This is the story of what happens when a pragmatist gives in to a romantic impulse. Be warned.
I’m that pragmatist and my name is Alysson Kowalski.
Now that we all know who we are, there’s a couple of things you need to be aware of before you start reading: I swear too smegging much; I couldn’t give a flick what you think of me; and I do expect you to pay attention. Listen up, there may be questions later.

Through the skinny end window of my three-metre square office I watched Jackdaw Court grow from a hole in the ground to something one might call an architectural oddity if one was being kind. That having been said, and almost in spite of myself, I got interested and when the ‘for sale’ boards went up I dropped into the estate agent on my way home.
I sat in my tiny ‘apartment’ (ain’t that a joke: read bedsit with pretensions) ate pizza, and studied the blurb with increasing fascination. It was the tower that got me. Ever since I was a little kid I’ve been fascinated by towers, and the idea of living in one really floated my boat.
Not being one to let the grass grow, I was in the estate agent’s prim little office before nine thirty the next morning.
“The tower at Jackdaw Court. When can I see it?”
The over-presented receptionist looked at me as if I was something that had crawled out of the undressed lettuce that undoubtedly formed the mainstay of her meals. I favoured her with my best and most dangerous glare, and she thought better of whatever it was she had intended to say. Instead she made painfully slow progress on her computer. After faffing about for at least ten minutes she made a breakthrough.
“You can see it now” she said brightly. “Mister Brown is free.”
“Well wheel him out then. I don’t have all day.”
She picked up a handset and dialled three digits with a perfectly manicured finger.
“Customer wants to see the tower at Jackdaw Court. Now.” She put the handset down and only just managed not to sneer.
“He will be right with you.”
A middle-aged gent with a bit of a beer belly came out from the back office and smiled at me.
“Paul Brown” he stuck out a hand.
“Alysson Kowalski” I kept my own hands behind my back and his grin actually broadened.
“I’ll just get my car.”
I looked at him sternly. “You could do with the walk.” He winced then grinned.
“As you say.”
It was all of fifteen minutes, even with me needing to slow down for my new friend, but in that time we had sized each other up well enough for no fencing to be necessary.
“I take it” he said genially “that you have all your finances in position and you are in a position to proceed.”
“Yeah. Course I am. But blondie didn’t think so.”
“No. If she had she would have called on one of the thrusting young men who were also sitting in the back office drinking coffee.”
“How’d anything that stupid get a job?”
He grinned and shrugged.
“Yeah. There’s that” I had to admit. “But how does she keep the job?”
“She probably won’t. Especially if I make a sale this morning.”
“Eh? But don’t you make rather a lot of sales? The harmless duffer pose must be worth more than a few bob to the company.”
He grinned toothily. “It is. And I’m probably the most successful salesman in this branch. But you are not my target market. I’m supposed to deal with older people who would be turned off by Ranjit or Ralph – who are both a bit flashy.”
“Well then. I’d probably have wound up breaking someone’s pinky in a handshake. I don’t much care for flashy young men.”

From Jackdaw Court by Jane Jago.

It takes six men three days to free a caravan whose legs have sunk deeply into summer soft tarmac.
Job done, the digging biggers stood around drinking beer.
“You oughter move it in case it sinks again.”
Big fetched his truck and after a couple of false starts they hitched up.
With the paddock gates propped open Big climbed into the cab and engaged a gear.
The truck inched forward, but then the engine revved wildly while the caravan slewed sideways embedding itself in the paddock fence with a screech of tortured metal.
Hamish grinned. “Bugger my nuts,” he said.

©️jj 2021

… or ‘How To Speak Typo’ by Jane Jago

achnor (noun) – a Caledonian person who says no a lot

brillaint (adjective) – of hair, shined and glued into place with brylcreeem

cramine (noun) – the peculiar colour all the washing turns when you put a red sock in it by mistake 

defetas (adverb) – of speech or singing, loud, flat and with one of those accents that removes two vowel sounds

dilemna (noun) a long-legged coot-like bird characterised by an inability to make up its mind

foor (adjective) – poor in the terms of reference of the very rich in that one’s children have to attend minor public schools and one cannot afford more than one divorce

hosematre (noun) – pedagogue who beats pupils with a hollow length of rubber

jamsine (adjective) – sticky and bright red

jusat (adjective) – smelling vaguely of old socks and Vimto

lineger (noun) – underwear that smells like a chip shop

morgin (adjective) – grumpy and prone to spitting

omouf (adjective) – of lipstick, misapplied so it slips over the edges of the lips

sinnic (noun) – a person with no charm and little intellect 

totamo (noun) – yellow fruit with hard skin that tastes like stew and smells like sick

upsdie (noun) – a dice that only throws sixes

There were no biggers at home when a low-loader deposited a silver caravan on the driveway. The delivery men wound down legs, shoved a fat envelope through the letterbox, and buggered off.
It was a hot day, and the sun on the polished sides was blinding. Numpty made to move closer, but Hamish grabbed his collar.
“Bliddy thing’s moving. Come awa.”
Indeed it was moving, two of the four legs were slowly sinking into the tarmac and the thing was leaning at a crazy angle.
As one gnome they ran, before the biggers’ thing could suck them down too.

©️jj 2021

Offworld items were rarities, rarities, the few imports that arrived on the continent, having been shipped across the Lesser Ocean from the spaceport in Keran were always valuable – even the commonplace ones. His own fine knife blade, stronger than anything that could be made on Temsevar, had cost Caer most of his first season’s bonus to purchase. So if there was anything salvageable left on the mithan, it would truly be as if the skies had opened up and rained money on them. For a moment that thought drove out every other and he had the exhilarating image of himself leading Alexa the Fair’s caravan into the city of Alfor, wagons overflowing with wealthy cargo.
But only for a moment.
The many long days of travel that remained before they could reach Alfor rose up and cut through that image like a row of jagged teeth. This was a small caravan and painfully undermanned with too few Zoukai. For all his own strength and skill, if word got out that they carried any great wealth – if anyone saw them take it or even noticed they had left the road – then they would be lucky to arrive in Alfor alive let alone with their cargo intact. But if – if he could keep it safe, then the end-of-run bonus it could earn him would be enough to make almost all his wildest dreams grow flesh and walk.
Caer became aware that Alexa was still watching him with an almost hungry expression on her beautiful face. Her eyes were glittering with the same visceral excitement he was feeling. It was as if, for that one moment, they were equals.
“Well, Captain?” she asked at last. “Have you nothing to say about it?”
“You will be wealthy, Honoured One, truly wealthy – if we can reach Alfor safely.”
“If,” she agreed and smiled as if pleased that he had grasped the key issue without her having to spell it out. Then the smile was gone and Alexa was the business-like caravansi once more.
“There is still time for you to ride up the mithan before sunset, Captain. I want you to take a few of your best Zoukai and see what is there, then we can make arrangements to bring it down tomorrow.”
It was getting a little late in the day and the wise Caer said he should protest and insist that they leave it for the next day. It was not sensible to take a dangerous path up the side of a mithan on tired ponies and risk having to make the descent in the dark. But the wild impetuous Caer, the Caer that had turned his back on the security of the craftsman’s life his father had planned out for him for the adventure of being Zoukai, the Caer who had defied all Zoukai convention to grasp the chance to be a captain years before he was supposed to – that Caer told him challenging the order would only make him seem a coward.
“Your will, Honoured One.”
Alexa’s hand lifted in dismissal and Caer pressed his forehead to the rug at the foot of her couch. Then he got to his feet in a single movement and was at the entrance of the pavilion before Alexa’s voice stopped him.
“Captain.”
He held the flap of heavy cloth and looked back towards her.
“Captain, if we can get this treasure trove to the Alfor Fair, I promise you that we shall all be rich – you and your Zoukai too.”
“Your will, Caravansi,” Caer responded automatically. It was only as he walked away from the pavilion, it occurred to him to wonder if she spoke from concern in case of an attack on the caravan or fear of his own betrayal – fear that he and the other Zoukai would steal her precious gift from the sky.
He mounted his pony and rubbed its ugly head between the ears. It was true, the thought of so much wealth could certainly turn your mind. But then it could also be that he and the Caravansi were making fine cakes from nothing more than mud and sand. Caer had seen the size of the explosion and he was very aware he might find little on the plateau beyond a few useless scraps of overheated metal and a large crater. He turned his mount and went in search of the men he wanted.

From The Fated Sky the first part of Transgressor Trilogy, and the first book in Fortunes Fools by E.M. Swift-Hook.

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

If you’re old, be a shining example
Of all that in life we should sample
The life of a saint
And total restraint
Not a sex-kitten who’s quite arm full!

E.M. Swift-Hook

The Rabid Readers Review: The Silk Thief, by Claire Buss

A Welcome Return to Roshaven

What happens when someone low and despicable and with the contacts and tricks to do so, tries to take over Roshaven? Well with the likes of Ned and Jenni on the prowl you can guarantee the evildoer will have their work cut out. Meanwhile Jenni is coming to terms with her coming of age, Ned is having nightmares and Fourteen is seeking inspiration for a new name…

The Silk Thief is the second full-scale novel in the Roshaven series – although there have been shorter glimpses into this wonderful world out already – so button up and hang on tight for the ride.

As always there will be chuckles and chills, high drama and high jinks and right to the end you’ll be wondering just how it is all going to play out.

If you loved The Rose Thief you will not want to miss out on The Silk Thief, it has all that the first book has, but more and better. Friendship, magic, humour, romance and heroism. What is not to like?

E.M. Swift-Hook

When the bad guys want everything, what do you do?

Fourteen needs a name, Jenny’s struggling with puberty, and Ned’s having nightmares. Add the complication of magical inheritances and Ned’s nasty brother and you have a bubbling broth of fun and frolics.
The story is cleverly plotted and draws you into a world of magic and ambition, where the good guys have their backs against the wall and the bad guys are as bad as they can be.
Roshaven doesn’t disappoint and I defy anybody to stand at the top of this roller coaster and not take the ride.
Don’t read this book because you love Terry Pratchett and the Discworld, read it because you love Claire Buss and Roshaven.

Five big fat stars and a huge recommendation.

Jane Jago

Having given up a considerable amount of ground in the matter of the muscle truck, Mother Bigger was intent on making sure her erratic spouse would at least be able to drive it properly.
Had she been less irritated, though, she might have been more persuasive.
“There are,” she said, “towing courses available at the gliding club. Shall I sign you up for one?”
Brenda winced. “Silly woman. He won’t never lie down for that.”
“Sign me up for one what?”
“Sign you up for a towing course. You’ve never towed before.”
“A course? Why? How hard can it be?”

©️jj 2021

Because life can be interesting when you are a character in a video game…

The key fitted and as Milla turned it the doors began to glide silently open. Inside it was dimly lit from…somewhere. There was no obvious source of light, but the room was illuminated. The three ryeshor walked in cautiously, looking around at the plain stone walls, each with a door in the middle. The door they had just entered by slid shut and suddenly the light dropped into shadowy darkness. Milla froze as something chittered and scuttled nearby. Beside her she felt rather than saw as Pew raised his staff. Then the tip glowed like a miniature sun. Milla just had time to register that the room seemed to be full of spiders before the other two ryeshor exploded into action beside her. String’s boar shot into the middle of the room and all the spiders attacked it. Moments later a rain of burning sparks fell from the air, and the smallest spiders disappeared. String sliced some spiders with his sword and then Pew snatched a ball of fire out of thin air and threw it at the remaining arachnids instantly incinerating them. Strangely, even though it had been in the middle of the conflagration, the boar was untouched. It tossed its head and made a grunting noise before trotting back to String.
Milla was still standing stock still, her mouth slightly open. She closed it as Pew and String quickly checked the doors.
“I think you two have done this before,” she said trying to sound as if this was something she was fine with, but to her own ears her voice sounded thin and reedy.
“Yup. Just a few hundred times.” Pew told her. “All the doors are locked which must mean…”
“It’s a ring event,” String finished for him, just as four large spiders appeared, one in each corner of the room.
Milla squeezed her eyes shut as sounds of exploding fireballs and squealing grunts from the boar echoed back from the walls. When she opened them again String was grinning and Pew was brushing a hand over his collapsed crest, looking tired.
“I’m low on manapower and the boss mob is going to spawn any moment.”
“Ooops sorry, brov. I blew mine on Pigsy here mid combat. It’s on a four minute cooldown.”
“Is that like…magical power?” Milla asked a sudden idea forming in her mind.
“Yeah. Exactly that. I can’t cast any more spells without it.”
Milla gripped the pendant she wore in one hand and reached the other one out towards Pew. A white glow surrounded him and his flattened crest slowly straightened. Then he grabbed her arm and spun her round behind him. A gigantic spider had appeared suddenly, just where she had been standing a moment before. She tried not to look at the crouching mass with its sharp pincers as Pew, String and Pigsy brought down fire and mayhem on it. Then Pew was pushing the hilt of his dagger into her hand.
“Free Pigsy!” he yelled over the roar of exploding spells, staff still pointing at the monstrous spider.
Free?
Milla looked around for the boar and for a moment couldn’t see him. Then she realised there was a cocoon of spider web writhing on the floor. Trying to ignore the hideous bulk of the spider which was rearing up on six of its legs to confront the two male ryeshor, she slipped under its body and cut as fast and carefully as she could. Pigsy wriggled free of the last restraining threads and shot back into the fray. But the spider had sprayed it’s webbing at Pew and whilst String and the boar kept it occupied, Milla had to slice through the sticky silk to free him. She turned back to see the spider rear up, glaring at her and rolling it’s spinners to cast a web at her, but even as it moved to release the engulfing strands, a final shot from Pew hit home and it collapsed in a heap.
The grating sound of the doors opening was drowned out by a victorious whoop from String.
“That is healer gear,” he crowed. “Mine, brov, all mine.”
Pew looked too exhausted to care and Milla wished she had more manapower to give him but the pendant had lost its brilliance.

We will return to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook next Sunday.

Wrathburnt Sands was first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology.

Let’s make a toast with coffee or raise a mug of tea
To friendships that we’ve known before and those still yet to be.
Let’s share a cup of kindness and bring them all to mind
The people we still keep in touch and those we’ve left behind
Let’s give a moment here and there in life’s so busy daze
To those who’ve held our hands in troubled times in different days.
The names that still can bring a smile when we their deeds recall
Even if it’s been a while since we heard from them at all.
The bonds that weave our friendships may be weak or maybe strong
They may last just a holiday or for all our life long
So make a toast next time you pause for just another cup
And think of those you call your friends – and maybe call them up.

E.M. Swift-Hook