Mistrust and Treason, is the first part of Iconoclast the final trilogy in Fortunes Fools. To celebrate the upcoming launch of A Necessary End, the last book of both the trilogy and the series, the entire first trilogy in a single volume, Transgressor, is free to download until 20 March.

Even for someone who’d seen more bad things than most in a long career with the Coalition Security Forces, the images being projected onto the wall of the briefing room were hard to look at.
Really hard.
At first glance, he found it difficult to tell if the images showed something that had indeed once been human. Plastered up on a screen and close to twice normal size, it looked more like something drawn from the hyper-imagination of a special effects creator working on some VR linkcast nasty. In case any gory detail of the torture inflicted was missed by the viewer, the images showed it all from several angles, and zoom shots homed in on each specific injury in horrid magnification.
It was butchery.
“Just in case there is any doubt about the kind of people we are dealing with here, this is just one example of their work.” The voice of the briefing officer was unemotional. “This man was once one Foss Fingal. Almost all the injuries you can see were inflicted before death.”
The narrator paused as two male faces appeared, one on each side of the original image. One showed a man smiling and at ease with himself and the world; the other, a man who wore a taut expression, watchful, expecting some kind of attack.
Durban Chola and Jazatar Baldrik.
“These, then, are the two people responsible,” the briefing continued. “One ordered it done and the other carried it out. Let’s be very clear from the outset, these are not pleasant individuals — even by ‘City standards.” The understatement hung in the darkened room like a bad smell.
So this really was something serious.
Even before the presentation began it had been pretty obvious this was going to be big. Instead of the briefing taking place in the usual way by link conferencing, he had been ordered to report to Coalition Security Force Headquarters in Central. And he’d been given the kind of thorough security check-in normally reserved for visitors, not for the fully-cleared, ID carrying operative that he was. Then there was the fact that he had been shown into a room buried deep in the heart of the HQ complex. A briefing room with no external windows and quietly dominated by the subtle hum of full-on surveillance damping with all external link access shut-off. Just in case anyone there was inclined to make an illicit private recording of the proceedings.
Another giveaway that this was anything but a regular briefing, not that he had still been in any doubt at all by that stage, was the identity of the man who greeted him: Garn Jecks. Calculating it out, Jecks would be the boss of his section head’s boss’s boss. In fact, Jecks was the ultimate boss. He was the man in charge of the entire Coalition Security Force and hovering close to deity as far as most regular serving CSF officers were concerned.
“Dugsdall. Right. Good that you are here. Take a seat.”
There was only one empty seat in the area of the room where Jecks gestured, so he sat on it and glanced around briefly to see if he knew anyone else. The woman on the chair beside him looked the lean, mean and hungry kind – the only doubt being exactly where that hunger was focused. She was presently focused on whatever personal screens held her attention, but he had a strong feeling they were not going to be ones about her favourite esport celebrities.
Whatever it was she was looking at must have been pretty attention-grabbing though, as her top teeth were visible, pressing hard into her bottom lip as she concentrated. Then she moved her arm and he saw the slight bulk of a wrist slot analysis device, no doubt the source of her screens. It also answered all his questions: she was on a power climb – a woman literally wired to her work. Which made her exactly the kind of person he would choose to swim a shark-filled river in full spate to avoid.

From Iconoclast: Mistrust and Treason, part of the Fortune’s Fools series by E.M. Swift-Hook.

The cover is an original artwork by Ian Bristow, you can find more of his work at Bristow Design.

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

You are old so you shouldn’t bedazzle
You should be both faded and frazzled
It shouldn’t be you
With a Harley (brand new)
And a Swarovski Crystal vajazzle

© jane jago

He’s an enigma known only as Splice; a criminal mastermind with unlimited resources, cunning, and guile. A silent force who can make world leaders disappear in a miasma of blood and gore. But how did he get here? Where did he come from? The world may never know, but you will. Splice: Hit Bit Technology is by Bill McCormick.

He’d known what the stuff he wanted looked like but was whelmed by the myriad of choices. He hadn’t realized how confused he must have looked until he heard a deep voice behind him.
“Can I help you, young man?”
The owner of the voice was easily six and a half feet tall and probably had a side job as a wall. His uniform shirt looked painted on, and his muscles seemed to have muscles of their own.
Terrified, but lacking options, he’d handed the man his list.
“My dad’s doing some repairs and asked me to get him this stuff.”
“Did your dad give you money?”
He smiled as best he could.
“Oh, yes, sir. He’s good about that stuff.”
The giant grunted, took the list, perused it briefly, and smiled.
“Good man, your dad. Getting the electric in order before the snows fall is a smart thing to do.”
“Yes, sir. My old man’s got smarts.”
He’d managed not to visibly gag on the thought of his father framed in a positive light and followed the landmass as he wandered through the store, adding item after item to a small basket.
The walking zip code was chatty now that he had a customer and, especially, a kid who said nice things about his father. The human area code went on and on about how his old man was a saint and kids these days didn’t appreciate family and too many kids didn’t know their place, no offense, and it was good to have a father who knew how to fix things and the reason people got fat was because they ate too many vegetables and ….
Unlike other droning litanies he’d endured this one had two advantages. First, it wasn’t accompanied by a fist. He’d admitted to himself he’d found that to be a huge benefit. Second, the litany ended, and the counting began.
One hundred and seventy-six dollars later, to the penny, he’d walked out of the store with a heavy bag full of tools.
Once night had finally fallen completely, he’d opened his notes, and put everything in order.
The office had emptied out precisely at six in the evening, and the front door security cameras went live. They were fun to watch, swaying back and forth as they scanned the entrance for interlopers. He had no intention of being anywhere near that entrance, so he’d ignored them.
Around midnight he’d slid up to the power box, laid out his tools, and set to work. A half an hour later, you couldn’t tell he’d been there at all. The wires leading to his hovel were carefully hidden underground, covered by the usual debris found in alleys. The box was still dirty on the outside, and a late rain would cover the rest.
Back in the small room, he’d carved out of nothing; he happily plugged in two space heaters, a small fridge, and a little clock. All quietly purchased from small stores where no one would remember a little black kid. They’d barely acknowledged him at all. He was beneath them, beneath all notice, and he was learning to use that to his advantage.
You can’t arrest a ghost.

 A Bite of… Bill McCormick

 Hero or villain? Which is the more interesting to write?
They both have value. In The Brittle Riders I focused on the heroes and their acts of daring do. In SPLICE there are no heroes at all, just this young kid who makes the best of things by stealing from the mob. Not a good life choice normally. However, as has been noted by others, my heroes and villains share multiple traits. I like characters to have some grit to them. I also like them to have some depth. That said, the motivations for villains can be wide ranging while heroes are limited. They’re there to save the day. So, I guess I like the naughty ones best.
 
Is it important to include all shades of belief and sexual orientation in a book?
I don’t know if you need them all in every book, but I do believe it’s important to have a diverse roster of characters. The trick is to write them honestly. Bob the black guy and Lucy the lesbian aren’t going to snare any readers. But Bob the multi-lingual botanist who loves poetry and happens to be black, and Lucy the welder from Omaha who creates sculptures of dragons out of waste metals and happens to be a lesbian, are the beginnings of characters readers might like to know.
 
Have you ever written somebody you know into a book? A lover? A friend? An enemy?
All of the above and all the time. Sometimes I just add their traits to other characters, but I have used people’s names. Sometimes, like the John Dobbs character in SPLICE, I created a super Marine and then named him after John who is not ex-military in anyway and, in fact, was the lead singer and guitarist of a popular metal band back in the day. He got a kick out of it.

A glimpse into the mind of… Bill McCormick
A klazomaniac genius and retired bridge troll who dabbles in ballet, horticulture, and vivisections, Zeezledop now resides in a musty cavern once owned by a malicious geneticist. Having long since eaten any residual pets he spends his time cranking out yellow journalism and dinosaur porn. Bill is @BillMcSciFi on all social media and You can find out more about him at BillMcSciFi.com.

James had been brought up to be courteous.

He held doors for those who approached them, he offered his seat on trains to the infirm, he drove with impeccable manners and he never swore in public.

When his boss fired him for making a single mistake, he was scrupulously polite in return and took his box of possessions from his desk, thanking the security guard for showing him out.

Next day social media buzzed with interesting insider tales about the company, casting aspersions on its integrity.

James had been brought up to be courteous, but learned revenge was much sweeter.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The adventures of Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson

The train huffed and puffed across the quiet countryside and Piglock sat huddled in one corner of the carriage. He was obviously deep in thought, and Bearson managed to ignore his rumbling stomach while hoping Homes would remember Mrs Miggs’ pies before they went cold. Fortunately for Bearson’s  temper, Homes lifted his face from contemplation and thrust a trotter into the bag and passed out an oozing pie.

Bearson sunk in his teeth into the pastry and groaned silently as the gravy ran down his chins. By the time he had finished his pie, Homes was halfway through his. The great detective belched discreetly and threw the second half of his pie to Bearson. 

The rattle and groan of the express train lulled Bearson to sleep, while Piglock Homes pondered the problem they were speeding towards.

The great train groaned and shrieked its way into the station concourse at Brizzle. Homes leaned out of the window and studied the press of humanity on the platform.

“I say, old chap,” he ejaculated. “If it isn’t our old friend Yore.”

The inspector was pushing his way through the crowd towards the train, but the guard was already slamming the doors closed.

Homes poked the top half of his body out of the window.

“Guard,” he shouted. “Hold the train. There’s a guinea in it for you if my friend there catches the train.”

The guard slowed his progress along the train while Yore increased his efforts to reach the express before it slid out of the station. Homes threw the carriage door open and, as Bearson dragged the inspector aboard, flicked a coin into the guard’s horny palm.

Yore just about collapsed onto the faded plush of the seat. He was obviously exhausted, his limbs were shaking and his face was grey and drawn. Although, to be brutally honest, Yore’s face was always grey. He appeared to be struggling for breath and Bearson hurried to feel his pulse.

Homes looked concerned, but Bearson smiled. 

“He’s fine. Just over exerted.”

Bearson reached into his pocket and brought out his hip flask. He put it to Yore’s lips. The inspector drank deeply.

“Ye gods Bearson, what is that?”

“It’s creme de menthe and Irn Bru.”

“It’s vile. But I’ll have another belt if it’s all the same to you.” He drunk again. “I’ve been waiting for you. Homes. But I’m afraid we’re too late…”

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

Jane Jago

The global village is closed today
Curtains closed on homes
While loving mothers miss their young
The lonely die, alone
Out in the streets the tumbleweed
Sighs in the keening wind
Deserted shops with darkened eyes, are
Guarded by empty bins
And should you walk your echoing feet
Sound like a toothless moan
While overhead a banner flies
Stay The Fuck At Home

©jj 2021

To celebrate the upcoming launch of A Necessary End, the final book in Fortunes Fools, the first book of Haruspex trilogy, Trust A Few is free to download today.

The first time he had seen it, from above, Stin thought the far-spreading sprawl of low rise, square, flat-roofed buildings looked like someone upturned a truckload of children’s play blocks. Or not. The shapes were too uneven. Maybe more like a skip full of builders’ rubble, emptied out in the middle of nowhere.
The buildings were all shades of ochre, the newer ones more brown or orange, the older ones yellowed and greying. Some close pressed along narrow streets. Others, more segregated in their own patch of land with courtyards and walls. The double dome of the tiny spaceport bubbled up, incongruous, in the midst of it all and anywhere else in the galaxy there would be ninety million health and safety regulators screaming that the residential buildings were too close. Here, though, there was no one with sufficient authority to object – even if anyone had actually cared. From the domes, a street ran to the main square and then continued pretty much straight on until it came to the only other building of real substance. Dominating the mud-brick built housing and offering a kind of low-tech counterpart to the spaceport domes, the stone-built citadel stood as a testament to local architecture, with its odd half-cylinder tower and its own microcosm of courtyards and housing gathered around the curtain wall.
This was the city of Keran. The planetary capital of Temsevar which was surely the most grimly benighted world in known space. It stood – or more sort of slumped – in a vast plain which stretched, dizzyingly, as far as his eyes could see in every direction, bleak and empty with nothing taller than knee-high bushes and an odd grey-green grass which grew all over.
Someone told Stin that before the spaceport, the settlement had just been a trading post centred on the citadel. Back then, it had only a scant handful of permanent residents and a high turnover of the weird tattoo covered nomads, whose tribes ranged the plains around, moving all the time to avoid their livestock over-grazing the sparse foliage. In some ways, he reflected, nothing much had changed – only the city had grown and now the nomads came from beyond the sky and were much fewer in number.
During the short summer the locals told him Keran was a dust bowl and throughout the long winter, it was a frozen hell. For Stin, it was all alien. A place of exile. First impressions always count and he had been left here in the winter. Adjectives that sprang to mind when he thought how he would describe it to people when – if – he got home again were: bleak, desolate, barren and bitter – like finding himself stranded in a gigantic cold-storage compartment. The memory of standing in the vacant dock looking at the empty space that had been occupied by the ship he arrived in earlier that same day, was still vivid. And that of the voice behind him full of friendly sympathy.
“She left without you? Well, no worries, it happens here. You’re not the first and I’m sure you won’t be the last. You’ll get off in a year or two, just might have to earn yourself a bit to pay the passage.”
He turned to see the speaker, a short man with a round face and a balding fuzz of dark hair.
“I don’t know why she – “
The round face broke up into a gnomish smile.
“You’d not be standing here if you did, would you? Anyway, I’m Agernilio Tavi, but everyone calls me Gernie. I’m the one-man band who keeps the port here running.”
“Stin. Stinian Sabas. I’m the dumb fool who just got dumped by his girlfriend. Now I guess I’m stranded.”
“You and me both, only I’ve stuck it out here the last two and a half decades. Oh man, your face. Don’t look so worried – I chose to stay.”
Gernie, he discovered, was the unofficial deity of the spaceport. He ran the place as his own private business venture and that made him the most important person in the whole of Keran. He was the gatekeeper. The one who controlled access to the rest of the galaxy, the one who could arrange for cargos to be shipped in or out.
Everything offworld was prized here – as long as it wasn’t high-tech dependent. The most highly sought after offworld items were weaponry and medical supplies. These would be purchased or exchanged for whatever local trade could offer – exotic food and drink, art and artefacts, some semi-precious stones and metals. Most of what was traded out didn’t come from Keran or even from the same continent. Most trade came – and went – on the backs of the local beasts of burden. These ponies were ugly beasts, with short, stubby ears, broad backs and thick coats, but had peculiar looking split-hooved feet which could spread and grip on soft ground or ice. They would carry trade goods in pack trains, along the single broad road which stretched to the seaport of Vinbrith, just out of sight over the horizon.
Stin went to Vinbrith the once. It had a pretty sounding name and looked totally picturesque from a distance, the cute cottage-like dwellings clinging to the cliffs above the harbour, the little ships bobbing on the tide and the huge wooden wheels turning slowly. It was perhaps only when you saw the wheels, used to lift the cargos on wooden platforms up the sheer cliff face, were treadmills with three ranks of six men chained in together, that the illusion began to fall away. That and the stench. Pretty as a picture from afar, but close to Vinbrith was worse than Keran – and that was saying something. But from there, wooden-built sailing ships carried goods of all sorts to and from the other continent of the planet, which, Stin had been told, was ruled by someone they called ‘The Overlord’ and held the vast majority of the planet’s population and most all of its resources.
Gernie found him the work. There were a lot of things that needed doing which the locals lacked the technical skill to achieve. It wasn’t good pay, but at least it would earn him passage offworld – eventually. Stin was roped in to help keep the port functional and to spell Gernie manning the archaic transceiver which was set up with the one solitary comms satellite in orbit above the planet.
The system was so primitive that it couldn’t even access regular link-based FTL transmissions. That meant that the only real contact the planet ever got with the rest of the galaxy came via the few ships that visited Temsevar each year. But those incoming ships had to communicate through the satellite as the spaceport couldn’t talk directly to them, it was too far behind modern link technology to do so.
It was when he learned that particular fact that Stin finally realised this place wasn’t just at the back of beyond like most Periphery worlds, it was actually a good few kiloparsecs behind the back of beyond.

From A Walking Shadow the third book of Haruspex, part of the Fortune’s Fools series by E.M. Swift-Hook.

The cover is designed by Ian Bristow, you can find his work at Bristow Design.

There are people who live in a convenient world
So much more convenient than mine
If they have a problem they know how to fix it
Their world spins along again fine

They have Amazon Echos and blue-tooth devices
Phones that are smarter than me
I tell them I need something done and they
Say “Use this app. That should do it, you’ll see.”

But I live in a world where technology faltered
And ground to a halt times ago
My phone is not smart, and nor is my dwelling
My downloading speed is too slow

And most of the time that is how I prefer it
Convenience that works right for me
But they don’t understand when I say I can’t do things
They take for granted to be

I like to think it is not generational
As many of all ages surf
I prefer to consider it is more vocational
I choose to live down to earth.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The Working Title crew bring you the opportunity to enjoy again this wisdom from the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica… You can listen to this on YouTube.

Aries. 

Aries is the cuddliest of star signs, which makes its affinity to horror very surprising. The Arian reader will gravitate to children’s literature or hardcore scary. Nothing in between. 

Favourite Book

Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. Creepiness and sheepiness 

Recommended bedtime story for your Aries child

Anything woolly and cuddly. Knitting patterns read slowly ensure peaceful rest. 

Taurus.

Taurean readers are stubbornly fond of maps. Give them an atlas or a big fat fantasy tome and they will be happy for hours.

Favourite Book

They would say Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien, although most of them won’t have bothered to read it all. Closer to the truth would be The Hobbit

Recommended bedtime story for your Taurus child

Print out a route from your home to John o’Groats and read it slowly turn by turn. 

Gemini.

The astrological twins are continue to be a conundrum wrapped in a question. They are fascinated by mystery and contradiction. Never offer a Gemini reader ‘happy ever after’: they don’t believe in it.

Favourite Book

The Fated Sky by E.M. Swift-Hook or, indeed, any of the Fortunes Fools oeuvre. The sheer complexity of the imagination keeps even the Gemini cynic rapt 

Recommended bedtime story for your Gemini child

Purchase a book of mathematical problems and read them out in your most soothing tones. Even Geminis will get so bored they nod off. 

Cancer.

Cancerian readers love a book that comes at them out of left field. They spit upon the ordinary or predictable. What they desire is shell-bursting and psychedelic prose that makes them want to scuttle away and hide. If they ever get to understand a book they abandon it forever.

Favourite Books

Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas, and Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, and the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke

Recommended bedtime story for your Cancer child

Nonsense verse, or, failing that, a cookbook that is heavy on crab recipes. They may not sleep, but the little sods will be quiet.

Leo.

Lazy Leo likes an easy read. Nothing challenging is considered. Ever

Favourite Book

The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by CS Lewis. Or any of the Narnia Chronicles. Leos do like to see themselves as the hero 

Recommended bedtime story for your Leo child

It doesn’t matter what you read. Just replace the hero’s name with the name of your small lion and (s)he will fall asleep with a beatific smile.

Virgo.

Virgo readers like tidiness in life – and in literature. For them a book must have a beginning, a middle, and a happy end. Bonuses are awarded for good use of punctuation.

Favourite Book

Anything by Miss Austen or  E.F. Benson’s Lucia series. A little waspishness helps every Virgo reader’s day

Recommended bedtime story for your Virgo child

Anything with a strongly moralistic viewpoint. If you can find a story where the annoyingly prim and creepy child comes out on top so much the better

Libra.

Libran readers like to be puzzled and to pit their wits against both the writer and the antagonist. They get very annoyed by slipshod grammar.

Favourite Book

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle or any of Agatha Christie’s Jane Marple stories.

Recommended bedtime story for your Libra child

Nothing too trendy or humorous. We recommend reading logic problems. Slowly

Scorpio.

Scorpio readers are intelligent, short-tempered and easily bored. A book has one page to catch the interest of a Scorpio or (s)he is not going to bother. They like complexity of plot and deep meaning to discern.

Favourite Books

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman or Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse stories. Sweeping fantasy always does it. That or sexy vampires 

Recommended bedtime story for your Scorpio child

Just read them whatever soft porn their father is currently into. They will feel special and slightly smug, and they might even go to sleep 

Sagittarius.

Sagittarian readers are hard to please, being intelligent, principled, and a tad dour. Do not expect a Sagittarius to read erotica with anything other than a moue of distaste. They do, however, like evil to get a good thrashing.

Favourite Books

The Redwall Chronicles by Brian Jacques

Recommended bedtime story for your Sagittarius child

The lives of saints and martyrs have the right moralistic and self-satisfied tone. Practice reading unemotionally

Capricorn.

Amiable, clever and organised. Capricorn tends not to read fiction. They like logic, explanation, and hard facts. And diagrams…

Favourite Books

Instruction manuals. Yes. Capricorn is the sign that reads the instructions first!

Recommended bedtime story for your Capricorn child

Do not ever read to Capricorn children. They are far too bright, and they are perfectionists. Be warned. Having your pronunciation corrected by a toddler is a chastening experience 

Aquarius.

Most Aquarian’s will tell you they are too busy to read. Then they will sneak off somewhere with a favourite book and be gone for hours. They like light reading, with defined characters. 

Favourite Book 

Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K Jerome or The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. Or anything about water….

Recommended bedtime story for your Aquarius child

Purchase a copy of their business statistics from your local water company. They will be enthralled.

Pisces.

There are two kinds of Pisces readers. Those who like a nice light romance or warm children’s tales. And those who want psychological horror of the most harrowing description. We are looking at Lovecraft or Barbara Cartland. Often in the same person. Odd…

Favourite Book 

The complete HP Lovecraft or The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Anderson or Bolded Hearts by Jane Jago. Nothing between the two poles will do

Recommended bedtime story for your Pisces child

There is no perfect Pisces story. The best you can do is read from a random book, and if the child argues hit it with the book.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

Whittaker had been courting Janice for the last forty years.

He started when they were in high school, figuring after fifteen years as neighbours they knew each other well enough to take such a step. They moved in together a few years later and had children, but each time he asked her to wed, she would say: “You just keep on a-courting me”. 

So he did.

The kids grew up, moved out and one day he asked: “Have I courted you enough?”

“No,” she said, “but I’ll marry you anyway.”

They were wed in the spring, right after the thaw.

E.M. Swift-Hook