A selection of rhymes by Jane Jago, made age appropriate for those for whom their second childhood is just around the corner…

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty, bald as a coot
Ran around Tesco in his birthday suit
All of the doctors, security too
Couldn’t catch Humpty who hid in the loo!

Dominant, Dominant

Dominant, dominant fly away home
Your house is on fire your subbies all gone
All except one and that’s little Mabel
The one you left tied to the dining room table…

You can find this, and other whimsical takes of life in On The Throne? a little book of contemplation from Jane Jago.

… or ‘How To Speak Typo’ by Jane Jago

awaut (adverb) – of movement, halting and without direction

crique (noun) – garden game played with croquet mallets and hard boiled eggs

dandom (noun) – place ruled by King Dan

dew times (descriptive noun) – those times in one’s life when drunkenness encourages running barefoot through early morning grass:  cowpats and thistles notwithstanding

etringing – (adverb) of cheese, damp, soggy and about to walk out of the cupboard

hosemate (noun) – person inside the same pair of pantyhose as you

innincence (noun) – stuff they put in pub urinals to camouflage the niff

mamke (adjective) – possessed of a matronly deportment

maning (verb) – the stroking of their own hair by vain human beings

perhpas (noun) small birds characterised by self doubt and wrinkled toes

prerequiite (adjective) – of husbands the state of being teetering on the edge of drunkenness

procatinating (verb) – of elderly ladies the act of falling in love with a tabby of dubious parentage

reature (adjective) – of dogs, having the necessity to drag the bum along the carpet

soying (verb) – the adding of excessive amounts of salty sauce to your snacks

temptarure (noun) – sexually precocious young female with exceptionally long eyelashes

The tiny house Emma called home was full – her mother, gran and three brothers. So she knew it was impossible. But walking to school, she’d pretend a dog walked beside her or, curled up in bed, she would make believe he was too. She never said a word. The last thing she wanted was to put another shadow of regret in her mother’s eyes. 

On her birthday she woke to something small and warm curled on her bed. Sitting up she saw a purring kitten face with blue eyes. Which was when Emma knew she had always wanted a cat.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The hooves of his ponies clattered lightly past the plaza as they trotted up towards the Castle Hill. Alfor on the morning after the Fair, was like a party when all the guests had gone home. Durban found it slightly depressing and he was glad to be leaving himself.
A voice hailed him from the steps of the Temple of the Gods and he was not at all surprised. He stopped his pony and waited whilst a stooped figure came slowly down the steps and crossed towards him. It was an elderly woman, her face half hidden beneath the hood of her cowl, her body bent and shapeless in its robes. She laid one hand on his bridle and looked up at him with clear blue eyes that held no trace of the ravages of age. For once Durban felt no desire to smile. He sat quite still, whilst the pack ponies shifted restlessly behind him.
“I suppose you have come to tell me not to do it.” His voice sounded even to his own ears like that of a petulant child and the old woman smiled gently.
“Should I tell the wind not to blow, or the sun not to rise? Your nature is to act as you should do.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To offer you a gift.” Durban felt uncomfortable beneath the calm blue gaze, exposed and vulnerable as if his very thoughts were open to being read.
“I have all I need,” he said sulkily.
“I am sure you do. But a man who tries to yoke and drive wild stallions needs more than a good whip and a steady hand.”
She could read his thoughts, curse her. He shifted his gaze to stare deliberately at the slowly brightening skyline.
“You should be pleased,” he said, his voice stiff with resentment. “It’s what you want after all.”
He heard a strange sound and realised that she was laughing at him.
“My dear child, whatever gave you the idea you could act otherwise?”
“Just say your piece and let me go. I’m expected at the castle.”
“Very well, I do not seek to delay you. But my gift is of knowledge – so perhaps you would prefer to pay for it? Shall we settle on a favour in the future?”
His eyes were drawn back to hers by her tone and he read a far from gentle mockery in the vivid blue depth and felt a slight sick sense of claustrophobia.
“Please –” he began, but the words choked in his throat and he felt himself incapable of movement of any kind.
Be warned, the voice seemed to come from within him. You think your fiery steeds an even match, but one is stronger than you know – strong enough to break the traces and trample you beneath its cutting hooves and what then, my brave charioteer?
“What should I do?” he heard his own voice although he had not willed it, but could not tell if he had spoken the question in words or thoughts.
Use the reins lightly and spare the whip. If it is racing its team-mate, it will not notice the direction it runs, nor mark the distance covered. And when the race is done you will bring him to me.
The voice stopped and Durban became aware of the first sounds of the city stirring to meet the new day. He blinked and found himself frowning at the woman.
“Why do you do these things to me?” he asked, to his own ears sounding half plaintive child and half frightened man.
The old lady smiled with the serenity of youth.
“Because you are my gift to Temsevar and it never hurts you to remember now and again that whilst you make the puppets dance, your own strings are tied to my fingers.”

From The Fated Sky, part one of Transgressor Trilogy, a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

A selection of rhymes by Jane Jago, made age appropriate for those for whom their second childhood is just around the corner…

I Had a Little Igloo

I had a little igloo
I built it in the snow,
It was warm and cozy
though the temperature was low,
The neighbours came to visit me
they brought their children too,
Who threw me out into the snow
and stole my small igloo.

You can find this, and other whimsical takes of life in On The Throne? a little book of contemplation from Jane Jago.

The Rabid Readers Review – Return to Arms by E.A. Wickland

Evander McCray is the commander of a space ship and has just fought a war against aliens in which he distinguished himself so greatly that the aliens themselves ask for him to be present at the signing of the final peace. McCray is out of his depth being a naval officer not a diplomat, but he does his best and in the process makes an enemy who will haunt his career to come…

This is a very short read which stands well on its own feet or as a superb introduction to the books that follow. We get to meet McCray and learn a lot about the universe he lives and works in whilst following an exciting sequence of events which lead up to his being given the opportunity of a life time.

Some ‘series prequel’ stories have the feel of being manufactured to fit the role, this feels like a story that needed to be told in its own right.

Get it, read it – it is worth it for the space battle alone, the author is master of writing them. But if you love sci-fi with a military feel you will love this.

E.M. Swift-Hook

This is a quick fun read which I gobbled up in fifteen minutes. It’s a proper boy’s own adventure in which our hero gallops from disaster to disaster with properly heroic success. However it’s leavened by a good deal of snarky humour and a hero with a knack of putting both feet in it.

The other outstanding feature of the book, aside from it being tremendous fun, is that it takes the lid off the idea that people can be made to believe the most idiotic of figureheads are heroes – if said heroes aren’t bothered who they step on. An idea that has a particular resonance for the here and now…

Five shiny stars and a huge recommendation.

Jane Jago

Most of the benches in the park bore little plaques, In Loving Memory Of… but Helga’s favourite bench had no sponsor and even the oldest of those who worked in the park couldn’t recall a time it hadn’t been there.

It had been Helga’s favourite bench since, as a child, it had become a magical sailing ship, a place she would dream of other worlds. Now in her nineties, it was where she sat, watched the world or dreamed a little in the sun.

They never did discover who removed the old bench the very same day Helga went missing…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Built upon an asteroid, these mighty habitation towers are the final stronghold of humanity in a star system ravaged by a long-ago war. Now, centuries after the apocalyptic conflict, the city thrives — a utopia for the rich who live at the top, built on the labours of the poor stuck below…

After the others had gone, Joah sat with Zarshay in the closed and silent booth, wondering if she had made a good choice. It was a dangerous game to play and one where all Joah and her crew could call upon boiled down to smoke and mirrors — illusions. And, she was very aware, they would be no defence if things went wrong. Upsetting the president or thwarting him in his plans would be an interesting, but certain, way to commit professional suicide. Indeed, if rumour spoke true, it might not just be professional.
Zarshay squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the moment. She saw the look of concern on the other woman’s face and managed a rueful smile.
“We are doing the right thing,” she said, careful not to make it a question.
Zarshay nodded. “Yup. Do you think the others are going to manage their part?”
“Oh, Heila will. I think she’s seen where this is going and that it’s in her self-interest to keep with us. For now at least. And no one can doubt her acting ability to pull it off.”
“And Dog?”
Joah pulled a face.
“Hengast is not the material of which conspirators are made, we both know that. But he’s loyal and he can act — and I think this cause is one even he might be willing to set aside his integrity and lie for.”
Zarshay squeezed her hand again and smiled. “Then we don’t need to worry about it, do we?” She released Joah’s hand and stood up. “I’ll go see how Wilf is getting on and let you get on with making some techno-magic.”
Dropping a kiss on Joah’s cheek in passing, she left the booth.
Joah sat there for a few more moments stifling the doubts, before leaving herself.

The magic had to begin in post-production, and the perfect excuse was provided by the alien attack. A week later, Joah was fairly confident she had the right way to do it and she was smiling at the screen as she pulled in a few more of those ideas. Although they could be powerful tools, Joah was not a fan of subliminals, but here she could work some in with the very reasonable excuse of heightening audience anxiety about the Kyruku. She had kept the aliens offscreen so far, quite deliberately. It was to be a huge reveal at the end of the season. They were now undergoing a slight redesign…
A small beep alerted her to the time, and she turned her seat to watch the live coverage of the big event. There was President Toros Strand in front of a huge projection of The Golden Strand, and he was flanked on one side by the glamorously uniformed Captain Gervain and the towering figure of the half-masked Sub-Commander Stude.
The announcement ended to applause, and just as Heila stepped forward to speak, Zarshay joined Joah in the booth.
“So you were not tempted to go along as Xexe?”
“I was not invited to go as Xexe,” Zarshay said, her eyes on the ceremony. “I was invited to go as me and I refused on the grounds of ill health.”
Joah shot her a look.
“Ill health?”
“Yes. On the grounds that spending any amount of time in the company of Toros Strand would make me vomit. Oh look, isn’t that sweet.”
Joah looked back to the events unfolding above and saw the president take Heila’s hand and kiss it.
“I see your point about ill health,” she murmured, and Zarshay grinned.
“I came to tell you, Wilf had a good time out with his ex-colleagues from Undergrove, swapping stories.”
Joah caught the sparkle of pure mischief in Zarshay’s eyes and found herself grinning too. She looked back to the screen just in time to see the elegant Heila sashaying from the front of the platform and tripping to sprawl full-length. The commotion was brief and ended with Dog helping her back to her feet and, although they were not being broadcast, Joah could see her mouth the words, her face looking as if fear was just a breath behind the composure she had regained.
“You don’t think this is going to overplay the—?”
Zarshay was shaking her head.
“No way. My worry is we are not playing it up enough; this is all too subtle. We may need to do something more obvious. But I have an idea, if it comes to it.”
Pulling her close for a quick hug, Joah sighed.
“It’s early days. I better get some work done. I’ll need the three of you tomorrow. And if Wilf’s ready…” She let her voice trail off.
“Show time,” Zarshay finished for her and slipped from the booth, pausing only to blow a kiss from the door before she left.

Star Dust by E.M. Swift-Hook, originally appeared in The Last City, a shared-universe anthology. This version is the ‘Author’s Cut’ and differs, very slightly, from that original. Next week – Episode 1001

They landed on the phone wire
Perched, like feathered fruit
On the slender branch
Of a man-made tree.

A hundred tiny voices
Calling to the sky
A raucous caucus
Vibrating the air.

Sudden silence, like nightfall.
Stillness on the wire
Waiting for a sign
Hushed breath in each breast.

Abrupt – the flutter, fluster,
Flap and fly up high
Shape the swoop above
Vanish over the horizon of rooftops.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The door slammed shut behind him and the solid sound of bolts shooting home followed, reinforcing the sense of finality. The room was a depressing dull grey from ceiling to floor. It was square with two beds, bunks, running the full length of one sidewall and essential facilities in the far corner. Zero privacy from either his cellmate or, through the door hatch, from the custodius. Above the door a vent the size of his fist was vibrating with an annoying humming-whine as it reluctantly circulated fresh air.
“Llewellyn? What did they drag you in here for? Sticking your nose too deep in someone else’s business?”
The voice was vaguely familiar, though Dai was slow to place it as the shaven head of the man sprawled on the lower bunk was not. His puzzlement must have shown because the man swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat up.
“I don’t suppose you remember me. It was some months ago and I’m sure you’ve been a busy Submagistratus since then.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t…”
The other man laughed, which turned into a cough part way before he was able to speak again. “Gods! Politeness. Not heard a word of that since they locked me in here.” He pushed himself to his feet and straightened the green tunic, before offering a formal greeting. “Tertius Cloelius Rufus. It is an honour to share my captivity with you. A pleasure. You may recall we met in Viriconium before these unfortunate events.”
Dai found himself shaking the outheld hand as if they were at a social event or meeting, as his memory searched desperately for the name and face. When it came, he snatched his hand away and stepped back involuntarily.
“You were the cunnus of a medicus involved with a group holding vicious sex parties that led to the death of young streetgirls.”
“No need to use titles here,” the older man said brightly and then smiled at his own joke. “You can call me Rufus. It’ll make a change from seven-eight-one-one-two-six. It’s those little things you get to miss the most in this place. By the way, I hope you’re not hungry, you missed the evening meal. Nothing til tomorrow now.”
Dai felt a curl of cold revulsion in his guts.
“You disgust me.“
“Really?” Cloelius sounded unconcerned. “At least I’m not a traitor like you. That tends to evoke more outrage in our society at every level than any sexual adventures a man might embark on.”
“The difference is,” Dai snarled, unable to keep the contempt from his voice. “I am not guilty of the faked-up charges against me, but I know for a fact you are guilty as charged. I caught you red-handed, literally. And the blood of a good Vigiles was shed that night too.”
Cloelius sighed and sat back on his bunk. “Appearances can be very deceptive Llewellyn, and like it or not your guilt or innocence will be decided in a court of law not by whatever you might choose to say or believe.” He lay back as if reclining on a lectus. “You might discover that I am in fact the innocent one and you turn out to be guilty. Now that would be an interesting outcome, don’t you think?”
The chilling realisation that the corrupt medicus spoke the truth staggered Dai. The words leeched all strength from his muscles and he sank down to sit with his back against the cold grey wall.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded, when the moment of weakness had passed.
“What a strange question. It’s not as if I can just stroll along to the atrium or visit the baths, is it?”
Dai lifted a hand in protest. “You know what I mean. You must have been here for months. Yours was an open and shut case. I signed off all the evidence myself back in Martius. It only needed a hearing before an independent Magistratus to…”
“Sentence me to death?” Cloelius gave a rasping laugh. “You show yourself the true Briton, Llewellyn. There are people I’ve met who have been held here for the last ten years.”
Dia bridled at that.
“But it’s against the law. No Citizen can be deprived of his or her freedom. They are tried and if found guilty, sentenced either to death or whatever fine is due.”
“Ah, British logic,” Cloelius said, his tone shifting to that of a teacher explaining simple facts to a schoolboy. “Those I speak of are Citizens who stand accused of capital offenses and are awaiting their day in court. They all have powerful friends in Rome using every legal wrangle there is to keep them from coming to trial. Some of the crimes have to be prosecuted within a certain time limit, so if they can delay that day long enough they can walk free. Others are commuted by prolonged negotiation from death to a fine. Everyday is a barter day. But you worked here in Londinium as a Vigiles so you really should know that.”
It was true that he had heard the rumours so it was not really a surprise. But his day-to-day clientele at that time had been almost exclusively non-Citizen criminals.
“You have powerful friends?”
Cloelius hunched one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “Perhaps I do. Or powerful enough to keep me from trial so far. Don’t you? I am assuming you must do to have secured both Citizenship and a plum administrative appointment.” He leaned forward as if offering a confidence. “At the very least they might be able to have your Citizenship rescinded which would give you the chance of commuting your sentence to hard labour instead of the arena.”
That was something that had not occurred to Dai as a possibility before. It was true that committing any serious crime could lead to an application for the revocation of an awarded Citizenship – something given could be taken away. An option not open to those born with Citizenship status. But the kind of hard labour criminals were condemned to was brutalising.
“I don’t see that would be much better,” he said, hearing the bitterness in his own tone. “Just a slower way to die.”
“Perhaps. But at least, my British friend, you have options. Who knows? We may even grow old together in this cell.”

From Dying to be Innocent by by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.