A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…

Doug was a little, skinny man who sat in the window of his little, skinny shop mending clocks. He was a fixture in the city, and as reliable as the dawn. So the day he wasn’t there there, a hunt was called. But there was no sign. The city burghers sent for a finder who led them to a half-forgotten graveyard, where a moss-encrusted headstone marked Doughall Snaith’s last resting place.

The mayor had to be revived with smelling salts and burnt feathers.

“But who has been mending our clocks?”

“Who? Or What?”

The finder flew away laughing.

Jane Jago

Poems of puppy Fozzie Jago as he is exploring and experiencing the world!

Today my toof falled out
It bleeded on my toy
Hudad was very worry
Coz I is his favourite boy

Jane Jago

In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

The golden autumnal weather had given way to a chilly November. Dai Llewellyn sat at his desk by the broad window that looked out over the walled garden of his residence. He still struggled to think of it as ‘home’. Maybe it was the eagle over the door that sneered at him every time he crossed the threshold with its silent message that this was a villa designated sub aquila – Roman only. He wondered if he could arrange to get the facade remodelled on some excuse so above the name of the house, the poppies of its name were wreathed there instead.
He had been absently playing with the silver band around his index finger as he thought these near treasonous thoughts. Then he looked at the ring, it’s intricate blend of Celtic knots and Roman letters and symbols. It marked him out as a citizen – as Roman as his beloved wife Julia and without it she could not be his. She had given him this ring to remind him that their worlds were enriched by each other, not diminished.
Days like this he had to be reminded of that. Sighing, he tried to focus again on the information in front of him. A breakdown of the tenancy of a group of insulae on the rougher edge of Viriconium’s expanding commercial area. The buildings were owned by a Britannia wide property agency – Titus Holdings. They provided housing for over four hundred families – most were single-parent households or impoverished elderly folk who either had no family or whose sons and daughters lacked the space and resources to take them in. It was one of the poorest communities in the city and Dai knew that Titus Holdings did little for its tenants except ensure the structural integrity of the building was maintained. And that was only to avoid facing criminal charges if they should collapse.
He had not visited the estate himself since his return to Viriconium after almost a decade living in Londinium, but his Senior Investigator, Bryn Cartivel had done so and his account had been harrowing.
“I’m not saying I’ve not seen as bad – we both have. Think the dreg ends of the Caligula, but that was Londinium and most there were unregistered and criminals. These people are just desperately poor. Most do seasonal work in the farms around or go begging even. Half the kids look like they’ve not had a decent meal in their lives and most all the old folk are ill from the mould and damp. I was told there is a local joke that the estate has to restock each spring ‘cos so many don’t make it through the winter.” Bryn shook his head at the thought. “It’s grim, Bard.”
“Grim – but not illegal.” Dai had a bitter taste in his mouth as he spoke. “The law says no one forces those people to live there, they choose to do so. That means they choose to accept the conditions the owner offers. After all, if they don’t like it they can always leave.”
“I can see it now you put it that way. They are spoiled for choice with alternatives – sleep on the streets, or under a bridge by the river – or maybe in a nice comfy hedgerow.”
Dai sighed.
“Roman logic. People who can’t imagine what it is like to be so poor the very concept of ‘choice’ about anything in life is meaningless.”
“Not all Romans are rich – your Julia was born in a place not so very different, from what my Gwen tells me.”
“That’s true, but it’s the rich ones that make the laws.”

The reason Bryn had been visiting the Titus estate was the same reason Dai was pouring over complex legal documents relating to the ownership of it and looking at the list of tenants. Over the last month there had been a series of unexplained accidents – lifts failing, elderly people falling down a few steps and being injured but saying they felt as if they had been pushed, people reporting things being stolen whilst they were out but with no sign of a break in, a couple of small fires when people were out and reports of strange sounds coming from the walls. Not surprisingly, the local rumour mill had it that the blocks were cursed or haunted – or both.
Dai had ordered an investigation of the buildings from a structural viewpoint and he had read the surveyors report the previous day. It both utterly exonerated the owners for meeting the minimum legal requirements of upkeep, whilst completely damning them for taking no care or concern for the condition and welfare of their tenants. But that had been a careful subscript and had no legal significance at all. Which would have been the end of Dai’s ability to intervene had a fresh chance accident not occurred – only this one was fatal.
And it wasn’t an accident.
Gedder Blynae had been one of the better off residents of the estate and lived in Insula Cicero. He had returned home early from a family visit in Caesaromagus and found someone – or someones – in the process of emptying his home of its contents into an unmarked and unregistered van. Having served as an auxiliary in his youth, Gedder decided to tackle them himself. Being in the tail end of his seventies, his will was stronger that his way and he was found by his neighbours with severe injuries. Unfortunately for the thieves who killed him, he lived long enough to talk to the first of the vigiles on the scene. She was one of those who had transferred from Londinium with Dai and Bryn.
“He was in his right mind, dominus. Gripped my hand that tight I got bruises,” she had shown Dai and Bryn the imprint of Gedder’s fingers. “He said ‘You tell’em it was them bastards who did it – them was Titus boys. I pulled the mask off the one and he were the same as gets round when the rent is due’. Then he swore a lot and that was it.”
The word of a dead Briton spoken to a non-citizen vigiles against that of a citizen was never going to stand as anything more than inadmissible hearsay in a court presided over by Roman law. But for Dai, it was enough to set him pouring through the affairs of Titus holdings with a fine toothed comb. But so far it all came up squeaky clean legally. What he couldn’t figure was why Titus Holdings had decided to mount a campaign of terror against its own tenants when the profit being made from them was easily tripling any expenditure on the insulae.
So he did what he did whenever something was not working out in his own mind and went to find Julia.

From ‘Dying for a Home’ a short story in The First Dai and Julia Omnibus by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

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

If you’re old then I say this to you
There are certain things that you can’t do
You can’t make your lunch
Alcoholic punch
or have a Slow Comfortable Screw!

Eleanor Swift-Hook

After summer’s glory and October’s golden leaves
In comes bleak November and gaunt, skeletal trees
The winds blow hard, like steel is hard
With neither stint nor quarter
The cold comes in, winter begins
Jack Frost starts his slaughter.

There’s never, in November owt of soft or mellow
It’s not cheery December, coming with a hearty bellow
The mist in swathes, makes people wraiths
And bites with chilling ease
The dark days come, no warmth, no sun
No care that it should please.

Some take the time for fireworks, some for thanksgiving,
Most feel the creep of cold and dark with woeful misgiving
For like a dirge, November’s purge
Sweeps out the summer’s gains
And in its place, no trace of grace
Sets hail and freezing rains.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

A tale of angels, demons and dragons…

They broke their fast quietly with one eye on the sky, but in the end it was full noon before a gleaming speck in the sky announced the return of the dragon. She landed quietly this time. No histrionics. No wild wind or storm clouds. Aeva knew this boded no good to anyone and she was glad of Adamo’s strength at her back.
“Aeva Darkstar. It seems your instinct was faultless. The desert draca do indeed have a mortal male in their nest…”
“But?”
“But they will not give him up.”
“Will they not?”
“No Invigilator. They will not. They say that he is theirs to do with as they choose. When he has done that for which they borrowed him they propose eating him.”
Aeva sighed. “Thereby provoking a mortal versus monster war. I wonder why they are intent on doing something so potentially disastrous.”
If it was possible for a dragon to look puzzled the golden female on the sand would have done so. When she had come to the end of her train of thought she looked at Aeva and shook her head slowly. “I had thought it just the usual contrariness of the draca. But now I am having more thoughts. I think there are questions to be answered.”
“There are, indeed.”
“I will return, anon.” The dragon threw herself into the sky.
Aeva turned to Adamo. “This is going to get dangerous.”
“It already got dangerous, my lady. Look.”
He turned Aeva to face the northern skyline where four hooded figures sat astride tall horses. Three of the mounts were as dark as the midnight sky. The fourth was as pale as milk and his rider carried a scythe across his back with its curved blade gleaming in the noonday heat.
“We need help, Adamo. And we need it quickly. But how…”
Adamo lifted her hand, and placed her marked palm against the diamond wings where they lay against her throat. Lucifer’s voice echoed crisply in her mind.
“Aeva Darkstar asks for help. The price may be high.” He began to laugh, but then something changed his mind. “Of your goodness lend me your eyes.”
Aeva felt herself put gently to one side as the dark lord took over her faculties. It was a strangely chastening experience to understand for a moment the breadth of intellect, and the sheer power took her breath away. Then he was gone and her mind was her own once more. She reacquainted herself with her eyes, to find Lucifer standing before her. He looked at her sombrely.
“Who called the horsemen?”
“I don’t entirely know. But I would guess that it was whoever is responsible for the draca thinking they can get away with eating the Messenger they borrowed.”
“Eating the Messenger? Do they not know who he is?”
“Either they don’t know, or they don’t care. I rather wish I knew which.”
Adamo spoke from behind her. “I think the queen dragon has gone to find out.”
Lucifer spoke quietly. “Even though we do need to know, knowledge alone may not be a great deal of help. We need a big stick.”
He threw back his head and howled into the heavens.
“That should fetch him.”
“Fetch whom?”
Lucifer laughed and put a finger to the side of his nose.
Aeva felt like slapping him, but decided not to push her luck, instead looked to the east. “Oh. Oh.”
It was as if her gaze drew Lucifer’s dark eyes. The dark lord put a huge hand on her head in an oddly protective gesture as the dunes to the east filled with silent dragons, who stood watching Aeva with their whirling multicoloured eyes.
While she was processing the implications of that, a portal opened and three figures stepped out onto the sand. Lord Draco, with his oddly lizard-like head poking out from the shifting swirling chaos of his cloak, Gabriel dressed from head to toe in white and with the desert sun reflecting in the iridescence of his wings, and Athena bearing the scales of her position as the judge of mortals in one large white hand. They came to where Lucifer stood with his hand on Aeva’s head.
“You called?” Gabriel spoke mildly enough, but the brazen trumpets were back in his voice.
“I called Draco because his children are misbehaving.”
“How so?”
“They have the missing Messenger, but they are not prepared to give him back. When he has done his duty as a fertile male they propose to eat him.”
Gabriel groaned and Athena slapped Lord Draco hard across his head.
“Explanation please.”
The god of half-monsters rubbed an oddly-jointed hand across the bony plates of his head. “I don’t have one right now. But I do have an idea who might know.” He rolled his lips back from his teeth and made a strange hissing noise. For a moment nothing happened, but then the wind picked up and the sand spun itself into whirling dervishes of heat and spite. Gabriel raised a hand, and the desert stilled. The dragon that landed was black, and sleek and beautiful. She was also visibly annoyed. As her feet touched the sand she stared about her pushing out a petulant lip, but before she could utter a word Lord Draco dropped his cloak and spoke a word of power. In the place of the beautiful dragon there stood a strangely-jointed biped with a dark, leathery skin and small crumpled wings.
Lucifer stepped in front of Aeva and stood with his arms folded.
The Guardian of all half-mortals hissed at his creature and she dropped to her knees.
Adamo bent his mouth to Aeva’s ear. “What is she?”
“Draca, in true form. But hush now.”
He subsided, but Aeva could almost taste his curiosity.
Lord Draco looked at the half-dragon, and when he spoke his voice was laden with contempt. “Well, my pretty. What have you been up to now?”
“Nothing, dear my lord.”
He hissed a polysyllabic at her and she seemed to become too small for her skin.
“It was just a joke. He said it would be fun to set the mortals and the monsters at each other’s throats. There will be plenty of carrion to feed on too.”
“Who said?”
The creature opened her mouth but no sound came. Lord Draco looked helplessly at his peers. “I think she will die before she can tell me who put her up to this. But if that is what it takes.”
Lucifer shook his head. “It won’t help. More to the point my lizardly chum, how much authority did you allow that one to usurp?”
Draco hung his head. “Rather a lot.”
“Meaning?” Athena sounded dangerously irritated.
“Meaning the nest has my sanction to take the mortal, and do with him as they will.”
Aeva hadn’t even known that angels could swear. When Gabriel calmed down he turned to Lucifer.
“What now, my brother?”
Lucifer shook his head. “That depends on the courage of one half-demon doesn’t it.
Aeva sighed. “A duel? To the death maybe?” Then she squared her shoulders. “It is my burden.”
She felt Adamo stiffen at her back. “You are not considering fighting a dragon. Tell me you are not.”
“No amore mio. I will be fighting the draca who borrowed the missing Messenger. In her true form.”
He relaxed fractionally. “That’s still not good. But at least it is not an automatic death sentence.”
Lucifer snorted. “I dislike being the puppet of a badly disciplined female and whoever is pulling her strings.”
Aeva chuckled. “As opposed to pulling strings yourself?”
“You are really much too intelligent for a half-mortal,” Lucifer sounded amused, indulgent and almost affectionate. He opened his mouth as if to say somewhat else but obviously thought better of it. He looked down at Aeva and his mouth twisted before he spoke in an entirely different voice. “If you are going to have to fight this draca, let us at least ensure it’s a fair fight.”

Aeva’s Challenge by Jane Jago will continue next week.

Pearls of wisdom from an octogenarian who’s seen it all…

Rice. Rice with vinegar. Rice with vinegar and seaweed and (often) raw fish.

What the feck is that all about?

Yeah, fish and vinegar. That’s all good. But we’ll have the fish wrapped in batter and served with chips shall we?

Okay. 

Sushi, and all the other stuff, comes from another culture and I accept that. 

I just don’t want to eat it.

The texture is strange. The taste is odd.

And then there are chopsticks – for which uses are limited. You can use them to eat with.

Or

Stab the idiot who brought you to a sushi restaurant 

A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…

He was a big plain-faced man with a small, brown wife. Nobody would’ve taken a moment’s notice if they hadn’t found oil on his land. 

Suddenly he was accounted handsome and his wife insufficient to his new status. They weathered the storm, until the young wife sickened and grew frail. The farmer unearthed the moppet with her hair and menstrual blood and burned it, but the need for vengeance was aroused. 

It cost a great deal of money, but he accounted it worthwhile when the smallpox left every woman in the valley scarred – except his own little brown wife.

Jane Jago

What is the effing point of effing fireworks?

At any time. 

But on Bonfire Night? You stand in someone’s muddy effing garden and a drunk man in shorts  sets fire to some stuff. In November. In the cold. Drinking iced strong lager. And then somebody offers you a jacket potato that’s raw in the middle, ditto a sausage…

The sheer waste of money and effort beggars belief – not to mention  frightened pets all across the country.

So. If you must set fire to your money please at least confine your efforts to one day.

Or granny will shove a riprap up your arse

In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises

It had got dark and by the time Dai had picked up Bryn it was well past time for the evening meal.
“Don’t worry, Bard, we’ll grab some chips and garum when we’ve done this,” Bryn said cheerfully. “So this woman is a real patrician and she was married to one of the sleaziest of sleazebag bad-boy Romans you could ever come across? You have to wonder how that could happen. I thought them families had all kinds of laws that said unless the entire gens agreed, three augurs all peed purple piss on the kalends and the lares farted ‘Salve Oh Divine Augustus’ in harmony, the marriage wasn’t valid?”
Dai grinned. After the day he had just been through it was good to have Bryn’s caustic humour.
“Something like that,” he agreed. “But maybe our friend Rufus just bribed, conned or blackmailed them all.”
“Poor bloody bitch, if so. Would mean she’d been sold off to a wrong ‘un, a real bad boy.”
This apartment block was almost the twin of the one Dai had visited with Julia earlier that day. The same placid exterior, the same mosaic floors with the same designs. It was like having a bad repeating dream. Except this time there was no corpse to welcome them at the door.  Instead, there was a slightly sleepy looking, extremely beautiful girl. She had light brown hair piled up in a very fashionable style, and the most exquisite blue eyes which were set off by the lapis jewellery she was wearing. Dai regretted that so far they could only see her face on the screen by the door.
“Vigiles?” She barely glanced at the ID Dai offered and did not even ask their names. Dai had the feeling this was something of a routine event in her life. “What’s Roo-Roo done now?”
“Can we come in please, domina?” Dai asked politely. “This is something we need to talk about in person.”
“Well, you could,” she said smiling and then put a ripe strawberry in her mouth and licked the juice off her fingers.
“Uh, thank you,” Dai said, a little uncertain when the door remained closed. The face on the small screen smiled at him.
“You could,” she repeated, “but Roo-Roo would kill me if I had any men in the house when he was away.” She looked very serious.
“This is a very important matter concerning Roo-Roo – concerning your husband, domina. Please let me in, or if you insist I can send for a female vigiles to speak with you?”
Her expression changed and she screwed up her nose as if the very idea disgusted her. It seemed an extreme reaction.
“I’d better hope Roo-Roo doesn’t come home whilst you are here then.”
The apartment was less opulent on the inside than it appeared from outside. There was fine furniture and a couple of pieces of wall art, but it all had a worn look about it. Only the small niche where the lares sat gleamed with what looked to be several gold items, and one penate holding a cornucopia with jewels pouring from it. Dai wondered if he had interrupted her private devotions; as there was a small offering bowl visible and the slight smell of incense.
Octavia must have seen the direction of his gaze, because she walked quickly over to the niche and closed the doors, pulling the beautifully embroidered hanging over them. Then she turned to face the men, standing with her hands clasped behind her, almost looking defiant, as if engaging in the worship of her own household gods in her own house was something less than acceptable.
“I know you’ll think it all silly superstition,” she said, lowering her gaze demurely, “but I find it very comforting.”
Dai felt Bryn stir behind him and give a soft cough of embarrassment.
“Not at all, domina,” Dai told her, wondering how such a naive innocent could have wound up with a cunnus like Urbanus Hostilius Rufus. “Perhaps you would sit down and we can talk, there is something we need to tell you about your husband.”
She smiled and moved to one of the couches, arranging her stola with an easy grace and reclining on it completely, cradling her head on one arm as she looked at them with sky blue eyes.
“He’s in trouble again?”
“I am afraid it is a bit more serious than that. Do you have any friends or family near by? Anyone you could ask to stay with you for a few days?”
Octavia’s eyes glanced involuntarily at one of the inner doors and then looked back to Dai. She had coloured very slightly.
Deo Damnatus, Dai thought and exchanged a brief look with Bryn, she has a lover in the bedroom.
“He’s been arrested?” she sounded surprised.
“No,” Dai said, his tone flat. “I’m afraid he’s been murdered.”
Her mouth opened and she uttered a low cry came which picked up in pitch and intensity until it was a full-blown scream.
Dai found himself beside her, unsure whether he should slap her or hold her. She made the decision for him, sitting up and pulling him close, her hands gripping into his tunic as she almost stifled his face in her bosom.
“My Roo-Roo! My poor Roo-Roo!” she wailed.
With some difficulty, Dai disentangled himself and managed to hand her off to Bryn, who was not at all averse to having a beautiful young woman pressing herself against him as she sobbed.
“I’ll find you some tissues,” Dai said vaguely and moved to the door that Octavia had glanced at before. He was about to open it when she squealed.
“No! Not in there.”
Trusting Bryn to keep her from getting in the way, Dai opened the door to what he fully expected to be a lavish bedroom and a naked young man. Instead it was an undecorated room, with a simple double bed and cardboard boxes stacked up with clothes visible neatly folded in them. On the bed sat an elegantly dressed woman, who got to her feet as soon as she saw Dai. Her designer stola was draped in soft folds of silk about her. It took him a moment to place her, to think where he had seen her before. Then he realised he hadn’t, but he had seen pictures of her and the odd moment on TV when the news was covering some swish event. She had been on the arm of Tribune Decimus Lucius Didero.
Instinctively he bowed his head.
“Domina.”

From Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook