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…

This was one of the two major auction houses in Viriconium that specialised in antiques. It was also the place that, according to his own records, Vibius did the most trade. They had swooped on the owner just as an afternoon auction had finished.
Justina Cynddylan was a harassed-looking woman in her fifties, wearing a fine quality stola and a silver ring of Citizenship. She didn’t seem even slightly intimidated by an unannounced visit from the Vigiles when Bryn produced his ID, and flapped a hand to the stairs at the rear of the auction room when asked if they could go somewhere a bit quieter to talk.
“I don’t have much space, we can use the small store upstairs if you like. But I have nothing to hide, so why not just ask me here?” Her gaze moved past the two for a moment and she raised her voice. “Not that one, Carwyn. The dominus said he was sending someone to collect it.” Then she looked back at Dai. “I am sorry, but I do have a business to run here, so can we make this – whatever it is – as quick as possible please?”
Dai tried his best boyish smile. “Of course, I quite understand. And that is why I suggest we go somewhere quieter so we don’t keep getting interruptions that will delay us all.”
She didn’t quite melt, but the look of tense disapproval softened very slightly.
“Very well.” She led them to the rear staircase and then turned to call across the room “Gawain? Three teas and a plate of those vanilla fingers we had earlier.” A young man, presumably Gawain, put down the box he was carrying and scuttled off through a side door.
The ‘small store’ was well named in Dai’s opinion. It was a room with a tiny window, half full of boxes of bric-a-brac. The other half was occupied by an elderly leather settee and a couple of hard backed, un-matching, very British dining chairs set either side of a small pedestal-leg table. Justina perched on one of the chairs and gestured imperiously that Dai and Bryn should appropriate the settee between them. Dai did so and regretted it in the same moment as the seat sagged away deeply beneath him. He just knew that if he tried to rise he would struggle to free himself. Bryn was clearly a wiser man as he declined the settee and instead used it to display the pictures of artefacts they had taken at random from the internet.
“Do you recognise any of these, domina?” he asked before sitting on the other hard chair.
The auction room owner peered a little myopically at the images, then picked one or two up to look closely at them.
“This is in the collection of Minoan artefacts presently on display in Londinium and this,” she waved another picture, “went missing from an exhibition in Latium four years ago. The rest I could have a stab at their provenance, but I have no idea where they are now.” She dropped the pictures back on the couch and looked at Bryn accusingly. “Why are you showing me these?”
Before he could answer there was a tap on the door and the youngster Dai had seen downstairs brought in a tray of spiced fruit teas and cakes and placed it on the table, then retreated quickly from the room.
“Help yourselves if you want.” Justina waved towards the tray then looked back at the images. “I don’t see what any of these have to do with me.”
“They are not really, domina. Just some items that have been stolen over the last few years.” As Bryn spoke he offered a tea to Dai, who shook his head having decided that trying to drink whilst being swallowed into the depths of the settee would be a recipe for disaster. “We just wondered if you might recognise any of them.”
Justina glared at Bryn as if he had just propositioned her for a night of wild orgies.
“I don’t allow any stolen goods in my auction room,” she said, icily. “Everything that passes through here is checked as having the correct licences.”
“Anyone can make a mistake,” Dai suggested and the woman snorted in disgust.
“Perhaps you Vigiles can make mistakes and think no more about it – those in positions of power often seem to feel that way about life. You just shovel your mistakes under the nearest carpet and carry on regardless, with no one daring to say otherwise. But I can’t afford to make that kind of mistake. This is my livelihood. Even if I avoided criminal charges for doing so, it would ruin my reputation as a dealer with integrity and that would destroy my business.”
Dai nodded sympathetically. “Yes. I can see that. So it must have been a bit difficult for you to find out that Josephus Vibius Anser, one of your best customers, was in fact up to his neck in the illicit art and antiquities trade?”
Her face darkened.
“You are not going to try and tie me in to that. Anything and everything that man bought from me had a full and legitimate licence attached. I can give you the entire list, with origins, previous owners, prices made at each sale, everything – solid as a blockchain.”
“Thank you,” Dai said, “that would be very useful so we can eliminate you from our enquiries completely. Perhaps you could email those to us before you go home today.”
He tried to get to his feet then but having his buttocks lower than his knees and the sagging cushion enveloping him it was a little undignified. In the end, he grabbed the edge of the settee with his hands and pulled himself up. Bryn was making little attempt to hide his grin behind a teacup, which he drained quickly when Dai caught his eye. Justina Cynddylan didn’t seem to notice. She was still frowning at them her thoughts apparently elsewhere.
“If you want my opinion,” she said as Dai finally gained his feet, “you would do better asking everybody’s friend, Tony Talog. If anyone is doing things the wrong way it’s him.”
Dai searched his memory and failed.
“Tony Talog?”
Bryn cleared his throat and picked up one of the cakes. “That’d be the man who runs ‘Rara et Vetera’ isn’t it? Your local competition, domina.”
“That – that creature is not any kind of competition for me,” she said firmly. “Half what he sells as pristine originals is heavy restoration. Some so heavy they are really reproductions. I have people attend some of his auctions and they tell me some horrific tales. But it is more than just that he sells bad antiques. One of his employees was close to quitting his place and joining me. The day she put in her notice someone kidnapped her dog and two days later the poor creature appeared on her doorstep stuffed by a taxidermist. She left Viriconium the next day, I believe, at least I have heard nothing more about her since.” She glared accusingly at Dai. “And your lot didn’t lift a finger, of course. I expect the Submagistratus is getting backhanders from Talog to turn a blind eye.”
“Not at all,” Dai assured her. “I am not in the corruption business, although I can’t speak for my predecessor.”
They left her with her mouth agape looking like a stunned sheep and walked quickly from the room, down the stairs and out onto the street.

An extract from Dying for a Vacation by JJane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook 

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

I am old, and today I lunched well
As my squiffy legged progress might tell
For the bottle of wine
That looked really fine
Is gone – nothing left but the smell

Jane Jago

When did it get to be September?
Where did the summer go?
The wind’s slid out of the gentle south
As autumn begins to blow
The earliest trees are painting their leaves
In hues of russet and gold
While busy squirrels fill their cheeks
And watch the nights unfold
The air round our ears is sharp and clear
Though the sky is still duck-egg pale
It feels like the days at this end of the year
Hear the whisper of winter’s cold tale
When did it get to be September?
How are the nights so cold?
Whose is that wrinkled face in the mirror?
When did we grow old?

©️Jane Jago

A tale of angels, demons and dragons…

Aeva’s peaceful existence was rudely interrupted by a summons to the Hall of Guardians. She pulled up the hood of her simple grey robe and walked quietly to the portal. When she was admitted to the presence of the Guardians themselves, she sensed a rare disquiet.
Thor stood to greet her, before speaking in his darkly thunderous tones. “Five days ago we lost a Messenger. Looked like an open and shut case of stupidity. He was young and crass, and thought he could fly where no one has ever flown before. Turns out he couldn’t. But.”
“But what?”
“But his flying partner has also disappeared.”
That should have been enough, but Aeva’s seventh sense told her there was more.
“And what else?”
“The mother of his mother is a Councillor. And she wants blood. Messenger blood for preference.”
“And this concerns me because?”
Thor’s bark of laughter sounded genuinely amused before he sobered. “Nice try, Invigilator. But you are needed. We are minded to send a small force – to both investigate and impose decorum. We need a commander who even the petty timeservers that constitute the Council will not dare to question.”
“And I’m that commander?”
“You are. One of a very small breed and the only one every Guardian is agreed upon.”
Aeva looked around the almost unimaginably huge room, whose benches were crowded with the Guardians of every living thing on the worlds. She shrugged.
“Expendable am I?”
Thor turned a sorrowful countenance towards her. “Not at all. Whatever gave you that notion?”
Aeva knew it was pointless to argue with a Guardian so she held her peace. The silence was growing awkward when a door somewhere creaked. Thor relaxed.
“That will be your detachment.”
Aeva pounced. “Before they arrive you had better tell me what the thing you don’t want to say is. Unless you would have the embarrassment of having an assignment refused in front of the muscle.”
He tried to stare her down, but she lifted her chin and met him stare for stare. Aeva had more reason than most not to trust Guardians – who were, at best, capricious, and at worst duplicitous and always full of trickery – and she was certainly not going to take an assignment without all the information in front of her.
Thor caved in, and suddenly looked as old as the bones in his throne. “Two things. First the Messenger’s flying partner is a draca and Lady Draca tells us she is almost certainly dead. But no trace of her body can be found.” He stopped speaking abruptly.
“And?”
“And your father has handpicked the Fighters who are to accompany you.”
Aeva looked at him in disbelief. “Well then. I formally refuse to command them. He wishes me dead.”
Lucifer spoke from his seat on the comfortable cushioned benches of the lower tiers. “He does not wish you dead. He may perhaps wish you had never been born…”
Aeva snapped her fingers. “I don’t trust you any more than I trust him. And I believe neither of you.”
The sound that went around the vast chamber was one indrawn breath as most of the Guardians waited for Lucifer to disassemble Aeva with a gesture. However, he merely bowed his handsome head. Gabriel spoke from the seat of power that was his by right of who he served.
“Why are we placing the Lady Aeva in this position?”
“Because there is nobody else we can trust as we trust her.” Lord Draco spoke from the encompassing depths of his kaleidoscopic cloak. “Aeva Darkstar is the agent of Truth.”
“Very well,” Gabriel turned the bottomless pity of his eyes on the slender figure standing sword-straight in the strange light of the Chamber. “Lady Aeva. If I will stand surety for your safety will you do this thing?”
“Great Lord. You must not do that. There are risks inherent in what this Chamber asks of me. But if you will make the Fighters understand that they are truly mine to command, irrespective of what my parent may have tasked them with, I will be content.”
“It shall be as you request, bright lady. Lucifer, of your goodness.”
Lucifer sneered at his brother’s choice of words, but nonetheless he came forward. Both stood and watched impassively as a score of blue-skinned winged beings walked quietly onto the floor of the chamber.
They all bowed to Lucifer and his bright brother.
“Behold your Guardian,” Gabriel spoke formally and with the power that was his to command making his voice sound like the brazen trumpets that call the foolhardy to war.
Lucifer raised his fathomless black eyes. “My children. I have orders for you.”
The Fighters stood up even straighter and regarded the Dark Guardian with eyes dazzled by love.
“Behold she who stands before you. Her name is Aeva Darkstar and she is your commander. You will obey her. She speaks for me.”
The winged ones looked confused and not a little dismayed, but one by one they raised their right hands and placed them above their hearts. As they did so each one spoke.
“Votum vovit ego.”
Their dark Guardian surveyed them with obvious pride before offering Aeva an ironic bow.
“Will that serve, lady?”
She looked at him for a beat before shaking her head.
“Not really.”
Lucifer looked stunned, then his face darkened.
Aeva continued speaking. “I do not doubt that your Fighters will obey me to the letter, but I have a feeling I will need more than the obedience of automata.”
“That may be the case, Invigilator, but if you would have their hearts and minds as well as their obedience they need to hear your truth.”
Aeva inclined her head, and Lucifer spread his hands before he began speaking.
“The Lady Aeva is the daughter of your Demon Master. Got on the unwilling flesh of a mortal female. He chose to deny the responsibilities of paternity and Aeva was raised by her mortal mother until she reached adulthood. It was an uneasy childhood for a winged monster begotten by rape. But they managed, until your master took a hand in the game. He sought the death of his only daughter, but succeeded in killing her mother instead. We demanded penance of him and the young Aeva came to the place of the Messengers to be educated.” He paused to study the rapt faces of the Fighters before continuing in a voice so quiet they had to strain to hear him. “Your master was not done. When Aeva was a fledgling Messenger he joined the game once more. He found her when she slept and he stole her most prized possession leaving her writhing in agony.”

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

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

As a woman whose face has more furrows than a ploughed field, you can probably guess my stance on this subject.

Firstly: At what point did it become sensible to inject your face with food poisoning?

Secondly: Has nobody explained how frigging stupid you look when the only facial expression you can muster is vague surprise.

Thirdly: This doesn’t so much make you look young as desperate

Fourthly: If you stopped pulling the disapproving face that makes your mouth look like a cat’s bum…

And finally: Nobody looks at women over fifty anyway, so have a cake and enjoy life.

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

It was quiet in the forest. Too quiet. The small things made no noise, and the busy brown birds hushed their chatter. The old woman sniffed the air. A smell of man sweat made her wrinkle her nostrils even as she climbed into the arms of a tall tree. The witch hunters dragged their prey into the clearing, laughing coarsely. She was young and might have been comely once; now she was just a smear on the forest floor. A smear whose blood awoke the hungry ones. The hunters screamed, but their prey died with a smile on her lips.

Jane Jago

In an effort to educate the nominally literate and inform those with sufficient humility to understand their own lack of comprehension, Esme offers the correct definition of misunderstood words…

Conjunction 

1. (noun – pronunciation note: con junction ) A system of road signs set up to lure unwary drivers into the hands of thugs and thieves. Example: the conjunction set up on the back road into town netted the criminals two sports cars a lorry load of cigarettes and an elderly whore with bunions before it was found and closed down. 
2. (noun – pronunciation note: c on junction) Leaves, frost and wetness on railway tracks leading to late trains and commuter chaos. Example: there just had to be a conjunction on the day he was due to defend his PHD dissertation, fortunately the board went ahead without him.

If you have any words whose meaning escapes you, Esme Crockford is always happy to share her lexicographical knowledge and penetrating insight into the English language.

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…

They were having a fine day out on the hills. Felix had mastered the rudiments of riding quickly and today he was managing to control his stubborn little mount so well that Caudinus had abandoned the leading rein. Having eaten the lunch Cookie packed for them, Felix was running around playing at being a legionary soldier whilst his father and Dai shared a half-bottle of local wine and the ponies chomped contentedly at the grass nearby.
The land here was bleak but beautiful, with ridges of rock, mantled in greenery, jutting into the sky and limiting the horizon from roughly rolling hills. A brisk breeze ruffled hair, lifting the heat of an unclouded sun and somewhere above them a bird keened as it traced an invisible circle overhead. Scant sign of human habitation disturbed Dai’s view, aside from the odd isolated dwelling, little more than drystone shacks with crude slating culled from local stone where crofter families lived. Their sheep, made small by distance were puffs of grey, like dandelion seed heads, against the scrub. This was the hinterland of Britannia, never one of the richer or more developed provinces, at its most primal.
“I’m sorry to spoil the day.” Caudinus voice broke into Dai’s thoughts. “But this wasn’t only about taking Felix for a riding lesson.”
Dai was not too surprised. He had caught the note of significance in the older man’s voice when he had called yesterday suggesting he brought his family over to Villa Papaverus and that the three of them should go for a ride.
“So what’s up?”
Caudinus shifted his position on the rough wool blanket they had thrown over the grass and thistles.
“I’m not sure it is anything, but it might be and I didn’t want to worry Cariad or Julia so this seemed the best way we could talk without either of them realising we had been.”
“I can see that,” Dai agreed. The last thing he would want for Julia, so close to her due date now, was anything to worry about. “What’s the problem?”
“I have had a couple of anonymous threats delivered to my admin staff in the last few days. Unpleasant things – one found their cat mutilated and a message attached to it saying they should tell me to back the right people. Then night before last another was jumped by two masked men and told to tell me that I shouldn’t get in the way of progress.” He broke off. “I might even have some idea who might be involved. A man called Aled Blaenau. He came to see me at the end of last month on behalf of some clients of his, he said. He was hinting heavily that he would be willing to bribe me to nod through a substantial transaction on some potentially contaminated land for his backers. He never actually came out and said so, of course, or I’d have nailed him for it and he denied that was what he meant when I threw it back in his face. I sent him away in no doubt that his efforts were more likely to be counter-productive than anything. At the time I thought he was just a lobbyist who had been over enthusiastic, but now…”
“You didn’t report any of this to Bryn?”
Caudinus shook his head. “I wanted to bring it to you rather than do anything official. As I said, I don’t want our families to become alarmed.”
The sunny day seemed to grow darker and Dai felt a cloud pass over his soul.
“Alright I’ll get on it soon as I’m back in work tomorrow. Nothing official until we have something solid to go on.”
Caudinus nodded and got to his feet.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. But now we’d best get these ponies back home.”
A few minutes later they began heading back to the farm. Their easiest way led through a small wood of stunted oaks and ash trees and that was when it happened. Dai vaguely recalled something stinging his neck and as he lifted a hand to swat it away, the world had turned upside down and slid out of sight into a dark tunnel.

An extract from Dying to be Fathers a Dai and Julia Mystery by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

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

You are old, and you should be depleted
Modern techno should have you defeated
But you bought an iPhone
Never leave it alone
And I’m shocked by the filth that you tweeted

© jane jago

Can you smell the rain?
Lifting the dust from the street
Damping the parched pavements
And bouncing over your feet
Can you hear the rain?
Dancing a tango on the roof
Drops so fat they bounce and split
Tapping like tap-dancing hoofs
Can you feel the rain?
Blessing the thirsty earth
Flowers lift their wan little faces
Drinking their own rebirth
Can you smell the rain?
Thick and soft and sweet
The autumn rain that washed the land
And polished the shining streets

Jane Jago