Dying as a Spy by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is out today. Dai and Julia are back and in trouble again, this time tangling with jewel thefts and secret agents…

Augustus MDCCLXXXIII Anno Diocletiani

There were, Dai decided as his two children buried him in the sand on the beach at Traeth Abermaw for the third time that day, far worse times of year to be placed on gardening leave from his job as Submagistratus of Demetae and Cornovii.
It was not that he was under real suspicion, that had been made clear several times by the Magistratus Domina Agrippina Julius Valerius Apollinara, but the fact remained that Caeso Maol had been an acquaintance of his and he had not only been the one to find the body, but he had also been in the next room when the murder took place and so it was simply a matter of propriety and perception (her exact words) that Dai should be kept out of the gaze of both the public and officialdom whilst his wife Julia, who happened to be the other Submagistratus of Demetae and Cornovii, found out who had actually done it.
However, just because he was not involved in the investigation did not mean that, up to his neck in sand, arms behind his head, he could not spend some time considering it. The murder had taken place at an informal gathering of some of the well to do men of Viriconium. Dai had gone along as the guest of Paulus Vinicius Cato, a lawyer friend, who had virtually begged him to be there in order to make a gods-awful social commitment into something bearable.
“You can not imagine what these dos are like,” Paulus had told him on the drive to the baths, “everyone trying to both show off how wonderful and independently successful they are and all at the same time trying to get the support of others for whatever their present pet project in self-promotion might be. I have to attend as half my clients go.”
Dai could imagine, and had imagined, and had been close to making some careful social excuse to avoid the misery right at the last minute, but Paulus was a good friend and it was not a bad notion anyway for Dai to mix a bit with the kind of community that were attending.
They were almost exclusively Romano-British, with names that reflected the fact. Most had the defensive pride which many non-native Romans developed, seeing themselves one step up from their British neighbours, but never quite able to feel they were fully equal to a Roman citizen from Italia itself. And, to be fair, Dai knew that was not entirely their own fault. He, too, straddled that boundary and grappled with being seen as too Roman by the British and too British by the Romans. But he was fortunate in that his family was one that carried a lot of respect in the area and he had good friends in Rome, being married to a woman the Praetor regarded as a foster sister.
But for those without such advantages allowing them to maintain and deepen their connections in both directions, being Romano-British put them into an uncomfortable middle ground and, as a group, they tended to keep together.
That evening’s gathering reflected a painful awareness of their cultural insecurity. It was held at the baths in Viriconium and then was to include a meal at Aureum Anatisa, the Golden Duck, a very expensive caupona, on the banks of the river. The Duck was one of less than a handful of exclusive sub aquila places in Viriconium, a building where the eagle above the entrance declared it was reserved exclusively for Citizens. But, ironically, the Duck was renowned for its excellent British menu. Dai had a feeling that the owners had cleverly, and cynically, carved their niche, by playing on the insecurities of these cross-culture families.
He had no opportunity to find out though, because whilst they were all having a post bathe massage before heading to the caupona, a scream from one of the staff had shattered his relaxation. The woman was screaming because there was blood trickling out from a changing cubicle and when Dai had pulled the door open, the body of Caeso Maol had literally fallen into his arms.
There would have been no suspicion of Dai at all had he not needed to use the urinal and left the main party for a few minutes shortly before the body was discovered. Which meant, in theory, he could have had time to kill poor Caeso. It did not help that earlier Caeso had been regalling the company as they sat in the hot room with tales from his schooldays—schooldays he had shared with Dai as they had happened to be in the same class—and not all the stories had been that complimentary to Dai, who had been a rather shy and studious nerd at that time.
So, expressing her profound regret at having to do so, the Magistratus had told Dai to take paid leave of absence and enjoy the summer sunshine and his children’s company until the matter had been resolved.
He had decamped for the week to Traeth Abermaw taking his daughter, five year old Aelwen and her three year old brother, Rhodri together with their nursemaid, Luned and a discreet individual called Duggan—though whether that was his first or last name Dai was not entirely certain. The Magistratus had insisted on Duggan accompanying them to ensure their security. Dai had initially objected seeing no reason to have a bodyguard on a family holiday in the place where he himself had spent many happy such as a child, but Pina had simply knitted her brows and given him a stern look.
“Until we know what went on,” she told him in a tone that was filled with the gravitas of her Imperial heritage, “we have no idea whether your being a witness might place you at an additional risk.”
He could not argue that and to be fair to Duggan, the man was so little in evidence that Dai sometimes wondered if he had neglected his duty altogether and sloped off to the nearest taberna. So he was a bit surprised when he heard Luned say the man’s name and opened his eyes to see the compactly muscular, steel eyed Duggan looking down at him.
“Someone named Cartival, dominus, says he knows you.”
Dai tried to sit up, but the sand the children had packed firmly around him did not give way.
“Er—yes, that’s Bryn,” he said quickly, feeling acutely embarrassed to be stuck immobile in the sand. “Bryn Cartival is indeed a friend of mine. Thank you, Duggan.”
The man gave a terse nod and Dai was sure there was a grin breaking out as he turned away, but perhaps that was just his own humiliation.
By the time Bryn had strolled over, carrying five dripping ice creams, Dai had managed to free himself from the beach, with the enthusiastic assistance of his two children and was dusting down the damp sand with a towel.

Dying as a Spy is out now so you can snag your copy and keep reading!

Glossary of Latin and Other Terms
Please note these are not always accurate translations, they are how these terms are used in Dai and Julia’s world.
caupona – an inn or hotel
Demetae and Cornovii – Wales and several English Midland counties including Shropshire
domin-a/us – Ma’am/Sir. Used to superiors both in rank and social status
Italia – we would call it Italy
magistratus – senior official with legal jurisdiction over an area
sub aquila – literally ‘under the eagle’. An eagle above the entrance of any building means it is Citizen access only – aside for those who might work there of course
submagistratus – a more junior official with legal jurisdiction over an area, under the authority of a magistratus
taberna – pub/bar
Traeth Abermaw – we would call it Barmouth Beach
Viriconium – we would call it Wroxeter. The area capital of Demetae and Cornovii

Hannah had never really understood glee, being a woman of a stolid and uncomplaining disposition.
She and Amos had rubbed along fairly well for twenty years. Until…
Until his city cousin visited, bringing white skin and soft hands to a place where women were burned dark by the sun and had no time to polish their nails.
For a while the girl tolerated Amos following her as if she was a bitch on heat. When she had enough of his clumsy gallantry and turned to spit furious contempt in his face, Hannah watched gleefully and rather enjoyed the unaccustomed emotion.

©Jane Jago

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

Mary took the high road over the tables and chairs and Jack went underneath. Even then they almost missed their quarry who was trying for the back door. He was fast, but they were annoyed and while Mary caught the fleeing man’s throat in one big hand, Jack had a very sharp knife about a hair’s breadth from his wedding tackle.
Their captive tried for jaunty. “Mary. Jack. Good to see you. But I’m late for a very important appointment. Gotta run.”
Mary shook him in very much the manner of a terrier with a rat.
“You’re gonna hafta be late then, ye dirty little killer. Maybe permanently late. Why don’t you tell us what you are doing here. And why you were running away.”
“Umm. Ummm.” One-Eye Sam looked from face to face carefully meeting neither set of eyes. “I’m just visiting.” But he didn’t sound convincing.
“How much? How much were you offered to kill me.” The very quietness of Jack’s voice would have warned even a dead man that he was in trouble. “How much gold did it take to make you forget you owe me, Sam?”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t. I wouldn’t…” He looked from face to face again, and saw no sign of his innocent pose being believed. He stopped cringing and sneered. “Don’t try and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same for ten thousand gold pieces.”
Mary spat on the floor at Sam’s feet. “I don’t reckon Jack’s got anything he wants to say to you, you bloody ingrate. So I’ll tell you. Of course he wouldn’t betray you for money. Now see if you can think of anything you might have to say that will buy you your life.”
Sam squirmed under the weight of her contempt. “I got nothing,” he muttered, “just an hidalgo with more money than hair who seems to blame Jack for the death of his brother. Jack and the girl.”
“What girl?”
“The one the brother was drinking. According to Don Esteban, har must have been an impostor or this brother would’ve been unkillable. Only he can’t find her.”
“And nobody else has looked?” Jack’s voice had a considerable number of sharp edges about it and Sam winced.
“Oh. They’re looking all right. Figure she’ll be a lot easier to kill than you. Trouble is she is well hid. So I comes here. Reasoning you could be meat in the pot before you even knew I was around. And if it hadn’t been for that thrice-damned bird.”
“Yeah,” Mary said genially, “there is that. Fortunes of war, wouldn’t you say Jack?”
Jack nodded and Mary grinned evilly into Sam’s now terrified face.
“What do we do with this little piece of excrement?” She wondered aloud before turning her attention to a table occupied by a group of yellow-haired men with muscles on their muscles. “Oy Sven. You wanna lend a girl your axe?”
“No, Mary. I do not.” The man who spoke must have been around seven feet tall and as wide as two normal men. His voice was thick and guttural, although he sounded kindly disposed towards the female pirate with the flaming red hair. “Why do you want an axe?”
“One-Eye Sam’s been a silly boy and I thought it might be nice to try my hand at beheading. I hear it’s a skill.”
Sam fainted and one of the other berserkers at Sven’s table sniggered before saying something in an undervoice.
Sven’s beard split to display a great many large, white teeth as he laughed loud and long. He smote his compatriot on the shoulder – it was a friendly blow, but one that would quite probably have felled an ox.
“Odin here reminds me that we have need of a cabin boy. We were going to have to set sail without, but if you have no use for Sam.”
Mary looked at the unconscious figure she was still grasping. “You sure Sven? He ain’t precisely a boy, and he ain’t very pretty.”
“He will do.”
“In that case he’s all yours. But I think he’s pissed himself.”
Sven’s teeth showed through the forest of his beard again. He ambled over and picked up the small assassin in one hand.
“We will keep him out of mischief for you.”
Sven passed the unconscious assassin to the youngest of his men, who grinned evilly before ticking the new ‘cabin boy’ under his arm and heading for the door.
Mary grinned. “Thanks, Sven.”
“My pleasure. And if you ever change your mind, my offer is still open.”

Jane Jago

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

Be careful where you draw the line that marks out ‘us’ and ‘them’
The line that cuts those you approve from those that you condemn.
For many who you banish to the far side of that line
Will share with you more qualities than those you did define.
And every time you draw to cut out what you disapprove
You also many other great attributes thus remove
You may condemn a person, a group, a crowd, a throng
Just because one single thing they hold you see as wrong.
But others draw their lines as well and something you once said
Might make them put you on the other side of ‘us’ instead
And those you feel are on your side of your dividing line
Might think that you do not belong and even so opine
When you allow ‘us’ and ‘them’ your worldview to be
That line defines just who you are and cuts you off from ‘we’.

E.M. Swift-Hook

When Alice Lancaster woke up on the morning of her twenty-third day of widowhood, she felt as if she had somehow pulled herself out of an uncomprehending fog, and into the pitiless brightness of sunlight. Although this awakening sharpened the pain she welcomed it as a sign of returning life. Alaric was gone and she had to somehow create an existence without him. She dressed herself in the unbecoming clothes that were all she currently owned, and frowned at her reflection.
During an uncomfortable morning, being watched by her husband’s family, Alice considered her options. She could remain in the family home, under the eye of Alaric’s mother, who disliked her, and his brother who liked her rather more than was comfortable. She could go back to her father’s house, but she now had a stepmother younger than herself. Or. She could stand on her own two feet.
None of it appealed, but striking out on her own, although both frightening and confusing, felt like the least of a fistful of evils. Tapping her fingernails against the wooden arm of her chair, she thought grim thoughts. Mother-in-law turned a perfectly coiffed head, atop a long neck decorated, as always, with a six-strand pearl choker – whose ruby clasp shone almost as balefully as Mama’s basilisk stare.
“Will you stop making that infernal noise!”
As this was nominally Alice’s sitting room, it would have been both easy and satisfying to snap back. But she didn’t; instead, she got up and left the room. Picking up her coat and handbag, she walked out of the front door, past the hovering porter, and down to the street corner where she hailed a taxi.
“Where to, love?”
“Hildebrand and Watkins on the Strand, please.”
When the cab dropped her outside the scrupulously whitened office steps, her courage almost failed her, but the thought of ‘Mama’s’ cold gooseberry green gaze stiffened her spine. The stiffly coiffured receptionist spared barely a glance for the hatless young woman who came in so timidly.
“Visitors by appointment only,” she barked.
For some reason, this rudeness emboldened Alice far more than kindness would have and she stalked over to a handsome door that bore the name Augustus Hildebrand LLB. She tapped twice and walked in, leaving the receptionist gobbling like a turkey in her wake.
The man at the desk looked up from his newspaper. His incipient frown changed to a smile.
“Hello, Uncle Gus,” she said softly.
“My dear Alice. Come in, sit down, and tell me how I can help you.”
Alice went to one of the wing chairs beside the fireplace and folded into its cushioned embrace. Her host wrinkled his forehead before going out to reception. His deep voice contrasted with the receptionist’s staccato counterpoint but she was too weary to even try to make out what was being said. Instead, she laid her head against the snowy whiteness of the old-fashioned antimacassar and let her thoughts drift. When she came back to herself, her mother’s only surviving brother was in the other fireside chair watching her with concerned eyes. She summoned a smile for him.
“They told me,” he said, “that you didn’t want to see me.”
“Oh. Which ‘they’ would that have been? Mother-in-law and baby brother?”
He nodded. “I rather think they are hoping to keep you under their thumbs.”
Alice pushed her hair away from her face with a shaking hand. “I’m beginning to think that myself. However, ‘Mama’ can’t resist pinching and poking at me. Thinks that because I won’t argue she can push me around. Only she can’t. And today, it came to me that I have had enough.”
“So, you came to me.”
“I’m sorry for that. If it’s going to cause trouble I will go.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t be silly. We aren’t living in the dark ages. They have no hold on you. You are of age. And besides which, even if there was trouble, you are all I have left of my dear sister so I would help you anyway.”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “Alaric always said I should come to you if anything happened to him.”
He smiled and his face lightened. “What took you so long then?”
“I had to get over the shock of losing him first. I rather thought he was immortal, you know.”
“He always behaved like he thought he was immortal too.”
“Maybe he did.” She sighed. “Maybe he did.”
Uncle Gus remained quiet for a while, then spoke gently. “What can I do to help you?”
“I need somewhere to live. I decided just now that I cannot spend another moment in that house.”
She waited for him to tell her not to be dramatic and to just go home and get on with it. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded his leonine head.
“We can’t do much about finding you a home today, and I’m not exactly set up to receive guests.”
His cheeks pinked, and Alice laughed.
“Do we have a young lady in residence Uncle Gus?”
“She isn’t that young, and she’d be very insulted to be called a lady.”
“I’d like to meet her, then. She sounds as if she would be the perfect antidote to the stultifying pretended gentility of Alaric’s dreadful Mama.”
His bark of delighted amusement made Alice feel much better about herself. When he stopped chuckling, he looked at her for what seemed like an age.
“If you really mean that, then by all means come and stay with us. You would certainly be safe under Gabriella’s wing.”
“Safe?”
Uncle Gus sobered.“Yes, Alice, safe from the machinations of a woman who is already hinting that Alaric’s untimely death has left you mentally unbalanced.”

From Alice’s Choice by Jane Jago

Nobody prays here now, she said
The altar candles are long dead
Nobody breaks the communal bread
And the music plays no more
Nobody hears the children cry
Nobody remembers quite why they died
Nobody cleans the brass with pride
And the wind whistles under the door
Nobody loves this place she said
As her lily white hands smoothed the hair on her head
The roof’s only left because there’s no lead
And the music plays no more
Nobody sees me or looks at my face
Nobody thinks that I died in disgrace
Nobody cares for the ghosts in this place
And the wind whistles under the door
There is no praise for the lord or the beast
Nobody remembers the men from the east
While the stones cry dry tears for want of a priest
And the music plays no more

©jj 2021

Namaste you wonderful, desirable and aspiring individual! This bijou blog is here to help you achieve your best ever ‘you’. Here, I offer my help and assistance in reshaping your shape and doctoring your decor internally and externally, to bring your lifestyle into line with your aspirations.

Rites of Passage

It has been shown that celebrating rites of passage, such as entering teenage, leaving school, starting to drive and so on has a profound and healthy effect on the psyche. It enables the individual to recognise themselves and their place in their community and facilitates the community in recognising the individual and their transition from one stage of life to another.
Rites of passage have an outward, external, community oriented side and an inner, transformative and profoundly personal side.
They are good for you and good for those around you.
Having established that, it is time to consider how you can add to the rites of passage at present practiced and so reap an even greater harvest of benefit from them. What other profound and meaningful transitions occur in your life that you can use as pivot points in your personal and social growth?
In many ways the best approach is to make your own list. After all you know yourself what these meaningful moments might be better than anyone else. But here are a couple of suggestions for rites of passage we could all adopt more widely in the modern world.

Ordering a first take-out
This is a truly life-altering moment for any growing individual. It carries with it the awareness that from now on one is no longer tied to the apron strings of home provision. One is now free to sally forth and hungryly devour the entire world of exotic food. I will assume if you are reading this you have already crossed this threshold, but here is advice for any you might be inducting into this stage of their life.
How to mark the moment: Make sure the moment is perfect by ensuring the candidate approaches it with virginal purity. Do not allow them to so much as peek at a site prior to the event Invite at least half a dozen of your young postulants chosen companions to attend the event. They should all sit in a circle and chant their chosen order whilst the celebratee sits in the middle with their phone app and has to get every order right before they can order their own.
It will be one of the most memorable events of their life!

The first major relationship argument
We are all left battered – yet bettered, by this transformational moment. When we realise the most adored life-partner with whom we are soul to soul, has in fact some major imperfection that has led to a major crisis between you.
How to mark the moment: Embrace that it has happened and once the dust has settled summon your closest and most individually partisan friends and family.
Whilst the principles are withdrawn, individually and apart, to better focus on regenerating the acrimony that spurred the real event, be sure that everyone has a good glass of their preferred alcoholic beverage inside them and one in hand. Then when all is ready, have the assembled companions draw to either side of the room, to stand behind the individual to whom they are most closely aligned.
Then the couple should act out the events again, being sure to not neglect even the most hurtful and hateful things said so they can be purified and transmuted by the rite of passage into a new energy each will take forward with them in life. The gathered supporters can cheer and boo to make the reenactment even more potent.
At the end there will be an utter catharsis and a truly life changing resolution!

You begin, I am sure, to see the many promising and poignant possible prospects for such rites of passage.

Namaste!
Lucida the Liminal Lifestyle Coach

“Go for a walk on the beach, sort this thing out in your head.” He lay in their bed and smirked at her. She resisted the temptation to attack him and pulled on shorts and a disreputable tee-shirt.
An hour or so away from the cabin it all became clear. If he could do that on their honeymoon.
The only remaining question was how far away she could get before he noticed she had gone.
Picking up the pace to a mile eating jog she showed her teeth in a feral grin.
At midnight he realised he was alone…

©Jane Jago

Next morning, at two minutes to nine, Gribble strode into his office to find the geek chair. Empty. He peered out of the door carefully looking both ways along the corridor. There was nobody in sight and he permitted himself a thin smile. His new geek was going to be late. How perfectly splendid. He was sure there was a clause in the contract that covered lateness; he even rather wished he had read it. Positioning himself in the doorway, he pulled his dwarf-made timepiece from his pocket and stood ostentatiously studying its ornate face. The University bell bonged nine times and a bored imp poked its head out of the casing of the timepiece in his hand.
“Nine of the clock. Midweek day. Climate a little uncertain. Some chance of precipitation.”
The head disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Behind Gribble somebody coughed politely. He spun around as if he had been shot. The geek desk was now occupied.
“What? How? Who?”
His new geek smiled, showing far too many teeth.
“Good morning, Professor Gribble. Belladonna Handyman at your service.”
As she spoke the pieces began to fall into place in Gribble’s distraught brain. The bastards had given him a non-human. He pulled himself together and considered the evidence. Belladonna bespoke vampire or shifter heritage, whilst Handyman was a dwarf name. It just wouldn’t do, so he strode towards her sneering, only to be halted in his tracks by a small gout of flame from somewhere beneath the desk at which she sat.
He squeaked in a most unmanly manner, and stared at the desk.
“Who? What?”
Belladonna smiled. “Oh. That’s just my brother, Eric.”
“Brother?”
“Same father. Different mothers. Only difference is while my mother was hunting the shape-shifting bastard to cut off his balls, Eric’s mother ate him. Oy, Eric stick your head out and say hi to our new employer.”
A square reptilian head poked around the corner of the desk. “Hi.” Then the creature belched another small flame.
“Isn’t he a bit? Petite? For a dragon?”
“Oh. Not really. He’s in his condensed form right now. If he wasn’t he’d not fit in this room.”
Gribble tried to summon a threatening frown. “I wouldn’t entirely mind if he wasn’t in this room.”
Belladonna smiled, it was a vaguely patronising expression. “Oh he’s in the contract too. Where I go, he goes.”
Even an egocentric, unimaginative academic knows when he has been outmanoeuvred and Gribble shook his leonine head in recognition of defeat. “Very well. To work then.”
By the end of the morning, he was forced to admit, if only in the quiet vaults of his own mind, that this was the fastest and least emotional geek that he had ever encountered. She was also the most irritating, as she looked at him with the kind of amused tolerance that scraped on his nerves like fingernails against a chalkboard.
He was dictating a list of questions about the content of an obscure Assyrian incunabulum when the clock struck noon. As the last tocsin sounded the geek disappeared. For a second or so Gribble’s mouth carried on speaking, unwilling to believe the evidence of his eyes. He swore sulphurously, and Belladonna’s face appeared in the air in front of him.
“Lunchtime,” she said brightly.
Gribble showed her his teeth, but she just smiled and disappeared. At one-thirty on the dot Launcelot Gribble’s geek reappeared. She wiped her mouth on a red napkin and belched delicately. Under the desk her saurian sibling also belched and a tongue of flame licked the leg of the desk which sparked briefly.
Gribble leapt into the air and squeaked before collecting himself and dragging up a sneer. “Now the bloody dragon is only setting fire to the sodding furniture.”
“Language,” Belladonna murmured, before settling back into work as if she had never been away.
They worked all afternoon, but at the stroke of five the desk became empty and an infuriated Gribble found himself talking to thin air.
He went home a confused and bothered man and snarled his way through the evening before spending a disturbed night throughout which he dreamed of flames and toothily grinning females.

From Gribble’s Geek by Jane Jago which is only 0.99 to buy throughout November.

The colonists landed safely on Alpha-Eight-Six-Zero, but something had gone wrong with the storage AI. Most of their desperately needed food supplies were contaminated.
The botanists ran tests and declared only a few seeds they had brought from Earth would grow here – let alone thrive.
The elected leader had to break the bad news.
“We may not all make it through the winter,” she said.
Careful management and strict rationing meant none starved, though all went hungry.
A year later, after they had finished unloading the last harvesting bots, the colonists of Alpha-Eight-Six-Zero voted to name their new home ‘Thanksgiving’.

E.M. Swift-Hook