…for a moment the silence was blissful. Then the screaming started…
Writing team Leo and Mike Johnson have their day disturbed when a body turns up near their house.

‘Nasty piece of work that is’ Ro said when she returned. Then she sat and poured herself a cup of tea. Leo raised an eyebrow.
‘I found stuff out.’
‘Such as?’
‘The ‘church’ calls itself The Apostolic Gospel of The Lord. It seems to have originated in America. No surprise there, but what is surprising is that they now have control of three schools in the UK. There’s one in Somerset and two in Greater London, and the police are quite interested in them because there is some question of providing underage girls for a form of ‘marriage’. Or so I’m told.’
‘And how did you get told?’
She grinned. ‘Sex. That’s how I get told most things. Wasn’t even unpleasant.’
Mike laughed in genuine amusement. ‘Ro. You are bad! Who?’
‘A detective from the smoke. His name would mean nothing to you even if I could be arsed to remember it. But a combination of a blow job and a bottle of Ma’s sloe gin got him to part with all of his knowledge of the subject.’
‘You really should be careful’ Leo put in. ‘You can’t just go around importuning coppers for information.’
Ro grinned. ‘You’re right. I can’t. But I didn’t. He started it. I was helping out at the chippy when this long streak of piss comes in and gets all flirty. Uncle Bob gives me the high sign he’s a copper, so I agree to meet him for a drink. I reckon he still thinks he weaselled info out of me.’
‘About?’
‘The cage fighting scene hereabouts. Apparently the body in the river had been beaten up pretty badly before she died. The powers wondered if she could be a cage fighter. I said it weren’t likely as l hadn’t heard of anyone going missing. Seemed to satisfy mister slippy. But just to be certain I put the word out and nobody knows nothing, not even the dog fighting crowd what puts on the occasional real roughhouse.’
Leo frowned. ‘So somebody beat her up and drowned her? Nice.’
‘No. They certainly beat her up, but then they strangled her and threw the body in the water. My dad reckons they can’t be local or they’d have chucked her in below the dam.’
‘Unless they wanted her to be found. Though I can’t think why that could be.’
‘Me neither. And I gathered there was other stuff about the body. Something to do with very rough sex and ‘not quite human’ bite marks. My little friend was uncomfortable talking about that.’
‘I’ll bet’ Mike shivered. Ro’s face looked like she was eating something bad, but she pressed on. ‘The only other gem I wrung out of Constable Smalldick was that they are doing a facial reconstruction and the cops will be bringing it to all the houses on the riverbank to see what they can shake out. And they’ll be after DNA samples from the men too.’
‘Oh great’ Mike shivered and Leo put a consoling arm around her.
‘It don’t sound much like a Sunday school outing to me’ Ro said wisely, then she leapt up from the table. ‘Hoovering calls.’
When she had left the room and the roar of the vacuum cleaner could be heard from upstairs, Leo raised an eyebrow at Mike.
‘You reckon she knows?’
‘Not from me. But she has enormously good instincts.’
He considered that for a moment. ‘She does. And I wouldn’t at all put it past her to be tipping me the wink.’ ‘Me neither. Will it help?’
‘Yeah. I’ll get my head around it.’ He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment. ‘I dunno why you keep me’ he whispered ‘no possibility of children, and I’m a moody bastard.’
She grinned at him. ‘You forgot selfish. But I still can’t do without you – even after all these years and all the shit we’ve been through.’
His answering smile was a bit twisted. ‘And not even a pity fuck for at least a month…’
‘Do we do them? I thought our forte was hate fucks.’
This time he really did laugh before getting up. He wandered off, leaving Mike alone. She frowned, then got up and walked briskly into her own office.

From Shall we gather at the river? a hard hitting murder mystery thriller by Jane Jago which is available for 0.99.

Today, with her marriage, the truce would become full peace. There was no time to make the preparations, but standing with her commanders to meet the delegation, she realised that no preparations would have helped her anyway.
Their leader was young – younger than herself, but then this war had taken many older nobles.
“I come to fulfil the honour of my Clan, to bind the peace by marriage.”
She stepped forward trying to hide her true feelings.
“Then I welcome you – as my third husband.”
It was a slow way to expand her Empire, but it was proving remarkably effective.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The problem was an expensively printed ‘invitation’ at which she looked with some distaste. It was phrased politely but she knew a command when she saw one. Magistratus Sextus Catus Bestia and his wife Vassenia Cyofeth requested the company of Submagistratus Dai Llewellyn and his wife Julia Lucia Maxilla at a reception in honour of the new Submagistratus sent from Rome.
Once she swallowed the insult implicit in ignoring her decision to adopt the British custom of a woman taking her husband’s name there was still the little matter of the new Submagistratus. Which, she thought bitterly, was just what they needed – another idiot from Rome for Dai to bump heads against at every corner. Just as things had been better lately, with Bestia hugely occupied by his young, rich, pulchritudinous, and deeply silly new wife. She sighed and shook her head sadly, accepting there was nothing to be done except dress prettily, bully Dai into a toga, and turn up with the best grace they could muster.
Telling herself to put it aside she called her sleeve dog, Merch, to heel and pattered off to the nursery to visit her daughter Aelwen. After some very satisfactory cuddles and a rather splashy bath time she sat back on her heels and grinned at the tiny tyrant who was the centre of the household and patently knew it.
Aelwen’s nursemaid, Luned, looked shrewdly at her employer. “Should you be rolling round the floor in your condition?” she asked mildly.
“What condition might that be?”
“If I don’t miss my guess you are pregnant again.”
“Are you sure?”
Luned laughed. “No. But there is a way to make sure.” She went to a tall chest and extracted something from a cupboard. “This might help.”
Julia stared at the familiar cardboard box for a long moment before putting out a hand to take it.
“I am almost afraid to do this. With my history, Aelwen was a miracle. I certainly never dared hope for more children.”
“Would it help to do it here and now, with a bit of company?”
“It just might.”
Julia dived into the nursery bathroom before her courage had the chance to desert her. Having done the necessary, she carefully placed the plastic ‘stick’ on a shelf and retreated. By engaging Luned in light, meaningless chatter she managed to keep her eyes away from the clock. The girl was kind enough to play along and it was she who mentioned the time.
“You could go and look now,” she said gently.
Julia found herself unable to move. “I can’t.”
“Will I go and look for you?”
“Please.”
It was only a matter of seconds before a smiling Luned returned, although it felt like an eternity.
“Congratulations Domina Julia. It says more than three weeks.”
Julia let out her breath in a huff and took the test stick from Luned’s outstretched hand.
“Oh my goodness.”
The next thing she was really sure of was Luned’s strong arm about her waist as the girl guided her to a seat.
“Breathe domina. Breathe and relax.”
“Sorry. Back with you now. It was just…”
Sensing disquiet, Merch abandoned Aelwen and leapt onto her mistress’ lap. She put her snow-white paws on Julia’s shoulders and gazed intently into her eyes. Julia laughed and stroked the little dog’s soft fur.
Luned smiled as Aelwen crawled over to join the party. “Somebody may be about to get her pretty nose put out of joint.”
If she did but know it, Julia’s smile could have lit a whole concert hall. “Oh, I don’t think so. I rather imagine that her da and I have enough love to enwrap a whole harpastum team.”

From Dying on the Streets by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

The gnomes were fascinated. They had no idea what the biggers would be about.
First they moved all the gnomes to the shrubbery. Putting planks of wood over the lawn, a crowd of strange biggers in heavy boots made a big house from flapping sheets.
Big Norma shook her head. “Got me beat”.
The strange house was furnished with chairs and flowers, before it filled with biggers of every sort.
To the sound of loud music the bigger they called ‘father’ escorted a small female, dressed fine, to where a man in a long dress waited.
“Dearly beloved,” he said.

Jane Jago

What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted…

The images of Chola showed a well-presented man, average height, lots of curly blond hair. In fact, in Grim’s opinion, he looked a lot more like someone you might see on a screen trying to sell you hair care products, than someone you might find invading your premises and demanding a cut of your business profits. He had that sort of open, attractive face that you wanted to trust, with warm amber eyes that seemed poised on the edge of laughter at a shared joke. But then that wasn’t too much of a surprise. In his long experience of the breed, Grim had found many of the worst kind of criminals could pass themselves off as pretty nice people for much of the time. Right up until they had enough power it was no longer necessary for them to be nice.
“He was popular with his own, with a rep for being hard but fair,” the techie droned on. “Seen as consistent and reasonable — but with zero tolerance towards any who might oppose him. Hence the body we saw earlier. He sustained generally good relations with the other Names in the ‘City, avoiding any major wars and holding off the other Shame Cullen successor, Eritch Dragure, by a mix of cunning, diplomacy and threat. He was also the main force behind the establishment of a new suburb in the ‘City, creating it out of what had been a no-go slum area called Ignatius. At one point he was actually holding elected political office there and — by all accounts — represented the interests of the people who elected him very effectively.”
Grim raised a metaphorical eyebrow at the news. He had heard about the turnaround of Ignatius, but he had not linked that with this man. He doubted many had. It was too strange to think that a criminal boss would have any real humanitarian instincts so there had to have been some major profit in it for him somewhere. But at least, for once, it had benefited the community too.
“Jazatar Baldrik,” the techie went on. “Lots of background here.”
Grim made mental notes summarising the information he was being given: ‘City born. Excellent service record from the armed forces. Went mercenary for many years — all reputable work. High rep for professionalism.
“Then ten years ago something strange happened and he got involved in a terrorist attack on a data collection and processing installation in the Varn Sector. Totally out of character. The attack was intercepted and he was arrested, tried and sentenced to the Special Legion. He served the full five year term and was approved for release.”
This was more the kind of man you might think of as a criminal if you passed him in the street. Wary eyes set in sharp features, accentuated by the close cut black hair, which was worn longer at the back and pulled into a brief ponytail. There was an ugly scalp port visible behind his ear, the clearest mark of having served in the Special Legion. It was ‘special’ because you only got in if you were a condemned convict and you only got out if you survived five years with an exemplary behaviour record. Notoriously, the majority of the conscripts didn’t even get to survive their first year and the five year release rate was less than one percent. Which meant this man was exceptional.
Now that was the kind of history that made someone interesting in Grim’s eyes and he could suddenly see something here for him. He leant slightly forward as the data nerd droned on.

From Iconoclast: Mistrust and Treason a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook – which is only 0.99 to buy for a limited period.

Portrait of Durban Chola by Ian Bristow.

Margaret had been chatting to a delightful young woman, Clarice, who often joined her for lunch on the park bench. They would talk about the headlines in Margaret’s paper. She bought a paper every day as she had never yet got the hang of that internet thing and at ninety-three she was sure she never would.
Today’s headline was about men who wanted to be women.
“I quite understand that,” Margaret said. “I’ve always wanted to be one.”
Clarice gave her a strange look.
“So are you a trans or cis woman?”
Margaret smiled vaguely.
“I’m an old woman, dear.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

Murder Mystery Monday celebrates some of the best indie murder mystery fiction that we’ve found. This week we look at The Malykant Mysteries by Charlotte E. English.

Death’s Detective, by Charlotte E. English, is the first collection of Malykant Mysteries and it introduces us to Konrad Savast, his phantom servants Eetapi and Ootapi, and his friend Irinanda.
Neither Konrad nor Irinanda is what they take care to appear to be on the outside, and neither is completely truthful with the other but they are still a great deal to each other and we want them to become more.

Savast is the agent of The Malykt and dispenses that entity’s justice, as he hunts out murderers and sends them to hell.

Irinanda is an apothecary and also… but no that would be too much of a spoiler. You’ll have to read for yourself.

This series of stories is set in a very well realised world, where our heroes slip between realities as they find and unmask murder at its basest.

The writing is clean and succinct, but never loses the intensity of feeling that Konrad’s plight as the unwilling servant of an unforgiving god engenders.

The stories are multilayered and work as simple murder mystery as well as exploration of the relationship between gods and humans, and humans with each other.

Highly recommended.

The glazier was a buffly handsome young man with no shirt and some tattoos. Female teenage bigger exerted herself sufficiently to make him a cup of tea.
Bertha watched over her spectacles.
“Trouble brewing,” she muttered to herself when the young people wandered off in the direction of the summerhouse.
Mother Bigger emerged from the house ten minutes later. She found a half-finished window and no glazier.
Sprinting down the garden she was in time to interrupt a romantic tryst, leading her daughter away by the ear.
The man who came to finish the work was a leathery sixty.

Jane Jago

Roguing Thieves is a previously unpublished Fortune’s Fools story by E.M. Swift-Hook.

Ironically, Tolin chose Mulligan’s Reach to begin their run. It was a trade-hub for the sector and many of the freetraders there would be picking up cargoes bound for the edge of civilised space. The perfect killing ground for Dekker and his crew.
Painting on the same brave smile she had worn when leaving Mulligan’s Reach nearly six years before, Pan joined Tolin in the task of sorting themselves some cargo and then talking to the freetraders in the bar of the spaceport stopover.
Tolin got them into a conversation with two women. One was young and brash, with metallic sheened silvery blonde hair, she had overdone the recreationals and was happily play-flirting with Tolin and equally happily going over her planned itinerary. The other was an older women, who went by the name of Ducky. She admitted to be taking a run ‘out deep’ as she put it. That would make her a perfect target for Dekker. Out beyond the protection of Confederacy space. But she was being close lipped on her cargo and that mattered. Tolin had explained there was no point attacking an ancient planet hopper carrying low-grade raw biomure for processing into meal-synth nutrient. But if it was a cargo of tech or speciality goods for a colony, it could be valuable enough to make a prime target.
When Ducky got up to leave, Tolin caught Pan’s eye and tipped his chin slightly before returning his attention to the chatty woman sitting opposite him. Pan got up and the metallic blonde put out a hand as if to stop her.
“Please don’t go, I was just getting to the good bit.” She offered Pan a tight smile with her front teeth just visible pressed into her lower lip. Muttering an excuse about needing a bio-break, Pan slipped from her seat and headed across the room in Ducky’s wake. The temptation as she followed the freetrader from the bar was to just keep walking and not stop. Her financial log had enough on it that she could buy a ticket and head home to Central. She very much doubted even if Dekker wanted to hunt her down he could do so there.
Wondering if Tolin would even notice, Pan glanced back and saw him looking over at her, whilst the woman with him was saying something. Pushing open the door to the hygiene room she almost ran into Ducky. The freetrader looked at her.
“Good. Think this is about the only place in the whole damned spaceport they don’t run surveillance. Now, I don’t know who you are or what you are doing and can’t say I ‘specially care. But that man you are with, looks to me like it’s not by choice. Is it?”
Pan was so shocked that for a moment no words came. Then she shook her head and was surprised to feel a sudden prickle at the back of her eyes. She swallowed hard and made herself speak.
“No. It’s not. It was. But then I found out what he was.”
Ducky sighed sympathetically.
“Seen it before too many times. I know all the signs.” Her voice changed, becoming business like. “Right. We’re getting you out of here. It won’t be easy because that CSF woman he’s talking to looks likeshe’s about ready to pounce. And while I think he’s her main target she’ll be wanting to scoop you up too.”
For the second time, Pan felt her jaw dropping open.
“CSF?”
The freetrader gave her a strange look.
“There’s naive… and then there’s you. Coalition Security Force. They’ve had eyes on your ship since it landed. You must have noticed.”
A core of cold horror spiralled slowly through Pan’s intestines and her lungs seemed unable to function. But Ducky was already moving to the door.
“Give it a twenty count then follow me out and walk straight to the door. I’m in bay one-nine-six-two. Head straight there and walk like you belong. They might miss you for long enough and if you can get there, I’ll take you offworld.”
Then Pan was alone.

There will be more Roguing Thieves next Sunday…

If I move my wings
Will the wild wind on the ocean wake?
If I move my wings
Will you feel the power of thunder break?
I am small and frail
And my life is measured in a day
I am small and frail
But my wings can waft your world away
Shall move my wings?
As a trial of strength you understand
Shall move my wings?
Or remain quiescent in your hand

©️jj