Later, as they lay in bed under the goose down comforter, Dai pulled Julia so she lay across his chest.

“What do I have to wear at this gods-forsaken function tomorrow? I’m dreading it, the annual temple turnout for the birthday of the Divine Diocletian I mean. Outside? December? Toga?”

Julia smiled down at him.

“No. Tunic and trews, and a good warm cloak. You have new trews and tunic in fine cashmere wool. You’ll be fine. You should rather have pity on me, as women are not allowed to wear trousers in the temple precinct. But I do have some thick woollen stockings that make my legs look really fat.”

He laughed and they drifted off to sleep in happy intimacy.

The next morning they had to be up well before dawn. Julia had just got in the bath and Dai was shaving when there came an urgent trill from Dai’s wristphone which he had left beside the bed. Dai wrapped a towel around his waist and went to see what was afoot, carefully closing the bathroom door behind him. Julia had a bad feeling about someone calling before it was properly light so she jumped out of the warm water and towelled herself briskly. Before she had finished dressing Dai was back. With his work face on.

“Sorry love, looks like I get to miss the ceremonials. Message from the landlord of the Dragon and Leek on the Ynys Mon road. A bit garbled, because the place is deep in a valley in the woods and the comms are merda, but something about a fine lady gone missing and two dead Roman outriders. I’ve roused Bryn and the posse.”

Julia sighed, it was going to be a trying day.

“I’ll go wake Cookie and rustle up a packed breakfast.”

“Thanks love.”

She hurried to the kitchen, to find Cookie and Elfrida ahead of her. They worked harmoniously and were able to send Dai and his men to their work with a hamper of breakfast foods and hot soup for later.

***

“So you do know you don’t have to be here, Bard,” Bryn pointed out, munching happily. “You could be back there, snug and warm at home like any other Submagistratus, leaving the donkey work to your underlings.” As he spoke he gestured with his honey sandwich back along the road visible through the back window of the large vigiles all-wheeler and then had to move quickly to catch a golden droplet before it fell on his trews.

Dai sipped the half-cup of hot tea he had just poured from his vacuum flask, before answering.

“Was not going to be a ‘snug and warm’ sort of day. Besides, who would get you lot a decent breakfast if I didn’t come along?”

“I didn’t see you up with breakfast hampers when we were on dawn patrol looking for Glynis Penarddun’s stolen tractor last week. Nor when we answered the shout on the break-in at the Henbeddestr’s first day of Saturnalia – and that was an armed break in too, with theft of the family silver.”

Dai grunted. He felt the good-natured banter more deeply than it was intended. It reminded him that his new role took him ever further away from the aspects of the job he had always enjoyed the most. Nowadays he had to put other aspects of his job ahead of the groundwork he loved.

“I trust you to do your job,” he said and tried to marshall a grin. “Here, have some tea.”

Bryn took the flask and swore as the vehicle hit a rut just as he was pouring it.

“I’d not want you looking over my shoulder all the time, for sure,” he said after he had sponged the worst off his tunic using his dark, vigilis uniform coat.

“Tell you what, next time someone’s chickens are rustled or their TV is stolen, I will turn out with the troops and you can have a lie in. That make you happy?”

Bryn grinned.

“It’ll make Gwen happy. She’s been after me for some help with a bit of heavy lifting around the house since we moved in.” Bryn slurped the last of his tea and set it down with a satisfied sigh. “Would make you happy too I reckon. Here, these honey rolls are fresh baked. Saturnalia Optima.”

Dying as a Druid is the fourth in the Dai and Julia mysteries by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

I am old so I have to expect
The occasional pain in the neck
A bladder that leaks
The occasional creak
And a face that’s a wrinkly old wreck

©  jane jago 2017

The Penny White series by Chrys Cymri, introduces us to Vicar Penny White when she is driving home and finds herself giving the last rites to a dying dragon. From there we travel with her as she uncovers an amazing parallel universe called Lloegyr and encounters a Bishop who is a unicorn and takes a ride on a dragon... Jane Jago is now, officially, a fan!

The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White #1) 
by Chrys Cymri

Jane Jago‘s review

The Vengeance of Snails (Penny White Book 4) is out now - so you can snag that too!

I am old and I’m not in the mood
For pompous young eejits like you
I don’t want to hear
About bloody craft beer
And I’m really not eating tofu

© jane jago 2017

I’m so over you now, you must see,
Our accounts are no longer Linked in.
I’ve deleted your emails to me
And your selfies are all in the bin.
Don’t think you can stalk me with tweets
I unfollowed and blocked you on Twitter
Unfriended on Facebook too, sweets,
So I can’t see you whine as you witter.
I un-programmed my regrams. One tap
Sent Snapchat into the blue,
So when you try to ask me ‘Whatsapp?’
You’ll know I’ve no Pinterest in you!

E.M. Swift-Hook

Our family had been making superior moonshine as a sideline for five generations. But then The Shortages struck and the price of booze soared. We were suddenly making a fortune, but we reckoned it only a matter of time before the bad guys wanted in.

Two immaculately tailored gentlemen paid us a visit. Grandma signalled for us boys to disappear and went to greet them. They were inside quite some time, and then Grandma led them up through the orchards to where the still sat in a deep-walled valley in the icy cold waters of a stream that came straight down from the mountains.

Once they had gone the old lady shrugged. “We may lose some profits short term.”

She was right about losing profit, within six months the big guys’ cheap rotgut had undercut us so far that we just stopped selling. Though we did keep producing and stockpiling,

Then the sickness started. First a trickle, then a flood. Men struck down with stomach complaints that left them vomiting blood. At first nobody much cared, then the sons of wealthy families began to fall prey.

It almost goes without saying that the cheap rotgut was literally rotting guts. There were repercussions, and Grandma reckoned it time to reopen our bottling plant.

Ma looked the old beldame between the eyes.
“Okay. What did you do?”
“More what I didn’t do Charlaine. I mighta forgot to tell them to clean the car radiators before they made ‘em into a still.”

© jane jago 2017

I am old, and I’d quite like to mention
That age adds a certain dimension
It becomes very clear
That there’s little to fear
Outside of one’s own inner tensions

© jane jago 2017

Jane Jago’s latest hard-hitting novel, serialised for you to enjoy!

CHAPTER TWO

After that, there didn’t seem to be much to say and the rest of the journey to Glasgow was accomplished quietly. Their first drop off was the boomer boys, and Sam went into a featureless building to supervise the plastering of one mangled arm. He came out laughing.

“They had their own doctor waiting. He was a bit pissed because I had set the arm in the field. Then he looked at the job I made, and had to get off his high horse.”

Bill was fully awake by now and regarding the world with round, curious eyes.

“What’s a high horse?” he asked.

“It’s a saying,” Sam explained, “it means somebody is cross and acting like they are better than you.”

“Like they are high on a horse?”

“You got it, mate. How about a high five?”

Bill chortled delightedly and high fived Sam.

“Can I ask you a thing, Doctor Sam?”

“Course you can?”

“Why is your face so nice and brown? It aminds me of Grandpa Cracksman, but you aren’t a pikey like us, are you?”

Sam laughed.

“No. And yes. My face is brown because my granddad came from Jamaica, and his face was black. He married a lady from China, whose face was sort of creamy, and they had my mum. Her face was a bit browner than mine. She married a doctor from Basingstoke, whose face was pink, and they had me.”

Bill patted his arm.

“Oh. I see. Thank you for explaining.”

He studied Sam thoughtfully, for a minute.

“Were people horrible to you when you were  little boy?”

“Oh yes. Indeed they were. They horrible to you?’

“Mostly not. Coz the twins beat people up if they are.”

“Well good on them,” Sam laughed. “Though kind of overkill. Unless people are physically unpleasant, I’ve always found it best to just ignore them…”

“That’s what Jamie says, but the twins think it’s more fun to hit people.”

Rod laughed.

“The twins would think that. They have a bucketful of Cracksman pig-headedness. The other boys are brighter and more fastidious. I love them all, but I think I understand the twins best. Anyway, we’ll be landing soon. Are you ready for the circus?”

Sam grinned.

“I reckon. Bill?”

“Yes. I want to see Anna and Bonnie.”

“Who is Bonnie?”

“Anna’s dog. She is a Belgian Shepherd and she is awesome. Do you have a dog?”

“No, because I work too much, and a dog would be at home alone. It’s a shame, because I always wanted a dog. Maybe one day.”

William patted him again.

“Don’t be sad Doctor Sam, you’ll get a dog one day. And it will be a special dog because you had to wait for it.”

Sam gave him a big hug.

“Thanks, buddy.”

At that point, the chopper touched down, and Will jumpsuit opened the door. Sam got up and collected the bags, while Rod stood up with Bill in his arms.

“Thanks Mister Will,” Bill said.

The man patted him kindly.

“You take care, now, and I won’t forget the jumpsuit.”

Then there was a bit of back slapping and hand shaking before the three of them stepped out to where a big black car awaited them. The rear door of the car burst open and a tall, slim woman burst out, accompanied by a black dog.

Rod grinned and put Bill down on the ground. The boy opened his arms and hugged the big black dog, who licked his face and wagged her tail happily. The woman smiled down at them before turning to the two men.

“Hello Rod. You must be Sam.”

She held out a hand and they shook solemnly before she smiled at him.

“Pleased to meet you. Even if I am a bit overwhelmed by the circumstances.”

Sam smiled at her.

“Likewise.”

She bent down and patted both boy and dog.

“Come on you two, get in the car.”

Child and dog obeyed and the adults piled in behind them. Bill scrambled into Anna’s lap.

“Do you like my jumper? It belongs to Doctor Sam. He put it on me because I was very cold. Isn’t it nice and soft. I don’t think I ever felt anything softer. And it smells like Daddy.”

Anna hugged him and smoothed the jumper.

“Yes it is soft. It was very kind of Doctor Sam to lend it to you.”

“It’s not a loaner,” Sam laughed. “It’s Bill’s now. He gets to keep it till he grows into it.”

Anna opened her mouth, then she must have seen something in Sam’s face, because she ruffled Bill’s hair. “You’re a lucky boy then. I wish I could find somebody to give me a nice soft jumper. I’ve got your favourite boeuf bourguignon for supper. But you need a shower first. You might pong a bit under your nice jumper.”

“I spect I do. And Rod and Sam say they need a shower too. We’re going to shower together like a rugby team. It’ll be fun.” Then he screwed up his face. “I got no clean clothes…”

“You do. I got you some.”

He relaxed against her.

“You are a very kind Anna. Thank you.”

She looked at Rod over his head, and winked away a tear.

The car pulled into the grounds of what was obviously a rather expensive country house hotel. Anna grinned and shrugged her shoulders.

“The camper looks a bit out of place, even round the back. However, Geordie dictated that we were welcome. So we are. We have the use of a self catering cottage for as long as we want, so there’s a nice warm bathroom, and I’ve been able to use the kitchen to cook supper.”

Rod laughed out loud, then sobered.

“Good. Shower. Supper. Then we’ll get on the road. If we’re agreed?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam agreed. “Only one amendment. A soak in a bath would be very good if there is…”

Anna chortled.

“Oh yeah. There is. Big enough for the three of you.”

“Excellent…”

At that moment the car stopped outside a low stone-built cottage. They all piled out and Anna unlocked the door. Sam picked Bill up and walked inside.

“Bath Bill?”

“Nice and warm. With bubbles?”

“Why not. If you will share with me and Rod.”

“Can we?”

Anna caught on fast, and led the way to the bathroom, where she turned on the taps to fill a huge sunken bath. She  poured some scented gloop from a bottle and bubbles began to form in the tub.

“Right. I’ll leave you boys to bathe. When you are ready come to the kitchen for supper.”

She left the room, and went to wait in the kitchen. When her phone rang she answered absent-mindedly, then sat up and took notice.

Jane Jago

You are old, and that prompts me to ask

How certain events came to pass

How you got a gold fang

And a piercing that hangs

And a dragon tattooed on your ass

© jane jago 2017

Bonjour my little love muffins,

It is one, the beloved and multi-talented Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV, world-renowned author of the classic ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’ and patient teacher who, via the medium of this ‘Thinking Quill’ seeks to inform, educate and excite – via the vulgar coils of the Interwebs  – the hearts and minds of a growing band of Readers Who Write.

Today, my Muse and I feel sportive and light and do gambol about in the water meadows of imagination in a harmony so perfect that to speak it is to mar its unsullied beauty.

Therefore, mes estudas, follow us quietly making your footsteps as gentle as the bleating lamb and as soft as the breast of the turtledove lest you dishonour the music of my life with your vulgarly large boots….  Ah yes, my children, follow in silence and  listen with care, for today we discuss the pinpoint of blue-hot flame that is literary erotica in all its fine forms.

How to Start Writing a Book – Lesson 9. The Write Sex

It must be understood that the act of fornication, in its multiplicity of guises, is the engine that drives humanity to live out its mundane day-to-day existence in the hope that a glimpse, a scent, a touch, or a taste will donate to any given moment that sexual ecstasy for which it strives. Equally we must always take into account the sensibilities of our gentle readership and the rules that govern what may be said and what should only ever be hinted at.

We are, mes estudas, above the simply biological. We may not discuss the precise size and thickness of the male appendage, any more than we should even hint at the width/narrowness, hair/baldness of the female docking station. No. You may leave it to your reader to understand that tab A is most usually inserted into slot B (with occasional excursions into orifices C and D).

Your task as a purveyor of fantasy is to bring a flush to the cheek and a heaviness to the stomach of literature in such a way that the reader experiences those selfsame heats and twinges. A properly written scene of sexual tension should leave its reader panting lightly and susceptible to the merest breeze of sensuality.

Do not grasp your unfortunate victim by the genitalia and wrestle him to the ground with the sledgehammer blows of sexually obvious language. No. And again no. Rather scent the air with tender sensuality and slowly bring your reader to a climax only by the tenderest touches of the fingertips of perfect prose.

Build your scenes of human love with care, lest they tumble around your ears leaving you like a pubescent boy with damp pyjamas.

Oh yes, my students, who hang on my every word with the sort of open-mouthed excitement more usually generated by a pole dancer at an adolescent birthday party, lead your readership along the paths of sensual gratification by all means. But do so with the siren song of your creative juices, not by lassoing them with a string constructed of pubic hair and bodily secretions.

To finish this lesson. I offer a small extract from my own greatest work wherein our hero first feels the gentle tug of his feminine companion’s sensuality.

They came out of the desert into the fertile valley of the big river, just as the sun was dropping. Buchtooth kicked her camel until it knelt and leapt off the saddle throwing her clothing off as she ran towards the water.

“Come on Fatswhistle you ugly bastard, get off your frigging camel and get into this water. You smell worse than him.”

Fatswhistle followed his companion in a much more leisurely fashion. He was just removing his cracked leather boots when she threw herself into the water. Her back was broad and freckled and as she dived, the white globes of her arse were displayed to Fatswhistle’s suddenly interested gaze. He removed his clothing at a rather accelerated pace and hurried after her into the brown water.

She was singing tunelessly and washing her long carrot-orange curls when he waded over to her and sat down. The river mud felt like silk under his buttocks and he picked up one of his own feet and looked between his toes. He watched his companion from under his eyelids finding her heavy breasts surprisingly exciting as they dipped in and out of the water. He scooted closer and put out a tentative hand. She snorted and wrung the water out of her hair. Emboldened, he touched the freckled skin on her shoulder. She jumped and swore, dunking him under the water until he saw stars..

“Gerrof.”

Farewell for now dear students!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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