There were upwards of twenty women awaiting their fate. Men came through the doors and made their choices. The one who stopped in front of Nora was as big and hairy as a grizzly bear. 

“Needs discipline,” stepmother gloated. “Take your belt to her now and again…”

“She’ll do.”

Twenty minutes later Nora was a married woman, following her husband out of the church.

“Keep up,” he growled.

Nora hurried to his side, allowing herself to look into his face for the first time. What she could see through the hair looked to be smiling.

“I don’t wear a belt…”

©️jj 2018

When I was young there was no ‘net
And measures were imperial
To read a book you’d have to get
Some papery material
To phone your home you needed change
And then a public box
Where all was touched by fingers strange
And always smelt of socks
There were three feet then in a yard
A foot had twelve small inches
And pounds and shillings were quite hard
My poor old brain still flinches
When I was young there was no way
To write without a pen
There were no video games to play
But I guess that was then

©️jj 2018

In the criminal jungle that is his turf, Grim is the apex predator. Now the Coalition Security Force is assigning him to the most lethal hunt he has yet faced. 
Meet Halkom 'Grim' Dugsdall in Mistrust and Treason the first book in a new Fortune's Fools trilogy, Iconoclast, by E.M. Swift-Hook. 

“You are my generation, Dugsdall, well not far off it — and you are spattered with commendations, way more than I ever managed. But you still spend your time shifting around in dive bars digging up the lowlife in person, whilst I get to head up things like this.”
He met her enquiring gaze with his expression carefully blanked.
“I like the work I do.”
That sounded defensive, but then it always did. He had never yet found a way to explain that his present role was the one he felt good doing. Nothing would ever beat the satisfaction he felt when he brought down one of the truly dangerous individuals who threatened the peace and security of people in the Coalition. Whenever opportunities had been opened for him to take advancement, he had never accepted anything that would move him away from where he wanted to be. It meant turning down promotions and all that went with them. He knew most people couldn’t grasp his view and he had given up trying to explain it long since.
“You are very good at it too,” Ty said. “I have to admit I was impressed by what I saw.”
Then her face changed just so slightly and he knew she was about to mention his family. Every time — his family. He tensed inside as if preparing to receive a physical blow.
“Your family — ”
“My parents were both members of the terrorist organisation called The Legacy.” He found it helped if he got in first, made it clear he had nothing to hide and wasn’t worried about it. “My sisters and I were raised by my mother’s step-sister. Her parents became my grandparents and so forth. We didn’t get too much of The Legacy narrative — or at least I didn’t — I was the youngest.”
Ty nodded, she seemed more curious than judgmental. It was hard for him to be certain though.
“Your sisters did?”
That was a delicate way of asking about them — well one of them.
“Not really. Although it’s a family joke that I’m the only really honest one of us sibs. My middle sister works in PR for some politico very like that Var Dray, I flat share with my twin who is in advertising and image consultancy — and my eldest sister became a pirate.”
There was never any point hiding it in this kind of situation.
“So I saw. An uncaught and unconvicted pirate.”
Was there a small edge of accusation there? Or was it simple curiosity?
“She’s a good ten years older than the rest of us. She grew up more with our parents.” That didn’t explain it, but it made it sound as if it did. “She seemed to be doing just fine in life. Got herself good qualifications and started work as a ground technician doing ship maintenance, then she fell for the wrong man.”
“Haven’t we all,” Ty said quietly, her expression hard to read.
“She got out of it, though. But not before having enough on her file to see her facing arrest on a charge with a capital sentence anywhere in Coalition space.”
“A reformed pirate?” Ty suggested.
“Near enough,” Grim agreed. “Near enough that she’s left alone where she is now.”
Ty nodded as if she understood. Which was unlikely as in Central most people he’d met seldom had any siblings, let alone any siblings with interesting histories.
“So how long do you need to be able to put your life fully on hold, Dugsdall? I’m going to need a few days myself.”
That had been unexpected.
He had been expecting to start right away. He doubted his reaction showed but Ty had probably realised this wasn’t the sort of way he was used to working because she went on:
“This is for the long-haul, Dugsdall, we are not going to get any kind of quick result on this and we’re not being asked for one. This could even take years. I really hope not, but it could. You have to realise that once we start there will be no vacations and no time off for family weddings. If you ever need to go sick, it’s me you’ll have to convince not your medic. We will get the best the service has to offer to support us, but in return, we have to give our best. So if you need half a cycle to get your affairs in order, take it now.”
He was very tempted to say he needed no time, he had very little life outside of work to put on hold, after all. But there was something he wanted to do. Something he wouldn’t be happy to share with this woman right now, but which would give him some information he could get nowhere else: he badly wanted to visit his sister. His eldest sister. The pirate — the ex-pirate.
“Half a cycle sounds good to me.”
Ty gave him a thin smile. Maybe it wasn’t what she had really wanted or expected to hear. After all, from his record, he would come over as work-hungry as herself. She was probably regretting the amount of time she had put on the table, but it was too late for her to back away from it now.
“Alright. Fifteen days. But after that, Dugsdall, you belong to the service until this is done.”
“Of course. And it’s Grim.”
Ty looked a little confused.
“It’s certainly pretty serious — but  — “
“My name. My friends call me Grim.”
And Ty had smiled a genuine smile, brief and true. Then she had laughed.

Mistrust and Treason is out today with a superb cover by Bristow Designs so be sure to snag your copy!

“Your husband won’t pay…”

He glared at his bound and gagged captive before removing the ball gag. 

The woman‘s voice was thin and rusty. 

“I could have told you that. You just handed him a way to freedom without the expense of a divorce.”

“What do we do now?”

“Kill me?” the woman asked dully.

He studied his fingernails.

“If the price is right, we can do better than that.”

Less than a week later, Senator John Bloomington was gunned down in the street.

At his magnificent funeral a single veiled woman followed the coffin. She was smiling. Inside.

©️jj 2018

From 'When Julia Met Edbert' in Dying to be Friends by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

Three hours later, Julia peeled off from her escort outside a small hut that commanded a view of three tracks through the forest.

“You stick around the hut, girl. And if anybody wants to pass, you just salute and let them through. I dunno what is going on. But I don’t much care for guards being set up. Even pocket-sized moechas like you.”

Julia snapped him a salute, and he grinned showing a set of distressingly yellow teeth.

“I’m tempted to leave somebody with you, but we are so short handed I dare not. You just be careful missy.”

Then he and his detachment were gone.

Julia went into the hut and unloaded her food bag, before setting up the hut’s unreliably shielded coms link, thus making sure the place looked inhabited to a casual eye. She carried the rest of her belongings to a broad-trucked oak tree where she dropped the bag on the ground. Several trips, and a good deal of climbing, later she was satisfied with her arboreal nest. She sat in an accommodating fork right at the centre of the crown of the tree. She was barefoot, with two gel mattresses under her and a carefully woven twiggy roof over her head. She opened a self-heating food pouch with a momentary longing for the thick, tasty stew she had abandoned below. But, then again, stew laced with sleeping drugs…

Thanking her lucky stars that it was Augustus not December, she leaned against the rough tree trunk and closed her eyes. She must have drifted off to sleep because she was startled into wakefulness by the sound of coarse masculine voices speaking in a language that was definitely not Latin.

“Well, here’s the hut. Where’s the woman?”

“She can’t be far. Her stuff’s here.”

“It is indeed. So we wait. Khulan. You and the boy tether the northman and the hounds.”

At the sound of the coarse male voice speaking the Mongol tongue, Julia felt herself regressing to a twelve-year-old girl. A girl taken prisoner by Mongols and beaten half to death for disobedience before they tied her to a wooden bar and took turns raping her. She had been sure they were going to kill her, and they may well have done so had not a half a century of Legionaries arrived in the nick of time. She didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but she still had nightmares – particularly about one Chingis, who had been amusing himself with a ligature about her throat in the moments before he met his demise.

She dragged her mind back to the here and now and peered cautiously around a branch. Right below her, a small flat-faced man was tying a blond giant to the very tree on which she sat. The blond had his hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck by which he was being secured to the huge trunk. Additionally, another man was tying two thin grey dogs to another tree, cruelly tightly. When they had done that, they picketed half a dozen sturdy short legged ponies, carefully choosing the less rich grass at the forest edge.

Julia held her breath, not moving a muscle, until a loud voice called from inside the hut.

“There’s a big pot of bantan here, and the woman won’t have any use for it. I’ve heated it. We may as well eat.”

The two braided Mongols cantered back towards the hut and Julia let out a careful breath. It seemed like she might be about to have a stroke of luck.

She dropped an acorn on the head of the man tied beneath her. He looked up incuriously, but his eyes widened when he realised there was a woman in the tree. Julia put a finger to her lips and smiled down. The big man nodded then allowed his head to drop back onto his chest.

Keep up-to-date with the latest information on the Dai and Julia Mysteries.

Paw wanted a younger wife and didn’t care how he went about getting one. When he come home and took his belt to Maw for the third night running, me and Elmer weighed in. We took our hidden money and walked into town. Brung home the ingredients for grandmaw’s special cake and put them on the kitchen table in front of Ma.

She nodded and set to work.

Paw come home moody, but the cake sweetened him up. He guzzled slice after slice until his moustache was thick and stiff with icing.

About as stiff as his body next morning…

©️ jj 2018

Ian Bristow talented artist, musician and author tells the Working Title Blog how he created the covers for Fortune's Fools final trilogy: Mistrust and Treason, Not To Be and A Necessary End.

WTB: These covers are all from the same original artwork, how did you create that and why did you use that method?

IB: Well, the way I created it was from the ground up, first sketching, then painting and detailing. The reason I painted completely custom work for these covers was simply because the need was there. No preexisting photos would fit the need. It would have required compromise in the representation of content. Though painting the piece was quite time-consuming, the end result is something I am very happy with, and more importantly, it’s something the author is happy with.

Watch Ian creating this original panorama in a time-lapse video.

WTB: What do you regard as being the main advantage of using original art for a book cover over photo-manipulation?

IB: Two things. One is that you are in absolute control of what image is being produced, and two, there is an artistic feel that comes from a painting that might be a bit lost in photo-manipulation. That said, at times it is the photo feel that works best for a cover and in those cases, it’s all about maintaining that quality and just tweaking to fit the cover’s needs.

WTB: Did you put in little details that might not be immediately visible or include any visual ‘easter eggs’?

IB: Actually there are loads of tiny details I used to try and authenticate the idea that we are seeing the city from a distance. Small text and things. One docking bay says ‘Read’ while most are just numbers and such. But my favorite thing that I hid in there is the author’s name in the faint numbers you see in the sky. It is spelled out like this: 3.M. 5w1ft-H00K.

Mistrust and Treason is out 21 September and available for pre-order now!

If you would like to find out more about Ian Bristow's cover designing services, go to Bristow Design or look for Ian on his Website, check out his awesome timelapse art videos with his own original music on YouTube or follow him on Twitter.

Foundry closes at six on a Friday, and all the men go to the pub. Even Pa, though he ain’t much of a drinker and he don’t never come home and black Ma’s eyes. 

Quarter after six one Friday night we hears his boots outside. He come in grinning. Handed Ma his unopened pay packet then put something small and wriggling on her lap. She looked down with a smile pulling at her lips.

“Rat terrier?”

“Aye.” Then his smile broadened. “And if a man got a working dog at home he can’t afford to to go to the pub…”

©️jj 2018

Meet Car Torbalen and his grand-daughter Vexana from Mistrust and Treason, the new Fortune's Fools book, which is available to pre-order at a special low price now.

The music started up again and there was a tap at the door. Distracted, he turned smiling, knowing who it would be.
“I grabbed a drink. Thought you’d like one too.”
This was the reason he had taken that retirement two years ago. Vexana. Nearly sixteen years old now, Legacy raised and the perfect age to become willing cannon-fodder for them. He was trying hard to convince her that there were other, better, ways to serve the cause, ways that could achieve just as much — more — and not cost you your life. So far he wasn’t sure he had succeeded, but it was a work in progress.
Torbalen hoped she would, one day, be able to learn the kind of skills needed to do his job here, or maybe she would move on to something different, better and safer. It would be folly to assume he could ever persuade her to step away from The Legacy. Much as he wanted her to do exactly that, he couldn’t deny her the same right as he had to serve the cause for which her parents had died. But he could, and would, do his best to ensure the way she served that cause was one that would never place her in the same kind of extreme hazard her parents had so willingly undertaken.
He accepted the drink she offered and sipped at it as Vexana dropped into the only other chair available.
“So you think these two are any good?” She gestured vaguely in the direction the music was coming from.
“Not bad. They have that raw edge you kids seem to like.”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“You kids? Sheesh!”
Torbalen hid his smile.
“Sorry. You young adults. Let me try it again. This duo has the kind of unconstrained spontaneity that young adults seem to find inspiring. Is that better?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed slightly. He felt she was judging his very soul and finding it wanting. It was a court with no facility for appeal, but it was also a judge who could be merciful and accept age as a mitigating factor. She looked away and glanced at a screen, firing off a couple of quick, texted, messages before deigning to give him her attention again.
“She was back there today.”
Torbalen tried to make that comment fit into the landscape of the world he shared with his granddaughter. He failed.
“Who was back where?”
The slight impatient sigh told him he had made some mistake by not knowing.
“At the dojo? That new girl I told you about? She’s good. You should come see her. She was talking politics with some of the others too.”
He felt a lurch of concern at those last few words. He owned the building the dojo occupied, it was one of the main places he had people keeping an eye out for potential recruits. One of the first things many of those angry and hate-filled kids wanted to do when they got here from whatever war zone hell-hole they had fled, was to learn how to defend themselves. They believed if they did they would never feel so vulnerable again. So, it made good sense to have his people there ready to listen to their woes and alert him to any who might be more useful.
In terms of recruitment, it was right on the front-line and the people he had doing it there were all well trained and experienced.
His grand-daughter didn’t know any of that. She was simply passionate about martial arts as a sport. Vexana trained there and she also helped out a couple of hours each day after school assisting in teaching the children’s classes. Torbalen had complete trust that his people would watch over her there with as much care as he did himself. Although of course, Vexana had no idea of his real role here on Skapandir. She knew he owned the dojo and maybe even believed she was the only one bringing him word of what happened there. But she was also not naive and would have worked out by now that there was some kind of Legacy connection with the place.
“Vexy, you know you mustn’t get into that kind of conversation with anyone.”
She glared at him.
“I just said she was talking with some of the others.”
“Good. Because it is really not — ”
“Not what?” Vexana snapped. “Not appropriate? Not my business? My parents died because of it so I think that makes it my business.”
She was brittle and defensive. He said the wrong thing, as he always did.
“My son and daughter-in-law died because of it, Vexy, and I would rather my granddaughter did not and I have the suspicion that they would’ve felt the same.”
“They died. You didn’t.”
He sighed heavily. It was an old argument and he had never yet won.
“I have given my life to The Leg— ”
“Really? How is that? You were just running a shipping business.” The girl almost spat with contempt. “How did that help anyone?”
“I was doing other things too.”
“Like what? Making a donation now and then? How very noble and heroic.”
“It wasn’t like that. We’ve been over this before. You know I can’t tell you exactly what I was — ”
Vexana made a sound that was a half-growl, half-groan of frustration and threw herself out of the chair, back towards the door. In a moment she would slam it hard and he would hear her feet thump down the small staircase.
He hated that.
Each time it happened he was left with the chill of fear that this might be the time it had gone too far and she might do something rash.
“Tell me then,” he said quickly, breaking the usual script of their ongoing melodrama. “Tell me about this new girl.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

Mistrust and Treason is the first book in Iconoclast, a gripping new Fortune's Fools trilogy.

He lifted his flat cap and  scratched his head.

“Do I look like some cloak and dagger type?”

He indicated his boiler suit, and big oily hands.

“That’s the whole point…”

In the end they won, and MI6 gained a young giant with a steam tractor.

He functioned quietly for years. But even the deepest cover can be broken, and one day a Russian came – looking for a fight. He got what he came for, although not the outcome he confidently predicted.

Even the smell of cremating flesh can be camouflaged by oil and candy floss and cheap hot dogs…

©️jj 2018