“If the woman was a Roman Citizen, she would not have been a common British puta who was paid well by an over-vigorous client.”
“Over-vigorous?” For a moment Dai saw the start of a red haze clouding on the edges of his vision and with a supreme effort of will he fought it down, drawing a deep breath and counting silently.
“Distasteful as it is, there was nothing to suggest she had been abused against her will. She was also found with what I am assured would be a substantial payment for a street woman. No doubt an incentive to allow her client more leeway in his behaviour.”
“She was beaten half to death. The autopsy said she died of those injuries having caused severe internal bruising and swelling.”
“It was not murder. There was clearly no intent to kill or why pay the woman and let her go home? At very best it was an accidental death. No one has denied that she was a prostitute and that is a profession that we all know carries certain occupational hazards.” His expression softened suddenly and his voice shifted to something more like friendly cajoling. “You are a good man, a good Citizen and a good administrator, Llewellyn. I do understand why you feel so strongly about this, but you must let it go. It’s for the best.”
Dai had been sitting but now he shot to his feet.
“Let it go? Dominus, the man who did this is somewhere in Viriconium and he could do the same to another woman.”
Bestia lifted one hand from its lion’s head resting place.
“Stop right there. Firstly, I already said that I completely understand where you are coming from with this. Who could not be appalled at by it? But where is the crime? There is no law against prostitution.” He leaned back and shook his head, looking saddened. “If anything the dead woman is the criminal here. The only prosecutable offense I can see is failure on her part to have purchased a license to practice her trade. And, of course, the subsequent charges of tax evasion that would lead to, especially seeing how well she was being paid.”
Dai struggled to find some way to frame things in terms that could penetrate Bestia’s lawyer logic.
“If she was a Citizen there would be unlimited resources made available to uncover the man who did this whether it was deemed consensual or not. What if the man is local and his next victim is a Citizen?”
Bestia was frowning now.
“You should know better than that, Submagistratus. We can’t run the Vigiles on ‘what ifs’. There is no reason to think the man was local, indeed it is more likely someone passing through, staying the night and wanting some entertainment. And even if he was local, you have already spent public money on investigating something that is not a crime. Instead of asking me for more perhaps you should apologise and be grateful that I’m not going to mention that you did so on any official report.”
The red haze rose and this time Dai could do nothing to stop it. His last conscious act was to turn and start walking towards the door. Better to be rude to his superior than get arrested for attacking him.

From Dying on the Streets by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago