There was panic in the garden. Granny had lost a knitting needle. Nomes scuttled in every direction hunting high and low.

“We gotta find it or the ole bat’ll make our lives a misery.”

“We have but it’s a puzzle to me how it got lost. Her don’t hardly move from that bliddy tidstool.”

Brenda stopped dead. “Her don’t, do her.”

She strode back to where Granny sat, rigid and complaining.

“Stand up.” 

Even Granny obeyed when Brenda used that voice.

The needle fell from the mouldering haystack of Granny’s clothing. She grabbed it and life went back to normal.

©jj 2021

Somewhere in a Wild West that never was…

The railroad formed the first leg of the great trek to the rich lands beyond the desert, and it was rumoured that, long ago, the tracks ran from coast to coast. Nowadays, however, the railroad came to an abrupt end in a place of cattle yards, whorehouses, and bars. Hard-eyed women, and conscienceless men, preyed on the stream of humanity that poured out of the cross-continental trains as they puffed and wheezed to a halt alongside the ramshackle platform.
A dispirited-looking Church Army Band played hymns and waved collecting tins, more in hope than expectation. Behind them, a twice life size head of General Stonejaw Johnson, with his piercing eyes and pointing finger, adjured ‘upstanding young men’ and ‘modest females’ to join the Army in its fight against Shaitan and all his works. Which might have been ironic if any of the denizens of Trail End were of a mind to enjoy irony.
The Friday train came all the away from south-eastern ‘civilisation’, and its passengers had endured the swaying, clanking ride for the best part of ten days. Those who were in the first half dozen carriages fared better than their less affluent cousins in the rest of the train – whose accommodation more resembled cattle trucks than anything else.
When the train shuddered to a halt, the doors of the rear carriages burst open and a stream of humanity walked, crawled, or fell into the merciless light of the midday sun. They were converged upon by the whoremasters, slave drivers, and purveyors of dubious modes of transport who found it worth their while to endure the discomfort of a rail-end town in the name of profit.
The unsatisfactory daughters, disappointing sons, and con artists just ahead of the law, who occupied the front carriages exited the train in a rather more leisurely fashion, and most were met by family members, pre-appointed guides, or the representatives of the wagon masters retained to carry them west. There was a good deal of hand shaking and back slapping at this end of the platform, and while the sharks of every kidney circled each other a figure slipped quietly out of the train on the opposite side.
It was a slight scarlet-haired woman, dressed in functional leather boots and a khaki frock coat. She jumped lightly to the ground and reached back inside for a sturdy leather back pack. Adjusting the straps of the pack she pulled a pair of smoked goggles over her eyes and walked purposefully away from the crowds.
She crossed the goods yard and squatted down in the shadow of a ramshackle warehouse. Pulling the hood of her coat up to cover her flaming red hair she composed herself to wait. In time, the train was pulled away from the platform while its engine was laboriously turned around on an iron turntable powered by indentured labourers – humans being cheaper and more expendable than horses.
The woman sat, barely breathing and becoming less and less visible as the hours crawled past.  As far as she was able to ascertain only one person noticed her: a tall muscular stevedore with brown skin and eyes the colour of the desert sky. He nodded just once, before dropping an eyelid in a swift wink. She wondered if he might be her contact, but as thinking about it required more effort than she was prepared to expend with a long night ahead of her, she simply withdrew her mind from the surrounding area and sat motionless.

From The Redhead, the Rogue and the Railroad by Jane Jago which is available all through February for 0.99.

Because life happens…

Life is, as the poets do say,
A time to wassail and make hay.
Your time’s better spent
With joyful contempt
For those who deny themselves play.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Dying to be Innocent is the ninth Dai and Julia Mystery from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Idibus Augustus MDCCLXXIX Anno Diocletiani

Julia Llewellyn was on her way home from the Asclepieion on Ynys Mon at last. She had been there, or thereabouts, for most of the last two months and hard as it was, she pushed down the turmoil of emotions which revolved in her stomach every time she thought about that and focused hard on the future.
 Firstly, she had endured a very difficult pregnancy from mid-term on, requiring extensive bedrest and the inevitable boredom and frustration that had meant. Despite all that, her son, Rhodri, had still been born six weeks early needing to be hailed off to an incubator. Then he was discovered to have a hole in his diaphragm requiring immediate surgery. Several sleepless nights followed with herself and her husband keeping watch over his tiny form, before he was declared on the mend. And then Julia had to wait for him to grow big enough to leave his incubator and come home…
She was glad for more than the obvious reasons. Her husband, Dai Llewellyn was a Submagistratus for the region of Demetae and Cornovii and she knew he was keeping something from her, holding back to protect her, as he would think. It was hard to pin him down in his brief visits, once home she was sure she would get to do so.
At last the great day had come and she was seated decorously in the back of a burly all-wheel being piloted by her friend and bodyguard, Edbert. If she had been an expecting sort of a woman, she would have expected Dai to be sitting beside her.  But he was conspicuous by his absence. She sighed a tiny sigh and kissed the downy head that rested on her breast.
“Not his fault.” Edbert’s unfeasibly deep voice broke gently into her reverie.
“What’s not who’s fault?” Julia kept her voice even for fear of waking Rhodri.
Edbert laughed softly. “It’s not Dai’s fault that he isn’t sitting beside you, you cross-grained little person.”
Julia found herself relaxing. “Catch a hot case did he?”
“Nope. Having refused to see or speak to Dai, or either of his Senior Investigators – Bryn or Gallus – for the best part of a month, Magistratus Sextus Catus Bestia called a meeting for this morning. Messaged just before we were setting out to fetch you.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “If I didn’t know better I’d think it was timed to cause maximum inconvenience.”
Julia sighed again. “He is such a petty man. I keep hoping things will improve. But it’s not likely.”
“Isn’t. And his attitude to ‘servants’ is beyond despicable.”
Julia held the baby carefully as she leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. 
“Bestia really is a piece of work, isn’t he? But he is just petty and that can’t hurt us.”
“I wouldn’t place any bets on that.”
“Me neither, honestly. But I can’t afford to think like that.”
“No. Nor you can. My bad. How is the little one standing up to the journey?”
“He’s fine. Had his prandium before we set out. Sleeping now. The medica said something to me just before you rolled up that was very comfortable. ‘Rhodri Ddu is a fighter and as tough as they come’. She says not to treat him any different to any other baby now. He’s all healed and a hundred percent fit.” One tear escaped and ran down her cheek, but it was a tear of thankfulness not sorrow. Her precious baby was well and could take his place in the nursery where he and his sister Aelwen would be in the care of the nursery maid Luned, who was as brave as a lioness and as tender as the touch of silk. All things considered, Julia thought today was a good day, even if the pinpricks from Dai’s boss were getting sharper and less disguised. She wondered if they were what was behind her beloved’s withdrawn mood.
The rest of the ride home passed in silence, save for Rhodri’s tiny snore. 
Just before they were due to turn onto the private road to the Villa Papaverus, Edbert stopped the car and screwed around in his seat to look at Julia with deep wisdom in his winter grey eyes. 
“A word of warning. There’s about half a hundred people waiting to greet you. If I was you I’d wait in the all-wheel and hand the little one off to Luned before you get out. What with dogs and in-laws, and that madwoman Domina Lavinia, it would be easy for you to take a tumble. Luned and me put our heads together and she has found a big old high-wheel baby carriage so everybody can see young Rhodri without crowding.”
For a moment, Julia didn’t know what to say and she felt her throat constricting. Edbert smiled and touched her cheek with the back of one huge hand.
“All a bit overwhelming ain’t it?”
“It is. And thank you my friend.” 
“Always got your back small stuff.”
“Always got yours, you big ape.”
With the shoals of emotion successfully navigated Edbert started the engine again.

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

You can keep reading by clicking here to snag a copy of Dying to be Innocent!

Glossary of Latin and Other Terms
Please note these are not always accurate translations, they are how these terms are used in Dai and Julia’s world.
Asclepieion – healing spa, hospital
Demetae and Cornovii – Wales and several English Midland counties including Shropshire
Ddu – dark, as in hair and/or skin
Domin-a/us – Ma’am/Sir. Used to superiors both in rank and social status
Magistratus – senior official with legal jurisdiction over an area
Medic-a/us – doctor
Prandium – brunch or lunch
Submagistratus – a more junior official with legal jurisdiction over an area, under the authority of a Magistratus
Villa Papaverus – Poppy House. Dai and Julia’s residence.
Ynys Mon –  or the Isle of Anglesey

The biggers must have had one hell of a party. Big came into the garden with both arms full of cardboard and bright paper. Stopping only to vomit in the herbaceous border he disappeared.
Little Frankie puzzled out the words on one of the discarded boxes.
“Fes Tiv Fa Ther Chris Mas G-Nome. Wassa G-Nome.”
“It’s a nome. The G is silent.”
Frankie stared incredulously at the oldest nome who sat on her toadstool knitting purple bedsocks.
“Is you Ranny then?”
Only the quickness of Big Bertha’s hamlike fists stopped ‘Ranny’ from hurling Frankie into the cement pond.

©jj 2021

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 thought for a moment. This man being considered for release would bring a huge public outcry – from both sides. It would unearth all the old arguments about human rights and the extremes of compulsory military service. Suddenly he understood why the CSF were involved and why he was being so heavily pressured to give on this.
“This is about the future of the Special Legion, isn’t it?”
Var Tyran smiled, like a teacher with a star student in the making.
“So you see,” she told him, “this way he has his chance to see what life is like on the outside – and inevitably reject it. The Coalition is seen to carry through with just policies on clemency for valorous service, even in extreme cases, which will please the more fuzzy-thinking liberal elements. But, in the end, you will get him back under your command, which will satisfy the hard minded realists. So everyone will win. It all ties up very neatly.”
“My command? Not if he re-enlists in the regular way.”
“There is evidence to suggest it may be the more extreme environment of the Special Legion is one he would seek. And as you are well aware all ex-Legionaries have the right to re-enlist with their original unit. Even the Specials.”
Vane felt his credulity stretching. No sane individual would choose to be in the Specials. Then, he reminded himself, hard as it was to accept, this was a man who had ‘grown up’ in the Legion and to whom it must therefore have some strange sense of ‘home.’ It was a very uncomfortable thought.
“And you would be happy with such an outcome?” he asked.
Var Tyran smiled with real warmth, leaning forward, her eyes bright with delight, and Vane found himself smiling back at her.
“Oh I would get to wear a feather in my cap for a while, I suppose – thanks to you.”
Vane nodded, not wanting to point out he had been speaking of her organisation not her personal feelings on the matter. In fact, he liked she took it that way.
“I wish you’d told me all this before the interview, it would have made me view things very differently.”
“So do I,” she said, settling back with an apologetic smile. “I was in a foul mood – very unprofessional of me – personal matters.” Vane waited, his silence encouraging. After a moment of hesitation, in which her cheeks paled visibly, she ploughed on: “My boyfriend left me last night.”
Vane’s second thought was that the man, whoever he might be, had to be a fool. His first was more to do with his own personal benefit.
“I am sure it must have been difficult for you to deal with,” he told her sympathetically.
She nodded and gave him a brief, tooth-press, smile
“Just so long as my boss doesn’t find out I lost it – I’d be reassigned to data crunching if she did. This is my first big break in the department.”
This, her first admission of vulnerability, made Vane feel suddenly protective.
“She won’t hear anything from me,” he promised. “Var Tyran, I – “
“Cista,” she corrected him, interrupting gently. He smiled and was distracted by the need to acknowledge a security message on his link. Then he gave her his full attention.
“Cista, I want you to know when I finished viewing the data you gave me I put through my recommendation for release. I have just now confirmed the discharge. It should all be officially cleared by the end of the day. Revid should be free to go tomorrow.”
The delight and relief in her eyes were reward enough for him.
“Then we have something to celebrate, Commodore.”
“Isvan.”
“Isvan – I propose we go eat, I know a lovely place downtown from here -” she broke off and her face showed a slight hint of colour. “Sorry, that wasn’t very professional either. I mean –“
He smiled, loving her awkwardness.
“I would be delighted to join you for a meal, Cista – in the interests of inter-agency cooperation and team-building of course.”

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 for a limited period.

Because life happens…

The secret of living is this:
You don’t need ecstasy and bliss,
You just need a good man
Who knows how to – and can
Do the dinner when you are half-pissed.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The problem with having little legs is you keep getting left behind. Shorty was so lost he just laid back his head and howled. But missis never heard him. He sat on the cold pathway shivering in the thin rain.

Then a gruff voice spoke.

“Are you lost, little chap?”

Shorty whined. 

“Ain’t passed anybody back that way…”

He picked Shorty up and his legs moved so fast they would surely catch missis soon.

When Shorty heard her voice calling desperately, the man speeded up. 

The advantage of having little legs is that big men rescue you – and missis too…

©️jj 2020

Tallis Steelyard: Six Men in a Boat, by Jim Webster

One step (or, more accurately, a jump) ahead of his creditors, Tallis Steelyard winds up on Baldart Twirl’s flatboat. His adventures pile up while he figures out precisely why he was run out of town.
Peopled with Jim Webster’s signature mixture of idiots, sages and oddballs this book is a joy from start to finish.
If you have enjoyed the Tallis Steelyard short stories, you’ll enjoy this full-length novel even more. The characters and storyline are more than sufficient to sustain the longer format and belly laughs abound.
Highlights for me?
An erudite mule, and the machinations of Baldart Twirl himself.
Buy it and read it.
Five shiny stars.

Jane Jago

A Boating Adventure With A Difference

When unavoidable circumstances meet with unfortunate events, as Tallis Steelyard could no doubt tell you, the only option is to run like hell.
However for Tallis that meant winding up on a flatboat being towed behind a steamer. His adventures include a contribution to opera, absconding with religious tomes, a friendly – if at times rather dangerous – rivalry with the crew of another flatboat, being the judge of a local flower show, nomad attacks, a well-educated mule and a mysterious ancient cult.
Jim Webster is one of those authors who makes me wish for a louder voice so more might hear about and discover his works. They are simply wonderful.
There is nothing quite like a Tallis Steelyard adventure. It has pathos, humour, danger and a uniquely engaging, secret, unidentifiable ingredient all of its own which Mr Webster must keep as close to his chest as Coca-Cola.
So if you have never been introduced to Tallis Steelyard before, this is a great place to meet him. If you know him well and have yet to take his boating adventure then delay no longer.
Either way, this is a wonderful book that will surely delight you.

E.M. Swift-Hook

A brutal fantasy tale of piracy, friendship, romance and revenge on the high seas…

In a surprisingly short time, the choppers reckoned the wreck to be free. Jack couldn’t hear what they had to say, but their gestures were interesting as they cajoled, or bullied, the Spanish contingent into putting their shoulders to the wreck. They must have all pushed together as the skeleton of the Santa Hosefina shot out of the clutches of the reef like a cork out of one of the bottles of fizzy wine the hidalgos so prized. The pieces of ship floated quite nicely, which was more than could be said for the mercenaries, most of whom still wore their steel breastplates. It looked as though the sailors on the reef were trying to reason with Gobby in the matter of the fate of the sinking Spaniards.
Jack mentally wished them good luck with that little project, before turning his attention to the approach of the Pink Pig. He knew he need not worry, and that Mary’s seamanship was of the highest order, and she was at the wheel herself, but he had just seen a ship tear herself apart on the unforgiving coral. He had to force himself to breathe as the Pig manoeuvred her nose into the gap. Almost before he had chance to really worry the sleek little barque was bobbing gently in the quiet water of the lagoon. The crew furled sails before ‘out oars’ was called.
As soon as she came alongside, Jack leaped aboard.
“Nice sailing love.”
Mary grinned. “A bit less dramatic than yours. Or the eeejit in charge of the galleon. What was he thinking of?”
One of the huddled sailors spoke up. “Gold. He were thinking of gold. A lot of gold.”
“That’d do it.”
Jack wandered over to where Don Esteban lay tied hand and foot and with the beginnings of a prizewinning bruise blooming on the white skin of his jaw.
“I’m glad you belted him, love, but I’m curious to know why.”
“Oh him. See the sailor over there with the bandaged leg?”
Jack nodded.
“Well. Your proud hidalgo there slashed him so he’d bleed in the water and attract the sharks. If it hadn’t been that you’re so set on killing him yourself I’d have made his face bleed and chucked him in the water as shark-bait hisself.”
“Oh he is a brave nobleman ain’t he. Do you think he’s still asleep? Or is he pretending?”
Mary’s grin grew just a bit vicious and she snapped out an order. Two of her brawny girls picked up the hogtied nobleman and carried him to the side of the boat. They tied a rope around his ankles and threw him into the sea headfirst. After a minute or so they pulled him up sufficiently so they could see his furious face. Mary looked at Jack.
“I reckon he’s awake now.”
“I reckon he is my love. Would you mind telling the girls not to hurry pulling him in. We fight an hour before sunset. Once I’ve killed his ass for him we should be able to catch the turning tide and get our ships out of this lagoon.”
“Right. Fine.”
Mary snapped a sarcastic salute and Jack retaliated by pulling her head down to his level and kissing her with embarrassing thoroughness. She came up for air with pink cheeks and slightly unfocused eyes.
“I’ll get you for that Jack Stainless,” she promised.
He grinned unrepentantly and leapt back onto his own ship.
One of Mary’s bolder girls looked at her captain and winked. “You bit off a mouthful with that one. If you ever needs a hand…”
Mary laughed and aimed a halfhearted blow. “That’n’s mine. Hands off.”
“It weren’t my hands I was thinking of.”

Jane Jago

There will be more from Bony Mary and her crew next week…