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. Starway Pathfinders is a science fiction show that entertains the better off and brings hope to the poor…

“So, you have to tell me, what’s he like? I mean close up? Is he taller than he looks? Shorter? Has he got bad breath and a squint that they filter out? Or is he just like you see him on screen?” Teram was pumping out questions faster than a media interviewer as they hit the glides, and Dog felt as if a heavy weight was pressing on his shoulders.
“Just like he is on screen.” Only colder. But he couldn’t say that out loud. There was so much he had to not say, it made him feel a tight pressure in his head.
He had told Zarshay it made him feel bad, and she had just given him one of those odd smiles of hers.
“You don’t even need to lie, Dog. Just tell the truth of what’s happened. What’s happened, not why.”
She’d made it sound easy. Heila had been even less sympathetic, no surprises there. She had rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh of frustration.
“Oh for— Why all this soul searching? It’s not that hard.You’re an actor — so act.”
But it was Joah’s words which stayed with him. She had gripped his arm and said, “We’re counting on you, and I know you can do it. Don’t worry, you won’t let us down.”
Joah was counting on him. That knowledge made him feel stronger as he followed Teram through the glides; if Joah trusted him, then he could do it. He had to: the thought of letting her down sat like cold vomit in his stomach.

The salvage crew greeted Dog as an old friend, but he knew right away something was different.
“You told them, you bastard,” he hissed into Teram’s ear as the group waved an over-enthusiastic welcome.
Teram gave him an odd look. “Sure, I told them. But only ’cos they were saying how much you looked like Hengast Gethick. These are my bros — people who I trust my life to when we’re out there.” He nodded towards the smudge-covered window.
Dog felt his headache intensifying. This was a new element to the plan, and he’d have to think how to handle it and make adjustments on the wing. The problem was, fast thinking wasn’t Dog’s strong point and never had been.

In the event, it wasn’t as bad as he feared; in fact, it made his task a bit easier. The salvage crew asked all the usual questions he got from fans, but they were less intense. It was almost as if they were seeing him as Dog — himself, the person, and not as Arlan Stude or even as celebrity Hengast Gethick. It was a good feeling and one he hadn’t had for a while.
When it happened, it was so natural Dog found he didn’t even need to act.
“So, what’s with your wrist, Dog?” someone asked.
Two beers down, he was feeling relaxed and lifted his hand to show off the brace he had on his left wrist.
“This?”
“Yeah. I was reading you broke it in another of those accidents keep happening in the studio. “And Heila Camarthy did another floor-kiss over some cable and needed to see a dentist.”
“I heard your floor technician got electrocuted and nearly died.”
“And is it true your production engineer deleted half an episode? That part of the curse too?”
Dog lifted up his other hand and used both to fend off the questions.
“It’s not a curse. Accidents happen.”
“Really? That many in just a few days? People are saying it’s about these aliens. All that stuff about them being able to attack with bad luck. Shit, the next episode even admits it. It’s called ‘Curse of the Kyruku – Part One.’”
Dog barked out a laugh.
“That’s just a story. It’s not real — not a real curse.”
“Really? You could fool me. All of SP social media’s buzzin’ with it — people guessing what’s going to happen next and wondering if we’ll even get to see them aliens. I was all set to put half my savings into building us that real Golden Strand — reckoned I’d be in with a shot at a crew spot and all. But it’s made me think again.”
“You and me both, bro,” Teram said. “I had in mind to buy some sweet shares in that ship’s golden ass, but no way now.”
Shaking his head in disbelief at how easy this was, Dog swilled some more of his drink and let the speculation run riot around him. It was almost as if they wanted there to be a curse.
“What about this latest one? Zarshay Sygma’s gone missing — someone just put out a tweak on Twister.”
Dog thumped his drink down on the table so hard the base cracked.
“What?” His voice was a roar which stunned half the bar into a brief shocked silence. “What’s happened?”
The salvage crew were all gaping at him open-mouthed and he realised that, for them, all this was just some continuation of the storyline. It could be real people being injured, maimed, kidnapped — but to them it was just more Starways Pathfinders. His good mood evaporated, sucked away into the dark vacuum outside the window, and he pushed himself to his feet.
“I gotta go,” he mumbled and, ignoring the protests and expressions of concern, he strode from the bar and hit the glides home.

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 1010

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

***** ***** *****

Jane Jago

Even the grass is bleeding
Even the grasshoppers cry
You took our life with your leaving
Murdered the grass and I
Your life ebbed away in the garden
In the place where the willow weeps
I will cry and I will not beg pardon
In the blood-tipped grass I shall sleep

©️Jane Jago

The Dai and Julia Mysteries are set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules…

Even when he was supposed to be focused on the case, Dai found himself looking again at the selfie of Julia in the sun and wondering how she was. It had got so the image was always popping unbidden into his mind, leaving his thoughts distracted. He had no idea what he should say to her and dreaded that what he said might be the wrong thing. So he made no further attempt to contact her and as time went on he felt as though the opportunity to say anything, ever was slipping away from him.
“… which means we can effectively eavesdrop on him. Unless he wises up and turns it off.”
He was sitting in Bryn’s office in the Vigiles HQ in Viriconium and it took an effort to refocus his thoughts on what his senior investigator was saying.
“Eavesdrop?”
“Yes. You know how Tony Talog’s using that AI PA system? Mercuria? Well, turns out we can apply to have a listening ear put on it. I put in for it last night and got permission through first thing.”
“So we can spy on him using his own electronics?”
“That’s about the size of it. In fact, we have been for the last few hours.”
“I somehow don’t see him being that indiscreet, but we can hope.”
Bryn laughed. “Bard, you have no idea how people can be with these systems. They think of them as a one-way thing – something they control completely. They tend to forget that it’s connected to the entire internet and not just to their own home.”
“Remind me not to get it installed at the villa.”
“So I don’t think Tony will see it as being indiscreet, it won’t even occur to him there is an issue in the privacy of his own four walls.”
Dai frowned. “He has it at home as well as in his office?”
“Yep. He’s the kind who likes to make out he’s up with all the latest trends. Odd for a man who makes his living from the past, don’t you think?”
“Would be odd if he actually loved the past – Tony Talog doesn’t, he just exploits it.”
“Oh and we have a lunch date,” Bryn said. “Justina Cynddylan says she may have some information for us and wishes us to join her for lunch as her guests.”
“And she can’t just tell us because…?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But she says she booked a table at an out of town place. Posh one too, Bene Placito, you may have heard of it.”
Dai nodded. It was one of the most exclusive eating places in the area specialising in the finest Roman cuisine. The kind of establishment where your meal would be sparse but served artistically and the fact you felt hungry at the end of the meal would not matter because one sight of the bill would remove what remained of your appetite. Dai had been toying with the idea of taking Julia there for her birthday as a surprise but was not entirely convinced she would want that. There were times he realised just how little he knew her.

As far as discreet went, Bene Placito served that up in buckets. The place was in one wing of a small villa, presumably also the home of the chef who owned it, that nestled in the hills behind Viriconium. The villa had a long private driveway which wound past fields of vegetables and livestock, showing off the produce that they would soon be eating.
Dai and Bryn were greeted at the door by a simply dressed waitress who asked their names and explained that each party or individual was given their own secluded dining room.
“Domina Cynddylan is in the Rose Room. If you will come with me…”
Bene Placito was a small slice of Roman elegance and opulence thrust into the British countryside. The decor and furnishings were all items that might grace the pages of patrician’s lifestyle magazines and set in amongst the modern, sophisticated, decor were exquisite examples of ancient Roman statuary and other artefacts.
The Rose Room turned out to be well named. It had a window onto a small walled rose garden, though at this time of year the bushes were little more than pruned back twigs, and there were several pots of indoor miniature roses sitting on small pedestals. Dai’s heart sank as they were shown in. he should have expected it, but somehow he had not. It was a triclinium. The three couches had been set to overlap, in three sides of a square with the table in the middle.
Justina Cynddylan was already ensconced on the central couch, helping herself to some olives from a bowl on the table. She smiled as the two men were shown in and made a sweeping gesture to the empty couches on either side of her.
“Thank you for joining me, please make yourselves comfortable and we will see what the chef is providing today.” Dai eased himself on to a couch, feeling awkward, but noticed with surprise that Bryn seemed completely unperturbed and slid onto his couch as if patrician born.
“You will have to excuse me from getting right down to business, but we can’t be assured of complete privacy until the meal has been served. The timing of that is always a little uncertain as Chef can be very temperamental.”
“I understand,” Dai said, though he was not sure he really did. But he sought an alternative topic of conversation. “There are a few antiquities here I see.”
“Oh yes. I have sold several genuine ancient pieces to Chef. He is a bit of a connoisseur of Etruscan art and it has been my pleasure to help locate and arrange the purchase of one or two for him.” She lowered her voice “To be honest he is a little obsessed, he is convinced he is descended from Etruscan ancestors, but when one is such a great artist as he is, one can be forgiven such foibles.”
The door opened as she was speaking and the waiting staff piled the table with heated stands and small covered pots, as well as plates with a few multi-coloured leaves strewn over them. A bottle of good wine and glasses completed the spread, then the staff withdrew.
Justina lifted a few lids and helped herself to some of the contents, and made the same imperious sweeping gesture with which she had greeted them. “Eat up. We can talk and eat.”
Dai eyed the items on her plate with some suspicion. He went for a plentiful portion of the grains and vegetables and only a couple of the more innocent looking meat slices, spooning garum over the whole lot to disguise any odd flavours. Bryn, meanwhile, was cheerfully piling his plate with samples from all that was on offer.
“The flamingo is excellent, don’t you think?” Justina nodded towards the meat Dai had chosen. He had some in his mouth at the time and chewed and made himself swallow before managing a nod. Why did the Romans insist on eating such things?
“Look, I really appreciate your – uh – generosity in inviting us here -”
“Oh, not so generous, Chef always gives me a discount,” Justina said quickly.
“Yes. Well, the thing is we are a bit pressed for time, so if you feel we are private enough now, perhaps we could get to what it was you wished to tell us.”

From Dying for a Vacation a Dai and Julia Mystery by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

There is no way this ‘elderly lady’ is going to be buying anything on the telephone. Which means I need to have developed coping strategies.

I have three:

Sometimes I just take the phone outside and leave it in the garden. I pick it up later.

Sometimes I blow a very loud whistle I happen to possess in close proximity to the phone.

Or if I am feeling particularly sadistic I play along – confusedly dim. Until they want money when I sweetly say my son has power of attorney and he will call them when he is finished in court…

It’s amazing how quickly you get removed from their ‘to ring’ list!

You can now have a collection of Granny’s inimitable insights of your very own in Granny Knows Best.

Join Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson as they investigate the strange affair of the Dartymuir Dog…

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

Mes Chers Readers Who Write,

I am sure I do not need to remind you of who I am at this point in our relationship, but I will acknowledge there may be a handful of benighted individuals who have yet to make my acquaintance. So for their benefit, I will again mention that my name is Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV and I am the renowned author of both the speculative fiction classic ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’ and of this ‘The Thinking Quill’ which offers insight into the mysteries of the authorial craft.

Indeed it was only yesterday Mummy observed: ‘You spend too much time in that coal cellar. You should get out more.” But I assured her the reason I was committing so much of my life to my literary sanctum, was both to progress my own literary offerings and to selflessly share of my copious pearls of wisdom with you, oh Reader Who Writes.

So, without further hesitation or procrastination on either side, let us undress the goddess of literature and peer beneath the skirts of her most intimate places. In brief, dear RWW, let us consider the very building-blocks of her DNA – the tools with which one has wrought such wonders – words.

How to Start Writing a Book – The Write Words

It is a truth universally acknowledged that paucity of vocabulary is the fence at which a multiplicity of putative novelists fail. Gird up your loins my children and do battle with the twin dragons of over-simplification and ugly language. Let that duo of decrepitude be downtrodden under the heels of linguistic loveliness. Let your Muse speak to you in honeyed prose. Let the thesaurus be your Bible and let not the commonplace leave your fingertips. Never say that your grass is green, rather enchant your readers with the verdant viridian vegetation. Let them inhale the aroma of the recumbent emerald as it is crushed beneath the bare toes of powerful simile.

Let your doting following bask in the sunlight of your fertile poesy. Let your words be as sunlight to the face of the damask rose. Let your adjectival imagery lift your readers from the commonplace to the heights of quasi-sexual ecstasy. Let your voice be as the zephyr of a southern breeze carrying the redolence of olive groves and lemon trees and the salt tang of mare nostrum.

Lead your interlocutors along primrose paths of erudition and titillation, and do not cease in your endeavours until your mind’s ear can hear their sighs of replete completion. Only then have you begun to understand the manifest prognostications of your craft.

To encapsulate this vital educational epistle:

1. Never use a simple word where a periphrastic locution can be set.
2.  Never use a sole descriptor – a lonely adjective should be a contumely maxim! Instead, allow the perihelion swirl of elucidatory and expressive ornament to embrace each noun and verb.
3. Seek always the etymological road least travelled and endow your audience with rare gems mined from deep archaisms and seek the perfect bon mots from languages few speak. Thus you will both educate and impress.

Consider my words with care.

Until next mes enfants, adieu and may Erato and Calliope attend your dreams.

Bon Ecrit!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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

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. Starway Pathfinders is a science fiction show that entertains the better off and brings hope to the poor…

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

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

***** ***** *****

Pawprints in the kitchen
Pawprints on the floor
Pawprints on the furniture
Pawprints on the door
Pawprints on the patio
Pawprints from the shed
Pawprints running up the stairs
Pawprints on the bed
Pawprints on the landing
Pawprints in the hall
Pawprints by the front door
Pawprints on the wall
Pawprints running everywhere
I don’t know where to start
I’d curse the mangy mutt but he’s
Run pawprints through my heart.

E.M. Swift-Hook