The hooves of his ponies clattered lightly past the plaza as they trotted up towards the Castle Hill. Alfor on the morning after the Fair, was like a party when all the guests had gone home. Durban found it slightly depressing and he was glad to be leaving himself. A voice hailed him from the steps of the Temple of the Gods and he was not at all surprised. He stopped his pony and waited whilst a stooped figure came slowly down the steps and crossed towards him. It was an elderly woman, her face half hidden beneath the hood of her cowl, her body bent and shapeless in its robes. She laid one hand on his bridle and looked up at him with clear blue eyes that held no trace of the ravages of age. For once Durban felt no desire to smile. He sat quite still, whilst the pack ponies shifted restlessly behind him. “I suppose you have come to tell me not to do it.” His voice sounded even to his own ears like that of a petulant child and the old woman smiled gently. “Should I tell the wind not to blow, or the sun not to rise? Your nature is to act as you should do.” “Then why are you here?” “To offer you a gift.” Durban felt uncomfortable beneath the calm blue gaze, exposed and vulnerable as if his very thoughts were open to being read. “I have all I need,” he said sulkily. “I am sure you do. But a man who tries to yoke and drive wild stallions needs more than a good whip and a steady hand.” She could read his thoughts, curse her. He shifted his gaze to stare deliberately at the slowly brightening skyline. “You should be pleased,” he said, his voice stiff with resentment. “It’s what you want after all.” He heard a strange sound and realised that she was laughing at him. “My dear child, whatever gave you the idea you could act otherwise?” “Just say your piece and let me go. I’m expected at the castle.” “Very well, I do not seek to delay you. But my gift is of knowledge – so perhaps you would prefer to pay for it? Shall we settle on a favour in the future?” His eyes were drawn back to hers by her tone and he read a far from gentle mockery in the vivid blue depth and felt a slight sick sense of claustrophobia. “Please –” he began, but the words choked in his throat and he felt himself incapable of movement of any kind. Be warned, the voice seemed to come from within him. You think your fiery steeds an even match, but one is stronger than you know – strong enough to break the traces and trample you beneath its cutting hooves and what then, my brave charioteer? “What should I do?” he heard his own voice although he had not willed it, but could not tell if he had spoken the question in words or thoughts. Use the reins lightly and spare the whip. If it is racing its team-mate, it will not notice the direction it runs, nor mark the distance covered. And when the race is done you will bring him to me. The voice stopped and Durban became aware of the first sounds of the city stirring to meet the new day. He blinked and found himself frowning at the woman. “Why do you do these things to me?” he asked, to his own ears sounding half plaintive child and half frightened man. The old lady smiled with the serenity of youth. “Because you are my gift to Temsevar and it never hurts you to remember now and again that whilst you make the puppets dance, your own strings are tied to my fingers.”
Ah. Christmas the time of cheery carollers, sleigh bells, and happy families. Or, looking at it less romantically, the time of burnt dinners, family fights, and divorce.
That first Christmas together. That’s the one that sets the pattern for all the others. Do not go to his mother’s. Or yours. Ideally, see no one and do a lot of sex.
Given that that isn’t happening, here are a few ground rules.
1. Do not be cozened into buying them tins of mixed sweeties. There will be at least two thirds that nobody likes. You will be reduced to feeding them to the dog in August.
2. Booze. Do not buy eggy stuff. It looks like snot and it tastes like snot, and nobody will drink it. If granny likes a Snowball. Buy a couple of ready made ones in pouches. She will only go to sleep with her face in the sprouts if you give her proper booze.
3. The Turkey. You do not need something the size of a Shetland Pony to feed you, your husband, and granny. Small is beautiful. After all nobody really likes turkey anyway.
4. Cooking. There’s a lot of rot talked about Christmas dinner. Do plenty of roast potatoes and a ton of them little sausages wrapped in bacon, because that’s all anybody eats.
5 Most importantly. The Punch. It should be very strong. And to begin with it should taste nice. After The Queen’s Speech it pretty much stops mattering. By that time people will drink meths.
And that is the secret of Christmas in a nutshell (NB do not buy nuts. Somebody – usually your new husband’s cousin from Reading – will inevitably display the symptoms of anaphylactic shock if you do).
Granny’s Punch
1 litre brandy 1 litre vodka 1 bottle ginger wine 1 litre pineapple juice 1 litre ginger ale 1 net of baby oranges 1 large tin pineapple chunks Loads of glacé cherries Punch bowl/clean plastic bucket/WHY Ice
Cut the oranges in halves, then throw everything in the punch bowl. Drink much of it yourself.
A brutal fantasy tale of piracy, friendship, romance and revenge on the high seas…
The trip took some three weeks, and when Mary returned to Retiro she left Isabella safely aboard the Pig and went looking for Jack. She found him pacing his own deck like a caged animal and obviously torn between laughter and berserker fury. Unspoken communication got them to the same dining room where One-Eye Sam had lost his last throw of the dice. Once they had food and wine Mary squinted into his face. “Where’s Gravel?” “Asleep on his perch. In my cabin. He guards it. Him and Gobshite. And they hate each other.” “How many?” “How many what?” Mary looked at him steadily. He had the grace to look a bit ashamed. “A baker’s dozen. Not counting Sam. Mostly they seem to have lost interest now. The word has got out that I ain’t easy to kill.” “No. But somebody is gonna get lucky if’n you don’t do something about this mad Spaniard and his gold.” “I have an idea, but I was waiting until you come home to run it past you.” Mary leaned forward. “Tell me.” “After we have eaten. Somewhere more private.” She blushed miserably. “Sorry Jack. I wasn’t thinking.” He took her hand. “Don’t be sorry. It’s good to see you.” She looked at their hands on the stained tablecloth and her blush deepened. Only this time it wasn’t misery causing her skin to flush. Jack squeezed her fingers before picking up his spoon. The ‘conversation’ in the room was at its usual just short of eardrum bursting volume, so the sudden cessation of noise came as a shock. Someone mighty interesting must have walked into the place. Jack had his back to the door and he was damned if he’d give whoever the satisfaction of turning around and gaping. Instead he looked at Mary, whose face wore a shuttered look very different from the easy smile of a few seconds before. Before he had chance to ask what the problem was, someone broke into the unreal quietude. It was a woman who spoke, and she possessed the kind of voice that melts the breeches of the unwary. “I’m looking for Tall Jack Stainless,” she breathed. Jack applied himself to his food, and, opposite him, Mary relaxed a little. One of a crowd of hangers-on, who occupied a rickety table in the corner, leaned over and tugged Jack’s sleeve. “Pssst, Jack.” The stage whisper was loud enough to alert the whole room. “Jack. You might want to look at the lady what is axing about you. It’s a sight for sore eyes.” Jack turned around slowly, and met the gaze of the green-eyed temptress who stood in the lamplight with her golden hair gleaming. He looked for about ten seconds before turning back to his dinner. The sound of footsteps behind him had him loosening his hook-bladed knife in its loop on his belt. “Jack. Jack. Why won’t you look at me?” He turned and looked, stony faced. The woman essayed a smile. Jack didn’t react. She hissed. “What’s the matter with you? You one of them that likes little boys?” Jack laughed, then deliberately turned his back once more. Behind him the beauty hissed. Jack mentally counted to ten, then turned quick as a thought. He grabbed the woman’s narrow wrist and squeezed just enough to make her drop the knife she held. One of the hangers-on bent to retrieve it. “Don’t touch that,” Jack barked, “it’ll be poisoned.” The loafer leapt back with a white face and staring eyes. The blonde woman played what was normally her trump card. Allowing her eyes to fill with tears she spoke in a broken little voice. “You’re hurting me. Please let me go.” In any other company there would have been a stampede of foolish young men coming to her aid. But this wasn’t any other company, it was a room full of pirates, and the man who held her wrist in an iron grip was Tall Jack Stainless, so nobody moved.
See how the light falls Stripes on the ground Beneath us the mosses Muffle all sound And we run like children Forgetting our days As silence and sunshine Tempts us to play On the bosom of summer When tender leaves cling When grasses grow verdant And small brown birds sing See how the light falls Kind as a kiss And we thank whoever For moments like this
When Cargo Freighter Zulu/973 found it, the sleek little flitter was floating aimlessly in space, sort of halfway between the mining belt at Beta#32 and the transport station that orbited Jupiter II. It was much more elegant and aerodynamic looking than the ugly cargo hauler that nudged it with an armoured loading claw. The claw poked a bit more firmly and it drifted, with no more sense of direction than any of the other bits of space junk the traders had amassed on their journey. “Seems dead.” Captain Clearwater remarked to nobody in particular. “Let’s have a look then.” His communications officer turned the cargo hauler’s docking camera to face the wreck. She seemed to be in going on for perfect condition – clean and shiny and with some sort of earthside oriental script scrawled across her slightly flared bow. “Get Leah up here.” Somebody scrambled. Clearwater wasn’t a man to be kept waiting. Leah Su arrived promptly. She was as poised and unruffled as ever, but her bulky escort was red-faced and sweating. “Su reporting for duty, sir.” “You’re the nearest thing to a linguist we have hereabouts. Can you read the writing on that ship?” “More or less, sir. It says something like ‘sea of stars’. Very roughly. I guess it is the name of the vessel.” “Probably is. Can you see an identifier?” “No sir.” “Me neither. And I reckon that makes it fair game. Whatever spoilt rich boy lost his toy out here, I’m thinking finders keepers. Even if nobody has put a bounty on her, she should fetch a few bob for salvage. I’m going over to have a look. Take the con Su.” Clearwater may have been greedy and even unprincipled, but he wasn’t fool enough to go and inspect a possible salvage vessel on his own. He gathered up a sizeable force, and broke out the blasters. In the end, there were a dozen space stevedores, wearing their exoskeleton work suits, in the airlock, along with the captain, his first officer and the ship’s metallurgist. The inside door sealed and they put on their helmets before Su began pumping out the air. It took a good ten minutes before it was safe to open the big doors into the blackness of space. As the doors slowly slid back into their pockets in the hull, Clearwater straddled a jet scoot and headed for the flitter. First officer Ganges clutched the sissy bar behind his captain’s ample backside, and the rest formed a chain behind Ganges clipped together by lanyards attached to their tool belts. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel. But it wasted the least energy and Christopher Clearwater abhorred waste. Particularly if he was paying for whatever was being wasted. The jet scoot gently nudged against the silent craft. Clearwater’s voice rasped in the ears of his party. “Anybody have any idea how we get in?” Then. “Let’s at least look for a door before we break out the cutting gear.” Nobody moved or spoke. Before the captain had chance to get properly irritated, Leah Su broke the silence. “Our docking camera view shows a touch plate about two metres to your right.” Clearwater grunted and edged that way. He slapped a large gauntleted palm against the shiny ochre-coloured plate. To everyone’s surprise, the three leaves of an oddly shaped and almost invisible portal slid silkily apart. Clearwater engaged the electro-vacuum parking brake and effectively suckered the scoot to the side of the flitter. He climbed carefully off his seat and made his way hand over hand to the open portal with his crew following him. Inside the portal was the expected airlock although the controls were rather closer to the ground than would be normal. “You. Gamble. Stay with the scoot. The rest of you get away from the door. I’m going to try and operate this airlock.” Being known as a bad-tempered bastard with heavy fists gets you obeyed speedily, so Clearwater didn’t even bother to look around before crouching by the control panel. “Pictograms,” he grunted, “that’s handy.” He touched one and the outer door closed tidily. A second button had air being pumped into the chamber. First Officer Ganges fiddled with his meters and gauges. “Seems breathable, sir. A bit heavy on the oxygen but nothing problematic.” “Okay. But we keep helmets on until we are inside. Officer Su. Can you hear me?” There was no response. “Gamble. Do you copy?” “Sir.” “Right. Open a channel to Su on the mother ship. I’m gonna be using you as a bounce station.” “Done, sir.” “You got me now, Su?” “Yes sir.” “Okay.” He turned his attention to the boarding party. “Right you lot. Blasters out. And stay alert. Opening inner doors now.” Back on the cargo hauler the bridge crew heard a gentle hiss. “We’re in. Seems deserted. Air is breathable if a bit oxygen heavy. We are removing helmets.” The sound of heavy booted feet and muttered conversation went in for several minutes before the captain spoke again. “This is a rum old vessel. Everything is of the most modern and the very highest spec. But it seems to have been built for dwarves. And not very bright ones of them. Every control has a pictogram. Makes it easy for us, though. I reckon I can manoeuvre this baby alongside you and dock her. Standby docking grabs.” “Aye, aye sir.” “Closing door and pumping out airlock.” The next sound the bridge crew heard was a wet gurgling groan followed by what sounded like something heavy hitting a hard floor. Followed by silence. As Su frantically toggled the comms button the flitter disappeared. One second she was there, the next gone. For an instant there was an eye-wateringly bright bluish outline on the blackness of space, then even that was no more. Su knuckled her eyes. “What the frag?” “Continuum Drive maybe?” “Too fast even for that…” The helmswoman kept the levelest head of them all. “Some odd sort of drive sir. Pushed us three parsecs.” “You sure helm?” “I’m sure. My gauges are going apeshit.” “How long to get us back?” “About two days sir.” “Gamble’s a dead man then.” “Not necessarily, sir.” It was the comms officer who spoke in a very shaky voice. “Look out of our starboard window.” A figure in a spacesuit floated just outside the metre-thick plexiglas waving its arms frantically. “Fetch him in,” Su said, “let’s see if he knows any more than we do.” He didn’t. So there seemed no point in going back to where the flitter had been. Instead, Su was elected Captain and life went on much as before – if with less enthusiasm for ‘salvage’.
On a barren lump of rock on the other side of a foreign galaxy there was unbridled joy among the arouraios kin. Those whose bones had been close to coming through their skin were now fed, and the freezers held enough sustenance to carry the whole colony through at least two turns of the mother planet. Captain Skrzzt looked at his mate and smiled to see the gleam returning to her dark fur and the sparkle of fun illuminating her eyes. Not only was the colony saved, the big bipeds also had surprisingly tender sweet flesh and the idea of another raid into their space was already being mooted. Skrzzt ordered his ship to be camouflaged with a wrap of dull-coloured polymer while he chose a crew from the hundreds who volunteered. The last thing he did before turning his trusty ship back towards the areas travelled by the food creatures was to require the name to be painted on the bow. The Marea Celestia winked out of the sky above her home asteroid…
In come I, December, with hale and hearty cheer, With mulled wine and with wassails With claret, port and beer. With winter winds and woollen scarves My breath in air a-misting I’ve chocolate treats and holly wreaths And presents all a-gifting I’ve hot mince pies and sweet plum pud And bulbs on wires a-hanging See my pine trees in tinsel gowns And children on drums a-banging My carollers sing the ancient songs That frame this time of cheer, I bring you joy and laughter in And leave with the new year.
There are some books one remembers distinctly from childhood because of the immense impact they had at the time on the developing individual. I have memories of A Wizard of Earthsea bound up in blood and trauma.
I was gifted the tome by some long forgotten maiden aunt of my pater’s who had included a hand scripted note saying how she thought the cover looked like it was ‘a good book for a little boy’. I should probably add that said maiden great-aunt was profoundly immersed in art deco, dadaism and surrealism. Left to myself I would not have opened the thing and would have slipped it into the bag of items Mumsie always kept for The Less Fortunate and shipped out to a charity shop once full.
But Pater had other plans. It seemed I was required not only to write a loquacious and sycophantic thank you letter to said maiden great-aunt, it was also required that I first read the wretched thing and pass comment upon how profoundly it had moved my innocent young soul. In other words, a review.
From the wisdom and experience of adulthood, I can look back fondly on my child-self and laugh at my puerile folly in thinking this was some show of esteem and affection for his aunt from my father. As I recall the inheritance netted him enough to double his investments overnight.
I still have the review, which I wrote with a cartridge pen on the back page of the book and in the process inflicted a paper-cut on my innocent childish fingers. My first ever.
The Review.
A boy called Dunny, or Sparrowhawk or Ged is good at magic and goes to a kind of Hogwarts on an island. There he learns magic and gets in a fight with the school bully. He loses his shadow and he and his best friend have to find it again.
It was a very annoying book because the boy could have won by using the magic stone but for some reason decided not to.
Working Title Blogspot 