Your truth is built on shifting sand
On words that move and drift
One day proffers a helping hand
The next, opinion shifts
Your truth is like a house of cards
As brittle as your smile
I’ve felt your scorn and take it hard
I may be gone a while

©️ jj 2024

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

It was early summer and the weather took it into its head to be idyllic, which meant the pub was heaving from opening time until we shoved the last customer out into the the starlit car park and locked the door. Between the office, care of my children, and pinch hitting in the kitchen, I had no time to think about disaffected Romany daughters or the possible ramifications of a feud between the Lovell and Proudly clans. The purchase of the orchard and the other bits of land went through more or less on the nod, with my only input being the transfer of twenty-five thousand pounds and my signature alongside Ben’s on a sheaf of documents our solicitor was kind enough to bring to us. Ben and I waved his expensively tailored figure farewell as he exited the car park in his shiny Volvo. I looked up at Ben’s face to see him wearing his confused look.
“What’s up love?”
“Larry the Law Wrangler. Dresses like a rabid Tory. Drives that exceedingly boring Swedish monstrosity like your maiden aunt if you had one. But…”
“But he’s further out on the political left than you or me could ever be, and spends his weekend thrashing a souped up Beamer up and down vertical slopes.”
“Something like that. I mean, how come?”
“Necessity Benny. He couldn’t be a successful solicitor in rural Hampshire if he looked, or acted like his true self. So Monday through Friday he puts on his work face and gets on with the job.”
“That makes so much sense. Like a uniform. Like me not wearing my favourite trackies with a hole in the arse, and your designer threads and carefully assembled image.”
“Pretty much.”
“Why have I never thought about it before?”
“Mostly because you rarely deal with him. It’s my job.”
“That’s a truth too. I think today is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with him. Wouldn’t have had that if he hadn’t brought the papers for us to sign.” He paused and scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, why’d he do that?”
I had to laugh. “Because he likes our food. And because he can pig out and still tell himself he only had tapas for lunch.”
Work called, but at least we went back to the grindstone laughing.
With the month of June drawing to a breathless end, the pub continued to be frantically busy, but our hard-worked ‘family’ at last achieved a bit of a break in the form of an influx of students from the local catering college. We have always taken youngsters on work placements and apprenticeships, and it has also been our practice to beef up the brigade with the best among them during the Easter, summer and Christmas breaks.
We originally decided on a dozen, six in the kitchens and six front of house, but the mad busyness encouraged me to add in three more in the tapas kitchen. To my relief, and that of all the pub staff, the kids bedded in well and everyone got a bit of breathing space. Within a week I was able to lift my head and look about me.
Once I had breathed for a couple of days I got a sinking feeling I was missing something. When it hit me I was ashamed to admit, even to myself, that I hadn’t given a thought to the Ice Cream Parlour/American Diner we had created in one of the barns to the side of the main building. It was currently only open weekends and Bank Holidays, and was under Morgan’s management. Although I had complete faith in her vision and her ability, I thought I should at least see show an interest.
It was Friday, and bidding fair to be another scorcher, so I stuck my head into the kitchen just to make sure there were no problems.
“Everything okay?”
Neil smiled happily and gave me a thumbs up.
“All present and correct, and we’ll even have time for breakfast before the starving hordes arrive.”
“Where Morgan?”
“Sorting the ice cream parlour for tomorrow.”
“I’ll pop along and see her. I’ve got my phone and the office won’t run away.”
Neil snorted and I went, laughing. The back door to the ice cream parlour leads onto the private garden and this morning it was wide open, letting in a warm wind from the forest.
Morgan was busily restocking the soft drinks bar. She grinned at me.
“Come to see how we’re doing?”
“I have. I’m feeling guilty that I haven’t been offering any support. Plus I just noticed that everywhere else has extra staff, but you haven’t.”
“No. But we don’t need anybody.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. Look Joss, we’re as busy as we can handle in this space and we manage just fine. Any more bodies back here and we’d just get in each other’s way.”
I looked around me and could see the justice in what she said. The diner had a dozen booths with seating, a dozen tall tables where people had to stand to eat, and a dozen stools at the bar. Even at full capacity, I could understand how two waitresses, a bar person, and two in the kitchen could perfectly manage. I nodded.
“Is there anything you need then?”
”Yes. Maybe. Perhaps. If it’s not running before we learn to walk, we’d like to take over the little storeroom beyond that door. Not to put any more tables in, but as a takeaway window for ice-creams and stuff.”
That seemed to me to be an eminently sensible idea and I nodded. “That’s a good notion. But you will need someone to staff it.”
“We will. And we’ll have to look at managing days off and stuff when we increase the opening hours for the summer holidays.”
“You will indeed.” I grinned into her eyes. “So tell me what you have in mind and I’ll see if it’s doable.”
She bent down to pick up her tablet from under the counter.
“Joss,” she whispered, “don’t look now but there’s a man outside the window staring in.”

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

Milla spun on her heel and picked up the pace into the village, not stopping until she had reached One Eye’s shop. The old ryeshor rubbed at his eye patch as the elf’s armour lit up the rather dingy interior. Ruffkin was happily snarfing some fish guts from a bowl in the corner and Pew looked pleasingly surprised.
“You found a tank!”
“Better,” Milla told him I found a…”
“Blessedknight Gloryjammer,” the elf announced, then her eyes narrowed. “Don’t I know you? You an alt of Pewpowerpewpew? Used to be in Forgotten Order of Lost Souls before it had a drama fest and fell apart?”
Pew looked a little awkward.
“That was a while ago and it wasn’t me. I didn’t do what they said I’d…”
“You were the best Firecaster on the server in vanilla – everyone knew that.”
“Well, not really, I was one of the many good…”
But Glory wasn’t listening. There was a fervour of hero worship in her words. “You won’t remember me but you gave me my first decent weapon. Said I’d grow into it one day. I was just a newby, and you were one of the greats, but you took the time to group with me.”
Pew was looking increasingly as if he wanted to be somewhere else, but Milla was too intrigued by this glimpse into his history to stop it. In the end it was One Eye who came to Pew’s rescue.
“It’s what we all do, isn’t it? Pay it forward, they call it. Help the next ones in so they can help the ones as follow them.”
“Yes. What he said.” Pew snatched up the backpack he had been filling. “I’ll be outside.”
One Eye lifted an eye ridge at Milla and sniffed.
“I’ll be looking after your little Ruffkin, but you should know I don’t approve of this. Your a Local not a Visitor. Locals don’t go on ventures.”
“I already did,” she protested.
“Yes. You did. ‘An’ that were one too many in my view. But you’re as wild as a sandylion, young’un and there’s no point telling you what to not do. So have my blessing for what it’s worth and here…” he held out an old belt that seemed to be made from strips of plaited fabric. “You wear this and come home safe.”
Milla took the belt and felt a tingle as she buckled it around her waist, surprised that it seemed to fit perfectly. Then she hugged the old ryeshor impulsively and left him to find provisions for Glory, as she went to join Pew who was sitting on the seawall staring out to sea.
“You don’t have to come,” he said. “Thing is, it could be dangerous. I’m not sure what is going on. Someone could really get hurt.”
“If what you say about String is true, someone already is.”
“I know but…”
“So I’m coming.”
He gripped her hand tightly, looking into her eyes as if trying to read something there.
“I know. I don’t deserve you. And if anything happens to you I’ll never…”
She stopped his words with another kiss, then sat back quickly as she heard footsteps on the cobbled street.
“I’m not interrupting anything?” Glory was smirking again.
Pew pushed himself from the wall and stood up.
“Not a thing. We need to get a boat to the Barren Steppes.”
And that was the one thing that had been troubling Milla. Locals never went on the boats. She’d not known any to even try because, well, everyone knew you just couldn’t do it. But then, as One Eye had said, Locals didn’t go on ventures either. So she stiffened her crest frills and strode after Pew as he headed along the dock. He stopped by the mooring place where the ship would come in and looked at her with concern.
“Barren Steppes is in a different zone. I don’t know what it’d be like for you to move cross zones. I don’t even know if you can do it. I mean for us zoning is just something that happens, but for you… I can’t imagine what it might be like.”
“Neither can I,” Milla admitted, pushing out a brave smile, although inside her stomach was feeling queasy. More from the prospect of leaving Wrathburnt Sands, the only place she’d ever known than from any real worry about travelling. “I guess I’m going to find out.”

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 17th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

It was council of war time. The nomes had very long, very bad memories of Big and the things he called fireworks.

“It isn’t even November,” Granny snapped.

“Neither it is, but I doesn’t see what us can do.”

“There must be summat.”

The brangling went on for a while, but to no avail. Even the foreman of moles couldn’t see her way clear to do anything.

Night fell, and the house was full to the brim with drunken biggers. Big strode out into the darkness clutching something to his fat belly. He plopped it into the ground and ran…

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

agroculture (noun) – the ethos of young men with assault weapons

beave (descriptive noun) – semi-shaven lady garden

cicksure (adjective) – bolshie and liable for fall over one’s own feet – often the result of the injudicious application of alcohol to the cakehole

denenter (noun) – word guaranteed to enrage a large man waving an axe.

emmory (adjective) – of men, having not shaved

endge (noun) – the bit of a car engine that whizzes round for no apparent reason

goid (noun) – swelling of the great toe caused by kicking the backside of an eejit

holarious (adjective) – so funny that you laugh until you all but get a prolapse

lierary (adverb) – of speech sounding as if it might be untrue

orgsam (noun – impolite) – self-generated sexual pleasure

sdie (noun) – bottle genie with a weird sense of humour

shre (adjective) – of yummy mummies to have special clothing for every activity

snutan (noun) – a peculiarly unappealing side of orange

touprt (noun) – ill-fitting hairpiece

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

For life is a garden of flowers
With each bloom that you pick for your bowers
The right colour or scent
Just has to be meant
Then the finished display you empowers

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Dear Reader Who Writes,

As you will doubtless now be aware you are being addressed here by none other that the most highly esteemed author of that now classic masterpiece of the speculative fiction genre “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth”, Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV. To friends, one is known as ‘IVy’ (a hangover from one’s days at at exclusive boarding school when puns on names were all the rage). To the maternal parent, it is ‘Moons’ (her idea of an affectionate abbreviation – or so she has oft times declared). But you, dear Reader who Writes, can use ‘Sir’ as befits our relationship status as pupil and pedagogue and I will refer to you as ‘RWW’.

There, formalities concluded let me explain a little in advance of today’s lesson, not too much, of course as your eager, if limited, spongesque cranial contents must not be over-challenged. Today’s lesson took form in my mind after I shared lunch with Mummy in the area of the kitchen we refer to as ‘the dining room’. It is a table squeezed into the bijou space left where the Aga used to live, before Mumsie declaimed one morning: “Stuff that sodding status symbol – I’m getting a proper cooker!” And in the same sweeping change, reverted our previous refectory to become her personal boudoir – or as she calls it her ‘withdrawing room’ – whilst establishing our current dining arrangements.

But I digress. We had just partaken of the midday meal, when Mummy burped gently and leaned across the table towards me. I was about to comment on the interesting new cologne she was sporting, when I noticed the gin bottle beside her place setting.

“Moons,” she slurred, “Do you ever feel like you are a walk-on extra in someone else’s life and not a proper person at all?”

It was, of course, a trick question as the moisture in her eyes – no doubt from suppressed laughter – betrayed. I can’t recall my exact witty and dismissive response but I do remember Mumsie rapidly withdrawing from the room right after and locking herself in her withdrawing room, not to emerge for two days.

So yes, today’s lesson:

Supporting Characters

We have, you will recall, already considered the best way to create the main characters in your stories, but now it is time to contemplate the little people. Those characters who appear for a paragraph or maybe a chapter, or step onto the stage now and then but are most often to be found off-stage, in the green room flipping coins with their fellows.

Such characters, you are thinking are you not my predictable pupil, are hardly worth investing the time in. They are a face in the crowd, a name on a list, a mere mention in passing. Wrong, I respond in this hypothetical conversation. Wrong and wrong again! These are not the non-entities you assume. No, each is an individual striving for their own aims and deserves to be treated as such!

So do not stint on your duty to these characters, give them as much attention to detail as you do to your precious protagonist. Let each have a history and a place in your world. When a new supporting star or starlet walks into your prose, meet them and greet them, sit down and have a cup of tea with them, listen to their dreams and pay heed to their nightmares. Be as their recording angel and capture their souls with the written word. Let them live!

And with that thought, à bientôt mes élèves!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

Forthcoming
Spring bounds
Leaping
Loping
Loving

Life returning
Spring sounds
Singing
Ringing
Bringing

Rain Falling
Spring pounds
Soaking
Blowing
Growing

Sun shining
Spring grounds
Bursting
Thrusting
Blooming

E.M. Swift-Hook

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

Finoula turned her head and, as I often did, I got the impression that her sightless eyes saw more than most sighted people can.
“Is all well with you, Joss?”
“It is. So long as Morgan is protected.”
Finoula made a noise in the back of her throat and it came to me that Morgan’s protection was as important to her as it was to me. I clambered over Ben and took her hand in both of mine.
“Be at ease,” I said, “Morgan has us, and her father who would die before he saw harm come to her.”
Finoula relaxed. “Then all is very well.”
She squeezed my fingers and I felt her strong spirit.
“Jed,” I said, “will you take Finoula and the dogs out back and into the private garden. Ben and I will bring wine and tapas.”
He blessed me with his smile and steered his family out into the sunshine. I turned my attention to John Smith.
“Will you excuse me please.”
He smiled, and I thought it the first voluntarily genuine expression I had seen on his narrow face.
“It’s me needs to be excused. I’ll phone for a taxi.” He finished his brandy and stood up, passing me a square of pasteboard. “That number will reach my private phone. Please call me if the Proudly family becomes an annoyance.” Then he was gone, moving with the silent grace of a natural predator.
Ben scratched his head. “It’s amazing what hides under some folk’s skin. I think I prefer the killer.”
“Me too. But that’s only because he’s real. The off-duty accountant is just a very convincing fake.”
“Indeed. If you get the tapas, I’ll sort wine.” He bent for a kiss.
I raided the kitchen and crossed the garden with a big tray in my hands, followed by Morgan who carried another tray. She set it down on the table before turning her smile on Jed and Finoula.
“Thank you for caring about my face, but I’m fine. Truly I am. My dad says to tell you I’m protected.”
I looked at her serene little face, marred only by the cut and bruise of a vicious backhander and I remembered the frightened mouse of a girl, with acne and a heavy load of worries, who entered our lives two years ago. I went and gave her a little hug and she hugged back.
“Sit and eat your lunch Joss, I’ve got the office.”
And she went passing Ben on the way. He had two open bottles in his hands and it looked very much like his hoodie pocket held glasses. I ran over.
“Eejit. It’s not safe to carry glassware in your pockets.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “Sowwy mummy.”
Giving up telling him off as a bad job, I removed the glasses from his pocket and preceded him to the table. Jed was murmuring to Finoula who laughed, bright and happy.
“It’s not a bit of good you trying to civilise Ben,” she said “he’s an eternal schoolboy.”
I was trying for a smart retort when her phone burbled. She handed it to Jed.
“Tis Danilo.”
“Stick it on speaker, then. We may as well all hear.”
Danilo Lovell, television clairvoyant and current head of the Lovell family, sounded far from his usual urbane self.
“I find myself displeased with Amos Proudly. To the extent that I’ve unleashed Big Cliff, who is Fucking Furious, with only a reminder that dead bodies are bloody inconvenient.”
Ben chuckled. “That bloke is a bit of a twat, I grant you. But you aren’t usually so scrupulous.”
“No. I’m not. But what I am scrupulous about is the reputation of the Romany community. Which is going to suffer if he doesn’t rein in his bitch of a grandchild and stop declaring war in random people. Talking of which, I take it Morgan Brown is protected.”
“She is,” I said soberly, “and her dad is in a similar state to Big Cliff.”
The sound Danilo made might have passed for laughter if you didn’t know him. But I’ve known him for twenty years.
“What are you plotting?”
“Nothing right now. Although I’ve just taken a call from Connor Smith. Just to assure me he has no interest whatsoever in any feud between my family and the Proudlies.”
“Blimey. He must be running scared.” I said.
This time Danilo’s laugh sounded a little more natural.
“I hear you just met Smith junior. And scared the shit out of him. Which is an accomplishment when you consider he’s as nerveless a little bastard as his pa.”
“Wasn’t me put the shits up him. It was understanding who his family would be going up against. And whatever Finoula said to him. Which I think I’m glad I didn’t understand.”
“You should be glad. When Finoula is moved to rare anger even my beloved wife and our brats step away.”
I found that surprisingly reassuring.
“Give my love to Bethan and the boys. And kiss little Grace for me.”
“I will.”
Then he was gone. I spread my hands and gestured towards the food, while Ben poured rather expensive claret into big glasses. When everyone had a plate I raised my glass in a toast.
“Here is to Grandmother Lovell, wherever her spirit rests, and the great granddaughter who carries her name.”
“Grandmother and Grace,” Finoula said softly.
We all sipped our wine, then got stuck into excellent food. It was comfortable to sit in the sun and eat tapas with good friends.
Finoula, whose veganism had often been a problem before she moved in with Jed, leaned back in her chair and groaned a happy groan.
“I’m stuffed. And there’s not too many pubs where a vegan can go to pig out.”
Ben smiled at her. “Mostly we do well because of it. We’ve had a few brushes with evangelical veganism, but all in all plant-based food and booze, which we are careful to not label ‘vegan’, sit well with our everyone welcome philosophy.”
“How often do you get a problem?”
“Rarely now. We made it known that aggressive anti-meat activity would result in us stopping the plant-based menu. Nowadays any loud protesters tend to be being removed by their peers.” I said.
“And in at least one case given a kicking in the overflow car park.”
“How did you get away with that?” Finoula sounded amused.
“We did nothing that needed getting away with. And there are no security cams in the overflow…”
Jed laughed. “Are you sure you have no rom blood between you?”
“I’m positive. And I don’t want to think how much trouble Ben could get himself in if he had a Romany tribe at his heels.”
Finoula mugged pretended fear and we all laughed.
All too soon it was past time for me and Ben to be back at work.
Jed escorted his wife and their dogs out of the back gate and up the lane to his soon to be augmented horticultural kingdom.
Ben and I went back to work .

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

The path to the pyramid was blocked by the two drakkonettes who guarded the gate. They were kind of friends with her. The kind who didn’t breath fire on you when you stopped for a chat, kind of friends. They blocked the gate to the pyramid by crossing their polearms in front of it to form a barrier. But when Milla approached they both relaxed and leaned on the poles and one of them called a greeting.
“Hello there, lass? How’re you keeping? You and that Visitor of yours?”
“We’re fine thank you. I was just wondering if you had seen an elf come through here recently?”
The other drakkonette smiled showing a mouthful of razorsharp teeth.
“Oh yes, dear. If you mean the one wearing the golden Armour of Blessings and carrying a moonoak bow?”
“Did she go inside?”
The drakkonette’s smile grew wider revealing even more teeth.
“She was very rude and started waving her sword around right under our noses. So we defended ourselves. But I’m sure she’ll be back. That sort always are”
“Here she comes now,” the first drakkonette observed.
Milla turned in time to see the golden clad elf dismounting from a bright pink unicorn, which shimmered into thin air the moment her feet touched the ground in the way that Visitor’s mounts always did. Having made a quick farewell to the drakkonettes, Milla hurried back up the path and stopped abruptly. The elf was standing in the middle of the path making odd weaving gestures and humming to herself off-key.
“Are you alright?” Milla asked when the weaving and humming stopped and the elf seemed to come back to herself.
“Oh frack! It’s you.”
“Yes. It is. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“What? Oh. Yes. I was just respeccing to get some better heals.”
“Heals?” Milla heard the word and perked up. That was exactly what Pew had said they would need. “You can heal?”
“I’m a Blessedknight. It’s what we do. Depending which way I spec I can be more tankish or more healerish. You can’t move on the forums for people who think they know the sweet spot to get the best of both worlds.” She smirked. “I have it but I’m not telling.”
“I need your help with something,” Milla said, speaking quickly before she changed her mind. Spending time in the company of this elf was going to be a trial.
“You already gave me your quest. And the reward. Or don’t you remember?”
“This is another quest. A bigger one. It’s a…” she tried to think of something that would win a Visitor’s attention. “It’s an epic heroic mythical saga quest.”
The elf stared at her.
“Not heard of one of those before. What’s the reward?”
Milla thought desperately.
“It’s a secret. No one is allowed to know until someone has completed the quest.”
“And no one has yet?”
Milla shook her head. She could see the gleam in the elf’s eyes
“So not just server first, would be an all time game first?”
Milla nodded. “But only if you do it right now and come with me. Or I’ll offer the quest to someone else.”
She stalked off, head high as if not really caring whether the elf followed her or not. It took less than the time to breathe in and out before the golden-clad figure was beside her.
“Hail fair lady! I, Blessedknight Gloryjammer, pledge myself to your cause. You have my sword and my bow.”
Hiding a smile at just how easy it was to get these Visitors to do things, she inclined her head gracefully and continued walking.
“Thank you. But I’d rather you kept your sword and bow and used them yourself. And my name is Milla.”
“Got it. Milla. And I’m Glory. So where do I get the quest?”
“You’re already on it.”
“But there’s nothing in my quest log window.”
Milla stopped walking and put her hands on her hips.
“I am a quest giver? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“And I’ve just given you a quest. You are now on it.”
“But…”

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 16th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.