By this time we were rounding the corner to come face to face with Jackdaw Court. Paul Brown visibly recoiled.
“It’s smegging ugly isn’t it” I said conversationally.
“No comment. But if you think that…”
“It’s the tower.”
He must have seen the yearning in my face, as he sprinted to unlock the front door of the tower apartment, which gave access to a flagstoned lobby and a broad stairway that ran up the side of the stone-clad building to the base of the tower proper. We ascended in single file with me in front. When we reached a second locked door Paul passed me a key. I opened up to find myself in a large, light entrance hall.
“Bedroom level. Both are en suite.”
I looked into the first room to find a hardwood floor and white wooden shutters at the window. Nice. The en suite was a wet room with slate walls and floor.
“Master the other side of the hall.” This was bigger and with windows in two walls, but it had the same flooring and shutters. The en suite was a proper bathroom with whirlpool bath, and walk-in shower. Again the floor was slate, but the walls were white composite. I nodded once and preceded Paul up the stairs. This floor was almost entirely taken up with a kitchen cum diner cum family room. The kitchen bit looked fine to me, and the rest was more than fine. Up again we reached the sitting room, which had a big balcony on one side and a tiny roof garden the other. A final bonus was the spiral staircase to a mezzanine level study.
I stood in the middle of the sitting room and considered my options. “Okay” I said. “Take it off the market. I’ll pay the asking price if I can be in inside a month.”
Paul grinned and this time I steeled myself to shake his outstretched hand.
“Important. Part of the deal is that nobody else gets to come in here sniffing about. That would be a deal breaker.”
His smile was positively beatific.
“Whatever you say.”
“Besides which” I remarked as demurely as I was able “we wouldn’t want Ranjit or Ralph thinking about gazumping me, now would we?”
“We wouldn’t.” He bit the words off and I couldn’t help noticing how strong and white his teeth were.
Note to observant readers: I don’t like touching strangers, or having them touch me. I have more than a whiff of my great grandmother’s Sight, and it’s activated by touch. It can be uncomfortable to the point of stomach churning and I tend to stay away from it as much as I can. But. Back to business.
Surprisingly enough, the purchase of my tower went precisely to plan. Mister Paul wanted his commission, and he also wanted to be the first person to sell in a more than somewhat controversial development, so he made sure the developer moved with dispatch. I went to school with my solicitor and he’s kinda scared of me so he got a jiggle on. Plus, I guess, nobody could see any profit in wasting time.
I signed on the dotted line, had some additional security installed, and prepared to move in.

From Jackdaw Court by Jane Jago.

Listen to Granny because Granny always knows best!

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.

Detective Inspector Hunter Davis fought to maintain his composure as he watched his sergeant’s mahogany coffin sink below the ground. The moment felt surreal, almost dreamlike, yet he knew the intense pain that had settled into his chest manifested reality. Davis was no stranger to pain in the physical sense. He could endure that and had done so many times. And he would happily endure it again if doing so meant an end to this extreme of mental anguish.
He tore his gaze away from the grave where he stood with many of his colleagues, no longer able to bear the sight of it. Steeping clouds rolled in from the east, obscuring the feeble rays of November sunlight that had patterned the expanses of North Watford Cemetery with a false sense of warmth.
He became vaguely aware of the fact the people were starting to leave. Their movement felt distant, like something that was taking place on the other side of a two-way mirror— he could see them but didn’t exist among them. He didn’t belong to their group. They would go back to their lives and all would be as it once was. Their mourning for the death of Sergeant Evan Williams would last no longer than a few days, maybe less. Davis, however, would never be the same. He had lost both his best friend and sergeant for the last five years.
He looked around and saw Evan’s wife and their two children— the only people besides the burial ground custodian who remained near the grave. Seeing them jolted him out of his own acute sense of loss. Surely he hadn’t been so self-absorbed as to overlook those who would mourn Williams’ death far beyond his own level of grief ? Ashamed, he crossed over to where she stood.
The woman gazed at him through a curtain of tears. He gazed back, a surge of empathy for the new widow urging tears to the surface.
“Hunter,” she said, her voice strained.
“Angie,” Davis took her hand and gripped it for a moment, then bent down and spoke to the two children who stood on either side of their mother. “I’m sorry about your dad. I know it’s going to be hard not having him around . . . I know you are missing him and feel so sad, but your mum is going to be with you, and I’m going to help her as much as I can. If you ever want to talk to me, just let her know and I’ll come and see you.” He spread his arms wide, inviting them to hug him.
They nodded and rushed forward, bursting into tears. “Y-yes, U-uncle Hunter.”
After a moment, during which only muffled sobs could be heard, Davis released them and stood back up. He faced Angie. “Is there anything I can do? Would you still like me to come round to your house on weekends?”
“Of course I would,” Angie replied. “You’ve been coming round to our place for the last five years. And now that he’s. . .” she glanced at her late husband’s grave, tears threatening to surface once more “. . .he’s gone, we will need you more than ever. You know how fond the children are of you. You’re their Uncle Hunter.”
Davis gave the children a quick glance. Both of them had gone back to hugging their mother. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking asking a question like that. Of course I’ll still come round on weekends.”
Heavy drops of rain began peppering the ground around them, prompting Davis and Angie to end their conversation.
“Shall I give you a lift?” Davis asked. “My car’s parked just round the corner.”
“Oh, no, that’s quite alright. I have my car. Thanks just the same though.” Angie managed a decent attempt at a smile before shepherding her children towards the exit of the cemetery.
Davis watched them until they were lost from sight, his mind a raging tornado of emotions. He turned back to his fallen sergeant’s grave and made an internal vow— to be there for his family, whatever the cost. Rolling thunder finally pulled him back from the trance he had entered.

From Hunting Darkness by Ian Bristow

It was one of those moments that come by in science once in a decade – or maybe even once in a century. Stella realised that this was a potentially life changing possibility, not just for herself but for all humanity.

It was a virus, yes, but one that if it infected a human being, worked directly in the brain creating new neural networks and pathways. Making the individual who was infected ten times more intelligent than they had been before.

It was only after she had infected herself, Stella realised that it was a virus so it might yet mutate…

E.M. Swift-Hook

A short time later Caer was leading a small group of six Zoukai horseman westwards around the base of the mithan. Although from a distance the rock seemed almost to sheer up from the ground, the west face was not as steep and Caer eventually found a path. This track was narrow and rough, used by the small herds of wild browsing animals which went up to feed on the spring growth of the high plateau. Scraggly beasts, scarcely worth hunting for their stringy meat – the wild kin of the domestic curu, whose fat fleeces were woven into fine fabrics or pressed to make the warm thick felts everyone needed in the winter.
Even for the surefooted ponies the path was not easy. Loose stones from above could cascade down and send a pony skidding if it misplaced a step. But they only needed to dismount and lead the ponies at two places – once crossing a scree of rolling gravel and then again to skirt a large outcrop of rock by means of a narrow ledge which dropped away, dizzyingly, to the plain far below. Both the men and their ponies were blown by the time they reached the plateau and Caer called a halt so they could recover, whilst he shaded his eyes from the low sun and looked across the flat expanse.
Despite being tired, he felt a sudden pulse of pure exhilaration as he saw a blunt-ended object, as big as a building, rearing out from the rock-pocked surface and clearly visible over the spring growth of low shrubs. Between where they were and that huge object, was a large area of more debris where everything had been blackened. There was no crater, but even the rock seemed charred. Caer had no doubt whatever was in that blackened ground would be of little value now, but it seemed that at least part of their prize was relatively intact. He turned to the other Zoukai unable to suppress a grin.
“Let us see what the fated sky has brought our Caravansi,” he called and set his heels to his tired pony, urging it into a reluctant canter, the other Zoukai close behind him.

From The Fated Sky the first part of Transgressor Trilogy, and the first book in Fortunes Fools by E.M. Swift-Hook.

And that was the end of camping as an idea. The twisted metal was taken away by some cheerful gents with a lorry, the paddock fence was repaired by some other cheerful men, and the truck was replaced with a stately-looking Range Rover. 

Mother booked the family into a very expensive hotel in a Cornish surfers’ paradise. Big admitted defeat and packed the car.

Mother counted the surf boards that were being loaded on the roof rack.

“Four? But you can’t surf Big.”

Big grinned.  “I’ll soon get the hang of it. After all. How hard can it be.”

©️jj 2021

Back in July 2017, two rather eccentric women had a strange notion that it would be a good idea to start a daily blog offering a broad spectrum of fiction, poetry and general silliness to share their writing with the world and help promote their fellow authors. Four years on we are still at it, bumbling along and trying to make a professional looking fist of it all!

The Working Title Blog Competition for our Fourth Anniversary!

It has become a bit of tradition that we ask you to write something to help us celebrate our anniversary, and so this year we are asking you to pen a limerick on the theme of or including the words: ‘That’s Life’.

Grand Prize!

Aside from the kudos of carrying off the literary laurels and having your limerick hailed as the winning entry, if you win you will be offered an ‘Author Feature’ on the Working Title blog to showcase and help promote your writing. The winner can also choose any ebook published by Jane Jago or E.M. Swift-Hook.

The Judges.

That would be us Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook. We both write limericks and you can check out the kind we write if you scroll back through the blog a bit.

How to enter:

(1) Write a limerick which fits the theme of or includes the words ‘That’s Life’. It can be joyous or bitter, thought-provoking, a comedy or a tear-jerker. You can submit a previously written limerick that fits the theme provided that it is free from any legal/copyright encumbrance that would prevent it from being posted on this blog.

(2) Submit your entry to the Working Title blog. To do this, send us your entry by carrier-pigeon or snail mail, PM or loud-hailer. Or you can use our Contact Page. Just paste your limerick into the ‘Comments’ box. We do need a working email so we can contact you if you win.

(3) Closing date is 26 July 2021 and the winning limerick will appear on the blog on 2 August 2021 together with a list of all the finalists. The winner will be offered an Author Feature on the blog and may choose a prize of any one ebook published by Jane Jago or E.M. Swift-Hook and will be emailed a .mobi of the book of their choice.

(4) All limericks listed as finalists – and any others we quite like – will be shared on the blog over the next two to three months. You will be emailed in advance to tell you when your limerick will be appearing on the blog.

NB: By entering we assume you are granting us permission to reproduce the limerick in one post on the Working Title blog.

If you have any questions, please leave them as a comment on this post and we’ll get right back to you to answer it!

Huge thanks from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook to all those who have contributed to the Working Title Blog thus far, whether as guests or as readers.

Here’s to the next year!

Barve the Brave picked up the magic Thurible of Enchantments and wafted the sacred Incense of Amity over the Table of Majestic Meetings where soon the important diplomatic encounter would take place.

The High Chair of Omniscience was polished with the Lacquer of Lucidity and the Stool of Perception sparkled with the Sheen of Sensibility.

Weis the Wise and Geas the Sage would soon be seated upon them, wills locked like wrestlers, to determine the fate of the Fourteen Kingdoms.

The room prepared and her job done, Barve farted loudly then headed to the Water Closet of a Thousand Flushes.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Because life can be interesting when you are a character in a video game…

As String dressed himself in a new and even shinier set of chain-mail with glowing runes around it, Pew looked at the open doors. Of course, one led out but the other three all led away into the dark and seemed to be ramps going down.
“Which way do we go?” Milla asked.
Pew shook his head and then held up his staff, casting the same spell she had seen when they first met, but the spray of sparkles seemed a bit less intense. He nodded towards the door to the left of the entrance.
“That way. Your little dog is down there. Somewhere.”
As if on cue there came a bark from somewhere below them. Milla’s heart moved in her chest and before she was even aware of what she was doing she had started running down the dark passage Pew had said was the one they needed to take, calling Ruffkin’s name.
“Milla wait!”
She heard Pew’s urgency and stopped her headlong dash just before the ramp doubled back on itself and turned into stairs. Which was just as well. An armoured ryeshor skeleton was walking down the steps towards the door below, where two more stood guard and Milla had nearly barrelled right into it. She still had Pew’s dagger in her hand and instinctively held it up. The runes on it were glowing dark red.
“That’s got awesome bonus stats against undead,” Pew said as he send a blast of flame down the stairs and the skeleton crumbled.
The boar pushed between the two of them and bounded down the steps to attack the two skeletons by the door. Milla noticed the armour plates on his harness were no longer black but now glittered with a silvery glow.
“See that?” String said, cleaving his sword into the skeletons as he spoke. “That last boss dropped an upgrade spell for my pet too.”
“Neat,” Pew said, as his staff send a string of fireballs into one skeleton blasting it apart. The other collapsed moments later in a heap of bones under the combined assault of Pigsy’s tusks and String’s sword.
There was a sudden deafening silence as the bones vanished, then an urgent bark from somewhere behind the door the skeletons had been guarding. Milla would have been down the last of the stairs and through it instantly but Pew caught her arm.
“We don’t know what’s in there. If you go charging in you could be killed.” The sobering words and the intense look he gave her were enough to make her pause. Something in his gaze distracted her and with a slight shock she realised he was concerned for her, he actually cared about what might happen to her. She blinked and nodded, her frill-spines spreading. Pew gave her quick grin then headed down the steps in the wake of String and Pigsy.
The chamber behind the door had a high domed ceiling. The walls were lined with white tiles and decorated with gorgeous images of local plants, birds and animals in shades of green, turquoise and blue. In the middle of the room was a circular, stepped dias. Placed on it, was a huge throne formed from blackened bones and adorned with bleached skulls on the back posts and arm rests. Beneath the throne, in a cage of bone, Milla could see a shivering Ruffkin. Sitting on the throne and dominating the room, was a hooded robed figure, twice the height of any ryeshor. It wore a crown of flickering lights that looked like a skeletal hand grasping a nebulous ball of magical power. Beneath the enveloping hood no face could be seen, just two glowing red eyes.
“Oh frag – it’s a lich lord.” Pew sounded worried.
“Then it’ll have a magic mitigation shield, an AOE frontal with massive damage and a fear effect.”
“HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY DOMAIN! YOU PUNY BEINGS ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. I WILL CRUSH YOU LIKE INSECTS.” The thing on the throne seemed to exude the words rather than speak them and Milla’s whole being shivered with an icy chill.
“So you put your armour buff on Pigsy,” String went on his tone as unurgent as if he was discussing the weather. “Pets are immune to the fear. But we’ll have to watch for the frontal.”
“You got your parser running?”
“Course. I’ll use it to spot when the ratstab is due to cast. Just be ready to joust.”
“MY MINIONS MAY NOT HAVE STOPPED YOU PENETRATING MY LAIR OF DARKNESS AND DESPAIR BUT I SHALL DEAL WITH YOU MYSELF.”
“Think there might be adds during the fight?”
“Likely. If we get any you keep focused on the boss – it’ll be leashed to the throne anyway – I’ll handle them with Pigsy.”
“OK.” Pew made a gesture with his staff towards Pigsy and the boar glowed briefly with swirling runes. “There you go. Ready when you are.”
“Pre-warding and sending in the pig!”

We will return to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook next Sunday.

Wrathburnt Sands was first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology.

A sky alight with hope remembers
Those who walked ahead
Those whose pride lit up the embers
Burned the coals of dread
Those who founded one great nation
Signed with ink and prayer
That men would live in contemplation
One day we’ll get there
As we celebrate the glory
Wrought by long dead hands
Let’s add our voices to the story
Of this beloved land

©️jj 2021