The biggers must have had one hell of a party. Big came into the garden with both arms full of cardboard and bright paper. Stopping only to vomit in the herbaceous border he disappeared.
Little Frankie puzzled out the words on one of the discarded boxes.
“Fes Tiv Fa Ther Chris Mas G-Nome. Wassa G-Nome.”
“It’s a nome. The G is silent.”
Frankie stared incredulously at the oldest nome who sat on her toadstool knitting purple bedsocks.
“Is you Ranny then?”
Only the quickness of Big Bertha’s hamlike fists stopped ‘Ranny’ from hurling Frankie into the cement pond.

©jj 2021

Imagine waking up one day unable to recall who you are or where you came from – only to find you are serving a sentence as a convict conscript for crimes you have no memory of ever committing…

Vane thought for a moment. This man being considered for release would bring a huge public outcry – from both sides. It would unearth all the old arguments about human rights and the extremes of compulsory military service. Suddenly he understood why the CSF were involved and why he was being so heavily pressured to give on this.
“This is about the future of the Special Legion, isn’t it?”
Var Tyran smiled, like a teacher with a star student in the making.
“So you see,” she told him, “this way he has his chance to see what life is like on the outside – and inevitably reject it. The Coalition is seen to carry through with just policies on clemency for valorous service, even in extreme cases, which will please the more fuzzy-thinking liberal elements. But, in the end, you will get him back under your command, which will satisfy the hard minded realists. So everyone will win. It all ties up very neatly.”
“My command? Not if he re-enlists in the regular way.”
“There is evidence to suggest it may be the more extreme environment of the Special Legion is one he would seek. And as you are well aware all ex-Legionaries have the right to re-enlist with their original unit. Even the Specials.”
Vane felt his credulity stretching. No sane individual would choose to be in the Specials. Then, he reminded himself, hard as it was to accept, this was a man who had ‘grown up’ in the Legion and to whom it must therefore have some strange sense of ‘home.’ It was a very uncomfortable thought.
“And you would be happy with such an outcome?” he asked.
Var Tyran smiled with real warmth, leaning forward, her eyes bright with delight, and Vane found himself smiling back at her.
“Oh I would get to wear a feather in my cap for a while, I suppose – thanks to you.”
Vane nodded, not wanting to point out he had been speaking of her organisation not her personal feelings on the matter. In fact, he liked she took it that way.
“I wish you’d told me all this before the interview, it would have made me view things very differently.”
“So do I,” she said, settling back with an apologetic smile. “I was in a foul mood – very unprofessional of me – personal matters.” Vane waited, his silence encouraging. After a moment of hesitation, in which her cheeks paled visibly, she ploughed on: “My boyfriend left me last night.”
Vane’s second thought was that the man, whoever he might be, had to be a fool. His first was more to do with his own personal benefit.
“I am sure it must have been difficult for you to deal with,” he told her sympathetically.
She nodded and gave him a brief, tooth-press, smile
“Just so long as my boss doesn’t find out I lost it – I’d be reassigned to data crunching if she did. This is my first big break in the department.”
This, her first admission of vulnerability, made Vane feel suddenly protective.
“She won’t hear anything from me,” he promised. “Var Tyran, I – “
“Cista,” she corrected him, interrupting gently. He smiled and was distracted by the need to acknowledge a security message on his link. Then he gave her his full attention.
“Cista, I want you to know when I finished viewing the data you gave me I put through my recommendation for release. I have just now confirmed the discharge. It should all be officially cleared by the end of the day. Revid should be free to go tomorrow.”
The delight and relief in her eyes were reward enough for him.
“Then we have something to celebrate, Commodore.”
“Isvan.”
“Isvan – I propose we go eat, I know a lovely place downtown from here -” she broke off and her face showed a slight hint of colour. “Sorry, that wasn’t very professional either. I mean –“
He smiled, loving her awkwardness.
“I would be delighted to join you for a meal, Cista – in the interests of inter-agency cooperation and team-building of course.”

From Trust A Few – book one in Haruspex, the second Fortune’s Fools trilogy by E.M. Swift-Hook – which is only 0.99 to buy for a limited period.

Because life happens…

The secret of living is this:
You don’t need ecstasy and bliss,
You just need a good man
Who knows how to – and can
Do the dinner when you are half-pissed.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The problem with having little legs is you keep getting left behind. Shorty was so lost he just laid back his head and howled. But missis never heard him. He sat on the cold pathway shivering in the thin rain.

Then a gruff voice spoke.

“Are you lost, little chap?”

Shorty whined. 

“Ain’t passed anybody back that way…”

He picked Shorty up and his legs moved so fast they would surely catch missis soon.

When Shorty heard her voice calling desperately, the man speeded up. 

The advantage of having little legs is that big men rescue you – and missis too…

©️jj 2020

Tallis Steelyard: Six Men in a Boat, by Jim Webster

One step (or, more accurately, a jump) ahead of his creditors, Tallis Steelyard winds up on Baldart Twirl’s flatboat. His adventures pile up while he figures out precisely why he was run out of town.
Peopled with Jim Webster’s signature mixture of idiots, sages and oddballs this book is a joy from start to finish.
If you have enjoyed the Tallis Steelyard short stories, you’ll enjoy this full-length novel even more. The characters and storyline are more than sufficient to sustain the longer format and belly laughs abound.
Highlights for me?
An erudite mule, and the machinations of Baldart Twirl himself.
Buy it and read it.
Five shiny stars.

Jane Jago

A Boating Adventure With A Difference

When unavoidable circumstances meet with unfortunate events, as Tallis Steelyard could no doubt tell you, the only option is to run like hell.
However for Tallis that meant winding up on a flatboat being towed behind a steamer. His adventures include a contribution to opera, absconding with religious tomes, a friendly – if at times rather dangerous – rivalry with the crew of another flatboat, being the judge of a local flower show, nomad attacks, a well-educated mule and a mysterious ancient cult.
Jim Webster is one of those authors who makes me wish for a louder voice so more might hear about and discover his works. They are simply wonderful.
There is nothing quite like a Tallis Steelyard adventure. It has pathos, humour, danger and a uniquely engaging, secret, unidentifiable ingredient all of its own which Mr Webster must keep as close to his chest as Coca-Cola.
So if you have never been introduced to Tallis Steelyard before, this is a great place to meet him. If you know him well and have yet to take his boating adventure then delay no longer.
Either way, this is a wonderful book that will surely delight you.

E.M. Swift-Hook

A brutal fantasy tale of piracy, friendship, romance and revenge on the high seas…

In a surprisingly short time, the choppers reckoned the wreck to be free. Jack couldn’t hear what they had to say, but their gestures were interesting as they cajoled, or bullied, the Spanish contingent into putting their shoulders to the wreck. They must have all pushed together as the skeleton of the Santa Hosefina shot out of the clutches of the reef like a cork out of one of the bottles of fizzy wine the hidalgos so prized. The pieces of ship floated quite nicely, which was more than could be said for the mercenaries, most of whom still wore their steel breastplates. It looked as though the sailors on the reef were trying to reason with Gobby in the matter of the fate of the sinking Spaniards.
Jack mentally wished them good luck with that little project, before turning his attention to the approach of the Pink Pig. He knew he need not worry, and that Mary’s seamanship was of the highest order, and she was at the wheel herself, but he had just seen a ship tear herself apart on the unforgiving coral. He had to force himself to breathe as the Pig manoeuvred her nose into the gap. Almost before he had chance to really worry the sleek little barque was bobbing gently in the quiet water of the lagoon. The crew furled sails before ‘out oars’ was called.
As soon as she came alongside, Jack leaped aboard.
“Nice sailing love.”
Mary grinned. “A bit less dramatic than yours. Or the eeejit in charge of the galleon. What was he thinking of?”
One of the huddled sailors spoke up. “Gold. He were thinking of gold. A lot of gold.”
“That’d do it.”
Jack wandered over to where Don Esteban lay tied hand and foot and with the beginnings of a prizewinning bruise blooming on the white skin of his jaw.
“I’m glad you belted him, love, but I’m curious to know why.”
“Oh him. See the sailor over there with the bandaged leg?”
Jack nodded.
“Well. Your proud hidalgo there slashed him so he’d bleed in the water and attract the sharks. If it hadn’t been that you’re so set on killing him yourself I’d have made his face bleed and chucked him in the water as shark-bait hisself.”
“Oh he is a brave nobleman ain’t he. Do you think he’s still asleep? Or is he pretending?”
Mary’s grin grew just a bit vicious and she snapped out an order. Two of her brawny girls picked up the hogtied nobleman and carried him to the side of the boat. They tied a rope around his ankles and threw him into the sea headfirst. After a minute or so they pulled him up sufficiently so they could see his furious face. Mary looked at Jack.
“I reckon he’s awake now.”
“I reckon he is my love. Would you mind telling the girls not to hurry pulling him in. We fight an hour before sunset. Once I’ve killed his ass for him we should be able to catch the turning tide and get our ships out of this lagoon.”
“Right. Fine.”
Mary snapped a sarcastic salute and Jack retaliated by pulling her head down to his level and kissing her with embarrassing thoroughness. She came up for air with pink cheeks and slightly unfocused eyes.
“I’ll get you for that Jack Stainless,” she promised.
He grinned unrepentantly and leapt back onto his own ship.
One of Mary’s bolder girls looked at her captain and winked. “You bit off a mouthful with that one. If you ever needs a hand…”
Mary laughed and aimed a halfhearted blow. “That’n’s mine. Hands off.”
“It weren’t my hands I was thinking of.”

Jane Jago

There will be more from Bony Mary and her crew next week…

The Amazon delivery man
Plays a game whenever he can.
He hides your packages with such care
You’d never guess that they were there.
It’s not under a bucket or beside the shed,
It’s in your recycling bin, though he never said.

When you get home all tired and worn
You wish that man never was born
Out in the garden, you search with a torch
Why didn’t he leave it safe in your porch?
You look under a bucket and beside the shed,
But not the recycling bin, cos he never said.

E.M.Swift-Hook

The big man, with his little dog trotting at his heels, walked out of the Tavern quietly and without waking anyone. Which was probably just as well, Archanbor decided, as Ritter wasn’t in a good mood. He didn’t like being locked up. Outside the streets of Keran were mostly deserted and Archanbor moved with silent speed avoiding those few who were up and around.
“No point startling folks is there Ritter?” Archanbor observed as he opened up the low shed beside the workshops attached to the spaceport. The small dog seemed to agree and watched as his master rolled the heavy felt cloth back over the body of a PTV.
“Well, if he’d not locked us up I’d have offered him a fair hire price – but he doesn’t bloody deserve it now – that was so not a nice thing to do.”
“What isn’t nice, Drum?”
Archanbor spun on his heel and would have fired if Ritter hadn’t barked a sharp warning and run over to sniff at the figure standing in the door, his tail wagging happily.
“Pan? You look as beautiful as ever,” Archanbor opened his arms to offer her a hug. She didn’t move from the doorway, just stood there arms crossed all disapproving.
“You borrowing Gernie’s PTV then Drum?”
Archanbor lowered his arms sheepishly and tucked the energy snub away out of sight. He nodded.
“Oh aye. I was planning on it. Me and Ritts we need to get to Tabruth and it’s a bloody parlous long walk and swim if not.”
Pan nodded agreement.
“It would be. Not at all safe,” she agreed. “So what business do you and Ritter have in Tabruth? I hear that’s where the Overlord has his capital – you got trade with him, Drum?”
Archanbor rubbed his nose a few times and glanced down at Ritter for inspiration.
“Of a sort,” he said eventually.
Pan looked almost stern.
“You mean – your old trade? The one you promised Ritter you’d give up?”
That was so not fair. Even Ritter growled.
“What’s it bloody matter to you?” Archanbor demanded.
“To me? Not much. But to you it could matter. I know for a fact the Overlord has visitors right now and they are a bit out of your league for nowadays, Drum. I just wouldn’t want to see – see Ritter get hurt.”
Which showed what little she knew.
“If I don’t go Ritter will get hurt. And it’s not like I’m going to drop anyone. Just borrow – like I’m borrowing Tavi’s PTV. It’ll all be fine in the end.”
Pan was shaking her head.
“You go borrowing people you could wind up breaking them, Drum. You don’t want that. We’re all getting too old for it. Why don’t you come have a cup of tea with me before you go, at the least? I got a biscuit for Ritter too.”
He looked at the little dog who was standing head on one side.
“He’s not been eating biscuits recently. I think he’s off them,” Archanbor shot a worried look at Pan. “You think he might be not so well?”
She looked anywhere but at the dog, her face considering.
“He might be. If he is, taking him off out to Tabruth won’t help him get any better. Why not come have that tea and let him curl up by my fire for a few, Drum? Maybe that’ll help him some.”
Ritter barked and showed what he thought of that idea. Archanbor laughed. He wouldn’t be sorry to have some tea, it might help settle out his hangover.
“Alright, lass – and thank you.”
Pan’s domain was always a mix of the domestic and the workaday. She scooped a mug of tea for each of them from the pot and then stirred the embers of the fire to life and put a small log on to burn, before joining him and allowing a space for Ritter on the small rug before the hearth.
“A fine brew this, Pan,” Archanbor told her.”You know if you had not up and bloody married I’d be making you a proposal myself.”
“You’d be in the queue then Drum,” she said, her tone good natured. “But you know, you could always settle down here – find someone nice who’s local. You know you have a lot of friends here, people who’d be glad to see you stay. And Gernie would appreciate the help you could give – he could probably even get you on the official payroll. It would be steady for you – and Ritter, of course.”
She meant well. She always did. Heart of gold – like Gernie. He shook his head.
“Bit late for that now.”
Pan shot him a strange look, like he’d said something rude.
“It’s never too late, Drum. You just stop running, sit down, put your feet up and root in. It’s what I did. And how many other places have you got good friends? People who will look out for you?”
“I have Ritter,” Archanbor told her, smiling slightly at the little dog.
“Of course you do – and you’ll always have him. But maybe he’d like it if you settled down? No more running all over the galaxy.”
Archanbor thought about it and looked enquiringly at the little dog. Honestly, sometimes it was as if Ritter could read his thoughts.
“What you think Ritts? Should we take Auntie Pan’s advice? She’s bloody right you know.”
The small dog yawned and stretched then stood up and put his head on one side.
“What does Ritter think then?” Pan was asking, looking towards the fire.
“I’d say that looks more like he thinks we ought to be getting going,” Archanbor said, feeling just a touch regretful. It would be good to be able to sit here, drink the tea and then maybe spend the day working on mending or building something. He’d enjoyed that in the past. “Maybe when we get back. Maybe then. What you think to that Ritts?”
The wagging tail said it all.
“It might be a bit late then,” Pan said quietly. Archanbor laughed.
“Make your bloody mind up, lass. First, you’re telling me it’s never too late and then you’re saying it will be.”

From Haruspex 3: A Walking Shadow by E.M. Swift-Hook

The ball glitters
Under the lights
Glams the sham
Of disco nights
Adds glamour
To a sweaty youth
And spinning wildly
Hides the truth

©️jj

Prunella teaches you how to cook like a toff!

The biggest test of any woman’s cookery skills (as well as her patience and tolerance for alcohol) is luncheon for a group of her own sex.
The best advice, honestly, is to never allow oneself to be inveighed into hosting what can only be accurately described as a bitchfest.
Should you be foolish enough I have a few words of consolation.
However badly the occasion falls out there will always be worse in living memory – with the proviso that you remember the three golden rules.
Never serve chicken (by some intervention of Beelzebub it will always be raw in the middle)
Never run out of booze
Never allow your husband/offspring/brothers within shouting distance (they will find it terribly funny to cause mayhem and leave you apologise for them)
So, ladies, to our muttons. Now might indeed be a good time to break out your finishing school cookery. Or it might not. Perfect salmon en croute may be the normal order of the day for you, but with fifteen arch-critics at the door, failure is guaranteed. Burned pastry with raw fish inside is the best you can expect. Do. Not. Attempt. Anything complicated. If you must show off your culinary talents I strongly suggest a casserole which can be perfected the day before and merely heated on the day.
But. Having, unbeknownst to me, been made a member of a group of ‘ladies who lunch’ (I believe my unlamented mother-in-law to have been responsible) I have developed a coping mechanism which I am prepared to share here.
The food.
Tapas. Consisting of whatever you can find at your nearest German supermarket (not Waitrose, or Samantha, Lucinda et al will even be au fait with the price). Shove your purchases onto the best Coalport serving platters and smile your best humbly self-satisfied smile.
The booze.
Unlimited amounts of sangria and/or Agua de Valencia. Shakes head at puzzled young women. These drinks are both ironic and carefully lethal.
Mix as follows.

Sangria

2 litres red wine
1 litre Fundador or similar sherry-based brandy
2 tablespoons muscovado sugar
2 large oranges sliced
1 large lemon sliced
2 punnets strawberries
1 cinnamon stick
2 star anise
1 litre lemonade
Mix all ingredients except lemonade in large jugs at least three hours prior to luncheon. Add lemonade at the last minute.

Agua de Valencia

2 litres orange juice
4 sliced oranges (blood oranges for preference)
1 bottle cheap gin
1 bottle cheap vodka
4 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 bottles cava
Mix all ingredients except cava beforehand. Add cava just before the wenches descend

And there you have it. A no-fail luncheon for your natural enemies.

Just one last thing. Make no attempt to hide the supermarket packaging the food came in. If you do, your husband’s ex-girlfriend will seek it out and parade it about the room. Which bitchery there is no point to if you leave the packets in a neat pile on the kitchen worktop. Benefit two of this strategy is that when a mildly intoxicated young woman demands to know if the king prawns were prepared to Mary Berry’s recipe or Nigella’s you can recommend her to go and read the packet.

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