Just Dropped By

There are many obligations which fall on the broad shoulders of a temple warden. Not only are there the endless administrative duties, the constant chasing for funds, the arbitrary dispensing of justice, and the providing of grave spaces for those whose bodies will never be found, there is also the
visiting of the sick.
In this, as in everything else, Maljie was assiduous in performing her duties.
The visiting of the sick has many aspects. It isn’t merely boosting the morale of the invalid, (or in the case of those enjoying ill-health, their long suffering family) it is also ensuring that proper medical help has been summoned and that the patient is being properly cared for.
Thus in some households the arrival of Maljie was on a par with the arrival of an avenging angel. In some cases it was the family who feared the arrival, in other cases it was the invalid.
But one afternoon will give you a feel for the role Maljie played. I had been encouraged to accompany her. First on the list for the day was Gamma Dilwin. A lady of immense age, so old in fact that it is one of her granddaughters, a respectable married woman with children of her own, who cares for her. Gamma has her own home and refuses to leave. As Maljie and I arrived, she met the granddaughter leaving. The younger woman was carrying a tray on which her grandmother’s mid-day meal had been served. I surveyed the tray, even empty the aroma that lingered was appetising. There had been soup, followed by minced horrocks and vegetables. There was still a slice of new bread, generously buttered, which the old lady hadn’t wanted. This was followed by a bread and butter pudding.
We went in and the old lady was sitting by the fire.
“Ha, somebody come to see if the old woman’s dead yet.”
“Hello Gamma, how are you doing?”
“Badly Maljie, badly. Nobody ever visits, I survive of crusts and whatever that slut of a granddaughter can spare.”
“Things are so bad?”
“Worse.”
I noticed the pot of tea keeping warm on the hearth, the well banked up fire and the fact that the room was warm and clean. Maljie diverted Gamma’s talk to mutual acquaintances, (all dead, hanged and rightly so) Gamma’s offspring, (drunkards and ne’er do wells,) and the doings in the city. These latter provided Gamma with infinite satisfaction, things were collapsing into chaos in a most gratifying manner.
On our way out we met Gamma’s oldest son who was paying his daily visit, he brought with him more coal and some cakes his wife had baked.
Then it was on to our next destination, the home of Artos Wellbeck. Maljie had to detour to collect something so I went directly there. I was admitted by his daughter, Artos was in bed. He was suffering from ague, something that had come up from the river and left him prone to bouts of shivering and fever. When he learned Maljie was arriving he immediately threw back the bed clothes.
“Daughter, where’s me britches?”
“What do you want your britches for, Father, you’re in bed.”
“Be damned if I’m going to have Maljie see me lying in bed like an old man.”
“You’ll kill yourself.”
“So that way she’ll see me in a shroud and I won’t be there to feel embarrassed about it.”
With me acting as his valet, we got the old man dressed and through into the front room. As he sat in from of the fire I shaved him and we even trimmed his hair. I stepped back and looked at him then glanced at his daughter. She winked at me. Certainly he looked presentable. He was obviously unwell but he looked better for being out of bed.
At this point Maljie arrived. Here we sat and drank a selection of infusions the daughter served and we spent a pleasant hour. Artos seemed to be bearing up well, but I did notice there were times he would put his mug down and clutch the arms of his chair to keep himself from shivering too obviously.
Finally we felt we ought to make our apologies and leave.
The daughter asked, “Maljie, could you get him into bed please, he’ll not take any notice of me.”
Maljie, in her sternest and most formal manner said, “I am a respectable lady, what will people say if word gets out I have been seen whisking Artos Wellbeck off to bed.”
Old Artos hooted with laughter, his daughter blushed and Maljie left. I helped them get Artos back to bed and caught up with Maljie at the home of Jinatte Mallerstang. Madam Jinatte was of the same generation as Maljie.
Normally an active lady she had suffered from various complaints. Her doctor was Mord Filch so we had no worries about the medical care she was receiving, but her morale was poor. Maljie had taken to visiting her every afternoon to lift her spirits.
Jinatte was cared for by her husband, a decent enough chap although not the most competent person around the house. A daughter-in-law used to drop in daily to make sure that he didn’t inadvertently poison her.
As the husband went out to fetch us coffee, Maljie reached cross to Jinatte’s medicine bottle and hastily topped it up with plum brandy. By the time the husband arrived back we were all sitting innocently chatting about minor matters at the shrine.
When we left I asked Maljie, “Have you been topping her up with brandy every day?”
“Yes, but she’s had to be careful, she has to make sure that when her husband puts everything away in an evening, there’s a little bit less in the bottle than there was the day before.”
It was a few weeks later when Jinatte and her husband graced one of the events the shrine had put on. I asked the husband how Jinatte was.
“She’s fine. That Doctor Filch is a wonderful doctor, one bottle of his medicine got her back on her feet in a week.”

And now a brief note from Jim Webster. It’s really just to inform you that I’ve just published a full Tallis Steelyard novel. Yes, the rumours are true.
Tallis Steelyard, the man who considered jotting down a couple of anecdotes to be ridiculously hard work, and considered the novella form to be the very pinnacle of literary labour, has been cozened into producing a novel.
It is, ‘Tallis Steelyard. A Fear of Heights.’

“What’s this?”
Granny Mim picked up Tom.
“It’s called a cassette tape and it has songs on it.”
Tom held it to his ear but he heard no music.
“Do it play?”
“Not any more love. Even if I had a player it would be too old.”
Tom frowned.
“Why Granna keep it then?”
Granny Mim put Tom back on the floor and gently took the cassette from his chubby fingers.
“Somethings we still keep even when they are useless, pet. This cassette has love songs your Grandad recorded from the radio for me back when we were first married.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

The librarian raised a weary brow. “You may not demand anything of me. I am my own mistress. I do this because I so choose. This night is to give hope to the children and the small things. It is the one night they may safely leave their story books and be happy.”
Damballa Ouedo actually shuffled his feet. “Sorry ma’am. Never thought about it like that. Can we come and listen then?”
“If you can take forms less likely to cause distress.”
The light shattered before it coalesced into two toddlers who stood hand in hand with identical hopeful looks on their faces.
“Very well. You may come.”
They followed her sturdy little figure to the edge of the gathering where they were easily absorbed into the waiting crowd.
The librarian took her seat and opened the Book. Her audience grew silently attentive as she began to read.
“And it came to pass…”
As the story unfolded those spoken of left the pages of the Book and enacted their parts as they stood on an invisible stage high in the cold air. Each was greeted with an outpouring of love from those who listened, even the sweet-faced donkey, and the herders of sheep, and the eastern gentlemen bringing unsuitable gifts brought gasps of delight from the children, and the small creatures, who heard the story at this time every year and loved it more each time they heard it.
All too soon, it seemed, the story ended and the librarian closed the book – leaving only a star shining brightly high in the dome of the library ceiling.
A dragonish voice spoke from somewhere in the crowd. “Even though I know it ends badly, I like that story.”

From ‘The Night Library at Christmas’ one of the stories in The Night Librarian by Jane Jago which is available for pre-order now and is out on 10 April.

Cover design is an original artwork by Ian Bristow, an awesome artist and cover designer, you can find his work at Bristow Design or watch him in action on ART with IAN

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

I am old as you rightly suggest
And often I don’t look at my best
But I just think sod that 
And shove on a hat
And stick out my oversized chest

© jane jago

The series in now complete with the release of Iconoclast: A Necessary End by E.M Swift-Hook, the final book of Fortune’s Fools.

The trip around MyRyDyn was not as big a success as Durban had hoped it might be, although it did have its moments. Avilon was distant, seeming preoccupied a lot of the time and Raine alternated between enthusiastic child and sulky teen, which made the outing a trying challenge even to Durban with his natural buoyancy and good humour. They visited an outlying pod which housed a fitness suite, including a swimming pool, then spent a while flying around and getting some spectacular views before Raine got bored and restless.
“Why can’t we go to the main hub?” she demanded. “It looks like the only place on this prison-planet that might have someone under the age of ninety.”
“It’s also the only place on the planet where they have any kind of half-way decent surveillance,” Durban explained.
“And what’s with that? You criminals?”
Her disconcertingly direct stare held something more. An edge of what could even be fear. Durban had to remind himself that this was a child who had been ripped from the only life she really knew and hurled into a maelstrom of confusing messages and expectations. Avilon looked away and out of the window. She clearly felt it was not in her remit to deal with such things.
“No,” he said firmly. “Criminals are people who break the law to profit from the misery of others.” It wasn’t going to help anyone if he went into detailed explanations about how in the past they had indeed been criminals by any measure of the word and were still seen as such by the authorities.
“Then what’s with all the secrecy?”
The small vehicle they were in wove at speed through the pillars and stanchions that supported the habitation pods. Below, the eternal green and grey mist concealed whatever the surface might have to offer, whilst above the sky was a clear unclouded turquoise.
“If you look over there,” Durban pointed. “You can see the observation platform. That’s where we’ll have lunch. It has an impressive collection of artefacts that were found on the planet from early attempts to colonise. There were even a couple of domed settlements here once.”
Avilon gave a brief laugh.
“I’m sure Raine will love that.”
Raine herself looked sharply at Avilon then pushed out her lower lip, shoulders hardening.
“What would I want with some old shit like that? And you didn’t answer my question”
Durban pushed a smile onto his face.
“Well, that’s because it’s not something I can talk about at the moment. And you might even like the artefact collection as they have some early settlement weaponry there.”
He was spared a riposte by a sudden drop in height as their vehicle dipped sharply to manoeuvre under the main hub and avoid the cluster of traffic there. For a few moments they were in the green-grey mist and the eerie lighting effect took Raine’s attention. By the time they were lifting out of it again they were getting alerts for landing and the small flyer was being sprayed with decontaminants as it passed through a docking tunnel on the observation platform. The spray of jets created a dramatic effect with droplets cascading over the windows and the lighting added a prismatic effect, splitting into rainbow colours. Raine was grinning when they finally got out.
“That was well weird,” she said, and Durban had to smile at the sudden childlike enthusiasm in her voice as she went on. “You see those freaky clouds? And when we went vroop…” she moved her whole body into an imitation of the plunging vehicle, “…that was top madica.”
It was good to see her being her age, even if for only a few moments.
“Top madica,” he agreed, guessing the usage of the words from their context.
Raine’s mood shifted in an instant and she frowned at him.
“Like you’d have any idea what that means.”
He gave a small shrug and lifted both hands.
“You have me there. Why don’t you tell me?”
“The catch-phrase of the main protagonist in Outbound and Starwards. A science-fiction series aimed at teens and young adults about exploring other galaxies and meeting aliens,” Avilon provided unexpectedly, having most likely pulled the information from link as they’d been talking, but that was not how Raine saw it.
The girl’s eyes widened and Durban realised the early stage hero worship had just notched up another level.
“You link-stream the OAS?”
Avilon inclined her head.
“I’ve seen the odd episode.”
“That’s just… Like just…”
“Top madica?” Durban suggested gently.
Which for some reason made Raine furious.
“What do you know about anything? You’re just weird and creepy.”
Durban drew a steadying breath.
“The docking bay of the Observation Platform is probably not the best place for having a row. So tell you what, you and Avilon go eat lunch and see what they have by way of weaponry in the collection here and I’ll head home.”

A Bite of… E.M Swift-Hook

Q1. Do you see writing as an escape from the sorrows of existence, an exercise in futility, or an excuse to tell lies and get paid for it? Or is there another option…

For me writing is the chance to tell a story. I find that writing is – and for me has always been – the ultimate escapism, in much the same way as reading. The difference is that writing is a lot more proactive and you have to keep one foot fully unimmersed so you can put it all into words.

Q2. You are going to meet your literary hero and you are told to bring a gift. What do you take?

A bunch of flowers for her grave. Dorothy Dunnett will always be she to whom I can only aspire. My new project, a series of six books set in the opening months of the first English Civil War, is by way of a tribute to her and the inspiration she has given me as a writer.

Q3. Who was the first musician/singer to make an impact on your life? And can you remember the song? Similarly can you recall the first book that grabbed you by the gonads and shook your world?

The first muscician was a group – Queen. My bother had a copy of Queen II and I was entranced and sold on prog. rock ever since.
Book is harder. I can’t recall ever not being utterly captivated by them. But the first major book of note would have to be Lord of the Rings. I was nine years old, off sick from school and out of reading material so a friend of my mother’s lent me her hardback Fellowship of the Ring and then the rest in short order.

E.M Swift-Hook is the author of the Fortune’s Fools dark space opera series, co-author of the alternate history whodunits the Dai and Julia Mysteries and presently working on a historical fiction series set at the start of the First English Civil War.
In the words that Robert Heinlein put into the mouth of Lazarus Long: ‘Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.’
Having tried a number of different careers, before settling in the North-East of England with family, three dogs, cats and a small flock of rescued chickens, she now spends a lot of time in private and has very clean hands.
You can find her Twitter, Goodreads and, of course, here on the Working Title Blog.

“What time is it?”

Elyssia glanced at the figures floating in her augmented reality field.

“2021,” she said. From Jaquiro’s expression he too had a momentary feeling she meant eight twenty in the evening.

“So we have made it back to the year everything changed?”

Elyssia nodded, thinking that the same could be said for any year in history as change was continual. But Jaquiro was not the man to hear that.

“Yes,” she said. “The year your great-grandmother was born.”

“But she won’t be if we don’t act. Shall we?”

Elyssia nodded. “Well, there’s no time like the present.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

The adventures of Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson.

When he had finished writing his message, Homes swung out of the carriage and along the swaying corridor.
“Where’s he off to?” Yore asked
“At a guess, he’s gone to ask the guard to send a telegraph.”
“Yes. But. Who to? And saying what?”
“Surely that should be to whom, old chap. And I have no idea.”
Yore huffed and puffed a bit.
“I don’t suppose it would be any manner of notice asking Homes what he is up to.”
“You don’t suppose quite rightly. He likes to keep his investigations close to his skinny little chest until such time as he can dazzle us with the brilliance of his deductions.”
“Aye. He does that.”
It was some several minutes before Homes returned, and judging by the amount of purple pencil all about his chops he had written more than one message.
Once he had climbed back into his corner he treated Yore to the smug semblance of a smile.
“I think we have done all we practically might until we reach Princesstown where we may better assess the lie of the land.”
With which announcement he promptly fell asleep.
“He’s an irritating little detective isn’t he?”
Bearson nodded. “Indeed he is.”
Yore produced a greasy pack of playing cards from somewhere about his person and propounded the theory that a hand or two of piquet would help to pass the journey.
Bearson acquiesced, and by the time the train was slowing for Dumplingshire City, he owed Yore all his worldly goods plus any wife he might later acquire and any offspring said wife produced.
Homes awoke and gave Bearson one of his looks. “That, old chap, will tech you to play at picquet with a policeman of Scotland Yard. They are card sharps to a man.”
Yore smiled, although it was a facial expression more suited to a crocodile on the banks of the Irrawaddy than an officer of the law.
Homes turned his attention to the smirking Inspector.
“If certain persons require assistance in the matter of their investigation they should perhaps rethink their attitude in the matter of card sharpery .
Yore inclined his head. “I think upon this occasion,” he announced magnanimously, “that we can call it quits.”
The train roared and hissed its way into the station and Homes hung out of the window.
“It’s a fine night,” he announced happily, “we should have a bright moon for our journey across the muir.” He turned his gimlet eye on Yore. “Do you have a conveyance awaiting us at Ashbaconton?”
“I do. And a sedate driver.”
“Very well. And now I think we need to hustle a little as we have no desire to miss our connection.”

Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson will continue their investigation into The Affair of the Dartymuir Dog next week…

Jane Jago

It’s okay to miss me alone in the night
It’s okay to sometimes cry
It’s okay to think that it doesn’t seem right
That we never did say our goodbye
It’s okay to mind me and wish I was here
And it’s even okay just to moan
But you have all your life all the days and the years
I don’t want you to live it alone
Please pick up the pieces of everyday things
Of friendship and laughter and fun
Wherever I am I will still hear you sing
Nothing’s over because my time’s done
And if you in your turn need the sound of just me
To lift you when days are too long
Just come out in the garden, that’s where I will be
Where you might catch a snatch of a song
And however long I will wait in this place
Wherever this place it may be
For the day I can put my two hands on your face
And once more you will walk next to me

©Jane Jago 2021

…a door appeared in what looked like a blank wall. When she opened it the stench was appalling. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
‘Dirty slaves.’
For some reason that remark exacerbated my anger and I head butted her under one of her chins. She went down splat and I called for lights. To my surprise, two of the slatternly drones brought lanterns. I went into a long place, with a lot of figures chained to the walls.
‘Aascko’ I shouted. ‘Can you get Ambriel to open a Portal into our garden. I need my big medicine chest and the trunk of bandages. Plus water lots of hot water, and get our kitchen to prepare the biggest vat of warm sweetened milk they can manage. Also there’s a lot of people chained up. We need to release them.’
‘I’m on it love’ he shouted and as I turned back to the horribly foetid prison I felt the mind of Ambriel and heard his angry voice in my head. ‘Just look at the chains and they will fall off.’
I turned my gaze to the locks on the first prisoner, an emaciated green elf. As I looked, the chains fell from her arms and legs. Aanda appeared at my side with a cup of water which he put to her lips.
‘Gently little sister. Too much at once will make you ill.’
‘I know’ she whispered. ‘But we have had no water since yesterday morning.’ Then she reached for my arm. ‘Help the little one. The rest of us can wait. But she’s really sick.’
‘Where?’
‘In the far back corner.’
Aanma followed me with a light held high and we found a tiny imp with its arms around the neck of a woolly hound pup. Neither looked too good.
‘Aanma. Go through the portal and alert Owl. Owl, plus Cat with a bucket of raw meat scraps.’
He put down the lantern and ran as if his life depended on it. I looked at the chain around the two infants and as it fell apart I dropped to my knees in front of them. I held out my arms and the imp crawled shyly into them. I picked her up as gently as I could, but I couldn’t carry the pup as well. Aascko appeared at my shoulder and picked up the bag of bones and fur that was all the hound consisted of. We carried them out into the clean morning air, just as Owl and Cat hurried out of the Portal. Owl took the babe from my arms and opened her garment. ‘Don’t let her eat too much at once’ I instructed.
‘No. I know. Little by little.’
Cat crouched in front of the puppy and offered it a small bit of meat. It sniffed suspiciously before grabbing the meat and wolfing it.
‘Owl’ I said quietly ‘make sure you shade that little one’s eyes. She has been in the dark for overlong.’

Knowing we could leave Owl and Cat to it, Aascko and I hurried back into the grimness of the prison. It didn’t get any better and by the time I had seen every prisoner released I was on the verge of tears. But I pulled myself together and Aascko and I went through the Portal to our own garden where a pavilion had sprung up as if by magic and our drones were ensuring that every one was drinking warm honey-sweetened milk. My first concern was the imp, who was asleep in Owl’s arms. She looked a little better and I thought a gentle warm bath, with some herbs in the water, might help her breathing. I gave the orders for the water and left Owl to gently bathe the emaciated little body. Cat was nearby with the hound puppy asleep on her feet.
‘The imps want to come help’ she said.
‘Well. Let them. Owlet was very helpful to us when we were dealing with the captives from the cave.’

Then I began the serious work of dressing wounds, wounds caused by manacles and leg irons, wounds caused by whips and scourges. Wounds gone bad because of poor hygiene and lack of food and water. I worked for a very long time, with Aascko and Aaspen at my elbow, but eventually every creature had been seen. None seemed in danger except the imp and her puppy. I straightened my back and smiled wearily.
‘Nearly done. Just want to have another look at the imp and the hound.’
Aascko hugged me warmly. ‘That’s my girl.’
The babe had just awoken and was crying fretfully. I held out my arms and Owl passed her to me.
‘Her skin is very sore’ she whispered.
‘Oh. The poor little love. Aascko can you get the camomile oil please?’
He dashed off and I laid the mite in my lap. Her skin was, indeed, horribly inflamed and itchy.
‘Mostly dehydration’ I said sturdily. ‘I think she’ll pull through.’
Aascko returned and I signalled for him to pour some oil into the palm of my hand. He obliged and I anointed the babe’s skin before beginning to massage her gently.
‘Owl’ I said. ‘How much have you fed her?’
‘Three times. Just a very little at a time.’
‘Good. You can try her with a bit more in an hour. Until then, get a soft old sheet and we’ll wrap her loosely, and put her in Owlet’s nice soft bed. If one of the other imps will get in and cuddle her gently so much the better.’
Owl scooted off and I carried on gently rubbing oil into the baby’s skin. I felt something against my leg and I realised the puppy had crept over.
‘Lift the puppy up Aascko’ I said. ‘I think this babe needs to see that its only friend is OK.’
My Mate obliged and the imp’s eyes fluttered open.
‘Look’ I said. ‘Puppy is fine.’
The imp smiled and relaxed under my hands. Aascko stroked the ugly little pup.
‘It’s a scruffy little mutt and it niffs a bit, but it seems admirably faithful.’
‘Yeah. Can you give it a bath and dry it gently. I think the imp will only really relax with it beside her.’
‘You could be right.’ He scratched the pup’s ears and took it carefully away.
Owl came back with a soft linen sheet, Owlet’s bed, and Puma in tow. I wrapped the skinny little imp and laid her in the soft fluff. Puma climbed in with her and sat stroking her head and singing softly. I patted her crest.
‘Puma is a good imp.’
Going over to where Aascko was gently shampooing the puppy, I sat on the ground with a big soft towel in my lap.
‘It’s a girl hound’ he said, then put the wet mutt on the towel, and handed me another. I gently towelled the pathetically bony pup feeling for any injuries. I was so pleased to find that the creature was whole, if underweight and dehydrated.
‘You’ll do little one’ I said and when she was as dry as I could make her I fed her judiciously and allowed her to relieve herself before wrapping her loosely in another dry towel and putting her carefully in Owl’s bed beside Puma and the poorly imp. Puma put a small hand on her ugly head.
‘Hello Puppy’ she said softly. ‘You can go sleep now. Puma will watch over friend.’
I had to blink away a tear before I could carry on.
Ambriel beckoned me and I went and stood looking up into his face.
‘I have’ he said ‘witnessed the worst and the best today. And that imp singing to the sick one all but brought me to tears.’
‘Me too’ I admitted. ‘Do we know to whom the poorly little one belongs?’
He looked as if he was chewing something bad. ‘Oh yes. We know. Her Mother was a very young female of the People, who was gang raped by who knows who. That vermin Aasken decided the babe was unsaleable because of her light eyes and the Mother was too badly damaged by the rape and the birth to be of any value. So he threw them in the dungeon. The Mother died there. Now nobody wants the little one.’
‘Oh yes they do’ I said sturdily. ‘We want her. She can be part of our family.’
‘She can indeed’ Aascko spoke from just behind me. ‘We will welcome her. And love her. Her and her ugly canine friend.’
Ambriel smiled on us and for a moment I felt as if the sun was shining just for me. I pulled myself together and felt for my Mate’s hand.
‘I guess we now need to start sorting out the rest of the slaves. Not many are fit to go anywhere until they have at least had a good night’s sleep and a couple of nourishing meals. I just don’t know where we can put them.’
Then I had a thought.
‘Or perhaps I do.’ I looked into Aascko’s face. ‘How about next door?’
‘Why not indeed?’ Then he looked up at Ambriel. ‘A gateway in the wall over there would be an enormous help.’
The Angel gestured negligently and the wall grew a set of wide double gates.

I beckoned to Cat, who was hovering.
‘We need a place for the rescued ones to sleep.’
She was quick on the uptake. ‘My old nest is built on the archaic model where all the walls can be rolled away. I’ll get the drones on it. And there are portable cots in store and many blankets and pillows.’
She bustled off and Aascko scratched his crest.
‘She looks so much better’ he said meditatively.
‘She can help somebody. Makes her feel needed. She is always going to be frail, but the more useful she can be to us the happier and stronger she will become.’
‘Very true, little Huntress’ Ambriel was expansive. ‘And now I must leave you. I am summoned to give an account of today’s happenings. It isn’t going to go down too well…’
I looked at him straitly. ‘Do you think you could manage to take off without overturning the cradle?’
‘I could.’
‘Well do so then…’
He actually laughed and patted my crest before lifting off with minimal disturbance. Aascko swatted my backside quite hard.
‘Will you at least warn me before you pick a fight with an Angel.’
‘Wasn’t picking a fight. He knows how I feel about excessive downdraught, but this time I really was thinking about the rescued ones and the babes.’
‘Oh. OK. I think.’
I laughed and went to check on the basket of sleeping imps. Puma was asleep now, but it was noticeable that she had a protective arm around the tiny imp and the other hand on the head of the pup. Tiger and Owlet sat beside the basket.
‘We keeping watch’ Owlet whispered.
‘Good imps.’
He pulled on my hand. ‘Mother. Do that baby one have a Mother or a Father?’
‘She didn’t. But she does now. She is your nest sister now.’
‘Good. Do she have a name?’
‘No love. Why?’
‘Me and Tiger and Puma wants to call her Silver because of her eyes.’
‘Very well, then. We shall.’
He and Tiger turned faces of shining joy towards me and I rubbed their crests. Owl arrived beside me and indicated she would like a private word.
‘What is it?’
‘That imp. Is she blind? I wondered because of how light her eyes are.’
‘No I’ve checked. She can see fine. I can understand your thought, but she isn’t an albino, just pale. By the way, Aascko and I have adopted her. Her name is Silver.’
Owl embraced me.
‘I hoped you would. The imps and I already love her. But why Silver?’
‘The imps named her for her eyes.’
Owl had recourse to her kerchief. ‘Sometimes those little sods amaze me.’
‘Me too. Me and the Angel Ambriel.’

From: Aaspa’s Eyes by Jane Jago

Teeth are indeed
Most wonderful things
They chomp up your food
Or open pull rings
They’ll slice you some sticky tape
If scissors you have none
They help you to talk, to sing,
To have fun
Teeth, when behaving are best at a smile
But they will soon know
You neglect them a while.
Teeth can be viscious, vindictive and shite
And then you will need some
That come out at night.

E.M. Swift-Hook