Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

Finoula turned her head and, as I often did, I got the impression that her sightless eyes saw more than most sighted people can.
“Is all well with you, Joss?”
“It is. So long as Morgan is protected.”
Finoula made a noise in the back of her throat and it came to me that Morgan’s protection was as important to her as it was to me. I clambered over Ben and took her hand in both of mine.
“Be at ease,” I said, “Morgan has us, and her father who would die before he saw harm come to her.”
Finoula relaxed. “Then all is very well.”
She squeezed my fingers and I felt her strong spirit.
“Jed,” I said, “will you take Finoula and the dogs out back and into the private garden. Ben and I will bring wine and tapas.”
He blessed me with his smile and steered his family out into the sunshine. I turned my attention to John Smith.
“Will you excuse me please.”
He smiled, and I thought it the first voluntarily genuine expression I had seen on his narrow face.
“It’s me needs to be excused. I’ll phone for a taxi.” He finished his brandy and stood up, passing me a square of pasteboard. “That number will reach my private phone. Please call me if the Proudly family becomes an annoyance.” Then he was gone, moving with the silent grace of a natural predator.
Ben scratched his head. “It’s amazing what hides under some folk’s skin. I think I prefer the killer.”
“Me too. But that’s only because he’s real. The off-duty accountant is just a very convincing fake.”
“Indeed. If you get the tapas, I’ll sort wine.” He bent for a kiss.
I raided the kitchen and crossed the garden with a big tray in my hands, followed by Morgan who carried another tray. She set it down on the table before turning her smile on Jed and Finoula.
“Thank you for caring about my face, but I’m fine. Truly I am. My dad says to tell you I’m protected.”
I looked at her serene little face, marred only by the cut and bruise of a vicious backhander and I remembered the frightened mouse of a girl, with acne and a heavy load of worries, who entered our lives two years ago. I went and gave her a little hug and she hugged back.
“Sit and eat your lunch Joss, I’ve got the office.”
And she went passing Ben on the way. He had two open bottles in his hands and it looked very much like his hoodie pocket held glasses. I ran over.
“Eejit. It’s not safe to carry glassware in your pockets.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “Sowwy mummy.”
Giving up telling him off as a bad job, I removed the glasses from his pocket and preceded him to the table. Jed was murmuring to Finoula who laughed, bright and happy.
“It’s not a bit of good you trying to civilise Ben,” she said “he’s an eternal schoolboy.”
I was trying for a smart retort when her phone burbled. She handed it to Jed.
“Tis Danilo.”
“Stick it on speaker, then. We may as well all hear.”
Danilo Lovell, television clairvoyant and current head of the Lovell family, sounded far from his usual urbane self.
“I find myself displeased with Amos Proudly. To the extent that I’ve unleashed Big Cliff, who is Fucking Furious, with only a reminder that dead bodies are bloody inconvenient.”
Ben chuckled. “That bloke is a bit of a twat, I grant you. But you aren’t usually so scrupulous.”
“No. I’m not. But what I am scrupulous about is the reputation of the Romany community. Which is going to suffer if he doesn’t rein in his bitch of a grandchild and stop declaring war in random people. Talking of which, I take it Morgan Brown is protected.”
“She is,” I said soberly, “and her dad is in a similar state to Big Cliff.”
The sound Danilo made might have passed for laughter if you didn’t know him. But I’ve known him for twenty years.
“What are you plotting?”
“Nothing right now. Although I’ve just taken a call from Connor Smith. Just to assure me he has no interest whatsoever in any feud between my family and the Proudlies.”
“Blimey. He must be running scared.” I said.
This time Danilo’s laugh sounded a little more natural.
“I hear you just met Smith junior. And scared the shit out of him. Which is an accomplishment when you consider he’s as nerveless a little bastard as his pa.”
“Wasn’t me put the shits up him. It was understanding who his family would be going up against. And whatever Finoula said to him. Which I think I’m glad I didn’t understand.”
“You should be glad. When Finoula is moved to rare anger even my beloved wife and our brats step away.”
I found that surprisingly reassuring.
“Give my love to Bethan and the boys. And kiss little Grace for me.”
“I will.”
Then he was gone. I spread my hands and gestured towards the food, while Ben poured rather expensive claret into big glasses. When everyone had a plate I raised my glass in a toast.
“Here is to Grandmother Lovell, wherever her spirit rests, and the great granddaughter who carries her name.”
“Grandmother and Grace,” Finoula said softly.
We all sipped our wine, then got stuck into excellent food. It was comfortable to sit in the sun and eat tapas with good friends.
Finoula, whose veganism had often been a problem before she moved in with Jed, leaned back in her chair and groaned a happy groan.
“I’m stuffed. And there’s not too many pubs where a vegan can go to pig out.”
Ben smiled at her. “Mostly we do well because of it. We’ve had a few brushes with evangelical veganism, but all in all plant-based food and booze, which we are careful to not label ‘vegan’, sit well with our everyone welcome philosophy.”
“How often do you get a problem?”
“Rarely now. We made it known that aggressive anti-meat activity would result in us stopping the plant-based menu. Nowadays any loud protesters tend to be being removed by their peers.” I said.
“And in at least one case given a kicking in the overflow car park.”
“How did you get away with that?” Finoula sounded amused.
“We did nothing that needed getting away with. And there are no security cams in the overflow…”
Jed laughed. “Are you sure you have no rom blood between you?”
“I’m positive. And I don’t want to think how much trouble Ben could get himself in if he had a Romany tribe at his heels.”
Finoula mugged pretended fear and we all laughed.
All too soon it was past time for me and Ben to be back at work.
Jed escorted his wife and their dogs out of the back gate and up the lane to his soon to be augmented horticultural kingdom.
Ben and I went back to work .

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

The path to the pyramid was blocked by the two drakkonettes who guarded the gate. They were kind of friends with her. The kind who didn’t breath fire on you when you stopped for a chat, kind of friends. They blocked the gate to the pyramid by crossing their polearms in front of it to form a barrier. But when Milla approached they both relaxed and leaned on the poles and one of them called a greeting.
“Hello there, lass? How’re you keeping? You and that Visitor of yours?”
“We’re fine thank you. I was just wondering if you had seen an elf come through here recently?”
The other drakkonette smiled showing a mouthful of razorsharp teeth.
“Oh yes, dear. If you mean the one wearing the golden Armour of Blessings and carrying a moonoak bow?”
“Did she go inside?”
The drakkonette’s smile grew wider revealing even more teeth.
“She was very rude and started waving her sword around right under our noses. So we defended ourselves. But I’m sure she’ll be back. That sort always are”
“Here she comes now,” the first drakkonette observed.
Milla turned in time to see the golden clad elf dismounting from a bright pink unicorn, which shimmered into thin air the moment her feet touched the ground in the way that Visitor’s mounts always did. Having made a quick farewell to the drakkonettes, Milla hurried back up the path and stopped abruptly. The elf was standing in the middle of the path making odd weaving gestures and humming to herself off-key.
“Are you alright?” Milla asked when the weaving and humming stopped and the elf seemed to come back to herself.
“Oh frack! It’s you.”
“Yes. It is. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“What? Oh. Yes. I was just respeccing to get some better heals.”
“Heals?” Milla heard the word and perked up. That was exactly what Pew had said they would need. “You can heal?”
“I’m a Blessedknight. It’s what we do. Depending which way I spec I can be more tankish or more healerish. You can’t move on the forums for people who think they know the sweet spot to get the best of both worlds.” She smirked. “I have it but I’m not telling.”
“I need your help with something,” Milla said, speaking quickly before she changed her mind. Spending time in the company of this elf was going to be a trial.
“You already gave me your quest. And the reward. Or don’t you remember?”
“This is another quest. A bigger one. It’s a…” she tried to think of something that would win a Visitor’s attention. “It’s an epic heroic mythical saga quest.”
The elf stared at her.
“Not heard of one of those before. What’s the reward?”
Milla thought desperately.
“It’s a secret. No one is allowed to know until someone has completed the quest.”
“And no one has yet?”
Milla shook her head. She could see the gleam in the elf’s eyes
“So not just server first, would be an all time game first?”
Milla nodded. “But only if you do it right now and come with me. Or I’ll offer the quest to someone else.”
She stalked off, head high as if not really caring whether the elf followed her or not. It took less than the time to breathe in and out before the golden-clad figure was beside her.
“Hail fair lady! I, Blessedknight Gloryjammer, pledge myself to your cause. You have my sword and my bow.”
Hiding a smile at just how easy it was to get these Visitors to do things, she inclined her head gracefully and continued walking.
“Thank you. But I’d rather you kept your sword and bow and used them yourself. And my name is Milla.”
“Got it. Milla. And I’m Glory. So where do I get the quest?”
“You’re already on it.”
“But there’s nothing in my quest log window.”
Milla stopped walking and put her hands on her hips.
“I am a quest giver? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“And I’ve just given you a quest. You are now on it.”
“But…”

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 16th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

Big Bigger was up to something. He was digging a hole in the veggible patch and singing. The nomes were suspicious of cheerfulness in one so normally morose.

“Wossee up to?”

A whisper ran around the garden, and Chigger crept closer for a look.

“He’s planting a tree.”

“A tree?”

“There?”

Brenda went to look for herself. “That ain’t no tree you higgerant nome. It’s. It’s… summat else.”

Big finished his hole and unwrapped the thing. It was wide and hollow and he firmed it in carefully.

The empty box read. ‘Acme rocket launcher – for fireworks.’

The nomes all flinched….

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

aoid (noun) – egg-shaped monocellular organism that smells faintly of vomit

atke (noun) – bright orange sandwich filling that smells suspiciously like yesterday’s dinner mushed with a fork

babry cream (noun) – ointment for under tit soreness

chouce (adjective) – of chocolate brownies the squidgiest most delicious bit

Freake Dout (proper noun) small Appalachian village famous for sourdough whiskey and revolting cheese

frysrtarting (verb) – heating up  the chip pan in preparation for frying pop tarts

hubting (noun) – the sound of a very expensive alloy wheel graunching against the pavement

hysical (adjective) – of teenage girls  in particular being in the state where hysteria is going to have them lash out any second

migth (noun) – small buzzing insect with a powerful sting. Lives on fish cakes and Irn Bru

papberback (noun) – male gorilla with identity issues

pepict (adjective) – having the colouration and texture of the cheeks of a person about to projectile vomit

remmeberd (noun) – spectacularly unkempt facial hair

serices (noun) – speciality rice dishes from south-east Asia

shepherherds pir (noun) – a small light that can only be brought on by chasing shepherds past it

thinng (noun) – the sound a flexible knife blade makes when flicked against a glass chopping board

trilogoes (noun) – a company or brand utilising three logos

withing (verb) – being wriggling and wormlike and prone to self-adhesion

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

Growing older does not have to weigh
If you throw out your scales one fine day
Tell yourself you don’t mind
A spreading behind
And you’re going to be happy that way

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Dear Reader Who Writes,

As is my habit, allow me to present myself and my credentials for offering this wealth of writing wisdom. I am none other than the Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV.  My seminal work of science-fantasy  “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth”, once peaked to achieve the coveted Best Seller status of one millionth on Amazon – although I recently withdrew it from publication to allow other, lesser, literature an opportunity to ascend the firmament of popular appeal. But do not weep and rend your garments, oh deprived ones, this is merely a temporary arrangement.

Those who have been my most assiduous students in recent times will be aware that my parents are not on the best of terms. Not that this is anything untoward, of course, but my father is in paradise – Bali? Bahrain? Something sunny and starting with B anyway – and as such has become for my mother the archetypal antagonist. Oh if I had but a fraction of a penny for every sentence she has started with the immortal alliteration: “Your fucking father…” I would have saved enough for a deposit on my own home long since. Sadly, I can not profit from it in that way, but I can – and do – use the antagonism to fuel the formation of my own antagonists.

Antagonists

Oh no, Mr Farquhar Metheringham IV, sir! I can hear your little voices cheeping in chorus, did you not already tell us how to do this? Did you not say they are just bad people and no more needs to be said of them than that? I say, well remembered my dear RWW. I did indeed say that was the summum bonum of the ideal antagonist. But, this is not speaking of the insignificant issues of personality, motive or malignancy. This, dear pupils, is a matter of physical characteristics – so when we first meet your antagonist we know from the off that is who it must be. So sit up, pay attention and make notes!

• Ugly Mug – ugliness is, of course, the first sign of evil. Make sure your antagonist has a hideous visage.
• Age – wrinkled age is evil – smooth youth is good. Everyone knows this, so use it.
• Dental Detail – villains always have bad teeth. Even the wealthy ones. And bad breath to go with it.
• Deformity – of course, evil is always deformed by something self-inflicted in the course of evil-doing.
• Dark Dressing – to be of the ‘dark side’ it stands to reason the individual must also always wear black. Red in accessories is acceptable.
• Gender – male is default. After all, we speak of ‘the bad guy’.

Of course there can be exceptions to these hard and fast rules. There is the evil-but-beautiful young woman who seduces our hero, for example. But for the novice writer, such as you are indeed, dear pupil of mine, keep to these basic guidelines and you will not go wrong.

Auf Wiedersehen, meine Schüler!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

I am the wind that sighs above
Who through the cloud shoots pointed love
I am that pale capricious child
Whose soul is neither meek nor mild
Whose bow is bent, whose arrow falls
And makes imposters of you all

©️ jj 2024

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

The chirpy octogenarian looked up from his hand of cards and grinned toothlessly.
“I don’t reckon he’ll be giving your man any trouble.”
“Me neither. And while he’s outside I suggest we all have a drink on the house.”
“There’s no need for ‘ee to do that.”
“Possibly not. But I’d like to.”
While the regular customers were being served free beer I looked at Smith.
“How did you get here?”
“Taxi.” His voice wobbled a little, though I wasn’t entirely buying his timorous beastie act.
I lifted a hand and Ed came out from behind the bar.
“Not one of the buggers went for anything more than their usual,” he remarked cheerily.
“They aren’t a bad lot. And they did get a bit of free entertainment. Can you make me a very large G&T and bring my shrinking friend a brandy, also large.”
Ed saluted and winked at me before ambling off to fetch our drinks. Mr Smith looked truly uncomfortable.
“It’s very kind of you to provide me with a much-needed bracer. I’m grateful. But may I just call my father?”
“Of course. Shall I leave you?”
He blushed furiously. “No. That would be truly rude in me.”
I sat back and he pulled the very latest iPhone out of his pocket. I thought wryly that thuggery must pay better than catering, before deciding that I don’t have the temperament to be a gangster’s moll.
Meanwhile Smith was talking fast and I recognised the language as rom. He obviously didn’t expect a gadjo female to catch on to his antecedents, and while I was weighing up whether or not to let him know he had been rumbled I wondered what else he wasn’t telling me. I hadn’t reached a decision before he ended the call and treated me to a toothy smile.
“My father wishes me to pass on his gratitude for the information.”
Ed appeared with our drinks and I took a fortifying sip. Then I decided to call Smith’s bluff. I offered him my blandest look before speaking two of my six words of rom.
“Kaski san?” Meaning whose are you? As in what is your family?
He all but dropped his drink, along with his pose as a bumbling nonentity. For about ten seconds I saw a conscienceless killer looking out of his eyes, before he pulled himself together.
“How much of my conversation did you understand gadjo?”
I laughed in his face. “About none. I only knew it was rom. As for my question to you, Grandmother Lovell told me the words to find out the affiliation of a Romany person.”
He frowned briefly. “Why would she tell you that?” I could see when his memory of something or someone clicked in. “Joanna Beckett wouldn’t be Joss would she?”
“She would.”
He dropped the timid accountant pose and grinned me a crocodile grin. “Now I see why it’d be a bad idea to antagonise you.”
“So don’t,” I put a little whip in my voice. “Just explain yourself.”
“My grandmother was a Lovell. And my mother was a Heron.”
“And you lot are Smiths. Okay. But why didn’t you say anything before I rumbled you?”
“Because we mostly don’t like to have our ethnicity known.”
“I’ll buy that. But knowing that we have a connection to the Lovell family?”
He curled his lip. “Danilo Lovell has some very strange friends.”
This was no more than the plain truth, but there was something else bothering me.
“Okay buster. How come you never recognised Jed Lovell?”
He looked as if I’d slapped his face with something that smelled bad.
“That was Jed? Whose mother eloped with Jedediah Lovell?”
“I think eloped implies marriage. But substantially. Yes.”
“That makes him my cousin, I think. His grandmother and mine were half sisters. I need to call the old man again.”
I spread my hands, and watched with some enjoyment as he spoke to his father without bothering to hide behind his pose of ineffectuality.
He was just about finished when Ben reappeared, sitting down beside me with a wry grin.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Finoula angry. And I’ve certainly never seen her Putting The Fear Of God. I rather wish I’d not seen it now. I truly don’t think those boys’ll be back.” He turned his eyes onto Smith. “What about your lot? Will I have Finoula come and talk some sense to you?”
“If Finoula is Finoula Lovell, then no thank you very much.”
“How’d you work out our friend here is Rom?” I asked.
“I didn’t. But Jed noticed him, sat there in his accountant on holiday gear, and blew the gaffe.”
“I don’t get that one little bit. I’m sure I have never seen Jed Lovell before, even though I have heard of him.”
Ben speared him with a long look, under which I could feel him squirming.
“Okay. I’ll give you that. And why you were recognised? Jed used to see your father when his granny was alive. Reckons you’re the spit of him.”
Smith pulled a sour face. “Apparently. Though it’s not something to aspire to. Looking like a pet rodent.”
I showed him my teeth. “I dunno. It could be useful. Until you let the mask slip, I might almost have thought you as harmless as your camouflage suggests.”
“There is that I guess.”
The door to the car park opened and Jed popped his head in.
“Okay to bring Clancy in for a minute or two?”
“Yeah. You’re fine. Got nobody in but locals.”
He opened the door fully and came in with Finoula on his arm. Her guide dog, Hector, was at her side although he wasn’t wearing his harness and they were followed by Clancy, whose sheer size was intimidating if you didn’t know him.
Smith stood up and greeted Finoula and Jed in rom.
Jed grinned, but Finoula said something sharp. Smith recoiled as if he had been slapped, but he dropped his head and replied quietly.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

Milla thought of all the stories she had heard from the Visitors who had been to those distant lands in the Barren Steppes on the other side of the same Silent Sea which washed the beaches here.
“I’d heard the Lamia trapped unwary Visitors in their caverns and they had to pay a fine or perform many tasks to be allowed to leave.”
“And I have a bad feeling that might be exactly what’s happened,” Pew said miserably. “Only somehow it’s really happened. Like really really happened.”
Milla blinked a bit and tried to think what could be done. The Lamia were powerful people and she doubted they would be swayed by a bottle of fruit tea and a plate of flyberry cookies.
“I can’t even tell anyone,” Pew said, crest drooping in hopeless defeat. “They wouldn’t believe me. Anymore than they believe about you. And the Lamia are in an end-game zone so it’s not like I can just stroll in there and get him out. I’d need a group. Or a tank and heals at least.”
“A tank? That’s someone good at fighting?”
“Yes. Well, no. More good at keeping the mobs focused on them and tough enough to keep being hit without taking too much damage.”
Milla nodded not really taking in the details, an idea forming in her mind.
“Well I might be able to find one of those and One Eye has some healing potions for sale.”
Pew was staring at her as if she was speaking Elvish.
“I don’t think…”
“No. You don’t. That’s always a big part of the problem,” Milla agreed. “But I do. Fortunately. And I think we need to go on a venture and rescue String.”
Ruffkin leapt up and barked excitedly.
“But you’re an NPC – a quest giver. You can’t just travel around wherever in game. You have to stay here in Wrathburnt Sands. It won’t work.”
Milla got to her feet and started packing. She still had the backpack One Eye had given her and everything she needed to take slid into it. Then she turned back to Pew who was still sitting at the table, despondently munching on the last flyberry cookie.
“Why don’t you let me worry about that. Now you take Ruffkin to One Eye Rye and ask him to look after the little thing while we’re gone. You can pick up any supplies you need for the venture while you are there.”
Snout wrinkling a little doubtfully, Pew got up. Ruffkin seemed to know he was going to be left behind because his tail and ears were down.
“I can’t take you with us,” Milla explained stooping to give him a hug. “It’s too far and too dangerous for a little dog. Besides, One Eye will give you extra treats – he always does when we drop by his shop.”
Looking a little mollified, the dog trotted out after Pew. Milla gave her home a final glance, hoping she’d not be too long away, then closed the door firmly, linked her arm in Pew’s and took the path to the village. She left the two of them at the turn off to the pyramid, brushing aside Pew’s protests.
“Last time you spoke to the drakkonettes it was to shout names and charge at them,” Milla explained reasonably. “I think I’ll do better on my own.”
“Yelling ‘Leroy Jenkins’ isn’t shouting names.”
“They sound like two names to me.”
Pew had opened his mouth to argue again so she silenced him with a quick kiss and left him gaping after her for altogether different reasons from before. In Milla’s view they had been sort of boyfriend and girlfriend for several months now, so a kiss seemed in order.

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 15th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

Strictly speaking Thimbletoes wasn’t a nome, she was a fairy whose glass wings refracted the sunlight into a million rainbows. But she was a sort of honorary nome, whose most particular friend was a shy girl nome with a garland of primroses around her broad forehead. Poor Primrose had the misfortune to attract the notice of Ferdy Fishernome. When she refused his attentions, he beat her with his knobby fists. Thimbletoes was enraged, and when Big Brenda arrived Ferdy was engaged in beating his own self with many cries of pain.

Brenda walked away. “I ain’t interfering with fairy justice.”

Jane Jago