Two Women and Some Books
The evidence of grief
And the motions of sorrow
Some that we learn
And some we just borrow
The solitary figure
Dry eyed by the grave
Whose hurt runs too deep
For convention to brave
Who stands thus erect
Drawing scarcely a breath
Feels the hard scraping pain
Of a love killed by death
Those who say cold
Have not looked in those eyes
It is not just a loved one
But I who have died
©️ jane jago 2017
From 'Dying on the Tide' one of the bonus short stories included in 'The First Dai and Julia Omnibus'
It was a two-hour drive to Virconium, given a speedy vehicle and a reliable driver. Having both, they arrived without incident. The city was gearing up for next month’s Saturnalia with bright lights and sparkly tinsel in every shop window to lure in gift-buyers. Julia felt an odd pang of nostalgia as she caught sight of a display of sigillaria in one. There were candles moulded or carved into fantastic and beautiful wax sculptures, beside a shelf of grotesque and amusing ones. She wondered how it would be to spend her first Saturnalia away from Rome.
The navi system took them straight to the dance studio, where Julia followed Dai and Bryn as they made their way to the reception desk in a cool quiet portico. The elaborately coiffed young man behind the white and gold edifice recoiled visibly.
“Members only,” he snapped.
Bryn stepped forward.
“The Submagistratus wants a word with Bont.”
The receptionist opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no sound emerged.
“Sometime this week, sonny”
“Not possible. Ulysses is busy right now.”
“Well un-busy him.”
“I don’t think I can…”
Bryn smiled and leaned over the desk, cracking his knuckles. The receptionist swallowed audibly, then he thumbed a button.
“Ulysses Bont to reception. Immediately please.”
Bryn rewarded him with a wolfish grin.“Now you’re being sensible. Got somewhere we can talk uninterrupted?”
They were soon ensconced in a pleasant room, which Julia was delighted to find came complete with beverages and cake. It wasn’t long before they were joined by a lean man wearing a sardonic expression.
“You wanted me, dominus?” he said a waspish bite to his tone.
Dai looked him up and down slowly.
“I think wanted is an exaggeration.”
Bont coloured, but Julia could see he wasn’t brave enough to argue with a man whose blue eyes were as bleak as a winter morning. Bont shut his mouth and cast down his gaze.
“Better. Now. Talk to me about Tales from the Mabinogion.”
“What?” Bont looked up in surprise. “The dance troupe?”
“Yes.”
“We were contracted for a three-month school tour. Then disbanded.”
He met Dai’s stare defiantly for a moment, then looked at Julia. She schooled her expression to stone. Something in her face seemed to get to him, though and he sighed. “Okay, it was more than a bit odd. We were paid well over the going rate and our paymasters were a bit creepy. Too interested in kids. Always girls and always the petite ones. Not that I ever saw them actually do anything, I’d have reported them if they had.” he broke off for a moment as if thinking about what had happened. “You have to understand, they really weren’t the sort of people you question. But…”
“But indeed. Do you have any names?”
“There were two of them, a couple of men, called themselves Smith. Can I ask what you think they have done?”
“Eleven of those girls have gone missing.”
“Oh no. Please, no.” Bont looked truly sick. “Look. I don’t know much that could help you, I really wish I did. That’s – just horrible.” He broke off shaking his head as if trying to deny it. Then he looked up directly at Dai. “Except that there’s this female dancer, I never liked her. Her name is Katya Czesny, she was right in with the Smiths. And she is still working In Viriconium.”
“Where?”
“A nightspot. The Scarlet Letter. She’s cage dancing now. Calls herself Lubricia.”
Julia spoke for the first time.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
The Dai and Julia Mysteries are written by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook
Dear Reader Who Writes,
One cannot help but feel that one scarcely needs to trouble oneself with an introduction. The trademark quill? The eloquent and sophisticated writing style? It could be none other than Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV – acclaimed and admired author of “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth” whose fantastical and fortuitous adventures through the megaplex-multiverse have been steady in the Amazon charts as Bestseller One – in a – Million for over a year.
And, as Mummy so eloquently put it, “Moony, you little tosspot, you have been writing that freaking crap for so long now – if the poor unfortunate sods who read it don’t know your name by this time they ain’t never gonna learn.” As I recall it, she then spat reflectively into the fire and a gobbet of saliva and mucus bubbled gently on the artificial logs.
And so to our next lesson. Sit up straight and pay attention. There may be an examination later.
Yes my panting little followers, let us for just one moment pretend that you have come so far as to be able to offer a book of your own creation up for the delectation of that cruel and capricious bitch that is the reading public. You have crossed every eye and dotted every tee, you have edited and subedited, you have begged the opinion of many readers (none of whom will agree on any point, leaving you to either start again from scratch or ignore them all) and placed your precious manuscript into the hands of the holy angel Kindle. All is going swimmingly, and then you are asked what price you wish to place upon this darling offspring of your imagination. Your mind will be in turmoil. What should I do? The question reverberating around the cold, damp, muddy canyons of your simple little psyche.
Is it wise to charge the mean 99p/99c? For those whose virginity had yet to be breached in this area of life, this Is the smallest moiety Dame Kindle allows her charges to place on their literary efforts. Many so-called wise heads will tell you that this is the course of wisdom and the road by which your little effort may reach the hearts and minds of the greatest number of possible new lovers of your precious prose. These prophets of doom will say unto you that you are a new author and you should be properly humble and have low expectations of the sales and monetary gain to be expected from a self-published novel from the pen of an unknown.
I say. Fie upon them. And again fie upon them.
Let not such smallness ever press its skinny little fingers into the soft pink marshmallowiness of your flesh. Let not such paucity of ambition sully the pristine pathways in your little head.
Never price a book below Ten Pounds Sterling. Whatever that may be in colonial currencies (eleven euros or thirteen dollars, Mummy tells me). Whether she be correct or as far off the beam as the mad old bat usually is matters not here. We are speaking of principle here, of the sale of our heart’s’ blood, of the prostitution of the children of our mind. Therefore let us at least ask a fair price for our endeavours. Ten Pounds Sterling, and not a penny less…
And while the rightness and wrongness of pricing is on my mind there is one other thing we must discuss. The promotion. The book sale. The freebie. The so-called holy grail of marketing, supposed to garner you sales ranking and reviews. Well it’s just so much pish and tush. I am here to tell you not to bother. One, having once been inveigled into allowing one’s masterpiece to be offered free of charge for a whole week, knows of what one speaks. And how many downloads did that garner? And how many reviews followed? One download (which turned out to be Mummy who was too stingy to buy it before). I repeat One Download And No Reviews.
So don’t do it. Price in a way that reflects the love and inspiration you have put in your magnum opus – and stick with it.
Until next. Remember to wash behind your ears, and ecrit bon
Blazing, maddened, scarlet eyes turned to focus on Grace out of the depths of black wrinkles. The sclerae of the gorilla soldier’s eyes were a brilliant red, his irises a deep, dark brown. His pupils were enormous. Grace knew immediately that this soldier had been exposed to trifluoroquinthiomataze, a gaseous weapon used in biological warfare which, when inhaled, caused psychosis, paranoia, eventual blindness, and ultimately, death.
Grace was suddenly shoved flat to the ground, her right cheek bouncing hard off of the rough floor. The enraged gorilla soldier dove over top of her, like a rocket whizzing by. She realized that this delusional gorilla soldier had probably just been brought in from a battlefield where Tri-FQ had been released. In his gas-induced psychosis, there was no telling what he was seeing or thinking. He desperately needed the antidote.
The torn chains flapping from his limbs clearly indicated that he had broken the restraints that had been for his own safety, as well as others. Grace suspected the medics had run out of the antidote for Tri-FQ in the field. They were always prepared for its possible release. Unfortunately, this powerful gorilla soldier had managed to tear himself loose in his madness. Space only knew what was going on in the soldier’s mind. The bright red sclerae indicated that the gorilla soldier was heading rapidly down the road towards insanity and irreversible disease.
It was paramount that Grace get the antidote into him as quickly as possible.
“Get me a syringe full of 100 milligrams of Antiquint along with 1 gram of Stilzine, stat!” Grace screamed at a silver android, standing off to one side of the engagement, just as the two tiger soldiers leaped on top of the infuriated gorilla soldier and attempted to hold him down. They were both flung away, as if they were mere insects, and the Tri-FQ poisoned gorilla again made a charge straight for Grace.
‘Why me?’ a little voice in Grace’s head wailed, as she watched the enraged gorilla soldier stampede straight towards her. All she could focus on were the reds of the combat soldier’s eyes, as she tensed for the inevitable impact. A split second before he slammed into her, the grizzly bear sergeant leaped into the gorilla soldier’s path and threw a right hook that Grace thought would have crumpled a space shuttle.
The gas-crazed gorilla soldier just shook off the punch and threw one of his own. The sergeant grunted with the impact but stood his ground. Grace gawked as the two titans began swinging their massive fists, striking each other with punishing blows. Grace was then struck in her abdomen by a diving wolfman, who tackled her out of the way, just as the grizzly bear sergeant was forced backwards by the advancing gorilla. The sergeant stomped onto the spot Grace had just vacated.
The two genetically modified soldiers, grizzly bear versus gorilla, roared deafeningly at each other. They continued rapidly launching lethal punches, kicks, and blocks, inhumanly and powerfully fast. Staccato-like, the impacts of those furious assaults rang out loudly in the Receiving Bay. Grace could barely see the movement of their swinging limbs, they flew so fast. She knew that any one of those punches, connecting with her body, would have left her in a puddle of broken bones.
Skidding across the floor, wrapped within the wolfman’s arms, Grace finally came to rest at the feet of the silver android. Silently and gracefully, it bent down and offered her a filled syringe with a long, large bore needle. On the side of it was neatly printed Antiquint and Stilzine, with the accompanying milligram dosages. It was enough drug to fell a creature twenty times Grace’s size and weight. With no time to thank the android, Grace found herself air-born again, her right hand clutching the syringe tightly. Tossed from the wolfman to the orangutan soldier, who then whipped her up over his shoulder—almost making her drop the syringe!—she was carried up the side of the space shuttle.
Quick on the orangutan’s heels was the gorilla, who had managed to throw his grizzly bear opponent out of the way. Grace stared directly into maddened, blood red eyes, as the gorilla soldier shrieked his frustration, lunging after her. She saw the two tigers then leap onto the crazed gorilla’s back, grabbing an arm each, while the wolf dove to wrap his arms around the gorilla’s legs. The grizzly bear sergeant then rushed up between the two tigers and locked his great arms around the drug-crazed soldier’s chest, pinning the gorilla’s arms in a tight bear hug from behind. The sergeant began slowly squeezing the chest of the huge gorilla soldier while the other three men held on, anchoring him in place. The psychotic gorilla struggled, but the grizzly bear’s arms held firm, the sergeant’s face etched with strain.
“Hold him tight,” ordered Grace, in a loud, commanding voice. “And put me down!” she hollered at the orangutan. The apeman released Grace so suddenly, she slid off the side of the space shuttle and almost fell to her knees. Cursing, she raised the precious syringe high in the air to protect it.
You can pick up Welcome to the Madhouse first book in The Grace Lord Series by Sharon Sasaki for free!
About Sharon Sasaki I am a third generation Japanese Canadian. From a very young age, I wanted to be a writer and artist. I carried a pad and pencil everywhere, but my parents told me I would 'starve as a writer/artist'. They told me I had to be a doctor or a Ph.D. I went into research and was in a Ph.D. program at the University of Toronto in the Neuroscience field. I published papers in the Journal of Cell Biology and Brain Research but I found that research was just not for me. I went into medical school and became a family doctor. After practicing as a solo GP in a small rural town for over twenty years, having raised two beautiful children with my chiropractor husband, I became 'burnt out' and switched to surgical assisting. It was then that I began to write again. I had feared that the stories in my head had gone forever, but they’ve slowly returned and I attempt to do them justice. I have begun painting again and I create collages with Japanese papers. Whether I become a ‘successful writer’ or not is inconsequential. If I can share my stories with a small group of readers and make them laugh and yell, “Oh!” or “You bastard!” out loud, I will be pleased. My first science fiction novel is about a medical space station and is titled ‘Welcome to the Madhouse’. It received an excellent review from Kirkus Reviews - ’A layered debut that sings odes to the grandmasters of sci-fi’ - and was featured in their September 2015 magazine. The sequel, ‘Bud by the Grace of God’ also received an excellent review - ‘Both a paean to the sci-fi genre and a captivating return to a space station in a complex universe.’ It was featured in the September 2016 Kirkus Reviews magazine in the Indie section. The third book in The Grace Lord Series is titled ‘Amazing Grace’ and will hopefully be published before Christmas. If you are interested in checking out my visual artwork, you can go to my website.
In the master bedroom, a woman shut the door between herself and the scores of well-meaning friends and relations who filled the house with their hustle and bustle. She sat down in front of her mirror and began making herself ready to face the hardest day of her life. She worked carefully, taking each step of the ritual slowly, and attempting to brace herself with the simple fact of its familiarity. It was a routine in which each item on her dressing table had its allotted place, and was to be used at its allotted time.
She noticed dispassionately how sorrow and lack of sleep had wreaked havoc with her face, and dabbled random snatches of grey into her cap of mouse-brown hair. Even the softly flattering antique mirror she had inherited from her mother’s grandmother couldn’t make her seem anything but old, and sad, and somehow diminished on this particular morning. ‘You look a proper hag’ she said to her reflection, before gently putting her hairbrush in its accustomed place. She picked up her rings from the little glass bowl beside her, where they always lived when she wasn’t wearing them. After sliding them onto her fingers, she closed her eyes while she threaded gold hoops into the holes in her earlobes.
Feeling the warm weight of two hands on her shoulders, she opened her eyes and managed a half smile for the man who stood behind her.
‘You all right?’
‘No. But I will be.’
‘Good girl.’
She looked down at the rings on her left hand for a moment before saying what was at the very front of her mind.
‘It occurs to me that if I believed in the resurrection and the light, and the possibility of eternal life in the hands of a loving God, today might be a comfort to me…’
‘It might indeed. But as you don’t, not even a little bit, it will be just one more thing to be endured.’
Being so completely understood was like balm to her shredded nerve endings and she put the hand she had been so carefully studying on top of the big square one on her left shoulder.
‘Oh I do love you’ she said with almost childlike simplicity ‘I just don’t tell you enough.’
‘That’s all right’ he replied, in the deep imperturbable voice that had been her lodestone for more than forty years ‘I know. I’ve always known.’
She allowed herself the luxury of leaning back and resting her head against the solid wall of his chest. Closing her eyes she let the tears run unchecked down her cheeks.
‘Don’t cry, love.’
‘Am not. Much.’
Then she felt him bend and rest his cheek against her hair. They stayed like that for a long time, each drawing courage from the other as they had done so many times before. When he finally lifted his head, their eyes met in the silvery depths of the mirror.
‘I just wish…’
But she was never to hear what he wished as there came a tap on the door and her sister’s worried face peeped around the panels.
‘Are you ready? It’s just that the cars are here.’
She stood up and squared her shoulders. ‘Yes. Coming now.’
So she left that place of sanctuary, and went downstairs. Down to where people wore black clothes and sombre faces, and where the hearse bearing her husband’s coffin waited in the street.
© Jane Jago 2017
The road ahead seems long, but with you by my side
I will not feel the miles, I’ll take them in my stride.
And if the path grows steep, I’ll not the low-road seek,
But strengthened by your arm, I will scale the peak.
When night falls into dark and all about is cold,
Your words will keep me warm, your presence make me bold.
And then at journey’s end, whenever that might be
I’ll settle down to sleep and know that you’re with me.
Review by Jane Jago.
Murder in Absentia introduces us to Felix the Fox and his world.
Felix is the son of a bankrupt suicide who makes his living solving mysteries. He lives in Egretia – which is not Rome.
I choose to emphasise not Rome because Egretia is the author’s own creation. It is a world based on ancient Rome but with its own life and its own particular ideas and ideals. This is an interesting and complex notion, that is handled with some skill. The world Felix inhabits quickly takes life, and the sounds, smells and geography are very well portrayed. Felix himself feels as if he is a handsome devil, who could well know he is attractive to women, but is not written as smug or vain. In the end, I liked him even if it took a while. He is well drawn, but I could wish for a little more meat on the bones of the other characters, especially the females. As an aside here, on character development, the person, aside from Felix, we come to know best is dead when we meet him.
Now to the story. In its essence it’s a simple whodunnit. A young man dies and our hero is tasked with finding out how, why, and who is responsible. I don’t think it is in any way a spoiler to say that this is no ordinary death, there is no poison, and no fatal wound. So what killed Caeso? Finding out is a dangerous and complex business, and one that draws the reader deep into Egretia and the world in which it sits.
This is a cracking story and a guaranteed page turner although I felt it took a few chapters to get properly into its stride. It’s an excellent read, and is twisty enough for the most dedicated of mystery readers, complex enough for lovers of fantasy, and scholarly enough to feed the interest of alternative history buffs.
I shall hope to meet Felix again.
4.5 stars rounded to 5
Review by E.M. Swift-Hook.
Rara avis.
‘Our city may be named after the regal birds that grace our shores, but our people march on squid.’
Egretia is Ancient Rome, but Ancient Rome in a parallel universe where magic is real. This is historical urban fantasy at its best and it will appeal to all who have enjoyed the works of Lindsey Davis, Rosemary Rowe, Steven Saylor, David Wishart, Ruth Downie, Jane Finnis and a handful of other authors who have set their whodunit solving heroes lose in a Roman setting. But Assaph Mehr‘s hero, Felix the Fox, has both the advantage and the disadvantage of living in a world where magic is real. He has some small command over it himself, but he is up against those who know much more powerful spells than he does.
Then story opens with Felix being asked to look into the strange death of a local official’s son. It turns out an ancient and powerful magic had to be involved and Felix has to call on the knowledge, skill and ability of several friends and enemies to try to get some idea of what is going on. Secret cabals and ancient manuscripts, death curses and pretty actresses, sea voyages and gladiatorial games, mysterious prophecies and mythical beasts that are real in his world, all play their part in helping Felix track down the reason the young man died.
‘I am not usually afflicted by bouts of honour and disposing of the bodies in the nearest sewer would have been quicker, but I have seen enough vengeful shades of the dead not to want one associated with my home.’
This is a well-written book with a well developed and believable world. The author has clearly spent a lot of time researching into Ancient Rome and then taking the history and using it as a brilliant raw resource to craft his own landscape of an alternative Ancient Mediterranean world. It is not only Ancient Rome we see on display in Egretia, but Ancient Greece (Hellica) and Egypt (Mitzrana) as well. The characters are very well painted into the background scenery, even those we only meet in passing like Crassitius, the lanista who hires Felix a bodyguard gladiator, have their own personalities well shaped and on show, the result is a very solid and totally credible world.
The pace is well managed, a little slow perhaps at the beginning due to some scene setting, but quickly picking up to a pleasing clip which is then maintained throughout the rest of the book. The story has some extremely intriguing twists and turns and I would be telling fibs if I were to try to claim that I saw the final denouement coming in advance. To make the whole even more of a delight, the book is lightly garnished with touches of humour.
‘She tried to snatch her hand back, but found it bound to the table with the shimmering tracery holding her wrist tight.’
My main criticism of the book is in the earlier pages when the amount of information delivered almost turns into a lecture. Correction, it does turn into a lecture at a couple of points. A slightly less heavy hand would have created a better impression from the off, but I have to say it is swiftly forgotten once the book gets going. The other issue I feel which was skated close to, but never quite breached, was the limits on the magic Felix could command. On a couple of occasions, it did brush very lightly against being a bit too convenient that he just happened to have a spell that could do what was needed.
Overall, I loved this book. Anyone who, like me, has hunted out just about every author of Roman whodunits or who loves urban fantasy with an alternative historical twist, will want to read this.
5 Stars
You can find out more about Assaph, Felix the Fox and the world of Egretia – including the soon to be released second book in the series ‘In Numina’ on the Egretia Website.
Can science create proper life?
Will Frankenstein make him a wife?
Can a sentient soul
Be grown in a bowl?
Or is mankind just heading for strife?
© jane jago 2017
After a final blessing, the doors of the sanctuary were closed behind the shivering priests, who scuttled inside bearing with them the expensive offerings of a grateful city.
“Thank you so much for doing that, Julia, especially with it being so cold. I do have to think the Divine Diocletian didn’t have in mind that we should stand freezing in his honour when these festivities were first added to Saturnalia,” Caudinus observed as they made their way back across the atrium. “But then I don’t suppose it gets quite so cold in Spalatum in December as it does here in Cornovii so it was prob-”
“Magistratus!”
Their escort had move smartly to come between Caudinus and the two men who suddenly appeared from the dispersing crowd, shepherding a smaller cloak-wrapped figure between them.
Caudinus frowned and made a frustrated tutting sound as they came to a halt in the middle of the atrium.
“I am Mot Fionn, dominus. This is my father Kalgo and my only child Megan.”
Julia realised with a slight shock of surprise that she recognised the name. Dai had told her how this time last year, well before he had even met Julia, Hywel had tried to match-make Megan and Dai on a blind date. The Fionns were neighbours to the Llewellyn lands, such close neighbours that their land wrapped around a strip of Hywel’s. Megan was the heiress to the Fionn lands and it had seemed a good idea to both families if an alliance could be arranged. But, it had not gone well, by Dai’s account and had finished with him returning an unhappy and rather drunk Megan home whilst not being exactly sober himself.
Dai had told her Megan was a young woman but had not said how young. Julia could see she was still really a child, maybe seventeen and beneath the hood of her cloak her face looked pinched and miserable.
“Please, Magistratus, I demand justice for my child,” Mot called out. “She has been treated badly and left in a sorry state.”
Caudinus gestured to his guards to let the trio approach.
“This is not the time or place, Fionn, but tell me the thrust of it quickly and then put the details in an email. When we get back to business after the festival I will see you have your justice.”
The two men were glaring at him with cold antipathy. Julia glanced at Megan, but she had her head lowered as if protecting something she was holding under the cloak.
“So? What is this? Speak up. I am willing to hear you, but not to freeze whilst you take your time thinking of what to say.”
“My apologies, dominus,” Kalgo said, bobbing his head respectfully. “It is just – I – well, we – are afraid to speak.”
Caudinus was frowning now.
“Unless you need to admit to some crime, you have no need to be afraid to speak. Just tell me what this is about.”
“With the greatest respect, dominus,” Mot said, his tone obsequious, “there is always peril is speaking truth to power. You are known to be a just and fair man, but when matters touch one’s own family – justice can be lost.”
“Oh for -” Caudinus snapped his mouth shut and drew a breath. “Part of being ‘just and fair’ is not favouring any. Now, please state your problem so we can all get into the warm.”
“Then I state here before witnesses that Dai Llewellyn fathered a child on my daughter and abandoned them both to marry another.” As he spoke he pulled open Megan’s cloak to show the dark-haired infant she held. Julia found the air she was breathing had no oxygen. An odd, detached and lightheaded sensation pulsed behind her eyes. For a moment she even thought she might faint.
Caudinus raised a hand to silence the sudden low buzz of speculation.
“You can’t just walk up to someone and make accusations like that, Fionn. This is not the time or the place – this is a temple on a sacred holiday, not a family court session.”
But Mot was pushing Megan forward, so much that she staggered a couple of paces, clutching the infant to her. Julia put out an instinctive hand to stop the girl stumbling and her face looked up in abject misery.
“Tell them, girl,” Mot demanded, “tell them who is the father of your child. Swear it before the gods and the people.”
“Dai Llewellyn is the father of my child,” she said the words in little more than a whisper.
“And?” Kalgo growled as if prompting her in a lesson.
“And I do swear it before the gods and the people.”
That was enough, more than enough, to set flame to the tinder of crowd gossip and Caudinus had to shout this time to get attention. Julia fought down the impulse to scream and run. With her head pounding and her heart lead in her breast, she drew on her years of military training to stand erect and proud.
“That is enough, Fionn!” Caudinus was saying. “Get your daughter and her baby into the warm and make a proper presentation of your claim in due legal manner. And if I find this is an accusation without proof -”
“We have proof, dominus,” Kalgo told him, face twisting in a grimace. “We have DNA test results. And don’t worry we’ll put it all in legal writing and send it to you like you ask.” He jerked his head and Mot almost pulled Megan over, as he seized her arm and strode off. In Megan’s arms, the baby started crying and the wails seemed to transfix the people in the temple precincts until the Fionn family had walked back out through the gate.
Dying as a Druid is the fourth in the Dai and Julia mysteries by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.
