In line with some sort of convoluted idea of feminism, Princess Jocasta got to choose her husband.

From a selected shortlist.

Within twenty-four hours. 

The first discards were easy. Too old. Not rich. Not handsome enough.

Then there were three.

One had broken off his betrothal to court her.

That left two.

Each had a picture of his home to show. Walliam’s house was nice, but Aiden’s castle atop its conical hill fed her fantasies.

She said ‘yes’.

They married joyfully. 

But she argued with him every day, so he threw her down the mountain into the killing sea. 

©jj 2019

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

Just before they entered the plaza, Caer noticed a figure leaning in the doorway of a tavern that had yet to open for business. The man wore a cloak of subtly embroidered, dark, felt cloth which trailed to the heels of his boots. His bright, golden hair was uncovered and exploded in uncontrollable curls over his collar and shoulders. His eyes gleamed with a brilliant intelligence and, as their party approached, there was a delighted smile warming the contours of his square face.
Caer had never met Durban Chola before but knew in an instant from every description he had ever heard that this was he. So Caer looked away quickly and fixed his gaze between the ears of his pony, hoping against hope that they were not the reason for Chola’s early morning outing.
But the cloaked figure detached itself almost lazily from the doorway and moved to stand in their path. Behind, Caer heard the slight rasp as one of the soldiers drew a sword. His own Zoukai reined in, hands on their pistols. Durban Chola made a sweeping bow in the middle of the road.
“Good morning, Most Honoured One. The city of Alfor is graced with the presence of Qabal Vyazin this Fairtide.” He managed to make the compliment sound sincere and as he rose from the inappropriate act of respect, his gaze was clear and guileless. “The Castellan of Lynaz must be distraught I am sure at your absence from his city. Unless, of course, the Black Vavasor remains there to keep him company in your absence and assure him of your continuing invested interest?”
If Qabal was angered by this insolence he gave no sign of it. His narrow face remained expressionless. “Step aside, Chola,” he returned quietly, “or I will have you removed.”
Chola’s eyes, the colour of freshly gathered honey, suddenly danced with mischief and swept across the two soldiers, pausing there as if appreciating an excellent joke, before their gaze briefly embraced Caer. “But of course, Most Honoured One. How inconsiderate of me to delay you. You must be eager to see the cargo Alexa the Fair has rescued from the Wastelands.”
Caer felt the nobleman stiffen in his saddle.
“And what is your interest in that? Tell me,” the Warlord demanded, his voice low, but crisp as with frost.
The amber eyes glittered, holding something that could have been mockery and belying Chola’s disarming smile.
“I have no interest, Most Honoured One. The cargo is way too rich for me, although I would think it well suited for your needs and your purse. But be sure to view it all and don’t forget to ask to see the kashlihk fighting-slave. I have heard he is better in hand-to-hand combat than the Vavasor Jariq himself,” the blond man said, his gaze moving to rest on a point somewhere behind Caer with an expression of sublime innocence. “I am sure the Vavasor would be deeply disappointed to miss out on a chance to put that to the trial.”
Caer felt a chill of apprehension. He did not understand what Chola was trying to do, but instinctively felt it was dangerous in some way. He could not think of any reason why either Qabal or Chola should be interested in the Kashlihk and it worried him that they were. The blond man made another overdone flourishing bow and stepped aside leaving the road clear.
“I do hope the Castellan of Lynaz does not pine away in your absence, Most Honoured One, but Lynaz’s loss is undoubtedly Alfor’s gain. And please give my sincerest regards to the Black Vavasor – when you return to Lynaz of course.” The honeyed eyes were lit with secret mirth as he turned and sauntered away to vanish around the street corner.
Qabal watched him go with hooded eyes and an expression that made Caer feel very glad that he was not a friend to Durban Chola.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

The bicycle looked somehow wounded as it lay across the path, as if thrown aside with careless cruelty.

There was evidence that something, or someone, had crashed, or been dragged, through the graceful waving foliage that bordered the forest walk. He followed, through the wrecked beauty, with every nerve and sinew braced in case rescue was needed. 

Then he heard the voices, a woman speaking softly and a man’s deep laughter.

“You so surprised me, love.”

He turned back the way he came, smiling ruefully.

When he reached the path, he propped the bicycle against a tree and walked away.

©jj 2019

On 3 July, our second anniversary, we announced a poetry competition to celebrate and today we can reveal the winning poem and the one to whom the laurels of victory are due! First, a huge thanks to all who entered and so joined in our celebrations here on the Working Title Blog. Every entry was read and appreciated. It was a tough gig but we found a winner!

Our winner is…

Stephanie Barr

With runners up Ian Bristow and Mike van Horn

Thirteen Years

It was Timmy’s birthday and she had it all prepared:
A little celebration in the tiny house they’d shared.
She twisted paper ribbons, colored orange and cobalt blue,
Arranged the tiger lilies on a table set for two.
She nearly tripped on sneakers he’d been told to put away.
Nothing new for Susan. She tripped ‘most every day.
She set up thirteen candles on a cake of gold and blue.
Ugly but his favorites so what was she to do?
Wrapped presents she had scrimped to buy waited on a chair
She bought them all so long ago, she’d forgotten what was there.
The clock chimed five o’clock and her heart began to pound.
She filled her glass with vodka and drank most of it down.
Thirteen years, she thought and wept, the years that he’d been gone.
Thirteen years he’d lived and now he’d been dead just as long.
Time healed hearts, they told her, e’en hearts with such a hole.
She wanted to get on with life, but felt a hollow soul.
For thirteen years, he’d been her life, the center of her heart
Cut down running home that day from playing in the park.
An errant car, a cold phone call, as she’d finished with his cake
And burned his favorite dinner of a rare and juicy steak.
She didn’t have to scrimp now. Her time was now her own.
She didn’t have to cook for two or share the single phone.
She didn’t have to pick up clothes or tell him to come home.
But damn her life was empty all these years she’d been alone.

Stephanie Barr

Although Stephanie Barr is a slave to three children and a slew of cats, she actually leads a double life as a part-time novelist and full-time rocket scientist. People everywhere have learned to watch out for fear of becoming part of her stories. Beware! You might be next! If you enjoyed this poem she has a book of poetry out too – Musings of a Nascent Poet. Stephanie’s latest book is a fur-tastic collection of cat stories Pussycats Galore.

Stephanie has also won her choice of book from the back-catalogue of the two Working Title women – Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

Keep an eye out for Mike’s and Ian’s poems appearing on the blog this weekend!

Great-grandmother was a legend. A beauty who scandalised society by marrying a Russian emigre jeweller. She had the last laugh, though, as the Olov family still had wealth and position that others could only dream of.

Liana looked at the hand tinted photograph and wondered what the haughty beauty would say to a girl who loved a commoner.

It seemed the picture spoke.

“Marry him, child, if you love him. Don’t make a loveless match for gain.  I lost my love through my heartless arrogance. He won’t even see me in death. Don’t make my mistakes.”

Liana took courage…

©jj 2019

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules. If you missed previous episodes you can start reading from the beginning. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Interview over, Julia felt the need of a fortifying drink. Being unfamiliar with the city, she let Dai lead the way towards the taberna where his team awaited him. Julia followed, carefully not speaking to allow this proud and prickly man time to absorb what the Tribune had to say.
They were walking along a little-used alleyway between two warehouses when they were attacked. A dozen or so burly toughs surrounded them, coming from both ends of the alley simultaneously. Julia touched the emergency alert tab she wore on her wristphone before putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling shrilly.
“I’d be surprised,” she remarked, noticing Dai touching his own wrist device, “if Edbert is actually out of earshot, even if I did dismiss him, but in the meantime.…”
She positioned herself so that she was behind Dai, facing the opposite way. Knowing him to be weaponless she pulled the nerve whip from the back of her belt and pressed it into his right hand. He grunted as his foot took the first thug between his meaty thighs. The man went down whimpering. Secure in the knowledge that Dai had her back, Julia turned her attention to her end of the alley. A huge tattooed figure was running towards her yelling obscenities, and with his hands clawed. She unholstered her personal weapon and shot him through the thigh. He fell to the floor, and she shot a second man as he vaulted his groaning colleague. While the other four were thinking about their options Edbert and the hounds arrived in the company of two angry Praetorians. Satisfied the threat from her end of the alley had been dealt with, Julia turned her attention to Dai’s side. She was pleased, if unsurprised, to find he had managed to incapacitate four of his assailants. Two were running away. Julia shot both in the legs.
“Sorry if that offends, Dai…”
“It doesn’t. I’m a great believer in making examples.” He looked at the nerve whip in his hand. “And this is impressive; we Vigiles don’t get issued them. Or any personal weapons.” Julia looked at his face, expecting to see bitterness and condemnation. To her surprise, he just favoured her with a lopsided smile, and said: “Not your fault. And you did share.”
Came a small commotion at the entrance to the alleyway and a group of Vigiles sauntered in, looking smug.
“What’s afoot here?” the biggest one demanded in haughty tones.
Dai handed Julia her nerve whip.
“Excuse me, domina,” he said, his tone scrupulously polite. “I have merda to shovel.”
He strode over to the group of Vigiles and without any warning ploughed a big fist into the belly of the leader. As the man folded, retching and coughing, Dai turned a furious face to the other five.
“Since when,” he demanded savagely, “did the Vigiles of this city take money to turn a blind eye when law-abiding members of the populace are attacked?”
“And since when did ‘the populace’ think they can get away with attacking servants of Rome?” the biggest of the Vigiles blustered taking a threatening step towards Dai.
Unfortunately for him, the tall Celt was not in a good mood and the man took a well-aimed boot to his solar plexus that had him rolling on the filthy cobbles alongside his confederate.
“Anybody else?” Dai’s voice was dangerously quiet. For an instant nobody moved, then there came a high-pitched whistle from the street. Dai whistled back. His men came thundering in, screaming to a halt as they took in the scene. Bryn was the first to find his tongue.
“What happened, Bard? Scorpius’ thumbs started twitching so we come looking for you. Then your panic alarm sounded…”
“Somebody thought it would be fun to ambush me and the Inquisitor.”
“Inquisitor?” a voice from the back of the group sounded truly confused. Dai gave what Julia was coming to see as his characteristic grin.
“Bryn has had the pleasure already, but the rest of you, allow me to introduce Inquisitor Domina Julia Lucia Maxilla. And before you lot make your minds up there are a couple of things you should know. First, she swears worse than any of you. Second, she loaned me her nerve whip until the cavalry turned up. Plus. See them dogs and the big guy with the muscles. They belong to her. So drop the hostile and take these gentlemen to the Praetorian Barracks where they can be asked some pertinent questions.”
“What, Vigiles and all?”
“Oh yes. I very much want to know who paid them to turn a blind eye. Oh, and Bryn, you lot are moving in with the Praetorians until further notice. All leave is cancelled and you had better call your spouses or the local lupanar and tell them you are not coming home for a few days.”
The middle-aged Vigiles looked at his superior officer with wise eyes.
“That dangerous, is it?”
“Could be. So if anybody wants out I’ll sign you off, on sick-leave.”
Nobody did, and Dai’s men hustled their prisoners into a hovercart and made for the barracks with one Praetorian along to vouch for them.

“I don’t want that drink now.” Even to her own ears, Julia’s voice was as cold as an Appennine snowstorm. “Instead, I’d like a word with the curator of the Augusta Arena. I want to know who paid him to look the other way.”
Dai grinned.
“Not him, her, one Annia Belonia Flavia.”
Their one remaining Praetorian spat on the ground, and Julia lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“Futatrix,” the man grunted. “One of the lady Lydia’s patrician friends. Too good to talk to the likes of the Tribune.”
“Let’s go ruin her day then, shall we?”
“What a perfectly splendid notion.”

Part VI will be here next Sunday. If you can’t wait to find what happens next you can snag the full novella here.

The angel had blinding white wings and an often reiterated ‘don’t touch The Tree’ speech. Eve hated the way he looked at her, with a combination of contempt and something she didn’t understand in his cold eyes.

It made her angry enough to visit The Tree, where the serpent’s smooth green coils hung in the afternoon sun. He eyed her as well and something snapped.

She plucked a shiny fruit and bit into its sweet flesh.

Suddenly she understood.

The knowledge made her smile, and she picked a fruit for Adam.

This was one thing she couldn’t do alone.

©jj 2019

Stop the stressing
That’s depressing
Have a snooze instead
If you can’t eat it
Or defeat it
Turn away your head
If it won’t cuddle
And it makes you muddled
Cut the bugger dead

©jj

Out today Dying on the Streets the eighth Dai and Julia Mystery from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.  Don’t forget you can listen in on YouTube if you prefer. As a reader of the Working Title blog, if you buy today or tomorrow you can claim a free copy of the short story ‘Dying to Make Music’ too!

Ante Diem Nonum Kalendas Aprilis MDCCLXXIX Anno Diocletiani

I

The working office of the Magistratus had changed considerably since Sextus Catus Bestia had taken over the role in Demetae and Cornovii six months previously. Dai Llewellyn, Submagistratus for the same area, still fondly recalled the simple and yet tasteful decor the previous incumbent had preferred. Bestia, by contrast, favoured opulence over simplicity and substituted extravagance for good taste. But then, unlike his predecessor who had risen through the administrative ranks, Bestia had transferred into the state sector after enjoying a successful career as a commercial lawyer. Dai assumed that impressing business clients required such an ostentatious display of wealth, but the same sat ill with the kind of civic dignity expected of Bestia’s present role.
Not that the man couldn’t easily afford the expensive artwork lining the walls, the rarewood furniture, the bejewelled and gilded bust of the Divine Diocletian and the elaborate full-length golden-framed painting of himself and his wife of a few weeks. That marriage had surely made him one of the wealthiest men in all of Viriconium.
Which was why this present meeting was beginning to make Dai move from frustration into anger. Bestia was sitting in his throne-like desk chair, hands resting on the carved lions that adorned the arms. The late afternoon sun had painted the window behind him with glowing light, adding to the regal impression. He also looked regally bored, as if he found the whole business of overseeing the administration tedious in the extreme.
“I see no reason to bend the rules just because your Senior Investigator has a gut-instinct about something. Cartivel must be close to retirement age and is probably just dyspeptic.” He smiled as if inviting Dai to share the joke.
“I’m not asking you to bend any rules. I’m asking you to sign-off further resources to investigate properly. I would if I could, but have already authorised this case to the limit of my authority.”
Bestia glanced down at the file on his desk. “Indeed. I see you granted SI Cartivel and his team an entire day in man hours. Time they have used to ascertain little more than that this woman was known to be a lupa and known to be willing to take money from clients who wanted more extreme practices than the usual. But there are no grounds that I can see here for me to extend the investigation any further. It would be a waste of public money.”
“If Malina Tesni was a Roman Citizen…”
For the first time, Bestia sounded annoyed.
“If the woman was a Roman Citizen, she would not have been a common British puta who was paid well by an over-vigorous client.”
“Over-vigorous?” For a moment Dai saw the start of a red haze clouding on the edges of his vision and with a supreme effort of will he fought it down, drawing a deep breath and counting silently.
“Distasteful as it is, there was nothing to suggest she had been abused against her will. She was also found with what I am assured would be a substantial payment for a street woman. No doubt an incentive to allow her client more leeway in his behaviour.”
“She was beaten half to death. The autopsy said she died of those injuries having caused severe internal bruising and swelling.”
“It was not murder. There was clearly no intent to kill or why pay the woman and let her go home? At very best it was an accidental death. No one has denied that she was a prostitute and that is a profession that we all know carries certain occupational hazards.” His expression softened suddenly and his voice shifted to something more like friendly cajoling. “You are a good man, a good Citizen and a good administrator, Llewellyn. I do understand why you feel so strongly about this, but you must let it go. It’s for the best.”
Dai had been sitting but now he shot to his feet.
“Let it go? Dominus, the man who did this is somewhere in Viriconium and he could do the same to another woman.”
Bestia lifted one hand from its lion’s head resting place.
“Stop right there. Firstly, I already said that I completely understand where you are coming from with this. Who could not be appalled at by it? But where is the crime? There is no law against prostitution.” He leaned back and shook his head, looking saddened. “If anything the dead woman is the criminal here. The only prosecutable offense I can see is failure on her part to have purchased a license to practice her trade. And, of course, the subsequent charges of tax evasion that would lead to, especially seeing how well she was being paid.”
Dai struggled to find some way to frame things in terms that could penetrate Bestia’s lawyer logic.
“If she was a Citizen there would be unlimited resources made available to uncover the man who did this whether it was deemed consensual or not. What if the man is local and his next victim is a Citizen?”
Bestia was frowning now.
“You should know better than that, Submagistratus. We can’t run the Vigiles on ‘what ifs’. There is no reason to think the man was local, indeed it is more likely someone passing through, staying the night and wanting some entertainment. And even if he was local, you have already spent public money on investigating something that is not a crime. Instead of asking me for more perhaps you should apologise and be grateful that I’m not going to mention that you did so on any official report.”
The red haze rose and this time Dai could do nothing to stop it. His last conscious act was to turn and start walking towards the door. Better to be rude to his superior than get arrested for attacking him.

To keep reading, click here and grab your copy of Dying on the Streets. Don’t forget to claim your free copy of the short story Dying to Make Music – a special offer for those who read the Working Title Blog!

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.
Anno Diocletiani – Year of Diocletian. The calendar dates from the birth of Diocletian, the reforming emperor who established a new empire
Demetae and Cornovii – Wales and several English Midland counties including Shropshire
Domin-a/us – Ma’am/Sir. Used to superiors both in rank and social status
Lupa – prostitute
Magistratus – senior official with legal jurisdiction over an area
Puta – whore
Submagistratus – a more junior official with legal jurisdiction over an area, under the authority of a Magistratus
Vigiles – Police. In Dai and Julia’s world the police are a sub-branch of the military
Viriconium – we would call it Wroxeter. The area capital of Demetae and Cornovii

The sea looked like molten steel, shining so brightly it hurt. Under her feet, the pebbles felt harsh and unforgiving, but she kept walking.

Once the water was up to her waist she began to swim, glorying in the coolness and her own strength.

When a hand grasped her ankle and pulled, she sunk into the monochrome depths. Laughing as she went down.

They surfaced together, one fair head and one dark. That kiss seemed to go on forever.

Much later, she swam back to shore and found her shoes.

The worry lifted from her husband’s face as she smiled.

©jj 2019