Two Women and Some Books
The collected ‘wisdom’ of seven decades on this planet condensed into limerick form. Certainly not philosophy to live your life by…
A limerick’s good as a pet
I doesn’t need feeding, and yet
It will come to your aid
When you’re sad or afraid
And I’ve never been bit by one yet
The door opened with such force that it bounced back off the wall, and Hywel stomped in. His face was puce and he was waving a sheet of paper. Seemingly unable to speak he threw the paper on the table in front of Julia.
She read it and could feel the blood draining from her own face. It was an official complaint that the family of one Hywel Llewellyn, non-citizen, had been observed to be visiting a sub aquila residence without due authorisation.
The Villa Papaverus was not their own house, it was the residence that went with Dai’s job as Submagistratus and was owned by Rome. As such it was designated sub aquila which meant only Roman citizens and those non-citizens employed to work there were legally permitted inside.
“Oh merda,” she said softly. “I never even thought of that. Dai hates having that wretched eagle above our door.”
She passed the paper to Caudinus who read it swiftly then sighed.
“I am so sorry, I should have seen that coming. As I didn’t, I shall have to investigate.”
Hywel made a noise like a cat that has just had its fur stroked backwards,
“Sorry? Sorry that me and my entire family are being criminalised by your filthy Roman rules?”
Caudinus looked at him severely. “Hush man. Be glad I didn’t officially hear you say that. As I said, I do have to investigate. So will you just be quiet and let me think. Or is shouting and blustering at a pregnant woman something you think a good idea?”
Hywel subsided slightly.
“If this goes through the fine will take most of my livelihood for the last quarter.”
“Oh it’s worse than that,” Caudinus said his expression grim. “The fine would be the lightest of penalties. If it were deemed to have been done in deliberate defiance of Roman authority it could be counted as treason. And this complaint names you, your wife Enya and your step-mother, Olwen.”
Julia felt sick. Dai’s mother, sister-in-law and brother were being placed in real peril through someone’s spite.
“Treason?” Hywel echoed, his tone hollow and slumped into a chair, the fire and fury suddenly deserting him. Treason always carried the death sentence – a humiliating and agonising death in the arena.
Caudinus swept the printed emails into a pile and got to his feet.
“Yes, treason. But if I have anything to do with it, it won’t come to that and I will make sure you are issued with passes under my authority so there is not a problem ongoing.”
“Isn’t there something you can do to dismiss this?” Julia asked, “It is your legal jurisdiction after all.”
Caudinus pulled a face. “It will depend on the nature of the complaint and who the complainant is. It could go over my head to provincial level and those damnable bureaucrats in Augusta Treverorum.” He touched Julia lightly on the shoulder. “You mustn’t worry about this, you hear me?” His tone was stern. She mustered a smile more for his benefit than because she felt reassured. “And you come with me Llewellyn, I need to get some details from you, if you can guard your tongue enough to manage a trip to Viriconium with me?”
Hywel struggled to his feet looking shamefaced and anxious.
“Uh – yes. I’m sorry, dominus. I know it’s not your fault. I’m sorry, Julia too – it’s just that…”
Julia held out her arms and Hywel walked into them to receive a quick hug.
“It’s alright,” she said, letting him go, “but for Enya and Olwen’s sake and the children, you have to keep a lid on your anger over this.”
Hywel nodded and Julia felt a little more hopeful when Caudinus dropped her a wink over his head. A short time later she saw Caudinus’ hovercar gliding along the driveway.
An extract from Dying for a Vacation, by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook
Sara stopped walking to work along the main street.
They’d be there. Men. Blocking her path or following her, cat calling and wolf-whistles.
“Wow! Nice tits!”
“I’ll give you a hand with those big…” pause for effect, “bags!” Laughter.
“Give us a smile, you’d look so pretty if you smiled.”
“You got a boyfriend?”
“What’s your number?”
Like they thought it their right and she should be flattered!
She daren’t shout back or tell them how she felt.
Diminished.
Objectified.
Furious.
Women had been attacked for that – even killed.
So Sara walked an extra mile to work to avoid them.
They rode in silence through the streets of Alfor. The townsfolk moving quickly aside to let the Warlord and his entourage pass and then standing to watch as they went by. Some cheered half-heartedly, but most had sombre faces. Durban nodded and grinned at people he knew and caught a small wineskin thrown to him by one, a gorgeously dressed young man, whom he rewarded with an extravagant blown kiss. But he was fully aware of the dark and hostile glares which were directed at the man beside him.
Then someone yelled from the back of the crowd: “Gut the murdering bastard!”
And like a flame touched to dry tinder an ugly murmur spread quickly and rose, as the braver or more foolish amongst them, hurled abuse at Jariq.
“Baby-butcher!”
“Rapist!”
“Murderer!”
The voices seemed torn at random from the seething heart of the throng, as though the bitter hatred had swelled up and found tongue through a few individuals who spoke for them all. Durban glanced curiously at Jariq, who was riding stiffly in the saddle, his face set and his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. Only the slight tightness of his lips betrayed his feelings.
“I never realised you were so popular,” Durban observed in an undertone. “Does this happen often?”
The Vavasor’s lips curved now into the grim travesty of a smile.
“Only in Terzibrand – I did not think to hear it in Alfor.”
“Don’t you think you should silence them?”
Jariq gave a brittle laugh.
“What’s the point? They’d only shout louder next time.”
“Your men are getting angry.”
It was true. The outriders of Jariq’s elite troupe were eying the crowd to pick out the source of the shouting and throwing appealing looks towards the Vavasor, eager to avenge the insults to their commander in blood. Then a stone flew out of the throng to glance off the Vavasor’s burnished metal vambrace. As Durban watched, he saw something within Jariq snap like a brittle twig and the Vavasor reined in his pony so sharply that it reared up in protest.
“Death of the gods,” he roared. “Must I put up with this cowardly babble?”
The crowd grew oddly quiet and the Warlord’s entourage ground to a jumbled halt behind them. They were about level with the entrance to the plaza and a knot of Zoukai had joined the throng. Durban felt the exultation of a master playwright, watching the first performance of his prize production. He had stopped his own pony a few paces behind the Vavasor, leaving Jariq alone centre stage, trembling with rage. His mount was now sidestepping nervously beneath him, its stubby ears flattened against its head. His words could incite a riot or initiate a massacre and at that moment Jariq looked quite prepared to do either or both. He took a breath and raised his voice to reach to the back of the crowd.
“The Fair is over. The entertainers are gone. Is this how you must now amuse yourselves? Bringing shame on your city and your Castellan by insulting the Most Honoured One, Qabal Vyazin and his retinue? Go back to your homes and your daily business. Be grateful that your sons and daughters do not know the meaning of war. Be grateful that the Warlord protects the people of his kinfolk and will stand between you and an army of conquest when the time comes.
“Only a foolish man will set a lapdog to guard his house. If you want protection for your children and your trade, you need men of spirit, men of war and not gelded eunuchs.”
His eyes raked the crowd as he spoke, challenging and defiant and Durban could see none brave enough to meet his gaze.
“Ride on!” Jariq’s voice rang out incisively and the Warlord’s escort resumed its interrupted passage through the city.
From The Fated Sky part one of Transgressor Trilogy a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook
The collected ‘wisdom’ of seven decades on this planet condensed into limerick form. Certainly not philosophy to live your life by…
When a gal from the WI
Was asked why the glint in her eye
She replied with a grin
That it isn’t a sin
To put plenty of gin in your pies
The Afterlife of Alice Watkins by Matilda Scotney is a time travel novel with an alien twist. You don’t always go to heaven when you die. Alice didn’t, she found herself on a space station orbiting Saturn five hundred years into the future!
Alice walked alongside Kelly. Although she had only been walking since this morning, it seemed a good deal longer. She said as much.
“That’s because you’ve been walking for the last year, but always in the full calliper. We aren’t going to take any chances for no other reason than you believe you can do it.”
“Walking for a year? Why can’t I remember?”
“It takes years for hearts to grow and attaching them once again takes many surgeries. After you woke from stasis, you were placed on the life prosthesis and even after Dr Clere grew your organs and they became fully functional, you stayed in a semi-catatonic state, despite having normal neurological responses and bodily functions; well, normal apart from the fact you weren’t ageing. You continued to challenge medical reasoning, but Dr Grossmith decided to proceed as if you were awake. And that meant getting you moving.”
“If I’m dreaming, I can understand that my daughter’s not here. I don’t always dream of my family.”
“You aren’t dreaming.”
“Then I’m dead.”
“You aren’t dead either, or dying, not anymore.”
“I was once dying and now I’m alive?” Alice didn’t expect answers to these questions, she was only making statements to help her sift through the vast amount of information she received that morning.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”
“How old was I when I died?”
“29, but you weren’t dead.”
“I’m almost 65.”
“You were 29 and close to death when your uncle placed you in stasis.”
“No, I’m almost 65.”
“No, you were born in 2098.”
“I was born in 1951.”
“Definitely 2098, we retrieved the information from your chip.”
“I microchipped my cat.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I mean only dogs and cats were microchipped.”
“Principal Hardy summarised his conversation with you.”
Alice stopped walking, stepping to the side to let other people pass. Kelly stood beside her and waited. Any information could mean a breakthrough. “I worked in a bakery as a casual before I got married, then I never worked again.”
“You were a scientist. Several university records from your time have survived which referenced you. If we are to go by the information found, you were a biochemist and part of a research team studying cellular and molecular biology. There was no personal data about where you lived and so forth.”
“The records must be wrong Kelly. I don’t even know what a biochemist is, and those other things, I have no idea what they are.”
“They’re not wrong, Alice, and in the mess, you asked if Dr Clere was a molecular physiologist.”
“I don’t remember,” Alice had a vague recollection of a conversation she’d overheard in the mess, but it was indistinct. “Tell me about Alexis again.”
“After you’re settled in, I’ll tell you the story again.”
“Ok.”
A Bite of… Matilda Scotney
I usually sit on the sofa with my laptop. It is easier for the dog to sit close to me that way! I have an array of tables and a bookcase to keep my notebooks close by. I’ll write all day from dawn onwards, but I find early morning the best for inspiration. Like most writers, characters keep me awake at night!
My specs. That way I can see what I created.
Fish and chips, because it’s the only fast food I like, and I wouldn’t cook it at home because I don’t like the smell of fish!
Matilda Scotney is a former professional singer and actor. She realised age was catching up when offered the part of the ancient, grey-haired Granny in a stage production of The Addams Family. She decided then she had matured enough (physically and mentally) to give away theatre and turn to her other passion: writing, specifically, science fiction and even more specifically, time travel and space opera. She is a complete Star Wars nerd! Star Wars (and Star Trek) sparked a fascination in her for building worlds and civilisations, creating characters and watching their story unfold…
You can follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads and her own website.
He’d been planning it for weeks, deciding what to cook and choosing a day she would be visiting anyway. It was their regular Friday evening wind down for the weekend, chilling with a box set and a bottle of wine. Usually, it was ‘order in pizza’ day, but today it’d be special – his meal, candles, flowers and the ring, of course.
He was just discovering that flower arranging was a lot harder than it looked, when the phone rang.
“I need to tell you I’m seeing someone else…”
He put a ready meal in the microwave and ate it alone.
Maybe by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook . Sometimes we walk the edges of realty…
This time the door opened onto an almost vertical staircase. Two of the cats led the way, with Annis next, then Jess, then the rest of the cats. There was no need for Annis to signal for quiet. The need for stealth seemed to have burned itself into Jessica’s brain and she wasn’t sure she was even able to speak.
The staircase seemed to go on for a very long time and Jess was glad of Annis in front of her setting a slow and careful pace, as otherwise she didn’t think she would have been able to make the harsh descent. Eventually they came out onto some sort of a balcony overlooking the huge vaulted chamber she knew from Annis’ drawing.
Annis made a low sound of disgust in the back of her throat as she looked down on a scene of terrifying bloodlust. The vampire was there, naked now, and looking plump and young again, and as white as the carved pillars. He was spreadeagled and tied to a table in the exact centre of the chamber, surrounded by blank-faced women who were taking it in turns to bite him. As each one sank her teeth in his flesh he screamed, and with each scream the females crowded a little closer. Annis felt sick and turned a worried face to Jess. She was surprised to see her friend regarding the scene serenely.
“What are they doing?”
“Blood rite. I think. Women are Blood Eaters and Fear Eaters. Beware, as they can change to their other forms in the blink of an eye.”
“Can he really not escape?”
“Now not. But should they lose interest in him, perhaps. What they do can not destroy him, just torture.”
Annis hissed to the cats who froze, then indicated for Jess to follow her. It was a low-roofed passage necessitating a crawl in hands and knees, and she sincerely hoped Jessica wasn’t claustrophobic. It seemed not, as she could hear steady, even breathing in her wake. Carefully counting openings, Annis took the thirteenth branch of the tunnel, which dropped swiftly to the ground behind the basalt throne. Jessica stood up and patted her on the shoulder.
“You go back to the cats. I will count to one hundred before climbing onto the throne. Give me a kiss for luck.”
Annis pressed her lips to Jessica’s cheek then turned and scrambled back up the tunnel like a little mongoose. She reached her cats before anything happened and they all stood watching the throne, waiting for Jessica to move. It seemed to take so long that Annis was beginning to think Jess’ courage had deserted her. But it hadn’t. There came a sound like a cracked bell being tolled and a dark-clad figure took its place on the basalt throne. Annis stared, thinking she would not have recognised Jess had she not known who was occupying the huge black seat. The dark queen sat seemingly at her ease, with her golden hair spreading around her like a veil, and a hand on each of the serpent heads that formed the arms of the throne. Her face was as still and smooth as a statue, and her remote beauty seemed to be demanding both respect and fear.
The vampire screamed his terror and frustration.
“Nooo. She is mine…”
His torment sounded greater at the thought he might lose his prey than that he might be left suffering for eternity beneath the power of the abyssmal beings who had captured him.
The cold, queenly creature on the throne didn’t even flinch.
Part 14 of Maybe will be here next week…
I feel
Awkward
I wish I’d thought to make my dress
Much more
Conventional
Then I’d not be in this mess
Eying the
Succulent
Menu on the groaning table
And seeing
Something
I’d so love to eat but I’m unable
To leave my brave
Companion
The tall potted plant, which now conceals me
From plain sight and the
Odium
Which would follow me
Inevitably
If they saw the real me…
Ante Diem Nonum Kalendas Aprilis MDCCLXXIX Anno Diocletiani
I
The working office of the Magistratus had changed considerably since Sextus Catus Bestia had taken over the role in Demetae and Cornovii six months previously. Dai Llewellyn, Submagistratus for the same area, still fondly recalled the simple and yet tasteful decor the previous incumbent had preferred. Bestia, by contrast, favoured opulence over simplicity and substituted extravagance for good taste. But then, unlike his predecessor who had risen through the administrative ranks, Bestia had transferred into the state sector after enjoying a successful career as a commercial lawyer. Dai assumed that impressing business clients required such an ostentatious display of wealth, but the same sat ill with the kind of civic dignity expected of Bestia’s present role.
Not that the man couldn’t easily afford the expensive artwork lining the walls, the rarewood furniture, the bejewelled and gilded bust of the Divine Diocletian and the elaborate full-length golden-framed painting of himself and his wife of a few weeks. That marriage had surely made him one of the wealthiest men in all of Viriconium.
Which was why this present meeting was beginning to make Dai move from frustration into anger. Bestia was sitting in his throne-like desk chair, hands resting on the carved lions that adorned the arms. The late afternoon sun had painted the window behind him with glowing light, adding to the regal impression. He also looked regally bored, as if he found the whole business of overseeing the administration tedious in the extreme.
“I see no reason to bend the rules just because your Senior Investigator has a gut-instinct about something. Cartivel must be close to retirement age and is probably just dyspeptic.” He smiled as if inviting Dai to share the joke.
“I’m not asking you to bend any rules. I’m asking you to sign-off further resources to investigate properly. I would if I could, but have already authorised this case to the limit of my authority.”
Bestia glanced down at the file on his desk. “Indeed. I see you granted SI Cartivel and his team an entire day in man hours. Time they have used to ascertain little more than that this woman was known to be a lupa and known to be willing to take money from clients who wanted more extreme practices than the usual. But there are no grounds that I can see here for me to extend the investigation any further. It would be a waste of public money.”
“If Malina Tesni was a Roman Citizen…”
For the first time, Bestia sounded annoyed.
“If the woman was a Roman Citizen, she would not have been a common British puta who was paid well by an over-vigorous client.”
“Over-vigorous?” For a moment Dai saw the start of a red haze clouding on the edges of his vision and with a supreme effort of will he fought it down, drawing a deep breath and counting silently.
“Distasteful as it is, there was nothing to suggest she had been abused against her will. She was also found with what I am assured would be a substantial payment for a street woman. No doubt an incentive to allow her client more leeway in his behaviour.”
“She was beaten half to death. The autopsy said she died of those injuries having caused severe internal bruising and swelling.”
“It was not murder. There was clearly no intent to kill or why pay the woman and let her go home? At very best it was an accidental death. No one has denied that she was a prostitute and that is a profession that we all know carries certain occupational hazards.” His expression softened suddenly and his voice shifted to something more like friendly cajoling. “You are a good man, a good Citizen and a good administrator, Llewellyn. I do understand why you feel so strongly about this, but you must let it go. It’s for the best.”
Dai had been sitting but now he shot to his feet.
“Let it go? Dominus, the man who did this is somewhere in Viriconium and he could do the same to another woman.”
Bestia lifted one hand from its lion’s head resting place.
“Stop right there. Firstly, I already said that I completely understand where you are coming from with this. Who could not be appalled at by it? But where is the crime? There is no law against prostitution.” He leaned back and shook his head, looking saddened. “If anything the dead woman is the criminal here. The only prosecutable offense I can see is failure on her part to have purchased a license to practice her trade. And, of course, the subsequent charges of tax evasion that would lead to, especially seeing how well she was being paid.”
Dai struggled to find some way to frame things in terms that could penetrate Bestia’s lawyer logic.
“If she was a Citizen there would be unlimited resources made available to uncover the man who did this whether it was deemed consensual or not. What if the man is local and his next victim is a Citizen?”
Bestia was frowning now.
“You should know better than that, Submagistratus. We can’t run the Vigiles on ‘what ifs’. There is no reason to think the man was local, indeed it is more likely someone passing through, staying the night and wanting some entertainment. And even if he was local, you have already spent public money on investigating something that is not a crime. Instead of asking me for more perhaps you should apologise and be grateful that I’m not going to mention that you did so on any official report.”
The red haze rose and this time Dai could do nothing to stop it. His last conscious act was to turn and start walking towards the door. Better to be rude to his superior than get arrested for attacking him.
From Dying on the Streets by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago
Working Title Blogspot 