Born she was from darkness
In the bosom of the night
Daughter of indiscretion
Selene who shines so bright
Relaxes she and grows by day
Secret as a nun
And then she bellies like a sail
Giving back the sun
Born was she to wax and wane
In her appointed time
She calls the seas to rise and fall
A Circe in her prime
Born she was from that dark sky
Wherein we see her face
Silver sister, crescent moon
Epitome of grace
Born she was from darkness
Born she was to die
Consider our mortality
The crescent moon and I

© jane jago

Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!

I have a circle of ‘lady friends’ ranging in age from ‘old enough to know better’ to ‘bloody hell she’s out without a nurse again’. What binds us together is the love of a drink or two, the mistrust of politicians in all their shades of belief, and a sort of jaunty independence that moves us to stick up our middle fingers at life.
Until recently, I would have also said we were bonded by a broad streak of common sense. However.
That was until Beryl’s god-bedamned daughter-in-law bought her a ouija board for her birthday. A crowd of us descended on Dunshaggin – Beryl’s five-bed three-bath cottage off the high street – for a weej night.
I went along – hoping for plenty of booze, a buffet of belly-busting proportions, and a bloody good laugh at the silly game.
Got the first two. No problems. And the food, having been delivered from the local branch of the middle classes’ favourite supermarket was excellent. In fact, until the weejing started it was being a blast.
But then Beryl got the bloody thing out of its box and they all sat around it like hopeful sheep.
After rather a lot of jockeying for position, everyone had a finger on the wheelie doodad and Beryl dimmed the lights.
We were left with one spotlamp shining on the table and everything else as dim as the coal house on a December evening.
Even then I expected – or maybe I just hoped for – a bit of a laugh. Boy oh boy was I disappointed.
For a long time, nothing happened, except Brenda demanding to know if there was anybody out there and the occasional fitful jiggle of the wheelie thing.
After what felt like three hours of this, I got bored, and, somehow or another, wheelie sprung into action.
It was such a busy little doodad, scurrying about bringing messages from beyond to all and sundry. There were messages from departed loved ones (particularly touching were the words of love from pets who waited on the rainbow bridge), there was advice both emotional and financial (mostly of the ‘that’s a scam you silly old cow’ variety), and there was a sprinkling of rude jokes to leaven the pudding.
Oh how merrily we weejed. And oh how sad we’re we when mister wheelie launched himself off the table in a hissy fit.
And that, I rather hoped, would be that.
But of course it wasn’t.
Weej evenings became all the rage, although, sadly, nobody gets messages like that first night in Brenda’s house.
Me?
I don’t go any more. I have the perfect excuse.It was the message from my old dog, Susan, I explain. Warning me against any more contact across the great divide.

Yeah, doh. Of course we can speak. But what’d be the point? Two-legs would just get creeped out.
I mean. One time there was this horse. Ed he was called. Used to talk to his two-legs all the time. When other two-legs found out they put his’n in a place for madders and ole Ed got boiled down for glue.
No. You take my word for it. Don’t never even try to talk to a two-legs no matter how much you love it.
Just put love in your eyes. If you’re lucky it might even understand.

©Jane Jago

In the skinny, cluttered office, Gribble looked around for a seat. He found no surface that wasn’t covered with paper. “Why do you have so much paperwork? Surely most of your accounts and stuff could be done on the computer.”
“It could, if the University was not averse to The Motherboard knowing all our business. But we aren’t here to discuss my conditions of employment, it’s the conditions under which you employ your geeks that are in dispute.”
“Dispute?” Gribble pushed out his lip in a show of boyish petulance, before he remembered that the Bursar was not of an ilk to be cajoled or seduced by the likes of him. Instead he hunched a shoulder. “Where do I sign?”
“I thought you might see sense,” her smile was just on the acceptable side of smug. But only just.
Scrabbling about in the teetering pile of paper on the windowsill, she dragged out a sizeable parchment and unfolded it.
“You sign here, here, here and here.”
Gribble pulled a pen out of his pocket and signed as indicated. The Bursar inserted the signed document in a slot in the wall and after a few seconds a disembodied voice filled the air.
“Contract duly witnessed.” The unwieldy parchment slowly reversed out of the slot to fall unnoticed to the floor.
Gribble eyed the Bursar.
“Right. When do I get my geek?”
“Tomorrow morning.” He opened his mouth to argue, then his face caught up with his brain and he snapped his teeth together. “Good thinking. Now cut along. I’ve got work to do.” The Bursar waved a wrinkled hand in dismissal.
Even an ego as colossal as Gribble’s recognised the pointlessness of arguing with a tetchy female colleague who was not only senior to him in the University hierarchy, but who also disliked him quite a lot. He left the dusty confines of the office, shutting the door behind him with exaggerated care before stomping along the disorienting curve of the corridor cursing and kicking random pieces of furniture.
Behind him, the Bursar listened to muffled swearing and assorted crashes. The smile that spread across her face made her look like a crocodile that smells fresh meat. “You, my temperamental young colleague, ain’t seen nothing yet.” She returned to her figures, obscurely comforted by the hard lesson Gribble was about to be taught.

From Gribble’s Geek by Jane Jago which is only 0.99 to buy throughout November.

The forest path was crosshatched with shadows and sunlight. Lithe trees clad in pied silver, stretched up, twig-fingers touching above me, leaves dazzling peridot in the sunlight. Patterned foliage against the sky, dappling the ground in muted emeralds, and faded jade where shadows fell.
Bird song, from many feathered throats, was music for my passage.
Then came a low buzzing, like a million bees swarming in anger, lifting in pitch and adding a whine, finishing with a biting choke.
I arrived as, with a cracking cry, another tree fell and the roar of the chainsaw started on a fresh victim.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Prandium was a pleasant meal, with Aelwen dispensing smiles and cuddles and the adults chatting lightly. By the time everyone had progressed to spiced milk and tiny cakes, Aelwen’s head was drooping like a poppy on its stalk so Julia buzzed Luned who came and bore the little one away for her afternoon nap.
Once they were gone, Julia looked shrewdly at her guests. “There is a fire in my sitting room, and a decanter of Llewelyn brandy. We can be comfortable and undisturbed, and you can tell me what the problem is.”
Lavinia took Marcella’s arm. “I told you Julia would see there was something wrong.”
“You did, Mater, and you were right. The question is more whether or not she believes me.”
“When we are all sitting by the fire you can try me.” Julia ushered them into her sitting room and closed the door. 
Lavinia settled her daughter on a deeply cushioned settee and sat beside her. Vulpes came to stand beside his mistress with his big head on her lap. She smoothed his ears and turned her sightless eyes on Julia.
“I heard somebody being killed last night.” When Julia didn’t react she carried on speaking. “Because I’m first violin, and because I’m blind and need a dog, Vulpes and I merit a dressing room to ourselves.  Anyway, after the performance last night somebody from the hotel where we are staying was supposed to come and collect me. But they must have forgotten. It wouldn’t be the first time. And somebody always remembers in the end.” She patted her mother’s arm. “It’s okay, fach, as long as I have Vulpes with me I’m fine.  But I digress. There is a big sofa in my dressing room, so Vulpes and me cuddled up. I must have nodded off, because I woke up feeling a bit disoriented. Vulpes was growling softly, but I shushed him and pulled a blanket over us both. He remained alert and I became aware of voices. Quiet voices, three or maybe four, arguing viciously. They seemed to me to be talking about some sort of a scam or con trick. One of them wanted out, but the others weren’t having any. Said he was in too deep to quit. He suddenly seemed to snap, and shouted. ‘I’m out and you can’t stop me.’ One of the others laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. Then I heard a sort of a muffled pop. And the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. I didn’t dare move or make a sound, and even Vulpes kept silent although all the hairs on his spine stood on end. We heard something being dragged along the corridor outside. Then whoever came back. Laughing. Said something like ‘nobody will find him there’. Then they went away. I was just wondering what I should do when I heard a familiar footstep. It was Claudius, my umm… sort-of boyfriend, come to find me. For some reason I didn’t want to rock the boat, even with him, so I kept my mouth shut and just pretended to be asleep…”
Marcella wound down and, by the look of her, she was on the verge of tears, but Julia’s investigative instincts hadn’t been blunted by her time out of official law enforcement.
“That isn’t all, though, is it?”
Marcella stopped stroking Vulpes and her hands writhed together miserably in her lap.
“No,” she whispered. “I think somebody suspects I heard. And I don’t think they are the sort to leave living witnesses behind.”

From ‘Dying to be Believed’ one of the exclusive bonus short stories The Third Dai and Julia Omnibus by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

He couldn’t sign up fast enough. A new world called joyously.
This would be a place where he could write what he saw and felt, in words that said how he saw and felt it.
The injection in his arm and the promise of a new life when he awoke. Bliss. His mind filled with colours and explosions and flavours.
Who knew how much longer it was when he awoke to blazing joy.
“It is time for your orientation classes, the AI explained.”
“Today’s lecture is entitled ‘filter words’.”
They didn’t know you could kill a lecturer with a stylus….

©Jane Jago

Imagine waking up one day unable to recall who you are or where you came from – only to find you are serving a sentence as a convict conscript for crimes you have no memory of ever committing…

Vane nursed no illusions about the fate of those conscripted to serve under him. For the vast majority, joining the Specials meant nothing more than a deferred death sentence. His troops served with an average life expectancy of just under two years. Most died very quickly, either on active service or were killed in the gruelling training. Others fell afoul of their own violent recreational activities or failed to sustain the psychological strength needed and committed suicide. Some died in brawls or were murdered by their comrades. Yet it remained a truism whenever a dirty job needed doing anywhere in the Coalition’s sphere of influence, the Specials were first on the ground, often ahead of the AI mechs. Vane took pride from that. He heard the troops did too.
Ironically, it meant, to be standing here, this soldier could only be the toughest kind: a man who could survive and even thrive in such an environment.To date, those few up before him for release, fell into one of two categories: those who were ruthless and brutal in pursuit of their self-preservation, and those who were high functioning socially, surviving as much through their ability to engage with others as by their own prowess. He thought of them as the ‘Lone Wolves’ and the ‘Socialites’. The ones he passed fit to leave were of the latter type. Yet so far this man seemed to defy both categories and until he could fit him into one or the other it would be difficult to make a call.
He looked back from the screens to the man himself.
“How do you feel about becoming a civilian?”
The green eyes showed no expression.
“I have been informed it can be very rewarding, sir. I see it as an opportunity to serve the community of the Coalition and the chance for my own self-development and personal fulfilment – sir.”
Lines from a manual. The last individual he cleared for release, which must be over a year ago, said much the same: words any ex-criminal would have engraved into their psyche before being passed fit to rejoin society.
“You were arrested for perpetrating numerous acts of terrorism against the Coalition. How do you feel about that now?”
From beyond the holofacade, Vane noticed the lounging figure stir and pull the chair upright, leaning forward with sudden interest, staring a little to the side where, no doubt, screens were showing selected close-up angles and readings taken from the Lattice. But from Vane’s own perspective, there was little reaction to see. The soldier’s face remained impassive as he spoke:
“Although I acknowledge my guilt in many terrible crimes against humanity, due to my amnesia I have no memory of committing them. The Coalition is a just and compassionate association of free, democratic people. I cannot understand why I would ever have wished to commit such heinous acts.”
It sounded rehearsed, not at all the language of a ranker in the Legion and Vane noticed a frown forming on the face of the observer as their fingers moved, recording notes. The Commodore, feeling himself as much observed in this as Revid, pressed the point.
“Do you understand the nature of the crimes you committed?”
“I do, sir.”
The burly Sergeant Hynas standing behind Revid, had been glaring in silent protest for some time. Now he cleared his throat. Vane suppressed a momentary irritation and nodded his permission for the man to speak.
“With respect, sir, this man has been wired to the Lattice for the last five years, he has no real idea of what anything means except obeying orders and killing. He’s just a killer,” the Sergeant said, spitting the word, “and all he did before his arrest were killing, so it’s natural he would see nothing wrong with it now. I don’t care what the neurocologists say about it, I know this man and that’s the simple truth. That’s why it’s taken them so long to even consider clearing him for discharge, sir.”
For the first time since the interview began, Vane saw a spark of animation in Revid’s eyes. The fixed gaze shifted to meet his own, it’s intensity disconcerting.
“Permission to speak, sir.”
“He’s a – “
Vane silenced the protesting Sergeant with a curt gesture.
“Permission granted, soldier.”
“Sergeant Hynas is under the impression I am unable to judge the moral difference between unjust murder and just warfare, between mindless terrorism and the well considered use of force. I would like it to be on my record I am very much aware of the difference between the two.I made a public statement renouncing my previous criminal activities, some years ago, activities for which I have the deepest disgust.” It was his longest speech so far and for once his tone held a bite of emotion. Vane felt very sure Sergeant Hynas had been tormenting this man for a long time. “I have been given numerous additional tests to ascertain this and despite my application being rejected and returned for review four times, each time I have been cleared for release. I would like to vindicate the wisdom of the Coalition’s system of justice, offer service to the community as a civilian and take this chance to recommence my life. Sir.”
Vane sat still for a moment, shocked into silence. He had never heard any of his Legionaries speak like that. Coming from the mouth of the scarred, adapted creature before him, with an ugly direct brain-linked data port visible behind one ear, the incongruity of it left him feeling profoundly unsettled. The language sounded far from anything heard in the ranks and this did not seem like a well rehearsed speech, which made it increasingly difficult to line up such fluent expression with the idea of total amnesia.

From Trust A Few – book one in Haruspex, the second Fortune’s Fools trilogy by E.M. Swift-Hook – which is only 0.99 to buy throughout November.

Every morning for thirty years, Geoff walked past number forty and saw the stone elephant. It stood three foot high with flowers cascading, changing according to the season, from the howdah on its back. It had been part of his morning commute.
As the years went by he found himself making up stories about it on the train.
The day he retired, he saw the elephant for the last time and made a decision. Taking a picture of it on his phone. He got home and started writing a children’s book – about a garden ornament elephant that came to life…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Having never encountered Duke Grandfather, or the Nuisance Men, before I came to this little book without preconception. I hoped for a good, fast-paced fantasy laced with a dollop of humour.
I wasn’t disappointed.
It didn’t really take too much to figure out what a Nuisance Man does, and although the peculiarities of his gun were never explained it didn’t get in the way of my enjoyment.
I loved the way the author just picks you up and dumps you right in the middle of Duke Grandfather’s life; if you’re new to the books you kind of have to sink or swim, but there are so many life rafts about that the swimming is easy and the story hurtles along at such a pace that you don’t have time to worry too much if you don’t completely understand a small detail or the nuances of a particular relationship. I loved it.
The idea of a portal to hell isn’t revolutionary, but it is handled with a fresh imagination and the outcome is never a sinecure.
I don’t want to compare this with anybody else’s take on a strange city in a strange land, instead I will say that this book is fast, funny, clever and very well written.
My advice?
Read it…
Five big fat shiny stars.

Jane Jago

Duke Grandfather is back!

If you are already fully involved in the world of Duke Grandfather this is another wonderful addition to his saga and I doubt you even need a review – you’ll have seen it and bought it right away!
Duke Grandfather Unleashes Hell (most aptly named) is a short read set after the main events of the series and features most of the characters one has come to know throughout reading it. Like the other stories in the series, it is fast-paced, tension-packed, hilarious and full of the unexpected. But what else could it be when a bottomless pit to the heart of Hell opens up in Capital City?
Backed by his friends and allies like Brindar the Dwarf, and even his less-than friends like the enigmatic Raven, and of course Lily his beloved necromancer wife, Duke Grandfather has to find a way to defeat the Bone-Lord and seal up the Pit before Hell is irrevocably unleashed.
Comparisons to Pratchett’s world and style must spring to mind, and if you are a fan of that you might very well love Duke Grandfather. But personally, I see them as very different perspectives on a similar theme.
However for those who are frowning in puzzlement at the odd name and wondering what exactly is a Nuisance Man, much as I feel this is a wonderfully accessible short story, I would sooo advise you to go back to the beginning and pick up a copy of Tales of a Nuisance Man so you can follow the whole wonderful saga through from its beginning – Oh, and you’ll find out what a Nuisance Man is as well 😉
I absolutely love the Duke Grandfather series and enjoyed having a chance to revisit it in this short. Please may there be some more!

E.M. Swift-Hook