Dying to Find Proof is the tenth Dai and Julia Mystery from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

Dai waited until the two women had taken the last seats and Edbert moved to lean against the wall behind Julia. Then he lifted a hand to quiet the low murmurs of conversation and spoke into the ensuing silence.
“My friends, family, fellow Citizens and fellow Britons, we are gathered here today to plot the downfall of Magistratus Sextus Catus Bestia.”
A collective tension seemed to seep through the room. It was as if by naming the evil they had come to fight he had in some way upped the ante. Dai paused, both to allow his words to settle and to allow the chance for anyone to protest or respond. But there was a solid, supportive silence and those faces which had looked relaxed a few moments before seemed to grow more cold and stern. No one here was taking this lightly. They all had too much at stake.
“I thank you all for coming here today and taking time from the celebration to meet. I know I don’t need to do any introductions, there may be a couple of faces unfamiliar to you but we don’t have much time and I doubt we will be able to meet like this again – all in one place. We also can’t use regular channels.” He tapped his new wristphone. “Given the authority he wields, Bestia can have any or all of us monitored. SI Gaius has an idea to set up secure lines of communication and will tell us about those later. For now, it’s enough to know that we will all be able to keep in touch and to be aware that we mustn’t communicate anything outside this room any other way.”
He stopped talking and looked around at the sixteen other people in the room, for a moment, remembering too vividly the place challenging Bestia’s power had left him. An underground prison cell with its bleak despair and hopeless doom. He could not allow anyone else here to wind up in that place.
“But first I need to be sure everyone understands the stakes here. This is not a game where if we lose we get a screen turning black and a ‘play again’ button. If we mess this up it’s game over for good, for all of us, because don’t doubt for a moment we’d be made to betray each other.”
 Enya looked as if she was about to deny that, but Dai could see the moment she noticed even the hard faces of Decimus and Gallus, both veterans of Praetorian battlefields, were not disagreeing with him.
“We know this,” Aoife said, sounding impatient. “So let’s get to what we don’t know.”
Dai nodded to acknowledge both her words and her right to say them.
“I just wanted to give everyone the chance to walk away from this and not get involved any deeper,” he explained, which provoked a throaty laugh from Lavinia
“I don’t think we could really be in any less deep than having agreed to be here in the first place. I can tell you don’t read much crime fiction. Remind me to gift you my back catalogue.”
Dai managed a weak smile.
“Um. Thank you.” He could see the meeting beginning to slip away from him already. “So, if no one wants to leave…?”
No one moved. Dai had not really expected anyone would, but he still experienced a relaxing of muscles he hadn’t realised he’d been holding tense.
“In brief,” he went on, feeling more confident now, “where as we know Bestia is the man who has been behind the headless murders last autumn, the killing of street women this spring and the attempt to have me condemned for treason last month, we have no hard evidence to back up our knowledge. What we now need to do is find solid proof that he did these things. And much as I would like to tie him to all three crimes as all those affected are equally deserving of justice, we have to keep in mind that we only need incontrovertible proof that he was responsible for one in order to have him arrested and condemned and thus stop him doing more and probably worse.”
It was not a thought he liked and he could see a few faces become a shade grimmer as people reflected on how they would feel if their own need for justice wasn’t met. Surprisingly, it was someone he thought would be the most urgent in their need for personal retribution who spoke up.
“What matters most is stopping this man,” Agrippina Julius said, her voice firm. “If that means SI Calvus or others have to take their justice at second hand then so be it.”
There were nods of assent from around the room, even if some such as Brangwen Broanan were more reluctant than others and Dai felt another lurch of relief. This was, as yet, an untried alliance and he knew it was down to him to somehow weave it together into a strong rope with which to hang Bestia.

You can keep reading if you snag a copy of the novella.

In Yggdrasil those who believe
Find peaceful relaxation 
Her holy lakes, her waterfalls
Are aids to contemplation 
Where warriors whose heaving chests 
Were rendered still by wasted breath
Now sit beneath the lady’s breast
And understand there is no death

In Yggdrasil the goddess rules
With one eye blue, one red
Who loves the wise men and the fools
And gathers all the dead

In Yggdrasil, the waters wait
And in their calmness drown all hate

© jj 2019

Welcome to the Hotseat of Truth, a device in which your protagonist is trapped. The only way to escape is to answer five searching questions completely honestly or the Hotseat will consume them to ashes! 

Today’s victim is Durban Chola who you can find in the Fortune’s Fools saga by E.M. Swift-Hook.

Accepting the fact that you may not be exactly what you appear, did you have any input into what you look like? Is there anything you would change if you could?

I had no more choice than anyone else about how I look. My looks were to a large degree pre-determined by genetic necessity, which is perhaps something many in Central have escaped, but for most of humanity is still the rule. Though it is true to say that the genetic necessity that went into my body was not that of the average human. 
Sadly we live in a galaxy where appearances do matter. Would I like to change anything about the way I look? **laughs** When I need to I do. But mostly I find my appearance works well enough. No one runs screaming when they see me and I don’t have the problem of being pursued because of my looks. You could Ask my friend Jariq Zarengor about how that plays out, his issue has always been that he is too good-looking.

From time to time you have been known to pick up a musical instrument and play. Do you derive comfort from music?

I am not sure comfort is the right word. The instrument I play is the lysigal which is a thirteen stringed instrument known only on the Western Continent of Temsevar. The strings are set on a crossbar between two horns and the soundbox bells out below and to the side giving it a surprising volume at need. It is a very versatile acoustic instrument that can be played to sound ebullient and martial or gentle and whimsical and I love that range and variety.
Mostly nowadays I play it to help free my mind to focus. I suppose it is a form of meditation. The patterns in the music seem to help me perceive and formulate patterns in events and concepts. It is as if playing silences some aspect of my mind and allows others to step to the fore and be heard.
Yes, it can be a source of peace, but it is also always a reminder of other times and of people I have loved and lost. It can also be a gateway to memories I’d rather forget. Then it brings me no comfort at all. Music is like that, potent.

In all the time you have been in this incarnation of yourself, have you ever loved a human? If so, who?

I like to think I love all humanity. I tried to explain it to Avilon once, but I’m not sure it really got through, but perhaps it is still the best explanation of why I love the human race…
“I have sung songs written to move the heart, I have seen the glory of a sunrise and the felt the thrill of watching the bright splash of lights over a city at night. I have danced under the stars, laughed with friends, got drunk in a tavern, made love in the damp grass, argued with a philosopher, played games with a child, bargained with a merchant, marvelled with a scientist, travelled with an explorer,explorer, shed blood with a soldier and dreamt the dreams of a poet. I have known pride and sorrow, courage and friendship, fear and hatred, love and loss.”
No one can experience those things and not learn to love the incredible contradiction of the human condition.
But I think you might be asking more specifically. About individuals. In that case I am not sure exactly what you mean by ‘love’. If you mean the deep affection I feel for a friend like Charis or the utter devotion I have for my sister, then yes, I have loved. If you mean romantically – I have had a few crushes for sure, but love? **laughs** I think love is only known in its time of trial, otherwise it is little more than a delightful recreational, making you feel good in the moment.

Which of your human companions has frustrated you most? And why?

Avilon. Undoubtedly. The lack of trust, the ability to see through what I am doing as I do it. Someone much too perceptive and intelligent – which is why Avilon is also the one person I most value – need – as an ally.

In your quest, you have experienced betrayal, reversals and physical harm, and your companions have suffered greatly too. Can you honestly say the end will have justified the means?

My quest? **laughs** I suppose it must seem like that from the outside. I have to say though, my aims and ambitions are neither singular nor linear, so I’m not sure that really works as a descriptor, but you are the one asking the questions so let’s run with that idea for now.
To answer your question honestly, I don’t think I can ever know the answer. It is not for me to judge. It is something for others, those who live out what I have set in motion, to judge. Of course, I believe it does when I act or I would not do what I do. But in the end? Who knows how things will play out? I am not omniscient and I don’t even have the advantage of Kahina Sarava’s Future Data to tell me the probable outcome of my actions. I can only work towards what I see as a worthwhile goal.
One thing I seem able to do that others struggle with is set aside approaches or even entire projects if I see they have failed. Others seem more inclined to try and patch the unpatchable and try to keep going, as if the investment they have made already means they dare not let go. I learned young that you can’t do that and hope to succeed. It is better to accept defeat and open a new way forward than to expend all your energy trying to restore a ruined hulk to working order.
So ask those who inherit the results of my deeds in a thousand years time. Perhaps by then all I ever did will seem pointless and irrelevant. I hope not, I believe not, but I can’t be sure. No one ever can.

You can read more about Durban in Fortune’s Fools by E.M. Swift-Hook.

They said two people lived in the Queen’s skin. And those who brought petitions to the Elfking’s palace would not know which Queen sat in judgement of their lives until they heard her footfalls: would it be the irritable staccato of the ice maiden or the quiet pad of the healer? Could they look to justice being served up with the bite of an asp or the benison of a sunbeam?

It was unsettling never to know, but it did ensure that the palace ran like clockwork.

In the Elfking’s quarters the twins tossed a coin. Loser to play judge…

©jane jago

From The Cracksman Code by Jane Jago

When he came home the next night Anna greeted him with a big kiss and a wry grin.
“Sandra and Esmond brought his laptop over.”
“Oh. That’s my fault isn’t it. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned computer geek. If people know that about you they’ll be beating a path to our door with their sickly electronics. Sorry.”
“Not a problem with those two, though I have sworn them to secrecy, but it might be good policy not to mention my magic fingers to anyone else.”
Sam looked a bit puzzled.
“It’s like this,” Anna said seriously, “I can do stuff with computers you probably wouldn’t even begin to imagine. Most of it is immoral and almost all of it is illegal. There are a lot of bad guys out there who would like nothing better than to find a hacker of my quality, and they wouldn’t be particularly bothered about the means they used to ensure my cooperation. One of the young guys I met on a training course wasn’t careful who he talked to. They killed his dog when he wouldn’t do what they wanted. I was careful before, but that made me paranoid.”
“Oh my god. Anna. I never thought.”
He pulled her to him in a rough hug. She hugged him back hard.
“My fault. I should have thought to tell you. And Esmond and Sandra just assumed that I had the average accountant’s computer skills. I didn’t disillusion them. I just looked at the heap of dog crap he laughingly calls a laptop.”
“Did you fix it?”
“No. To use a purely technical term, it’s fucked. I got his data off it and sent him off to buy a new one. Then he has to bring it for me to set up. I’ll make it simple for him to use. And difficult to break.”
“Will you do the same for me?”
“Almost. Though you aren’t quite as hamfisted as him!”
Sam roared with laughter.
“Just don’t tell his patients that.”
“I most certainly won’t,” she said severely, “I wouldn’t want somebody who can break solid state electronics messing around with my fanny!”
This time Sam laughed until he actually had tears running down his cheeks.
“It’s a shame those two won’t be at the fecking charity bash, they might have leavened the mix a bit. But Esmond was crafty enough to plead a prior engagement.”
“Yeah. I know. He says he’s grooming the horse they don’t own!”

Jane Jago

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

You are old, will you please tell me this
When was the last time you were kissed?
It was late Saturday 
Having my wicked way
With a body too good to be missed

© jane jago

I had been told the sand has no smell – but it does: a brittle and flaking scent which assaults the nostrils at the same time as the over-bright shimmer dazzles the eyes. My ship-of-the-desert was making me feel sea-sick and watching the ease with which Kerry was taking to it, chatting so casually to Drew, one of the better-looking of our companions, and the main reason I had been persuaded out here in the first place, only made me feel worse. Then there was the grainy residue which seemed to invade even the most intimate places, plus my hair felt like straw and I was sure it looked like it too. But worst of all was the heat – the relentless, oven-baked sensation which made me fantasise incessantly about the swimming pools and cool shower I had left back at the hotel.

Perhaps if I had been day-dreaming a bit less I would have caught the scarf, worked loose by my continual brushing away of sand, before it lifted off my head, startling my noble steed. One moment I was flying through the air and the next I made an interesting discovery: sand is not as soft as it looks when you land in it from camel-height. I lay there in an undignified heap, feeling bruised in the ego and painfully aware everyone was laughing at me. The head of my camel loomed large, looking down with an expression that was clearly condescending, as it reluctantly knelt itself in the sand beside me.

When our guide’s strong arms almost literally lifted me to my feet, I was so startled I didn’t even stutter thanks. The dark eyes that held my gaze were not laughing, if anything they were angry – probably at me for falling off so stupidly! His secure hands boosted me onto the deep saddle with a surprising gentleness and then urged my camel back to its feel. My misery was now complete.

I was only two hours into my ‘Genuine Saharan Overnight Adventure’, the supposed highlight of this Tunisian package tour, and already I wanted out.

E.M. Swift-Hook

He was The Artist. 

Every woman he painted felt like the most beautiful in the world. Every landscape became a thing of enchantment. And every commercial design guaranteed world beating sales.

In spite of his genius, he was lonely and unfulfilled.

One day he picked up his brush and painted from his soul. It wasn’t the most beautiful face he had ever painted, and the body was on the generous side but something about the project pleased him more than anything had for many a day.

As he laid down his brush she smiled. The Artist walked into the picture…

©jane jago

From Midwinter Miracle a Fortune’s Fools story by E.M. Swift-Hook

The frost had frozen the blood onto the surface of the snow almost as soon as it landed, stark red against the white. In the cold illumination of the flashlight, it seemed crystalline and jewelled.
“She’ll have lost too much,” the bearded man muttered grimly. Gernie nodded. He was no expert but even he could see what this trail meant. They followed it out past the courtyard wall and on towards the edge of the settlement.
“If we had been a bit faster or you’d just hit that -”
“We had no bloody choice,” the other man cut across him. “It’s how things are here, lad, you can’t bloody change it.”
“The bastard shot her,” Gernie protested.
“And in his full legal right to do so. She is his property – or was, most likely. She ran away and that means she knew she was in for death if she got caught.”
“So you and Micha have to make nice to him? Man, that’s…” Gernie realised for the first time just how alien this world really was.
“We had to play it that way. That’s the way it bloody is around here, Tavi. Maybe if you work on it you can make a difference one day, but you can’t go shooting down local notables – nor even beating them up. Not if you are planning to stay here and I take it you are?”
For a moment, Gernie wanted to say no. Wanted to say he was not going to stay anywhere a teenage girl could be murdered, legally, in front of an entire tavern full of people. But even as he opened his mouth to say as much, he found his mind filled with the memory of an oval face with golden skin, framed by dark-copper ringlets and wearing an expression of appalled compassion. Something inside him moved.
“I’m taking the job,” he said, “if that’s what you are asking. It’s why I came here after all. The pay is crap, this place is like a nightmare. But someone has to run the spaceport so crazy people like you can come and trade here. I’ll stick it a year or two then head back to civilisation.”
The bearded man grinned briefly.
“I think Micha will be pleased.”
Gernie said nothing to that, it was still too new, too startling. He shone the flashlight back on the snow and followed the trail.
The blood seemed to vanish near the small block building that backed onto the first of the spaceport domes. As if the ground had opened and swallowed the girl.

A Midwinter Miracle is available as an ebook, audiobook and paperback special edition with typographic art . Cover design by Zora Marie.

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

You are old, so your favourite hue
Should be beige, or perhaps powder blue
But you dress like a harlot
In black lace, and scarlet
And skyscraper-heeled fuck me shoes

© jane jago