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

Aaspa and her family are to move into the Citadel. But…

The identical looks of disgust on Owl and Moonflower’s faces would have been amusing if they weren’t so deserved. The Citadel was beyond filthy. Everywhere.
“We cannot be moving into this shithole,” Owl declared vehemently.
I smiled my agreement. “Well not until it has been fumigated. Bring  as many drones as you can trust and I will assign you some fighters to ensure the lazy ones in this place shape up.”
“You mean to trust me with this undertaking?” Owl sounded amazed and a little in awe.
“I do. When we move here the household will be in your charge as it is in our present nest. I have neither the training nor the aptitude, and Moonflower will be busy acting as Papa’s hostess.”
Both females looked at me with their mouths agape.
Moonflower was the first to pull herself together. 
“Aaspa,” she said faintly, “surely you will act as The Master Hunter’s hostess.”
Before I could frame a suitable reply the sound of masculine laughter alerted me to the fact we were no longer alone. I turned my head to see my Papa and my Mate who had contained their laughter but were still grinning as if their cheeks would split. 
I put my hands on my hips. “Okay you two. What is so funny?”
Aascko took me in his arms. “You, my beloved, know precisely what is funny.”
Papa, on whom the Master Hunter’s chain of office still looked a bit like something from the imps’ dress-up box grinned unrepentantly.
“Yes Aaspa. You know as well as I do that the second civic reception you were obliged to hostess would doubtless end in a bloodbath.”
I pushed out my lip in pretended sorrow. “How can you think that of me Papa? Am I not beautiful and feminine enough to grace society. Can I not charm if I so choose?”
Both males started to look at me as if I had grown a second head, but then I spoilt the tease by laughing so hard I all but voided my bladder.
Just as I got myself together, Aascko bent his head and whispered a rude suggestion in my ear. Which got me started again. 
“See,” he said dramatically, “wholly unsuitable.”
Owl and Moonflower gave the males the stink eye, which made me laugh even more. 
“I’m a Hunter,” I said, “and not a bit inclined towards either society or domesticity. You two have the enthusiasm and the know-how. And you even like talking to assorted females.”
Moonflower’s smile was a beautiful thing to behold. “You, Mate of my son, are an inspiration to us all. You understand that everyone has their strengths and have no fear of promoting those around you to best use those strengths. In addition, you have no jealousy in your heart, and no envy in your soul. If only we could all be like you.”
I felt a flush mantle my cheeks and Aascko turned me fully into his embrace. “Truly spoken Mother of mine. The huntress who holds my heart has great virtue, not least of which is her dislike of praise.”
Owl rescued us from the morass of emotion into which we were sinking.
“This is all very admirable. But it isn’t going to get this shithole of a citadel scrubbed…”
Of course, she was right, and the shitadel, as Aascko dubbed it, took an enormous amount of concerted effort to get it clean enough to meet her exacting standards. Me? I helped a bit with bullying lazy and impolite drones, but other than that I just let Owl have her head. 
By the time the moon had turned once, she announced that the Citadel was clean but it now needed furnishing. My Papa gave her a bag of gold coins and told her to go to it. And, bless her steady little heart, she done just that.
From the shelter of the beloved nest we were about to be leaving, and which was now being turned upside down in Owl’s search for furnishings suitable for the Citadel, the imps and I watched in varying degrees of horror. Owlet was firmly of the opinion that Mama had run mad, as was Tiger. Puma and Silver were more tolerant of the upheaval. I mostly kept my own council only putting my head over the parapet when I thought Owl and Small Cat were not taking sufficient care of their health. Small Cat was sensible when reminded, but I had to sit Owl down and talk to her very seriously about her own wellbeing and that of the imps she carried under her heart before she could be brought to slow down.
Another moon of turmoil – and some tantrums – saw us about ready to move into the forbidding grey pile of the Citadel. A dull misty morning found Aascko and I following Owl from room to room. I will admit that it all looked splendid – if not precisely homely. When we finished the tour of the grand public rooms my mate looked at our nest sister and frowned a little. 
“You have worked wonders. But I won’t be living in anything this cold and perfect.”
Owl grinned her cheekiest grin, and for a moment she looked almost pretty.
“No. Nobody has to live in this bit, it’s for public consumption. Come with me.”
She led us down a wide staircase at the bottom of which was a long corridor. It had doors on one side and a wall of windows the other. 
“This is the family wing. I’ll show you all of it later. If you are interested. But for now.” She almost ran ahead of us throwing open the penultimate pair of doors. “Me and Cat’s workplace, with sewing place and office.” She didn’t stop there, though. Throwing us a smile over her shoulder she opened the huge deeply carved doors at the end of the corridor. “Aascko and Aaspa’s new nest.”
It seemed for a moment as if we had been transported back to our  old nest except this was all on one level with huge glass doors opening into a high-walled garden. I threw my arms around Owl and gave her a huge hug.
“You are a clever girl.”
“When I saw these rooms they seemed ideal to me. Even if they do seem to me to have some sort of a bad reputation.”
“What sort of a ‘bad reputation’? Aascko was obviously intrigued.
“This was used to be something called a seraglio.” Owl’s little face crumpled with confusion. “Cat and me think it has something to do with mating, because of all the nudging and winking that went on among the older drones and the guardsmen, but we never asked. Because…” her voice trailed off.
“Because you were embarrassed,” Aascko gave her his kindest smile. “A seraglio, little mother, is the place where a ruling despot keeps his whores.”
“Whores? But the only people living here was some very old males. Though they didn’t seem like full males to me and Cat.”
Aascko spread his hands in a gesture of defeat and I took over. “Males can be whores too. Especially those who are neutered.”
Owl looked at me in dawning comprehension. “Oh,” she said and sat down plump on the floor. “Oh. Have I done a bad thing by assigning us these rooms?”
Aascko laughed. “Not by my way of thinking. The rooms are suitable so.”
“And no ladders to hinder Silver’s progress. You have done a good thing here, my sister, never think anything else.”
Owl leapt up and threw herself into my arms. “I so love you Aaspa,” she sobbed. “Nobody never had a better nest sister.”
I gave her a hug and a little shake. “I love you too. But for now how about we get moved in before the imps become impossible to handle.”
Aascko growled and Branwen arrived, almost as if it had been awaiting this signal. It carried Silver on one narrow shoulder and Owlet, Tiger and Puma trailed a little nervously in its wake. 
Predictably it was Owlet who summed up the situation. “Mother,” he said in his gruffest tones as he came to lean against my leg. “We was worried about moving here. But is just like Home. Only not got ladders.”
I bent to pick him up. “It is Home now. And I’m sure we will all live happily here.”
Puma stood in the middle of the entrance space turning slow circles as she surveyed her new home. After the third turn she smiled lighting her delicate fairylike features with impish glee.
“Owlet says true,” she declared. “Me likes.”
Tiger absentmindedly scratched at his itching wing buds and regarded his new home from beneath the beginnings of brow ridges. “Me likes too,” he declared in as deep a voice as he could manage.
Puma slapped his wrist. “Not scratch. Might damage wings.”
Sensing an imminent sibling fight I opened the door behind which common sense dictated the eating place would be. I was right, so I cocked my head at the rest of the family who followed me in – including Branwen, who looked a bit shy but was being inexorably dragged along by a determined Puma.
Inside the eating place a veritable feast awaited us, as did Small Cat, Papa, and my motley selection of brothers. 
Once the imps were provided with brimming plates of unsuitable delicacies the rest of us stood around eating snacks and drinking fermented fruit juice. 

You can read the full adventures of Aaspa and her imps in Aaspa’s Eyes and Aaspa’s Imps by Jane Jago.

Forthcoming
Spring bounds
Leaping
Loping
Loving

Life returning
Spring sounds
Singing
Ringing
Bringing

Rain Falling
Spring pounds
Soaking
Blowing
Growing

Sun shining
Spring grounds
Bursting
Thrusting
Blooming

E.M. Swift-Hook

I received a copy of this book almost a decade ago the first and only birthday present I got from my father after he left us for a better place (Bermuda as it happens). He had scribbled in the front of it: “I wanted to send you Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince’ but they didn’t have a copy at the airport – this is almost as good. Life lessons, son, life lessons…” and then a scrawled initial.

For a time I used the voluminous volume to support my bedside lamp which was at an awkward height otherwise, its brilliance was shining directly into my eyes when I lay back on my pillows. The trusty tome did sterling service until I replaced the lamp. Then I read it, curious as to what precisely those life lessons might be.

My Review

A loving family adopts a litter of wolf pups then is torn apart and mostly murdered. Self-seeking wins out over altruism. Lots of nasty things happen to nice people.

Highly recommended for being such a good bedside lampstand for so many years, hence four stars. 

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.

The gnomes were fascinated. What could the biggers be up to now? The builders arrived early one morning, they scrabbled and scrooged and poured liquid rock into a hole in the lawn. They set poles in the stuff and built an open-sided house in which they put a water pond. It was high and tall, and it made steam and bubbles.
There’s always one idiot around, and Harvey Gnome was it. He jumped into the foaming wetness, promptly sinking. When they dragged him out all his paint had come off and he stood naked and screaming in the moonlight.

Jane Jago