Two Women and Some Books
Here I set my heart within your hands
Here I swore my soul unto your lands
Here I took my first breath as a fae
Here I lived until your dying day
Here I bore the child you’ll never see
Here I lit the flame to set you free
Here I kneel and weep my final tear
Here I lay a rose for you…
Here…
Artwork by Bristow Designs
The beginning of Dying to be Fathers by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago The sixth Dai and Julia Mystery, set in a Britain where the Roman Empire never left.
Pridie Nonas Maia MDCCLXXVIII Anno Diocletiani
Julia Llewellyn was at that stage of her pregnancy where she couldn’t imagine why she ever thought having a baby was a good idea. She was used to having a lithe, boyish body, that ran and jumped with ease and delight, but currently she was close to the shape of an egg and prone to sudden bouts of indigestion and cramp in her limbs. The thought of nearly three more weeks of this with the intense summer heat, was almost too much to bear. So it was with some relief that she sat in the shade in the secluded walled garden where Cookie grew her herbs and found she felt neither sick nor uncomfortable. It couldn’t last, but for as long as it did she was content to raise her face to the sun and daydream a little.
The world, she thought wryly, was rapidly turning upside down. Not only had she and her beloved husband Dai managed to get through the best part of a month without her wanting to throw something at his handsome head, but his sister, Cariad, who she had always thought of as little better than a wharfside strumpet had come home after a break to recover from a very traumatic experience and seemed to have turned over a new leaf. She appeared to be really trying to appreciate having a good kind husband and two beautiful children. Julia still nursed doubts about the durability of this sea change, but hoped for everyone’s sake it was going to last.
For her own part, Cariad’s children, Felix and Cassia were a big reason she held on to any hope that being pregnant was worth the undoubted discomfort. The duo was one of the delights of her life.
Currently, Felix was out in the hills with his father and his uncle Dai, mounted on one of the sturdy local ponies Dai’s brother Hywel bred as a hobby. Ostensibly Felix was having riding lessons. It would have been rather more honest to say that he was having a whale of a time away from the constraints of being the only son of a very important man.
Julia idly wondered what Cariad and Cassia were up to, and it seemed to her that her fancy had conjured them to her side, because she heard Cariad calling her name urgently then Cassia’s voice sounding uneasy.
“Mam, I think Aunt Julia is asleep. Do you?”
“I don’t know, carissima. But if she is we really must wake her up.” Cariad’s musical voice was not entirely steady. Concerned now, Julia opened her eyes and sat up.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
She had a sudden private dread that the beauty of the family must have got herself into more man trouble, and braced herself to refuse if she was to be asked to cover up an indiscretion. To her surprise, Cariad’s face was pale with anxiety and her Llewellyn blue eyes were swimming in tears.
It was Cassia who spoke. “We were feeding the ducks on the pond past the fruit trees. Mam got a message on her wrist phone from a man who is playing a game. He said he has stolen Pater and Felix and Uncle Dai. I don’t think that’s a nice game to play. Mam said we should tell you so we came straight here.”
It took a second or two for the meaning of the words to sink in and when they did her own heart tumbled in freefall with fear for Dai. Then something shifted deep in her psyche. It was cold and hard, cutting off the emotion, like a stone door slamming shut. Sleepiness banished, Julia went from somnolence to action in a single breath. She heaved herself to her feet and grasped Cariad’s cold hand.
“Come on,” she said gently, “pull yourself together and let’s see what is to be done.”
Cariad made what had to be a superhuman effort, then forced a smile. “Yes. Silly of me. It’s bound to be a mistake.”
Cassia looked at her with tolerant patience. “I was playing with Mam’s wrist phone when the message came in. I saved it for you.”
She handed over the expensive brand phone and Julia pulled up the menu on it’s curved screen and pressed the play button. The face that looked back at her was mostly covered by the dark fabric of a ski-mask except for a pair of dark eyes.
“We got your man and your son and your brother. You do as you are told and they comes to no harm. Mess us about and we’ll send you your son in pieces. Starting with his fingers.”
And that was it.
Julia felt her throat constrict as a ball of panic and rage bubbled up in her stomach. With sheer force of will she thrust it away again and pulled herself into a place where clarity of thought was possible. She used her own phone and tried Dai’s number. There was no reply and after a few desultory call tones it went to voicemail. Reaching out, she struck a small silver bell on the table beside her and a few moment later a porter stuck his face around the gate which led into the walled garden.
“Please fetch Edbert for me.”
The man nodded and disappeared. Julia gave her attention back to Cariad who hovered like a lost ghost clutching Cassia’s hand tightly.
“I think you should take Cassia indoors to see what Cookie has been baking today.” That made the little girl smile widely and begin to tug on her mother’s hand. Julia held up the wrist phone. “Can I borrow this for a bit?”
Cariad nodded, and even managed a taut smile of gratitude as Cassia towed her towards the house, chattering excitedly about cakes.
Julia input another number on her own wrist phone and Bryn Cartivel’s homely features filled the screen.
She didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Bryn. I need you here as quick as you can and you’d better bring Gallus. There’s something bad going on with the Magistratus and Dai. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
To his credit, and Julia’s relief, Bryn didn’t argue or ask for more details.
“Okay. We’re not too far away as it goes. Should be with you in ten minutes.”
As she was making the call, Edbert appeared on silent feet. Julia found she couldn’t begin to say what needed saying. Instead, she replayed the message on Cariad’s wristphone, holding it up so Edbert could see and hear. As the vile words finished, his whole body stiffened like a hunting dog scenting prey and he showed his teeth in a fierce grimace.
“Well,” he said, “we’re not having that are we?”
Hearing the message again made Julia nauseous, but she managed to dredge up a thread of voice. “No. We are not.”
To keep reading you can find the novella here.
He came shyly into that place, bringing with him the wild smell of the pine forest. Martha approached him as carefully as if he had been a wild thing.
“Do you seek a wife?”
“I do. But my homestead is far from town.”
“Accepted. I do not crave company.”
His eyes searched her face for a moment then he offered his hand
It was a warmly fire-lit night, two winters, and two babies later, when he looked at her with a question in his eyes.
“Why did you choose me Martha mine?”
“You brought the forest. And I knew…”
If Benny hadn’t been quick on his feet, the Mercedes would have run him down as it slewed violently sideways to stop half on and half off the pavement in a residents only parking zone. The driver took only seconds to slide off the leather seat and slam the door behind her. She strode off in the direction of one of the many over-priced eateries that populated the commercial side of the street. He gave her the stink-eye for a moment, taking in every detail of the rich bitch furs and fuck me shoes. Oh yeah, this one represented just about everything he despised in a human being. It was with some relief that he turned his attention back to the car. It was sleek, and black, and he had even caught a whiff if the smell of excellence when the door was open. He wanted that car so much it hurt, but he had promised his momma so all he could do was look.
On an evening of what ifs it’s also true to say that if he hadn’t been fucking the car with his eyes he would never have seen the keys its driver stabbed at her handbag fall into the gutter instead of the bag. He couldn’t believe his luck, and as soon as her expensively maintained ass disappeared behind the darkened glass of the trattoria he was on his knees scrabbling. Within seconds he had them in his hand. But what to do with them? He knew what his heart was telling him, and he also knew what a stupid idea that was. Even with the keys it’d still be theft, and the gates of the detention centre were always open for juvenile car thieves.
While he was thinking he heard the measured tread that indicated the imminent arrival of a beat cop. That sort of made his mind up for him. He trotted to the middle of the pavement and waited. When the cop turned the corner it was a face he knew and he heaved a sigh of relief.
“Officer. Sir. I got problem. Rich bitch drops car keys. She gone in that place. Can’t follow.”
“Indeed you can’t.”
The burly cop held out a large red hand and Benny dropped the keys in it. As if pulled by an invisible string, both officer of the law and street kid turned to look at the Mercedes with identical expressions of longing on their faces.
“Some car, boy. Some car.”
Benny ducked his head.
“Sure is, sir.”
“Where you sleeping these days Benny?”
“Ma’s”
“Okay. Now you just stop here and let me see if I can’t get you a decent meal at least.”
The cop took out his personal mobile and had a long conversation in Italian. Benny started to fidget, and the man held up a thick finger.
“How many in your old lady’s flop these days?”
Benny did a count up in his head.
“Seven. Ma. Me. Little ones.”
“Sette. Bene.”
It was very quiet in the street now and Benny could quite clearly hear footsteps coming along the alleyway between two restaurants. A brilliantined head shone in the streetlamp as the white-aproned figure of a gold-toothed waiter slipped quietly out onto the street. The cop went over to him and they held a brief low-voiced conversation.
The cop came back with a big takeaway food bucket in one hand and some folding money in the other. He handed Benny the bucket.
“You think you can get that home safely?”
Benny nodded emphatically. The cop slipped two tens off the roll of bills and slipped them into Benny’s top pocket.
“Better scat then. You’ll be wanting to eat that before it gets cold.”
Benny dipped his head and went, covering the ground like lightning.
Later that night he lay on his bed with his belly full of pasta. Life was funny he mused, he sure as hell wanted that car but he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t wanted pasta more….
Ella had been raised to look beautiful, keep her mouth shut, and do as she was told. Being by nature malleable, she became adept at pleasing people.
On her eighteenth birthday, her father presented her with a fiancé. She gave him her hand and her sweet, absent smile.
They married in June and as they drove away from the ceremony Chas looked at his wife.
“Are you happy?”
She stared at him, perplexed. “I don’t know. What’s happy?”
He thought about her forbidding father, and understood.
“Happy is what I shall teach you to be…”
“I will like to learn.”
An extract from Dying to be Fathers by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago The sixth Dai and Julia Mystery, set in a Britain where the Roman Empire never left...
“So what do we do now?” Edbert asked. “We’ve summed it all up pretty neatly between us, but so far I don’t see where it gets us.”
Gallus opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled by Bryn.
“It’s very much a case of waiting it out at the moment. I have people with ears to the ground and leaning on anyone they think might have any ideas. We are doing all we can do. When the reports come in, then we can act.”
Julia could feel for Edbert and in many ways shared his sense of frustration. She wished her heavy body away for just one day so she could be the one out there asking the questions, demanding the answers. But she knew Bryn was right and that he would be doing everything that could humanly be done.
“Then you had better get back to Viriconium,” she said, “in case those reports come in. I think we’re done here for now.”
Gallus gave a salute as if dismissed from parade, but Bryn stood solidly.
“Do you have a moment, Domina?” he asked. “Your cook is just outside the door looking very unhappy. She was wanting to knock when I came back in, but I said I’d let you know as soon as we were done.”
The one thing Cookie never did was interrupt Julia when she was working. If something had driven her to do so today it had to be very pressing and urgent, above the ordinary run of domestic crises.
“Of course, show her in please.”
Bryn opened the door and stood aside.
“Thank you so much Domina Julia.” Cookie’s normally placid face was creased with worry, and she never normally called Julia anything but dearie, Julia set her own worries aside and beckoned her forward. Cookie twisted her apron in her big red hands.
“I’m sorry to bother you but there is something odd going on. It’s my nephew, Ban and the boy Dewi who helps Edbert with the dogs, and the youngest garden lad, Cerdic. They are getting hold of porn somehow. And they have started trying to spy on the younger girls in the household. Luned caught them. She boxed all their ears and thought no more of it, except to come and tell me, but almost all the rest…” She took a deep breath before ploughing on. “I decided to see if I could find out what they are up to. I tracked them to the bothy, where they are now – swigging cider they have pinched from the store and watching stuff I don’t want to describe. And the youngest of them no more than fourteen. They’re not bad lads, but this..this… Well, I dunno what to do.”
Julia held out her hands to the distressed woman and nodded to Edbert who produced a massive handkerchief in one of his pockets.
“Chin up, fach,” he said. “They are all three under age, so a quick visit from the local law should frighten them into good behaviour.”
“It should indeed,” Bryn had managed to dredge up a grin. “We can go by that way as we leave. Bothy you said?”
Cookie nodded and Bryn cocked his head at Gallus. They left shoulder-to-shoulder, walking as easily together as if they were friends. Cookie blew her nose lustily and offered Edbert his handkerchief back. He looked at it in some distaste.
“Tell you what, Cookie, you can keep it.”
She smiled her appreciation, pocketed the hanky and ambled off back towards the kitchen.
Dying to be Fathers is released on 9 November but is available for pre-order now.
Bridges need trolls. They keep the sightseers coming.
So we build a troll house, and advertise in Boulder Weekly and on the troll community Facebook page.
What do we get?
Bugger all.
Trolls these days are so busy with moving pictures and bodyguard duties that bridges are far beneath their notice
And that’s why the house under our bridge is occupied by a fat, alcoholic, gnome called Ethelred, who waves his willy at passing virgins.
Disaster?
Far from it.
It’s the busiest bridge anywhere.
Young women come from far and wide to prove their virtue whist keeping their panties on…
From A Walking Shadow, the final book in Haruspex Trilogy of Fortune's Fools by E.M. Swift-Hook.
“How long you friend to Avilon?” In the flickering light from the fire, it was hard to see the other man’s face clearly, but there was genuine curiosity in his tone. It was odd, though, how he pronounced the name with the emphasis on the wrong syllable.
Jaz gave a slight shrug. “If you add it all up – including our time in the Specials I’d say around fourteen, fifteen years.”
The other man seemed thoughtful.
“Avilon have many?”
Friends, presumably. That was easy.
“No. I think I was about the only one for most of that time. Now – he has more. And a woman too.”
“He is – change? Not the same?”
There was clear concern in the question. Concern Jaz couldn’t lay to rest. He nodded briefly and felt his breath escape in a slight sigh.
“Yeah. Much changed. Not the same at all.”
“But – he is Avilon?”
Jaz had no idea how to answer that. It was something he struggled with himself over the past few years. There had to be something or he wouldn’t have kept with the grindingly thankless task of nurturing the empty shell he found in the Specials. But sometimes – and more often now than before – he was left wondering how much of that had been wishful thinking and how much had been real. How much he needed it to be Avilon as opposed to how much it actually was.
“Sometimes it’s like you can see a ghost of who he was,” he said, at last.
“Ghost?”
“Uh – yeah – like a shadow of who he was.” Jaz moved his arm so the firelight sent his own shadow reaching away and gestured to that with his other hand. “He’s like a walking shadow of the man he used to be.”
“Shadow – yes.” The Overlord nodded, moving his hand to match the shadow. Jaz noticed the triple line of scarring on the back of the hand, identical to the scarring Avilon had brought back from Temsevar. He put a finger towards it, running his hand through the air as if drawing three fast lines.
“What is that about? Avilon has it also.”
The Overlord looked at him as if he wasn’t sure that the question could be a serious one, but he must have seen from Jaz’s expression that it was. Then he nodded slowly and shrugged off his coat, pulling at the sleeve of his shirt so his shoulder was exposed. Jaz saw a crude raised mark that he took a moment to realise was caused by some kind of strike branding process. He knew Avilon was similarly scarred but not with the same design. The other man covered his shoulder again and pulled his coat back on. “Slave mark,” he said. Then closed his fist so the three scars on his hand stood out. “Fighting slave mark.”
Jaz had no idea what he could say to that, but the other man went on, hunting for words. Clearly struggling, but wanting Jaz to understand. His gaze intense with it.
“Avilon make him – made him -” The Overlord broke off and started again. “He made his choice. To be fighting slave – to find me. To free me.”
Something shifted in Jaz and he suddenly understood what this man must have meant to Avilon and had no doubt at all what Avilon was to him. He held the intense gaze and gave a slight nod, then reached out his hand. The other man took it, his grip strong.
“You’re my brother’s friend,” Jaz said, making each word clear so he could be sure he was understood. “That makes you my friend.”
The other man nodded.
“My friend.”
We didn’t want a sister. We wanted a puppy. But we got sent to Auntie Enid’s anyway. And when we come home Alice was there. Red-faced and wrinkled, and in the crib beside Ma’s big old chair.
Tell the truth we wasn’t too much impressed, but she improved a bit, and by the time she was three we almost forgave her for not having a tail.
She started school today. Tagging along behind us kinda quiet and shy.
When one of the big girls pulled her braids, we stepped in. Hard.
Alice may not be much, but she’s ours…
i know you like a murder by Amy L Sauder is now available.
Chapter 1 – The 5 Ws of Murder
A narrator always gets to know the reader before spilling their deepest secret.
I am a murderer.
She was just a silly nothing of a girl until I made her rise to fame. A pennything.
I imagine a dreary donut-glaze day at the station before I dropped murder in their laps. I’d like to say the coppers pounded down my door in their cliché little way, but really it was a nice rap-tap-tap. Like the children’s ditty: Skunk in the barnyard, pee-yew. Murder in the theater…for you…
Clueless buffoons, more accustomed to traffic control rather than detective work. I wasn’t considered suspect; for all intents and purposes, I was victim.
“Tell us what happened.” “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” “Any odd or unusual behavior?” and the kicker: “Is there anyone who would have motive?”
“Don’t we all,” I said. “Don’t we all hold a reason to kill.”
I wasn’t much help. Why would I be? I divulged a dozen motives, to bait their sniffers a million directions, all but mine.
I don’t think they liked me all that much. Whatever. I wasn’t looking to impress. I was looking to distract. Once their curiosities turned elsewhere, I could move on to tell you, my now-avid readers, the story.
My story.
Our story.
If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears, does it make a sound? If a person is murdered and the tale is not told, did it happen?
And so, I have found my audience. Yes, you. Won’t you read my story, sleuth it out? I take the role of murderer, now you fancy yourself a detective.
Sit down, cozy up. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but you may worry it’s been poisoned, and you may be correct. But hold it, dear reader, don’t twist your shirt in a bundle before I give you all the pieces.
What: death, cold and sudden
Where: the most dramatic place for murder, the theater
When: the top of Act III, naturally
Who: Too many names, there are too many names in the world. I only remember the one girl. Don’t be indignant when you struggle to recall names, too.
No matter. I will choose some form of name to distinguish the lot. Let’s call them:
Madame Director,
Homeless Hag,
Facilities Hawk,
Villains 1 & 2,
Shy Boy,
Makeup Artist,
and Cami’s BFF.
But the one you’re waiting for: Camille. Or Cami now, to be more relatable, more likeable. Hear the sounds roll off your tongue: the name Cami skips playfully from your mouth, while the nasal sound of Camille bodes aloof, unapproachable. The name change is product branding or whatever.
She’s a washed up writer. Now scriptwriter and also, get this, leading lady. She scooped that right up, and Madame Director allowed it even though Cami has never performed on stage.
Why: Cami got one of the useless English degrees and expected it was worth something. Interned at a publishing company, but they wouldn’t look at her manuscript without an agent; and she couldn’t interest an agent though she had an in with a publisher.
She’d tell that sob story, then with a twinkle in her eye promise that this theatrical production would put us all on the map.
Hopeful.
Deluded.
But I would make her keep that promise.
Alibis are useless in this investigation, because all of us, of course, were at the theater when it happened. As for motive, don’t we all have something worth killing for?
If you were a Criminal Psychologist maybe you’d have this case wrapped up by now. Tell me, which of the listed characters am I, the murderer?
But statistically speaking, you likely aren’t a Criminal Psychologist, so here you are. Still reading. So many questions.
You know, you could hand this over to a Criminal Psychologist to solve. But I don’t think you will. Not now.
It’s not real, you say. It’s a book. And you’ll pore through this story looking for answers, intrigued by the tale, fascinated by death.
Okay, detectivize. Draw up a grid, write up characters and clues, cross off cleared suspects. Or whatever you crime buffs do. Maybe you have the cliché marker board to track your clues, or maybe you have the string linking ideas throughout a crime-solving room. You sure get off on this stuff, don’t you?
So let’s get to it. What I haven’t told you yet is How. But I can’t just tell you how she died. That’s too easy. Too quick. Buckle up: you’re in for a villainous monologue.
A Bite of... Amy L Sauder
Considering my main character is a psychopathic murderer, it’s probably in my best interest to say I’m not completely like my characters but I can relate. I can definitely relate. Now hold on a minute while I answer the door; it’s probably the police here to arrest me…
I love adventure as long as it stays within the confines of the page. I’m a wimp when it comes to pain, and I freak without my routine. Fictional worlds are much too chaotic for my tastes. I’ll put characters through the wringer plenty, but I’d like to stay holed up in the comfort of my home with a chai latte by my side, thank you very much.
Doog ckul ngirugif newh ot pasw rsettel nda ton; em nda ym restis detabe tath trap. Lareneg elur si rdsawckab ptecxe sphargid ro srettel tath ntod tif rethegot enco deppilf. E.I. Newh em nda ym restis erew ngouy, ew etowr ekil sith rof a tecres edoc. Soed tath tnouc?
I guess that’s a yes then…
Amy L Sauder in her own words:
Amy L. Sauder is a writer, educator, and creative. She has been called quirky meta mystery and walking fairytale. In her not-so-spare time, Amy coaches other writers and sells artistic fashion finds. While she has a degree in English, that has yet to land her amidst a murderous plot. Hopefully that doesn’t change.
You can find Amy L Sauder on Facebook, Twitter and her own website.
