It hadn’t been in her life plan. She hadn’t intended to become the poster-person, the voice, of a cause. It was just she’d been the one there. Right there, when something happened. And she’d been the one in the crowd who spoke up.
Of course, she hadn’t known it was being recorded. Until her friends started on about how she was going viral. And how brave she had been.
She hadn’t been brave, just there.
When they asked, she shrugged and said: “Someone had to say something. I only did what anyone would do.”
“Yes. But no one else did.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

Because life happens…

You know you are old when you say
Things were never like that in my day
And you no longer care
To spend hours on your hair
Cos you’d much rather go out and play

E.M. Swift-Hook

The Dragonheart Stories:Fairytales for Grownps by Jane Jago is free until 2 March.

Dragonflight

I saw a flight of dragons once
Across the sunset sky
And as they rode the thermals
I wished that I could fly
The dying sun turned skins to gold
And wings to every hue
I thought that I knew beauty
But I learned that wasn’t true
I saw a flight of dragons once
They’re printed on my brain
I think I’d give my sight away
To see that flight again

Dragonheart

In Dragonheart there are no second chances.
The dragon spiralled down out of the sunset, with the orange light setting his skin aflame so that he looked as if he was made of oil and steel. Tia stood and watched, wryly noting the Diamond Throne banner, whilst being careful not to move or speak until the shining one’s feet touched the ground and he furled his wings.
She bowed her head in a formal gesture of welcome.
“Greetings lady,” the voice inside her head was deeper than she expected. This must be a full male, which meant he would be a shifter as well. He would bear watching. Carefully.
“Greetings, bright one.”
The dragon regarded her out of whirling multi-faceted eyes before bowing his head. The silence lengthened, and seemed to Tia that her uninvited guest was trying to make her nervous with his lack of comment. She broke the silence in a deliberately small voice.
“What does my lady mother want of me?”
“Naught. She would merely ascertain that you are well.”
Tia cast down her eyes so he could not see her contempt.
“Perhaps my lord dragon would care to assume his human form and venture inside, to where we can speak in more comfort.”
If it was possible for a dragon to look puzzled, he did so.
“May one ask what makes you think this dragon has a human form?”
For a moment Tia dropped her shield of humility.
“Who am I?” she raised a narrow dark eyebrow.
He thought about that one for a moment before dipping his head.
“One is ashamed.”
Tia was at great pains not to show her contempt for that remark.
“I apologise. It was not my intention to cause you disquiet.”
She felt the dragonish laughter as a vibration that ran right through her skeleton.
“My name is M’a’tsu, and I would be honoured to visit with you.”
Tia curtseyed.
“I will leave you to make the change in privacy.”
She turned and made her way across the flower strewn meadow to the grey stone buildings that clustered at the base of the cliffs and the stone stairway to the temple.
M’a’tsu watched her go, enjoying her long-legged stride and the way her body moved under the simple linen robe she wore. He found himself fantasising about tying her up with the rope of her own black hair, which hung in a braid almost to her knees. Giving himself a sharp inward reminder that he wasn’t there for pleasure, he took the necessary time to compose his mind before making the change.
Once he was in his human form, he stretched for a moment enjoying the different sensations afforded by thinner skin. He looked down at his muscular perfection and briefly considered remaining unclothed but the pleasure of the rapidly cooling air against his human flesh had to be balanced against the possibility of giving offence. Accordingly he shifted himself leather trews and a waistcoat, electing to remain barefoot for the sheer delight of the feel of grass beneath him.

This is an extract from ‘Dragonheart’ one of the adult fairy tales in The Dragonheart Stories by Jane Jago. It is free to download until 2 March. You can listen to this on YouTube.

The drunk biggers in the house started a countdown.

Ten, nine, eight…

At one nothing happened, and Big set out across the wet garden to see what was wrong.

Luckily for him, he had only gone about three paces when there came a flash and a bang and the ‘rocket launcher’ lurched to one side as the big flaming thing flew… 

…straight towards the revellers gathered on the balcony.

The biggers threw themselves to the ground as the firework flashed through the open doors and exploded dramatically in the middle of the room.

Mayhem ensued, watched by the curious nomes.

©jj 2022

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

Two years after she had graduated, almost to the day, Pan was companion of honour to Jennay as she and her wife were married in one of the special chambers of the administrative building set aside for such ceremonies. They had chosen a blue-themed ambiance and classic wedding music. It was a beautiful event and afterwards, the two families mingled at an open-air meal with live music and dancing.
Pan mingled a little but was not interested in dancing. So she sat chatting with Grim about his upcoming exams when a link text dropped into her inbox. For a moment she didn’t believe it. Then she did and her heart seemed to swell physically behind her ribs.
I’ve missed you so much. Sorry for not keeping in touch but work has been crazy. Can we get together soon? xxx
“You alright, Pan?” She glanced up to see Grim was staring at her with a worried expression. “You’ve gone very pale. Do you want me to get you some water?”
For Grim to show that degree of concern she must be looking ill.
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s just…”
Then it all came out.
Grim was a good listener and always less judgemental than either of their sisters. Or if he was he kept it to himself behind that expressionless face. When she finished, the sounds of the festivities all around seemed to come from another planet.
“You going to meet him then?”
That was the question. It wouldn’t be hard. She had subsidised flights from working for Rota and nearly two cycles of untaken vacation due. Her heart had no doubts at all what the answer should be, but her head was calling for caution. Tolin had let their relationship all but die. Did she really want to open herself up to that kind of hurt again?
“You think I should?”
Grim said nothing for a moment and was clearly weighing things up from the lofty heights of a fifteen-year-old’s wisdom.
“I think you’ll regret it if you don’t,” he told her.
She found herself nodding agreement.

They met on Thuringen. A place called Starcity which had a bad reputation for it’s lax approach to organised crime. Pan didn’t see anything that struck her as particularly criminal as she headed through the spaceport. But then she had come in on a Rota freighter and her route out of the port was through an area controlled by their tight security.
Once outside, after the substantive grandeur of Central, she was underwhelmed by the squat, mid-rise blocks that dominated the skyline here.
She summoned an auto-cab and took a short flight to the bar she had logged on her link. A place called Voltz, which the augmented details told her was a popular hangout for freetraders, mercenaries and bounty hunters. Not surprisingly, this was close to the freight end of the spaceport, not far from cheap-rent docking bays.
He was sitting in an alcove and she nearly missed him. If he hadn’t been on her augmented track she would have walked past. As it was even when he stood up she was thinking there had to be a mistake. He looked thin instead of muscular, his face was haggard, part of one ear was missing and there was heavy scar tissue over his cheek and jaw on that side.
A moment later his arms were around her holding her close and she could feel a slight tremor in his grip.
“I’ve missed you so very much, Pan. I was frightened you wouldn’t come. I don’t deserve you, I really don’t.”
She pushed him gently away, holding him at arm’s length and taking in the changes, wondering if she looked just as different to him.
“What’s happened? Are you ill?” She lifted one hand to touch his mangled ear then couldn’t quite bring herself to touch it. “What…?”
He captured her hand and used it to tug her towards the table. As he turned she caught his uninjured profile and a smile, so familiar it hurt. She took a seat beside him and he pushed a drink across the table.
“Your favourite. Well, it always was. I’m sorry if it’s not what you’d want now but the service here is old school. You have to walk to the bar. So I got it in ready for you.”
Pan glanced at the drink. A Colotu spritzer, a recreational she hadn’t touched since her student days. With a shock, she realised she had changed as well these last two years. It was a lot to take on board.
She shook her head slowly. “Just tell me what’s happened to you. Was there an accident? If you need money to get your face fixed properly, I can help.”
She could too. She had been saving the last two years.
“You’d do that?” Tolin laughed briefly. Recapturing her hand, he took it to his lips then placed the palm against the ruined flesh of his face. “No. I truly don’t deserve you. I was thinking you’d take one look and walk out on me. That’s why I didn’t keep in touch. I couldn’t bear even the thought…”
Whatever he had been through had taken the sparkle from his eyes. Without really knowing why, Pan leaned in and kissed him. For a few moments the world around them didn’t matter and when she sat back, Pan found her head and her heart had made peace.
“I wish you had come to me before,” she told him. “I’m not so shallow that you being injured is going to make me stop caring. Tell me what happened and we’ll sort things.”

There will be more Roguing Thieves next Sunday…

You are never too old to have something to say
Just tell it a little bit, some words each day
The older you get, the more you have seen
And the more you might say of the places you’ve been
It’s not always biography, but more like geography
That helps understand the lie of the land
That gives you the right and the clearness of sight
To see the bright glory of some simple story
You are never to old for this one simple choice
To lift up your pen and discover your voice

©️jj 2022

Friday night. A lot of tequila slammers. A very noisy club.
Reasons, not excuses.
Reasons why I woke up to find myself in a wide white bed with only the vaguest of recollections how I got there.
I sat up and had me a think, remembering a tall dark drink of water I’d been intending to have my wicked way with – until the arrival of his wife.
I was about halfway down a few more drinks to drown my disappointment when this suit turned up. All dressed in the most expensive threads with a big diamond winking on his pinky, and a bad case of attitude. Had big, bad bodyguards too, carrying if I didn’t miss my guess.
Scored himself him a VIP enclosure, and watched with a sardonic eye as the money bunnies just about turned themselves inside out trying for his attention. Ignored them. Invited me.
I only crossed the ropes to annoy the bunnies. Him being not my type at all and me being always cautious of heat.
So how’d I get here? My little nose smelled spiked drinks, and that pissed me off so I got out of bed. Somebody had been kind enough to fold my clothes and drape them over a chair. The thong was toast, but I put the rest on and then slipped a couple of things I might have a use for later in my tiny little handbag.
I carefully opened the bedroom door, but there wasn’t any immediately obvious way out as one of the muscle was sitting in a hard chair by the door. He smiled a raptor’s smile and I responded by waggling my fingers. He gestured to a corridor on the the left and I teetered off thataway.
I could smell bacon and hear voices so I walked quietly along the thick carpet towards an open door. As I got closer, the words became clearer.
“She’s precisely what we want. Pretty as a picture and dumb as a stick. He won’t be able to resist her. And I have two weeks to mould her into becoming the instrument of his downfall. It will be a pleasure. On so many levels.”
A woman chuckled. “And she takes the fall for us when he turns up dead?”
“Of course.”
I decided that now would be a good time to make some noise so I whistled a breathy little tune and wandered slowly towards the room making sure I still seemed a little woozy. The suit came out all in a rush, now dressed in designer jeans and obviously worried I might have heard him. I gave him my most dazzling and stupid smile. He bowed and offered me his arm.
Two hours later his driver was dropping me at the address on ‘my’ drivers licence. ‘Good luck with finding me here, boys,’ I thought. I walked in the front door, nodded to the uniformed concierge who dropped me the hint of a wink and made my way straight out the back. A taxi ride and I was at the station buying my ticket for the journey to Grandma’s gaff way out in the sticks.
She knew I was coming, of course she did, and my cousin Jethro awaited me – leaning on the bonnet of a truly filthy Land Rover. He uncurled his six feet odd of muscle and sinew and treated me to a sour look.
“Well here she is at last. I’ve been sitting on the station for three fecking hours waiting for you.”
I shrugged, which set a few things jiggling and was quite enough to coax Jethro out of his foul mood.
“Old lady losing her touch?”
“Not so as you’d notice. Says you been drugged and she won’t be in touch with you properly until all the shite is out of your system.” He turned his wide brown face to me. “Who,”he demanded in a voice pitched somewhere between awe and disgust, “just who was stupid enough to roofie one of this family?”
“I never did catch his name.”
“So he gets away with it?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Jethro chuckled and started the engine. It took us an hour to get to the place where a rutted lane branched off a little-used single-track road. As the Landy, whose mechanics were a good deal better maintained than the state of the exterior would suggest, crawled up the incline I breathed in the upland air and allowed myself a sigh of satisfaction. Jethro patted me with an understanding hand, but said nothing.
Grandma was at the gate of the chaotic garden around her little house. She indicated for me to get out of the vehicle and for Jethro to make himself scarce. Neither of us cared to argue the toss.
Over big mugs of ochre-coloured tea, I told her precisely what had happened. She wasn’t amused. She was not amused one little bit.
“What do you have for me?”
I rooted in my teeny little bag.
“Hair. Nail clippings. And this…”
I indicated the pink rubber balloon with a knot tied in it.
Grandma smiled although it wasn’t a nice expression, and I was reminded, if I needed a reminder, that my grandmother really wasn’t the sort of sweet little white-haired old lady that her age would suggest. She picked up the three items I had laid on the table between us and grunted out a laugh.
“Moulded indeed.”
When the muppet was finished she gave it into my hands in an oddly formal gesture.
“Mould it, my granddaughter.”
I laughed and ran my fingernails over that which lay on the muppet’s waxy thigh.
In the west end of London, a smooth operator in a Savile Row suit doubled over in agony clutching his testicles and screaming.

‘Moulded’ from Pulling the Rug iii, a collection of short stories and poems by Jane Jago.

Walk a while with me, my friend,
Along the far byways that wend
And wind deep in philosophy,
Where wisdom’s always said to be.

This world may seem a foreign place
Where we pass through and leave no trace
A moment now, my friend and I,
Will take before our passing by.

And we will share the tales and tears,
We’ll share the joys and halve the fears,
We’ll take the moments as they rise,
Sorrows bear and happiness prize.

So step out bravely on the road,
Forget you bear a heavy load.
A friend beside you makes this life seem
A sweeter world than you might now dream.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Prunella teaches you how to cook like a toff!

These used to happen only once a year – but now the yummy mummies are at the helm there seems to be one every bloody week. In support of this or that worthy cause, and, no doubt, well-attended by those with nothing better to do. However, one digresses.
Should you be foolish enough to be bamboozled into providing ‘something for the cake stall’ I have the following advice.
If you just want to get it over with choose any one of an almost infinite number of tray bakes for which you will find recipes on the darknet and bake it in a disposable tray. Voila.
However. Should you wish for cult status in your community there is a way. Chelsea Buns.
Spiced bread buns loaded with fruit and drizzled with white icing. The catnip of the cake world.
However there is a price to pay. A four in the morning start. But if you are willing…

At four in the morning.

Into the bowl of your trusty stand mixer place the following.
2kg strong plain flour
8oz caster sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons mixed spice
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
250g very soft butter

Mix gently while the kettle boils. In a large jug put half a litre of cold milk add half a litre of water just off the boil (this equals tepid) add four sachets of dried yeast. Pour the lot into the dry ingredients mixing slowly. This should make a fairly sticky dough. If it’s too dry add some more milk.
Crank the Kitchenaid up to number three and leave it to knead the dough for ten minutes. Then switch it off and crawl back to bed. Not forgetting to set your alarm for six.
When you crawl downstairs knock back the dough and divide into thirds.
Melt 250g of butter
Mix 1 teaspoon of ground ginger and one of ground cinnamon into about 150g of brown sugar
Open a bag of good quality sultanas (500g)
Roll a third of the dough into a rectangle approximately 18in x 9in
Spread a third of the melted butter across the surface. Sprinkle a third of the ginger/cinnamon sugar and a couple of large handfuls of sultanas.
Roll up from the long side. Cut into about 1.25in slices.
Lay the resulting spirals flat on a baking tray leaving about an inch all the way round (baking paper is much easier than greasing the bugger).
Repeat with other two bits of dough.
Cover with a clean old sheet.
Go back to bed.
Set alarm for 8
Buns will have doubled in size. Crank oven up to 220C (which will stink to high heaven if the oven isn’t clean – make note to self to have Mrs Thing clean oven when she comes in on Wednesday).
Bake buns.
They will take about 15 minutes (the way to tell is to pick one at random and eat it).
When buns are cool, make up a bowl of simple water icing (icing sugar sieved and cold water) drizzle over buns and top each with half a glacé cherry.
Done.

Alternatively. Find an independent bakery and order four dozen buns.

Look out for more tips on how to cook like a toff next week!

It was council of war time. The nomes had very long, very bad memories of Big and the things he called fireworks.

“It isn’t even November,” Granny snapped.

“Neither it is, but I doesn’t see what us can do.”

“There must be summat.”

The brangling went on for a while, but to no avail. Even the foreman of moles couldn’t see her way clear to do anything.

Night fell, and the house was full to the brim with drunken biggers. Big strode out into the darkness clutching something to his fat belly. He plopped it into the ground and ran…

©jj 2022