Having to sit at home and talk to each other was highlighting the biggers’ mutual loathing, and big bigger had obviously decided to do something constructive. 

He and middle-sized bigger waited at the gate while a lorry deposited a number of packages on the driveway. 

Garry Gnome puzzled out the letters on the biggest box. 

“Lux Yerry Tree House.”

“You sure Gaz?”

“Yup. And anyway there’s a picture of a tree house by the writing.”

The gnomes looked at each other in disbelief. How were the biggers going to build a tree house in a garden with no trees?

©️jj 2021

The adventures of Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson

It was a dull day in August and the heat was of such an oppressive character that even the normally sanguine Doctor Bearson was a little inclined to snap. Homes, of course, was fretted beyond measure – both by the lack of intellectual stimulation and by the disappearance of the kazoo with which he was wont to while away the hours of boredom.

In an effort to cheer his porcine chum, Bearson challenged him to a game of Bar Billiards, which Homes promptly lost – setting in motion a foetid sulk and the ignition of a pipe whose effulgences were so noxious as to render him almost invisible as he hunched in his wing chair swearing sulphurously in Serbo-Croat.

Bearson himself was close to despair when an urgent rap upon the oaken panels of the front door heralded the arrival of the telegraph rabbit with a buff envelope in one paw. 

By the time Bearson had paid the rabbit his carrot, Homes had so far exerted himself as to knock the dottle from his pipe and scramble out of a chair that had been constructed for a person of a much larger stature.

Bearson handed him the envelope, which he slit with a grimy and nicotine blemished trotter. He read the contents and his countenance shifted from self-pitying childishness to acute intelligence.

“I say, Bearson,” he ejaculated, “this is a bit more like it.  Cast your eyes over this communication and see what it reveals to you.”

Bearson picked up the single sheet of flimsy paper.

Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson will continue their investigation into The Affair of the Dartymuir Dog next week…

Jane Jago

I thought I had a hobby-horse, but it’s an elephant
I ride it round a lot, of course, it’s not so elegant
I bring it in to argue whenever there’s a chance
I’m always up for fresh debate, so it can have a dance.

As soon as I get up to speak, I’m in my element
I’m anything but mild and meek, I’m always eloquent
My hobby-horse will carry me above and far beyond
It is amazing just to see, I’m cooler than James Bond.

Those who hear as I declaim, declare me eminent
They see I’m right to place the blame on each development
They stand in awe as I lambast, demolish and defeat
They lift their hands in much applause, they cheer and stamp their feet.

I’ll take the basic premise and I’ll add embellishment
I’ll never be remiss because it’s not my temperament
The ones who do deride me say that I am malevolent
But they are those whose opinions I think irrelevant…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Jazatar Baldrik sat at a table beside the cairn of stones in the Last Hope, his back against the solid rock wall, a plate of cut fruit on the table in front of him, watching the doorway and thinking about trust.
Hell’s Breath had been named by some unknown explorer, who Jaz thought must have been a real joker. Perhaps wanting to prove they somehow survived the freezing surface conditions and the spectacular plumes of burning gases released as the rock decayed, that first visitor left his or her anonymous mark in the form of a small cairn of stones. It got kept, like some historical monument, behind protective screening in the bar of The Last Hope.
The Hope happened to be the best hotel on Hell’s Breath, which didn’t mean so much anymore as it also happened to be the one hotel still left open on Hell’s Breath. Built, like much of the settlement, with most all of its rooms in and under the rock.
It was hard to believe today, but beneath the small complex of geodesic domes which trapped the thin atmosphere and allowed it to be conditioned, enriched and made breathable, there had once been a wealthy and thriving community.
Jaz read a brief history on the public link saying how Hell’s Breath made its name as a stop-over on the first long-haul treks from Central to the Middle Worlds, way back in the days when that still took years. It had, according to the same source, been in its time, a naval base, a luxury resort and a ‘bohemian escape for the literati’, whatever that meant. But history long since passed it by and FTL changed it from prime location to pointless backwater.
Nowadays it survived as a tourist destination and the final resort for those like Jaz himself, who wanted to go somewhere other than where they came from and weren’t too bothered where that might be. Little more than a lump of rock, twirling through space, with a civilian port facility used by the most shady and least wealthy of the freetraders who needed a no-questions-asked fix or conversion done. As a place to hide it suited Jaz: close enough to civilisation to allow him to keep tabs on events and far enough out of the minds of civilised people to let him keep a low profile.
He had known Vel at the Hope since his earliest mercenary days and she hadn’t even blinked when he showed up, penniless and exhausted, fifteen years – more – after he last walked out of her bar. A clean up, sleep and meal later, though it had been different.
“Word has it you settled down in the ‘City years back. I’d not expected to see you around here again.”
Jaz, still nursing a pounding headache he gained from travelling the previous few days in the poorly pressurised cargo store of a ship with no proper passenger accommodation, didn’t reply. But, as he suspected that silence wouldn’t be a problem for Vel.
“So what happened, presh? She throw you out on your useless, no-good backside? Wake up to the fact she could do a whole lot better for herself? Or are you just running from a little ‘misunderstanding’ with the authorities?”
“All the above,” Jaz admitted, his voice glum and Vel’s face softened as he knew it would.
“I don’t do charity here, Jaz.”
“I know. I’ll get work. Trust me”
She gave him a thin smile, marred by the scar pulling down though her left cheek and eating into the corner of her mouth. Her hand came out in a brief gesture and touched his, as it curled around his drink.
“I know you will, presh.”
The promise meant taking whatever he got offered and Jaz found himself running crates with a small time smuggling outfit. So small-time, the ship, the best part of which belonged to Vel’s cousin, did smuggling on a very part-time basis, when it wasn’t being hired out to the occasional tourist who came to Hell’s Breath on a Pioneer Trail Adventure. They all wanted to gawp at the famous flares, which were best viewed from low orbit.
The smuggling runs were not frequent and always without incident. Jaz sometimes wondered why Vel’s cousin even bothered to hire him as muscle. The nearest he came to needing to use violence happened one time when a small group of wiped out tourists stumbled into the dock just as the two of them were unloading a cargo, demanding a sight-seeing trip out and refusing to leave until Jaz persuaded them to come back the next day.
In between runs, he lent a hand with the maintenance of the aging ship, took tourists out to see the flares, helped out in the Hope, battled with the accounts and taught Vel’s cousin’s little girl how to pull scary faces.
In his free time he worked out or sat at a table in the bar of the Last Hope, accessing the news or entertainment channels through Vel’s remote link and wondering if it would ever be safe for him to return to the ‘City. He often thought about sending a secure message to Shame Cullen to see if there was any word on how the land lay, But that would have meant betraying his location and he knew from experience no matter how secure a secure link was supposed to be, someone could always unsecure it. And right now, he liked no one knew where he had gone. It made him safe from the CSF and whoever else in the ‘City might have felt the galaxy would be a better place without him being a part of it.

From Trust A Few, which is the first volume in Haruspex Trilogy of Fortune’s Fools by E.M. Swift-Hook.

The fields where we walk for our pleasure
Are part of the river today
And waterfowl serenely float, where
Summer rabbits play
There’s a stream that’s a jibbering demon
Breaking its banks with glee
To create a wriggling waterfall, where
No waterfall should be
The sheep have decamped to the higher ground
Laying all huddled together
Borrowing deep into woolly sleep, where
They dream of kindler weather
The fields where we walk in the sunshine
Offer no welcome today
Although there’s some hope in a hint of blue sky, where
The clouds have just melted away

©️jj 2021

The Working Title crew bring you the exclusive opportunity to enjoy more wisdom from the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica… You can listen to this on YouTube too.

Aries.

Aries needs a lot of cold fresh air to keep that prodigious brain and fiery temperament under control. Always live in a house with large opening windows and air conditioning.

Ideal Location

Halfway up a mountain preferably in the Andes, Alps or Appalachians.

Taurus.

Taureans dislike change and usually die in the same town – often the same house – where they were born.

Ideal Location

The Bull should avoid Spain for obvious reasons. If you can persuade one to move, try to make it somewhere the architecture has preservation orders on it.

Gemini.

Gemini is always in two minds about the best place to live. Their Mercurial natures are never satisfied with where they are and seek to move frequently to somewhere completely different.

Ideal Location

There is no such thing for a Gemini. I suggest having a home base in a large and populous city and several time-share holiday homes in many and varied environments around the globe.

Cancer.

Home loving Cancer carries their home with them wherever they go. It is Cancer who will tell you that home is a state of mind, not a place. Which only goes to show they are not the brightest bunch in the astrological bouquet.

Ideal Location

An island suits the crab.

Leo.

The lion needs sunshine and lots of it. Be sure to decorate your lair with primary shades and plenty of bright foliage. A large hearth for the winter is essential.

Ideal Location

Africa. Where else would you expect?

Virgo.

You can tell you have walked into the home of a Virgo because everything is in its place and there is a place for everything.  Spouses and children quickly learn where their place is and take care not to leave it – ever.

Ideal Location

An ultra-modern minimalist tower-block just about anywhere.

Libra.

Librans seek balance in all aspects of their life, so their homes will be both practical and creative, clean and messy, well-maintained and falling to pieces. Do check the furniture before you sit on it.

Ideal Location

Belgium

Scorpio.

Scorpians are children of the desert. Therefore they require sun and sand in equal measure. If those are lacking a house themed on the orange-through-yellow aspect of the spectrum might suffice – and access to a large bucket and spade.

Ideal Location

Scorpios are suckers for the exotic so their desert climate needs to come with romance attached. Marrakesh or Samarkand spring to mind.

Sagittarius.

The horse needs to run and wide open spaces are essential for Sagitarrian well being. Single-floor dwelling is best, hooves don’t so so well with stairs, so keep with a bungalow or a ground floor apartment.

Ideal Location

Somewhere in the middle of the Great Plains – North Dakota looks ideal. Failing that Cambridge.

Capricorn.

The goat has to have hills and high ground. Buy that house at the end of a precipitous, narrow, driveway or the one accessed only by five flights of steep stairs from the street and Capricorn is in heaven

Ideal Location

The very top of a mountain is best. If you can’t manage that, try Switzerland or Nepal.

Aquarius.

Aquarians need psychedelic decor, floor cushions and beanbags. They will probably have their walls plastered with posters of strange astrological symbols and views of sacred sites.

Ideal Location

Glastonbury or somewhere in Wiltshire not too far from Stonehenge.

Pisces.

A fish needs to swim. Wherever a Pisces might make home it must include a pool – or failing that a large bathtub.

Ideal Location

A beach hut.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

It was getting towards spring and the gnomes watched with mild interest as the biggers came out of the brick place and started their annual frantic scrabble in the soil.

“Why’d they do that stuff?” Camille was watching a female bigger on her hands and knees in a puddle poking what looked like flower bulbs into holes is the cold sodden earth.

“Do what?”

“Kill flowers. I mean, surely they know Mother is still cold and dormant. And that female is planting them bulbs downside up.”

Bertha looked over her spectacles. “It’s a bigger Camille, they truly don’t know nothing.”

©️jj 2021

When Rafe came into the bedchamber he was wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe, but his feet were bare. I couldn’t help noticing how finely boned those feet were, which gave me a prickling feeling in the pit of my stomach. He looked at me, as I sat up on the pillows with my hair spread over my shoulders and chest.
‘I usually sleep naked’ he said ‘but I’ll find a nightshirt somewhere.’
He started digging about in a chest in the corner. I found my voice.
‘No need.’
He spun round.
‘What do you mean?’
I smiled at him. ‘I know you are a patient man, but I’m discovering I’m not a patient woman.’
He was at the bedside in two strides.
‘Rosamunde. Are you sure?’
‘No. But I need to find out.’
I held up my arms and my hair fell away revealing my bare skin underneath. I heard Rafe catch his breath, and for some reason that made me feel a lot braver.
‘Take that robe off, and let us see where we go’ I whispered.
He drew off his robe and climbed in beside me, affording me a glimpse of his hard, lean body before he pulled the covers over us both. Leaning on one elbow he looked down at me.
‘The amazing thing about you, rose of the world, is that you have no idea how beautiful you are. Remind me to show you later.’
He kissed me, gently at first, then the kiss grew deeper and darker, and I found it intoxicating in its intensity. Rafe lifted his head.
‘I’ll try to go slow’ he said ‘but I don’t know if I can manage it. However, I will stop any time you say so – if it kills me.’
We didn’t stop, and I learned that a man can be just as tender as a woman – until he isn’t. But by the time he wasn’t I didn’t need tenderness and my body rose to meet his thrusting hips with an eagerness of its own.
Later, as I lay sprawled across him, with my hair cloaking us both, he stroked my back fondly. The feeling of his calloused fingertips on my skin made me shiver. I wriggled closer.
‘Again?’ he asked with a laugh in his voice.
I found myself laughing too as, greatly daring, I explored every inch of his skin with my hands and my mouth. It gave me so much pleasure to have him groan and tremble under my hands as I had moaned and trembled under his. A voice in my head seemed to sing for joy, and I straddled his body laughing down at him.
‘Rafe Wolflord’ I said ‘I think I love you.’
He gave a great shout of delight before tumbling me on my back and demonstrating his own passion with commendable skill.

It must have been nearly morning, when he crawled out from under the furs and threw a great many logs on the fire. He also lit all the lamps in the room before hurrying out.
‘One minute’ he called over his shoulder.
I thought he must have been heading for the necessary room, but he was back in an instant dragging a tall, wheeled piece of furniture covered in a linen tablecloth behind him. He placed it by the fire then beckoned me to join him. Curious, but obedient, I climbed out of my nest of linen sheets and soft furs. When I reached his side he grasped my left hand in his own right, then used the other hand to sweep the tablecloth off the thing that stood in front of us.
It was a mirror, and in its polished face I saw myself for the first time. Rafe and I were reflected side-by-side and mother naked. For a long moment I was bereft of speech. My beautiful man stood sword straight next to a slender black-haired woman whose head just reached his shoulder. As far as I could see she had curves in approximately the right places, although her body lacked the ripe beauty of Ildara’s. Her hair was long and inky black, curling to her waist, and her face seemed to me to be just a face. I stepped closer to examine it. I put my finger on the mirror.
Eyes, nose, mouth, chin’ I said as I touched the reflection of each. ‘All present. But I really don’t see what the fuss was about. It’s just a face.’
Rafe threw his head back and laughed delightedly.
‘You are not going to become vain, then. But trust me, it’s far more than just a face. For starters it’s your face, which makes it special to me. And for a clincher it is the loveliest face I have ever seen. A man could drown in those eyes you were so dismissive about, and that mouth…’ He bent to take possession of my mouth with his own. ‘Oh, that mouth’ he murmured, before sweeping me off my feet and carrying me back to bed.

From The Barefoot Runners by Jane Jago

Writing inspired by the art of Ian Bristow

Here I set my heart within your hands
Here I swore my soul unto your lands
Here I took my first breath as a fae
Here I lived until your dying day
Here I bore the child you’ll never see
Here I lit the flame to set you free
Here I kneel and weep my final tear
Here I lay a rose for you…
Here…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Ian is an awesome artist and cover designer, you can find his work at Bristow Design or watch him in action creating this piece on ART with IAN

“This is a terrible shock to us all, I don’t know how it could be. They were fine when they arrived early evening, ate quietly – the men here and the lady upstairs in her room. It is not anything we have had happen here before and I can’t imagine how it could be. This is so very, deeply disturbing.”
Dai nodded along sympathetically and brought the topic to the point.
“So they came in last night, rooms were pre-booked in the name of,” he checked the entry in the book – handwritten. “Deliciae Parnassa Devotius?” The man nodded. “Yes. She came all cloaked and hooded. Could barely see her face beneath the fur.”
“And her escort were Roman – are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. They spoke like it and they both wore one of those.” He gestured to the broad silver ring of citizenship on Dai’s index finger. “They ate their food and went up to their room soon after.”
“Did they say or do anything you recall whilst they ate?”
Aderyn frowned and shook his head.
“Not aside what you might expect – the weather, having to travel at Saturnalia – that kind of thing.”
“Anything about their employer?”
“Not a word as I heard. I can ask the staff of course, or you can.”
“Did they talk to anyone else? Any other guests?”
“Well, it being Saturnalia and all they were the only guests. Most of our trade comes from those who have business at one of the medical or care facilities on Ynis Mon. Romans don’t like to stay there overnight and we make a good stop-over before they run back to Londinium. But trade has not been so good lately, what with the latest economic downturn and -”
Dai cut across him.
“Did they talk to any locals?”
The old man shook his head again, a worried frown on his face.
“Not that I know. You lot are going to pin it on me though, aren’t you? Just like the last Submagistratus did over the contraband they they found in the cellar of The Fox and Radish. You don’t care who gets the blame long as someone can be tried for it. They took Geddy Haps and had her executed for it within the week. And she was as innocent as they come.” His voice was rising in pitch as he spoke and some heads turned from the game towards them.
“Won’t happen,” Dai said in the brief space when Aderyn paused to draw breath. “The man you speak of is himself disgraced and dead. There will be no miscarriage of justice on my watch. You have my word.”
“The word of a Roman?”
“The word of a Llewellyn – and a citizen.”
The old man reacted to his name, which was not so surprising. The family was very well known throughout Cornovii and beyond.
“A Llewellyn you say? And a citizen? How can that have happened?”
“When this is all dealt with I will happily come back, sit by your welcoming hearth and buy us a jug of your finest ale to share as I tell you the tale of it. But for now I need your honesty – so we can find who did this and what has happened.”
Aderyn met his gaze in silence for a moment then nodded.
“Of course. My apologies, dominus, I – I -”
“You were overwrought,” Dai provided and rested his hand briefly on the old man’s shoulder.
“Bard?” Bryn’s voice came from the direction of the stairs up. “You need to see this.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Dai patted Aderyn’s arm and got up. Bryn was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. “What you got?”
Bryn directed him along the passageway and into a room with closed green and grey embroidered curtains, sewn-on deer leaping through stitched-in leaves. The two men looked asleep – or would have if their skin had not been such an unhealthy shade. Peering at one, Dai asked; “Poison?” Then he looked at the other and felt the blood drain from his own face. “I know this man he is -”
“In the employ of Lucius Ambrosius Caudinus,” Bryn finished for him “He’s one of the Magistratus’ guards. Just got the ID confirmation. I wanted your permission to ask the Magistratus what his man was doing out here last night.”
Dai held up hand, his mind racing.
“These are Caudinus’ own people – ex-military that he hires for his non-official needs. They were travelling with a lady.”
Bryn’s expression shifted as he followed the logic.
“Then the lady was -”
But Dai was already running down the steps two at a time, pulling up a picture of the last family gathering he had attended with Caudinus on his wristphone as he went.

From Dying as a Druid by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago