I distinctly recall being read to by Miss. Grimdyke in my primary school years. She always wore a dress that looked like a floral tablecloth and, since she had a body like a coat stand, hung on her like one too. Her hair was grey, wispy and coiled into a tight bun. She had the predatory gaze of a vulture and always smiled whenever a parent or another teacher set foot in the classroom. But to us sweet innocent babes she was a gargoyle of ghastliness.

Then one half-term she announced she would be reading a new book with the most unlikely-sounding title that mixed zoo animals with bedroom furniture. None of us innocent younglings had any idea what was about to be unleashed on us, but we all found little problem in identifying with the abandoned waifs who were the stars of the story. Myself, I felt a close kinship with Edmund, the poor misunderstood child.

Anyway, to the point.

My Review

A group of children run riot in an elderly relative’s house. One of them finds a way into a winter fantasy world. She meets a fascinating half-goat person who feeds her crumpets. One’s own favourite image of the whole tedious book is of this delightful sounding individual and his umbrella. The other children inevitably follow. After much tomfoolery, a lion who acts more like a house cat is tied up and killed. For some reason, this changes things. The children become monarchs then wake up and find it was all a dream.

I didn’t really get the point of it all and felt the old good versus evil theme was completely overplayed.

A nice enough story for a seven-year-old, perhaps – except the killing of the lion bit.

Two stars for nostalgia.

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.

Knobsie was in the cabbage patch sobbing. He had lost his tiny pink winkle and he was inconsolable.
“Where did you lose it?”
“Me doesn’t know. It just gone.”
Which, in an acre and a half of garden, wasn’t much help.
The gnomes tried, but it was close to impossible, a one centimetre piece of pink plaster wasn’t going to be found unless they got very lucky indeed.
A week later, a sparrow overflew Bertha and dropped something at her feet.
As she superglued Knobsie back together she chuckled. “It’s a good job your winkle looks like a worm’s nose.”

Jane Jago

…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.

What with deadlines and proofs and all the other minutiae of life, nobody in the house had much time to consider American ‘evangelists’ and Mike had managed to push the whole thing to the back of her mind when two policemen and a WPC arrived. Ro showed them into the conservatory, where two extraordinarily ugly terriers of unspecified breed greeted them enthusiastically, leaving white hairs all over their dark uniform trousers. Mike came in from the garden and banished the two terrors to their basket.
‘Sorry about them two. I’ve got a special brush that’ll get the hair off. I’m Mike Johnson. My husband will be with us in a minute. He’s on the phone.’
One of the policemen smiled. ‘No problem. I always wanted to meet Bogg and Scrat. Thought they might be worse.’
‘They was when they was younger’ Ro spoke from the doorway where she stood with a tray of cups and plates in her hands. She dumped them on the big side table and retreated.
‘I expect she’s gone for coffee and cake. Do please have a seat.’
Mike sat in her big cane chair and Leo’s German Shepherd, Ike, came and put his big blonde head on her lap. The police contingent sat down a bit awkwardly and nobody said anything until Leo came out of the kitchen with a plate of fancy cakes in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. Ro followed him with sugar and a jug of hot milk. She grinned at Mike before effacing herself. Leo poured coffee and handed out cakes.
‘Okay’ he said genially ‘I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit, and as I don’t recall breaking any laws lately it must be about the incident at the bathing pool.’
The coppers looked relieved.
‘It is. And it’s nice not to have to build up to it gently. Most of your neighbours have chosen to pretend ignorance.’
‘Pillocks’ Mike said without heat. ‘They’ll have been talking about little else. Although it’s probably true that most of them weren’t around when it happened. On a Monday morning at that time most of the men will have buggered off, either to work or the golf club, and the women will have dropped their unfortunate offspring at whichever overpriced educational establishment they favour and gone to the hairdresser or the manicurist, or the gym, or whatever else they waste their lives doing.’
The younger policeman tried unsuccessfully to smother a laugh, and his male companion’s lips twitched under a carefully groomed moustache.
‘That’s about the size of it. Two houses reckon to have been empty. Two with only Filipino housekeepers home. Two only Polish cleaners. And one with a live-in nurse for an elderly dementia patient. In the end, they all cooperated. Stiffly. For some reason we sensed a certain amount of hostility towards the occupants of this house – especially among the women. Got any ideas about that?’

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

Walking home at night, her heels clicking on the pavement.
Yesterday he’d watched her walk into the underpass, her bag swinging with each firm stride and the shadows of passing cars flickered over the graffiti. There was something about her – her face, her legs, her smell.
He’d watched but not followed.
Today when she passed his hideout, he hesitated before slipping from the bushes to follow her underground.
They were almost through the underpass before she knew he was there and turned, mouth open in an O of surprise.
“You look half-starved, poor little dog. You come home with me.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

Having seen the Magistratus to his office, Dai was heading for his own office on the first floor of the building and had reached the door when he got a call from Bryn, his voice heavy.
“We got an ID on the body. It’s Manius Terfel.”
Dai struggled for a moment. “But he’s the Magistratus’ primus secretarius. He was with Caudinus for years. He was…” Realising how he sounded Dai stopped talking and drew quick breath. “He was a good man.”
“I was wondering if you wanted to be the one to tell the Magistratus. He might be…”
“Yeah. I’ll do it. And you ought to know he’s planning to perch on your shoulder for this investigation. I tried to talk him out of it but he seems to think it’s his duty to do so in order to protect you lot from any chance of getting blamed for missing something since he says this could make it all the way to Rome.”
“Merda.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s like the man has his heart in the right place but not always his brain. I’m not going to leave you on the sidelines with this even if Dominus Sextus Catus is. Meet for prandium, usual taberna?”
Dai agreed and finished the call then headed back down to the Magistratus’ office.
On the way he ran into Senior Investigator Brutus Gaius Gallus. The older man had been a Praetorian Decanus until a few months ago, part of a vexillation sent to help Dai secure law and order when he first took on the role of Submagistratus. When the Praetorians were recalled to Londinium, Gallus had surprised everyone by choosing to stay behind and take a transfer to the Vigiles as a Senior Investigator.
He was a man typical of his generation and upbringing and although Dai had begun to appreciate the honesty and intelligence that the ex-soldier brought to the job, there was still something he thought Gallus held back when in conversation with him. Bryn seemed to find a good measure of social ease with his colleague, but then they were of an age. But a reserve remained between Dai and Gallus that neither really seemed able to completely overcome.
With all his mind concentrated on the task to hand the last thing Dai wanted right now was yet another awkwardly polite exchange.
Gallus put a hand on his arm. “If I could have a word.” Torn between duties, Dai hesitated, which was clearly enough for Gallus to presume he was willing to listen there and then.
“I wanted to ask how the Citizen recruitment program is progressing. I still only have two Citizens in my team and if we are to work towards producing the local armed response force we need…”
Hard pressed though he was Dai had to admit Gallus had a point, it was a project they were both committed to and recent events had proved even a small number of armed Vigiles could make a big difference when tackling groups of criminals. So he suppressed his irritation.
“I know. And I wish I had a way to attract more applicants. But I’m not sure there is one.”
Gallus dredged up half a grin. “You don’t think it’s to do with working under me then?”
The question took Dai aback. “No. Not in the slightest. I think your team are very happy with you. It’s just that most Citizens seem to think a career in the Vigiles is beneath them.”
Gallus grunted. “I used to think that.” Then he presented Dai with half a salute before striding off.
Bestia was emerging from the room as Dai reached it, a frown on his face.
“Ah. Llewellyn. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Turbel have you? I can’t seem to raise him. I was just heading to his office to see if he was out.”
“Terfel,” Dai said carefully. “Manius Terfel and if we could step into your office for a moment please, dominus.” The frown deepened for a moment, but Bestia must have seen something in Dai’s expression because he opened the door again and gestured Dai inside.
“What is it? You look quite green around the gills.”
“SI Cartivel has just identified the corpse in the portico, dominus. It is that of Manius Terfel.”
Bestia blinked a few times then gulped in some air.
“Surely – there must be some mistake. I only spoke to the man yesterday evening. He was…” Then the Magistratus broke off and shook his head. “Dead you say? That is not good. Not good at all.”

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

The biggers were at it again: something about a trip to the Muffdives being cancelled.
Mother Bigger was throwing one: something about her tan. The teenagers, of course, were completely over the top.
Big Bigger started shouting, and the gnomes all ducked as something flew through a window that wasn’t open.
Everyone fell facedown as a flatscreen tv wound up in the pond, where it made a peculiar hissing noise and sunk without trace.
Big Bertha ambled over for a look.
“Best none of us was here.”
The gnomes faded as Big Bigger emerged to see what he had wrought.

Jane Jago

What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted…

“Jazatar Baldrik was released from the Special Legion to serve with the defence force based on Thuringen, but resigned within a cycle following a violent fracas with three other members of the unit. He remained on Thuringen a while doing nothing much that we could see, then we lost sight of him for a few cycles before he reappeared in the ‘City right around the same time that Chola arrived. There were some unconfirmed reports that he was involved with the explosion that destroyed the infamous Voltz hangout, killing over two hundred people. But if it was him, it certainly did nothing to damage his reputation.
“He was working as head of security for Sarnai Altan soon after, then switched his loyalty to Durban Chola when he took over from her. You saw an example of Baldrik’s handiwork at the start. He is a killer of the most dangerous kind: not just vicious and ruthless, but intelligent enough to be highly effective as well. That said, bringing him to account for it would be a challenge as he — so far as we know — restricted his nasty habits to the ‘City.”
Which was the real irony of it, Grim reflected. The main reason the ‘City was seen as crime capital of the Coalition was not so much because it had more criminals than anywhere else, as because it had a legal framework which meant the criminal leaders were almost sovereign — their people could literally act with impunity. In the ‘City, organised crime was not treated in the way it was elsewhere in the Coalition.
“We believe he was personally responsible for the murder of at least five of our own operatives in the course of one year and any number of others on behalf of his employers. That said, he was not very loyal to any of them. He was reputedly selling information on Chola to other Names and for a time we even had him on our books as an informer — at his own instigation.”
Now Grim began to see where there might be some reason for his inclusion in this briefing. This man sounded exactly the kind of unpleasant individual he had made his career out of pursuing. He straightened up in his chair and tried to pay more attention. There was quite a bit more on various possible, suspected and proven crimes involving the two men and it was all beginning to sound pretty intriguing. Admittedly, Chola was not the kind of criminal he was much used to hunting down, but Baldrik fitted his preferred profile perfectly.
The only aspect of this he was not liking so much, was the idea of having to work in the ‘City. He knew it well enough. Like most of his generation of CSF operatives, he had trained there, cutting his teeth on the hard carapace of ‘City criminality. But he could not be comfortable in a place where all the normal rules were blurred and the idea of protecting the innocent from the guilty was warped by the fact that innocent and guilty were decided by forces other than the legal structures he served. Even so, for the chance to bring down an animal like Baldrik, it could be worth it. So as the initial survey was coming to a close, he watched the images with growing speculation.

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.

The meeting finished and Erica found herself frustrated as usual.
“It’s like the blind men and the elephant,” she told Rosie, her cat as she served up a tin of sardines. “They all only see their own problem, not how it fits the whole.”
At the next meeting she tried to explain this to her colleagues.
“It’s like you’re all holding onto part of an elephant and not realising they are all bits of the same thing.”
There was an odd silence then someone cleared their throat.
“So is this the elephant in the room – or is that another elephant?”

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 Homeswappers by Adriana Licio

The Homeswappers series is a humorous cosy mystery series set in various locations around Europe from historic Prague to the Highlands of Scotland. As well as the murder mystery itself there is also a wonderful element of travelogue as all the places are clearly known and loved by the author as personal experience of them shines from every page.

Our companions in these adventures are Etta and Dora, two retired teachers who have moved in together to share a house in their Italian island home and who decide to go travelling by home swapping their way around Europe.

Etta is the more classically clever and deductive but Dora has insights and inspirations and can do her share of deduction too. They make a great team, usually supportive, sometimes competitive and on occasions falling out.

And one of the first things they fall out over is Napoleon, a soulful basset hound they encounter in their first home swapping adventure in Rothenburg. Dora knows he is part of the team, the more practical and pragmatic Etta takes a bit more persuading that it is going to be possible to travel with a basset. You can guess who wins this one…

This is a series you can dive into at any point, but is probably best appreciated from either the first home swap The Watchman of Rothenburg Dies or from the series prequel Castelmezzano, The Witch Is Dead where Dora and Etta meet and before Napoleon is a twinkle in their eyes…

For an indie offering these books are very well presented and professional, from the wonderful covers to the immaculate editing, so much so it is hard to guess they are indeed indie. If you enjoy cosy mysteries with a bit of an edge and a good serving of humour and like to have immersively described interesting settings then this is going to be a series for you to enjoy.

The gnomes watched furtively while some strange biggers dug, sweated, swore and laboured at building a big pond. A pond with square sides and blue tiles. Late at night, when the garden folk had the place to themselves they strolled over to stare.
It was, as Big Sid declared, a bloody big hole.
But then it was finished and filled with water, and the household biggers jumped in and out squealing gleefully.
The party to christen the pool might have been less successful if the guests had seen a line of grinning gnomes pissing into the water in the moonlight.

Jane Jago