The series in now complete with the release of Iconoclast: A Necessary End by E.M Swift-Hook, the final book of Fortune’s Fools.

The trip around MyRyDyn was not as big a success as Durban had hoped it might be, although it did have its moments. Avilon was distant, seeming preoccupied a lot of the time and Raine alternated between enthusiastic child and sulky teen, which made the outing a trying challenge even to Durban with his natural buoyancy and good humour. They visited an outlying pod which housed a fitness suite, including a swimming pool, then spent a while flying around and getting some spectacular views before Raine got bored and restless.
“Why can’t we go to the main hub?” she demanded. “It looks like the only place on this prison-planet that might have someone under the age of ninety.”
“It’s also the only place on the planet where they have any kind of half-way decent surveillance,” Durban explained.
“And what’s with that? You criminals?”
Her disconcertingly direct stare held something more. An edge of what could even be fear. Durban had to remind himself that this was a child who had been ripped from the only life she really knew and hurled into a maelstrom of confusing messages and expectations. Avilon looked away and out of the window. She clearly felt it was not in her remit to deal with such things.
“No,” he said firmly. “Criminals are people who break the law to profit from the misery of others.” It wasn’t going to help anyone if he went into detailed explanations about how in the past they had indeed been criminals by any measure of the word and were still seen as such by the authorities.
“Then what’s with all the secrecy?”
The small vehicle they were in wove at speed through the pillars and stanchions that supported the habitation pods. Below, the eternal green and grey mist concealed whatever the surface might have to offer, whilst above the sky was a clear unclouded turquoise.
“If you look over there,” Durban pointed. “You can see the observation platform. That’s where we’ll have lunch. It has an impressive collection of artefacts that were found on the planet from early attempts to colonise. There were even a couple of domed settlements here once.”
Avilon gave a brief laugh.
“I’m sure Raine will love that.”
Raine herself looked sharply at Avilon then pushed out her lower lip, shoulders hardening.
“What would I want with some old shit like that? And you didn’t answer my question”
Durban pushed a smile onto his face.
“Well, that’s because it’s not something I can talk about at the moment. And you might even like the artefact collection as they have some early settlement weaponry there.”
He was spared a riposte by a sudden drop in height as their vehicle dipped sharply to manoeuvre under the main hub and avoid the cluster of traffic there. For a few moments they were in the green-grey mist and the eerie lighting effect took Raine’s attention. By the time they were lifting out of it again they were getting alerts for landing and the small flyer was being sprayed with decontaminants as it passed through a docking tunnel on the observation platform. The spray of jets created a dramatic effect with droplets cascading over the windows and the lighting added a prismatic effect, splitting into rainbow colours. Raine was grinning when they finally got out.
“That was well weird,” she said, and Durban had to smile at the sudden childlike enthusiasm in her voice as she went on. “You see those freaky clouds? And when we went vroop…” she moved her whole body into an imitation of the plunging vehicle, “…that was top madica.”
It was good to see her being her age, even if for only a few moments.
“Top madica,” he agreed, guessing the usage of the words from their context.
Raine’s mood shifted in an instant and she frowned at him.
“Like you’d have any idea what that means.”
He gave a small shrug and lifted both hands.
“You have me there. Why don’t you tell me?”
“The catch-phrase of the main protagonist in Outbound and Starwards. A science-fiction series aimed at teens and young adults about exploring other galaxies and meeting aliens,” Avilon provided unexpectedly, having most likely pulled the information from link as they’d been talking, but that was not how Raine saw it.
The girl’s eyes widened and Durban realised the early stage hero worship had just notched up another level.
“You link-stream the OAS?”
Avilon inclined her head.
“I’ve seen the odd episode.”
“That’s just… Like just…”
“Top madica?” Durban suggested gently.
Which for some reason made Raine furious.
“What do you know about anything? You’re just weird and creepy.”
Durban drew a steadying breath.
“The docking bay of the Observation Platform is probably not the best place for having a row. So tell you what, you and Avilon go eat lunch and see what they have by way of weaponry in the collection here and I’ll head home.”

A Bite of… E.M Swift-Hook

Q1. Do you see writing as an escape from the sorrows of existence, an exercise in futility, or an excuse to tell lies and get paid for it? Or is there another option…

For me writing is the chance to tell a story. I find that writing is – and for me has always been – the ultimate escapism, in much the same way as reading. The difference is that writing is a lot more proactive and you have to keep one foot fully unimmersed so you can put it all into words.

Q2. You are going to meet your literary hero and you are told to bring a gift. What do you take?

A bunch of flowers for her grave. Dorothy Dunnett will always be she to whom I can only aspire. My new project, a series of six books set in the opening months of the first English Civil War, is by way of a tribute to her and the inspiration she has given me as a writer.

Q3. Who was the first musician/singer to make an impact on your life? And can you remember the song? Similarly can you recall the first book that grabbed you by the gonads and shook your world?

The first muscician was a group – Queen. My bother had a copy of Queen II and I was entranced and sold on prog. rock ever since.
Book is harder. I can’t recall ever not being utterly captivated by them. But the first major book of note would have to be Lord of the Rings. I was nine years old, off sick from school and out of reading material so a friend of my mother’s lent me her hardback Fellowship of the Ring and then the rest in short order.

E.M Swift-Hook is the author of the Fortune’s Fools dark space opera series, co-author of the alternate history whodunits the Dai and Julia Mysteries and presently working on a historical fiction series set at the start of the First English Civil War.
In the words that Robert Heinlein put into the mouth of Lazarus Long: ‘Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.’
Having tried a number of different careers, before settling in the North-East of England with family, three dogs, cats and a small flock of rescued chickens, she now spends a lot of time in private and has very clean hands.
You can find her Twitter, Goodreads and, of course, here on the Working Title Blog.

“What time is it?”

Elyssia glanced at the figures floating in her augmented reality field.

“2021,” she said. From Jaquiro’s expression he too had a momentary feeling she meant eight twenty in the evening.

“So we have made it back to the year everything changed?”

Elyssia nodded, thinking that the same could be said for any year in history as change was continual. But Jaquiro was not the man to hear that.

“Yes,” she said. “The year your great-grandmother was born.”

“But she won’t be if we don’t act. Shall we?”

Elyssia nodded. “Well, there’s no time like the present.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

The adventures of Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson.

When he had finished writing his message, Homes swung out of the carriage and along the swaying corridor.
“Where’s he off to?” Yore asked
“At a guess, he’s gone to ask the guard to send a telegraph.”
“Yes. But. Who to? And saying what?”
“Surely that should be to whom, old chap. And I have no idea.”
Yore huffed and puffed a bit.
“I don’t suppose it would be any manner of notice asking Homes what he is up to.”
“You don’t suppose quite rightly. He likes to keep his investigations close to his skinny little chest until such time as he can dazzle us with the brilliance of his deductions.”
“Aye. He does that.”
It was some several minutes before Homes returned, and judging by the amount of purple pencil all about his chops he had written more than one message.
Once he had climbed back into his corner he treated Yore to the smug semblance of a smile.
“I think we have done all we practically might until we reach Princesstown where we may better assess the lie of the land.”
With which announcement he promptly fell asleep.
“He’s an irritating little detective isn’t he?”
Bearson nodded. “Indeed he is.”
Yore produced a greasy pack of playing cards from somewhere about his person and propounded the theory that a hand or two of piquet would help to pass the journey.
Bearson acquiesced, and by the time the train was slowing for Dumplingshire City, he owed Yore all his worldly goods plus any wife he might later acquire and any offspring said wife produced.
Homes awoke and gave Bearson one of his looks. “That, old chap, will tech you to play at picquet with a policeman of Scotland Yard. They are card sharps to a man.”
Yore smiled, although it was a facial expression more suited to a crocodile on the banks of the Irrawaddy than an officer of the law.
Homes turned his attention to the smirking Inspector.
“If certain persons require assistance in the matter of their investigation they should perhaps rethink their attitude in the matter of card sharpery .
Yore inclined his head. “I think upon this occasion,” he announced magnanimously, “that we can call it quits.”
The train roared and hissed its way into the station and Homes hung out of the window.
“It’s a fine night,” he announced happily, “we should have a bright moon for our journey across the muir.” He turned his gimlet eye on Yore. “Do you have a conveyance awaiting us at Ashbaconton?”
“I do. And a sedate driver.”
“Very well. And now I think we need to hustle a little as we have no desire to miss our connection.”

Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson will continue their investigation into The Affair of the Dartymuir Dog next week…

Jane Jago

It’s okay to miss me alone in the night
It’s okay to sometimes cry
It’s okay to think that it doesn’t seem right
That we never did say our goodbye
It’s okay to mind me and wish I was here
And it’s even okay just to moan
But you have all your life all the days and the years
I don’t want you to live it alone
Please pick up the pieces of everyday things
Of friendship and laughter and fun
Wherever I am I will still hear you sing
Nothing’s over because my time’s done
And if you in your turn need the sound of just me
To lift you when days are too long
Just come out in the garden, that’s where I will be
Where you might catch a snatch of a song
And however long I will wait in this place
Wherever this place it may be
For the day I can put my two hands on your face
And once more you will walk next to me

©Jane Jago 2021

…a door appeared in what looked like a blank wall. When she opened it the stench was appalling. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
‘Dirty slaves.’
For some reason that remark exacerbated my anger and I head butted her under one of her chins. She went down splat and I called for lights. To my surprise, two of the slatternly drones brought lanterns. I went into a long place, with a lot of figures chained to the walls.
‘Aascko’ I shouted. ‘Can you get Ambriel to open a Portal into our garden. I need my big medicine chest and the trunk of bandages. Plus water lots of hot water, and get our kitchen to prepare the biggest vat of warm sweetened milk they can manage. Also there’s a lot of people chained up. We need to release them.’
‘I’m on it love’ he shouted and as I turned back to the horribly foetid prison I felt the mind of Ambriel and heard his angry voice in my head. ‘Just look at the chains and they will fall off.’
I turned my gaze to the locks on the first prisoner, an emaciated green elf. As I looked, the chains fell from her arms and legs. Aanda appeared at my side with a cup of water which he put to her lips.
‘Gently little sister. Too much at once will make you ill.’
‘I know’ she whispered. ‘But we have had no water since yesterday morning.’ Then she reached for my arm. ‘Help the little one. The rest of us can wait. But she’s really sick.’
‘Where?’
‘In the far back corner.’
Aanma followed me with a light held high and we found a tiny imp with its arms around the neck of a woolly hound pup. Neither looked too good.
‘Aanma. Go through the portal and alert Owl. Owl, plus Cat with a bucket of raw meat scraps.’
He put down the lantern and ran as if his life depended on it. I looked at the chain around the two infants and as it fell apart I dropped to my knees in front of them. I held out my arms and the imp crawled shyly into them. I picked her up as gently as I could, but I couldn’t carry the pup as well. Aascko appeared at my shoulder and picked up the bag of bones and fur that was all the hound consisted of. We carried them out into the clean morning air, just as Owl and Cat hurried out of the Portal. Owl took the babe from my arms and opened her garment. ‘Don’t let her eat too much at once’ I instructed.
‘No. I know. Little by little.’
Cat crouched in front of the puppy and offered it a small bit of meat. It sniffed suspiciously before grabbing the meat and wolfing it.
‘Owl’ I said quietly ‘make sure you shade that little one’s eyes. She has been in the dark for overlong.’

Knowing we could leave Owl and Cat to it, Aascko and I hurried back into the grimness of the prison. It didn’t get any better and by the time I had seen every prisoner released I was on the verge of tears. But I pulled myself together and Aascko and I went through the Portal to our own garden where a pavilion had sprung up as if by magic and our drones were ensuring that every one was drinking warm honey-sweetened milk. My first concern was the imp, who was asleep in Owl’s arms. She looked a little better and I thought a gentle warm bath, with some herbs in the water, might help her breathing. I gave the orders for the water and left Owl to gently bathe the emaciated little body. Cat was nearby with the hound puppy asleep on her feet.
‘The imps want to come help’ she said.
‘Well. Let them. Owlet was very helpful to us when we were dealing with the captives from the cave.’

Then I began the serious work of dressing wounds, wounds caused by manacles and leg irons, wounds caused by whips and scourges. Wounds gone bad because of poor hygiene and lack of food and water. I worked for a very long time, with Aascko and Aaspen at my elbow, but eventually every creature had been seen. None seemed in danger except the imp and her puppy. I straightened my back and smiled wearily.
‘Nearly done. Just want to have another look at the imp and the hound.’
Aascko hugged me warmly. ‘That’s my girl.’
The babe had just awoken and was crying fretfully. I held out my arms and Owl passed her to me.
‘Her skin is very sore’ she whispered.
‘Oh. The poor little love. Aascko can you get the camomile oil please?’
He dashed off and I laid the mite in my lap. Her skin was, indeed, horribly inflamed and itchy.
‘Mostly dehydration’ I said sturdily. ‘I think she’ll pull through.’
Aascko returned and I signalled for him to pour some oil into the palm of my hand. He obliged and I anointed the babe’s skin before beginning to massage her gently.
‘Owl’ I said. ‘How much have you fed her?’
‘Three times. Just a very little at a time.’
‘Good. You can try her with a bit more in an hour. Until then, get a soft old sheet and we’ll wrap her loosely, and put her in Owlet’s nice soft bed. If one of the other imps will get in and cuddle her gently so much the better.’
Owl scooted off and I carried on gently rubbing oil into the baby’s skin. I felt something against my leg and I realised the puppy had crept over.
‘Lift the puppy up Aascko’ I said. ‘I think this babe needs to see that its only friend is OK.’
My Mate obliged and the imp’s eyes fluttered open.
‘Look’ I said. ‘Puppy is fine.’
The imp smiled and relaxed under my hands. Aascko stroked the ugly little pup.
‘It’s a scruffy little mutt and it niffs a bit, but it seems admirably faithful.’
‘Yeah. Can you give it a bath and dry it gently. I think the imp will only really relax with it beside her.’
‘You could be right.’ He scratched the pup’s ears and took it carefully away.
Owl came back with a soft linen sheet, Owlet’s bed, and Puma in tow. I wrapped the skinny little imp and laid her in the soft fluff. Puma climbed in with her and sat stroking her head and singing softly. I patted her crest.
‘Puma is a good imp.’
Going over to where Aascko was gently shampooing the puppy, I sat on the ground with a big soft towel in my lap.
‘It’s a girl hound’ he said, then put the wet mutt on the towel, and handed me another. I gently towelled the pathetically bony pup feeling for any injuries. I was so pleased to find that the creature was whole, if underweight and dehydrated.
‘You’ll do little one’ I said and when she was as dry as I could make her I fed her judiciously and allowed her to relieve herself before wrapping her loosely in another dry towel and putting her carefully in Owl’s bed beside Puma and the poorly imp. Puma put a small hand on her ugly head.
‘Hello Puppy’ she said softly. ‘You can go sleep now. Puma will watch over friend.’
I had to blink away a tear before I could carry on.
Ambriel beckoned me and I went and stood looking up into his face.
‘I have’ he said ‘witnessed the worst and the best today. And that imp singing to the sick one all but brought me to tears.’
‘Me too’ I admitted. ‘Do we know to whom the poorly little one belongs?’
He looked as if he was chewing something bad. ‘Oh yes. We know. Her Mother was a very young female of the People, who was gang raped by who knows who. That vermin Aasken decided the babe was unsaleable because of her light eyes and the Mother was too badly damaged by the rape and the birth to be of any value. So he threw them in the dungeon. The Mother died there. Now nobody wants the little one.’
‘Oh yes they do’ I said sturdily. ‘We want her. She can be part of our family.’
‘She can indeed’ Aascko spoke from just behind me. ‘We will welcome her. And love her. Her and her ugly canine friend.’
Ambriel smiled on us and for a moment I felt as if the sun was shining just for me. I pulled myself together and felt for my Mate’s hand.
‘I guess we now need to start sorting out the rest of the slaves. Not many are fit to go anywhere until they have at least had a good night’s sleep and a couple of nourishing meals. I just don’t know where we can put them.’
Then I had a thought.
‘Or perhaps I do.’ I looked into Aascko’s face. ‘How about next door?’
‘Why not indeed?’ Then he looked up at Ambriel. ‘A gateway in the wall over there would be an enormous help.’
The Angel gestured negligently and the wall grew a set of wide double gates.

I beckoned to Cat, who was hovering.
‘We need a place for the rescued ones to sleep.’
She was quick on the uptake. ‘My old nest is built on the archaic model where all the walls can be rolled away. I’ll get the drones on it. And there are portable cots in store and many blankets and pillows.’
She bustled off and Aascko scratched his crest.
‘She looks so much better’ he said meditatively.
‘She can help somebody. Makes her feel needed. She is always going to be frail, but the more useful she can be to us the happier and stronger she will become.’
‘Very true, little Huntress’ Ambriel was expansive. ‘And now I must leave you. I am summoned to give an account of today’s happenings. It isn’t going to go down too well…’
I looked at him straitly. ‘Do you think you could manage to take off without overturning the cradle?’
‘I could.’
‘Well do so then…’
He actually laughed and patted my crest before lifting off with minimal disturbance. Aascko swatted my backside quite hard.
‘Will you at least warn me before you pick a fight with an Angel.’
‘Wasn’t picking a fight. He knows how I feel about excessive downdraught, but this time I really was thinking about the rescued ones and the babes.’
‘Oh. OK. I think.’
I laughed and went to check on the basket of sleeping imps. Puma was asleep now, but it was noticeable that she had a protective arm around the tiny imp and the other hand on the head of the pup. Tiger and Owlet sat beside the basket.
‘We keeping watch’ Owlet whispered.
‘Good imps.’
He pulled on my hand. ‘Mother. Do that baby one have a Mother or a Father?’
‘She didn’t. But she does now. She is your nest sister now.’
‘Good. Do she have a name?’
‘No love. Why?’
‘Me and Tiger and Puma wants to call her Silver because of her eyes.’
‘Very well, then. We shall.’
He and Tiger turned faces of shining joy towards me and I rubbed their crests. Owl arrived beside me and indicated she would like a private word.
‘What is it?’
‘That imp. Is she blind? I wondered because of how light her eyes are.’
‘No I’ve checked. She can see fine. I can understand your thought, but she isn’t an albino, just pale. By the way, Aascko and I have adopted her. Her name is Silver.’
Owl embraced me.
‘I hoped you would. The imps and I already love her. But why Silver?’
‘The imps named her for her eyes.’
Owl had recourse to her kerchief. ‘Sometimes those little sods amaze me.’
‘Me too. Me and the Angel Ambriel.’

From: Aaspa’s Eyes by Jane Jago

Teeth are indeed
Most wonderful things
They chomp up your food
Or open pull rings
They’ll slice you some sticky tape
If scissors you have none
They help you to talk, to sing,
To have fun
Teeth, when behaving are best at a smile
But they will soon know
You neglect them a while.
Teeth can be viscious, vindictive and shite
And then you will need some
That come out at night.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The Working Title crew bring you the opportunity to enjoy again wisdom from the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica… You can listen to this on YouTube.

Aries

The ram needs excitement and isn’t sheepish about demanding it. The more extreme the better.

Ideal Vacation
Spearfishing in shark-infested waters.

Taurus

Taureans are stubborn, hard-working beasts. It is hard to persuade them to take any vacation at all. You are more likely to find them insisting on staying at home.

Ideal Vacation
That holiday village down the road that you keep hearing badly sung karaoke from when you go passed.

Gemini

The astrological twins need variety, the spice of life, to enjoy a vacation.

Ideal Vacation
A dual centre holiday in India or Mexico – city and mountains. Which, depends if they prefer to spice their life with curry or chilli.

Cancer

Trying to pry the crab out of its shell long enough to get a suntan is a challenge in an off itself. So make the destination hot and sunny enough for it not to matter if you can persuade them to disrobe or not.

Ideal Vacation
A beach holiday in the Bahamas or a sunbed in the attic with a stack of romance novels.

Leo

The lion needs to shake its mane and roar to let off steam and relax. So any vacation needs to be somewhere others won’t be disturbed.

Ideal Vacation
An African safari – or failing that a week at Disneyland where there is so much noise no one would hear them anyway.

Virgo

The over-organised Virgo is fixated on detail. They will have bags packed and passports ready months in advance and woe betide an errant spouse who forgets to pack the toddler.

Ideal Vacation
Any package holiday anywhere. That way Virgo will know precisely where they will be at any given moment of the vacation and be able to plan accordingly.

Libra

Libra enjoys balance in all things so when it comes to the work/vacation balance they will want to play as hard as they have worked.

Ideal Vacation
For most Libras, this need to balance effort at work exactly in the scales, will mean an afternoon on Blackpool Beach or sunning themselves in the garden if the weather is clement will be more than adequate annual leave.

Scorpio

The super-sexed sign of the zodiac will want a racey destination where they can take the sting out of the daily grind… by having a daily grind…

Ideal Vacation
Any city with a superior red light district

Sagittarius

The archer needs to hit the target at work and equally when on vacation. Kicking up heels on holiday is best done in interesting places.

Ideal Vacation
A well planned itinerary tour into the hinterlands of Mongolia.

Capricorn

Like every good goat, Capricorn loves to eat and any vacation must include plenty of interesting foodstuffs so Capricorn is not tempted to nibble on forbidden fruit.

Ideal Vacation
A whirlwind gastronomic tour of European capitals if our goat is a gourmet, but if it is quantity not quality that appeals, a similar tour of the fast-food outlets of the United States would be preferable.

Aquarius

The water bearer needs to be bourne on water to truly relax and unwind from the gruelling nine to five.

Ideal Vacation
Venice.

Pisces

For the fish the lure of the waves is irresistible. It is as vital to them as the air they breathe and they will be drawn to the sea on vacation like moths to a flame.

Ideal Vacation
Any cruise. But be sure the safety barriers are high – the lure of the ocean can be too strong for Pisces to resist…

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

Victor had always been a photographer, from being a snap-happy child on family vacations he spent his youth grappling with f-stops and lenses and his working life as a freelance paparazzi. 

Social media changed it all and he decided he was too old to compete. Besides, anyone could take a picture of the same quality he had struggled to achieve in the past by using their bloody phone.

But Victor in retirement was still a photographer and that shot of a frost rimed crocus breaking through the late snow meant more to him than all the celeb-shots of his youth.

E.M. Swift-Hook

One o’clock in the morning, and several interested eyes noted a heavily laden cart, its wheels muffled with sacking, creeping slowly out of the malodorous streets around the wharves. These interested parties felt it worthwhile to follow the heavily-laden vehicle at a discreet distance, as it made its ponderous way up the hill from the riverside towards the noble houses surrounding the palace.
The cart stopped at an intersection, and it’s driver waited on the seat whilst a number of burly men in burlap smocks fanned out to check the surrounding streets. Oh yes, this cart did indeed seem worth watching, and various spies, cutthroats, and army intelligence personnel converged on it from all directions. Seemingly satisfied it wasn’t being followed, the cart carried on, although perhaps the watching eyes would have been less smug had they been able to eavesdrop on the conversation between the carter and his companions.
‘Have we attracted enough attention?’
‘Seen Schiapetti, smelled C’hin and Neders, and spotted Church soldiers, so I guess we’re providing good cover for whatever it is we’re providing cover for…’
The cart turned off a wide thoroughfare into a street of exclusive shops, then made another turn, this time into an alley so narrow that the sides of the cart brushed the ivy growing down the walls. The cart slowed as it passed under a balcony, and a rope snaked down. Two small leather-clad figures grasped the rope and were quickly hauled up out of sight. The cart carried on at a stately pace until it reached a secluded square, where the carter got off and approached an iron-bound wooden door where he knocked – an elaborate pattern of thumps and pauses, which he sincerely hoped would sound like a coded signal to any watcher who may have caught up with him. The door opened, and a sleepy face poked out. ‘Oh, it’s yourself Dando. Best get unloaded then.’
The burly stevedores pulled an oiled tarpaulin off the cart, and began rolling in barrels. The carter leaned against the withers of his lead horse and scanned the surrounding area for company. He had soon spotted three sets of eyes and he was sure there would be more. Time for the requested diversion then. He walked to the cart tail in a leisurely manner, and pulled on a loose end of rope whilst whistling an off-key tune to warn his confederates. Of a sudden, two barrels rolled off the back of the cart and bounced along the cobbles. The first one immediately burst, spreading a lake of dark red wine, while the second provided even more of a diversion as it pinned a rather weedy youth to the wall of a convent adjacent to the house to which the stevedores were delivering. The youth went down, screaming; ‘my leg, my leg’. The carter and his mates ran over and manhandled the barrel off the unfortunate young man, who carried on screaming.
‘Best bang on the door of the convent and ask for their doctor. Looks to me like his leg is broke’ muttered one of the stevedores without much sympathy. ‘What was the silly bugger doin’ creeping around behind a cart unloading barrels?’
‘Nosey’ remarked one of his mates equally unmoved by the young man’s plight.
Whilst chaos reigned in the backstreets, two lithe young figures raced across the rooftops, barely able to control their giggles at the mayhem below. Just before the house where the unloading was taking place they reached an alleyway too wide to jump across. Sure that the chaos below would camouflage any sound, the leading figure whistled softly, and a wooden beam edged its way across the chasm. The two figures grabbed the end and slid it into a convenient slot in the brickwork around the roof where they stood.
Having skipped across this makeshift bridge, the leader whistled once more, and the beam began to slide back from whence it came.

From The Long Game by Jane Jago

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

You are old, and you are a disgrace
Should be modest and downcast of face
It is so deeply wrong 
That you’re wearing a thong
And a peephole in black silk and lace

© jane jago