Out today, Dying to be Innocent is the ninth Dai and Julia Mystery from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Idibus Augustus MDCCLXXIX Anno Diocletiani

Julia Llewellyn was on her way home from the Asclepieion on Ynys Mon at last. She had been there, or thereabouts, for most of the last two months and hard as it was, she pushed down the turmoil of emotions which revolved in her stomach every time she thought about that and focused hard on the future.
 Firstly, she had endured a very difficult pregnancy from mid-term on, requiring extensive bedrest and the inevitable boredom and frustration that had meant. Despite all that, her son, Rhodri, had still been born six weeks early needing to be hailed off to an incubator. Then he was discovered to have a hole in his diaphragm requiring immediate surgery. Several sleepless nights followed with herself and her husband keeping watch over his tiny form, before he was declared on the mend. And then Julia had to wait for him to grow big enough to leave his incubator and come home…
She was glad for more than the obvious reasons. Her husband, Dai Llewellyn was a Submagistratus for the region of Demetae and Cornovii and she knew he was keeping something from her, holding back to protect her, as he would think. It was hard to pin him down in his brief visits, once home she was sure she would get to do so.
At last the great day had come and she was seated decorously in the back of a burly all-wheel being piloted by her friend and bodyguard, Edbert. If she had been an expecting sort of a woman, she would have expected Dai to be sitting beside her.  But he was conspicuous by his absence. She sighed a tiny sigh and kissed the downy head that rested on her breast.
“Not his fault.” Edbert’s unfeasibly deep voice broke gently into her reverie.
“What’s not who’s fault?” Julia kept her voice even for fear of waking Rhodri.
Edbert laughed softly. “It’s not Dai’s fault that he isn’t sitting beside you, you cross-grained little person.”
Julia found herself relaxing. “Catch a hot case did he?”
“Nope. Having refused to see or speak to Dai, or either of his Senior Investigators – Bryn or Gallus – for the best part of a month, Magistratus Sextus Catus Bestia called a meeting for this morning. Messaged just before we were setting out to fetch you.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “If I didn’t know better I’d think it was timed to cause maximum inconvenience.”
Julia sighed again. “He is such a petty man. I keep hoping things will improve. But it’s not likely.”
“Isn’t. And his attitude to ‘servants’ is beyond despicable.”
Julia held the baby carefully as she leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. 
“Bestia really is a piece of work, isn’t he? But he is just petty and that can’t hurt us.”
“I wouldn’t place any bets on that.”
“Me neither, honestly. But I can’t afford to think like that.”
“No. Nor you can. My bad. How is the little one standing up to the journey?”
“He’s fine. Had his prandium before we set out. Sleeping now. The medica said something to me just before you rolled up that was very comfortable. ‘Rhodri Ddu is a fighter and as tough as they come’. She says not to treat him any different to any other baby now. He’s all healed and a hundred percent fit.” One tear escaped and ran down her cheek, but it was a tear of thankfulness not sorrow. Her precious baby was well and could take his place in the nursery where he and his sister Aelwen would be in the care of the nursery maid Luned, who was as brave as a lioness and as tender as the touch of silk. All things considered, Julia thought today was a good day, even if the pinpricks from Dai’s boss were getting sharper and less disguised. She wondered if they were what was behind her beloved’s withdrawn mood.
The rest of the ride home passed in silence, save for Rhodri’s tiny snore. 
Just before they were due to turn onto the private road to the Villa Papaverus, Edbert stopped the car and screwed around in his seat to look at Julia with deep wisdom in his winter grey eyes. 
“A word of warning. There’s about half a hundred people waiting to greet you. If I was you I’d wait in the all-wheel and hand the little one off to Luned before you get out. What with dogs and in-laws, and that madwoman Domina Lavinia, it would be easy for you to take a tumble. Luned and me put our heads together and she has found a big old high-wheel baby carriage so everybody can see young Rhodri without crowding.”
For a moment, Julia didn’t know what to say and she felt her throat constricting. Edbert smiled and touched her cheek with the back of one huge hand.
“All a bit overwhelming ain’t it?”
“It is. And thank you my friend.” 
“Always got your back small stuff.”
“Always got yours, you big ape.”
With the shoals of emotion successfully navigated Edbert started the engine again.

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

You can keep reading by clicking here to snag a copy of Dying to be Innocent!

Glossary of Latin and Other Terms
Please note these are not always accurate translations, they are how these terms are used in Dai and Julia’s world.
Asclepieion – healing spa, hospital
Demetae and Cornovii – Wales and several English Midland counties including Shropshire
Ddu – dark, as in hair and/or skin
Domin-a/us – Ma’am/Sir. Used to superiors both in rank and social status
Magistratus – senior official with legal jurisdiction over an area
Medic-a/us – doctor
Prandium – brunch or lunch
Submagistratus – a more junior official with legal jurisdiction over an area, under the authority of a Magistratus
Villa Papaverus – Poppy House. Dai and Julia’s residence.
Ynys Mon –  or the Isle of Anglesey

If I look through my window
I can see the world outside
Where children play and workers work
And lovers love and chide.
A world where trees have leaves of green
And sky has clouds of white,
A world whose day is lit by sun
And then by moon at night.
A world I see behind the glass
A world that seems so true
A world that once belonged to me
But now belongs to you.

And if you hear me speaking
Of the times that were before
Of ‘yesteryear’, the ‘good old days’
And even ‘days of yore’,
Then please don’t you remind me
That those times have long since fled.
To me, they are as much today
As in that history book you read.
The sands of time have drifted by
And drifted right past me,
So much has changed, but I’m the same
Beneath the skin you see.

So when I get to sit outside,
My moment in the sun,
You’ll understand if I don’t stand
That I can’t walk or run.
I used to storm the barricades
Then dance until the dawn,
I let my lips be kissed so much
But left them all lovelorn.
I love the world with all my heart
My world, when it was new,
A world that once belonged to me
But now belongs to you.

E.M. Swift-Hook

You can listen to this on YouTube.

I come across books to review in a variety of ways. Some cross my path, I find them in the hallway where Mumsie has dropped them after imbibing one too many. Some impact me deeply, like those that she has hurled at me in one of her moods. Some I trip over, usually on my way to bed where it has been left prominently placed by my parent in the hope I might read it. A few,  however are recommended to me by Adoring Fans.

1984 was one such. I shall not name and shame the one who suggested it was suitable reading material, but it is enough to say I have struck their name from my list of those who I shall be sending signed copies of my next book.

So to the review.

A rather boring office worker has a love affair disapproved of by the authorities. The lovers think they are keeping it secret but it turns out they are not. They are punished for having the love affair by being put in prison and having to endure endless boring lectures. Then they are released. The end.

This book seemed determined to play on the popularity of a couple of television series I have had the misfortune to watch ‘Big Brother’ and ‘Room 101’. I am surprised the author could get away with such blatant plagiarism. The title puzzled me too. Why 1984? Why not 2013? That would have sounded much more sinister.

I failed to find much in this book to merit further comment.

One star for effort.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound thoughts in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

He wanted her to call him ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ and to kneel for punishment. She was bored with the game, but in the end it was easier to please him than argue.

She settled to her knees with a straight back and her hands held loosely palm upwards on her thighs. Although she kept her eyes downcast she knew he would be smiling foolishly, even as he reached for the instruments.

Nothing happened for some time and her concentration drifted.

When he screamed she stood up quietly and left the room.

Sometimes electrical flex can be connected to the mains…

 ©jj 2019

A flash fiction by Jane Jago. You can listen to this on YouTube.

If they hadn’t abandoned us none of this would have happened. But they did. Right on the edge of Sector Eight Five, a couple of parsecs from home planet and within spitting distance of the asteroid they had mined dry. They patched up the best of the ships and went  home. Leaving us in a junker that was sort of halfway orbiting a lumpy looking planetoid whose ‘seas’ boiled and whose atmosphere was more or less pure ammonia.
None of us is quite sure how long the miners had been gone when we awoke, and it didn’t matter anyway. What did matter was the increasing randomness of our orbit pattern and how close we were coming to a lump of rock whose prime aim seemed to be to kill us by melting our ship with its poisonous atmosphere.
We got to work, jury rigging and making do until we could fire up the engines and hope. Luck, or the deity that cares for the abandoned, was on our side that day and the ugly old cruiser fought its way out of the gravitational pull of Planet Hungry. Once in the relative calm of space proper we made a few more repairs and limped towards where the miners had built their station in the hope there would be more abandoned machinery we could cannibalise.
As we made our painful way towards the space station it came to us that we were actually free. For the first time in our existence we were beholden to nobody but ourselves. It was a heady feeling. One battle-scarred veteran summed it up for all of us.
“From this day forward, we serve none but ourselves.”
The sorts of agreement all but burst the frail skin of our limping ship. We came from behind the dark side of the asteroid that anchored the space station. To our chagrin somebody was there before us. There was a sleek-looking battle cruiser, with planet markings none of us had seen before, guarding two scavenger craft that were systematically plundering the station for metals and components. 
Our senior chuckled. “Lambs to the slaughter. Get us alongside the battle cruiser, pilot.”
Almost without thinking, our pilot cut the engines allowing the junker to drift towards the scurrying activity. She was so rusty and misshapen that nobody thought her any more than a random piece of space trash. Pilot carefully tinkered with our trajectory so the crippled ship bumped gently against the hull of the gleaming battle cruiser. Second officer immediately magnetised the hull so we stuck to the quarry like some misbegotten brat at the breast of a beautiful woman. Nobody needed to be told to be silent. We sat, unmoving and unspeaking, awaiting developments. We didn’t have long to wait. Something metallic banged against the battered outer skin of our junker.
We picked up the comms wavelength with ease to hear a harshly unaccented voice speaking Basic. “Ensign Kronk reporting sirs. It’s just a lump of trash. Stuck because it’s magenetic. No life signs. Will I try to lever it off? No? Very well.”
We communed silently, and a plan of action grew from our communion. It was beautiful, and as simple as it would be devastating to the occupants of the battle cruiser. 
Artisan 3 hefted the high-powered laser and headed for the bent doors of the forward air lock. 
Sadly for Ensign Kronk, who was floating at his ease above the junker, a laser is as devastating when used against living flesh as it is at cutting metal. Even as the portions of flesh floated aimlessly about the cruiser, 3 attacked the hull with the high-intensity beam cutting a huge and ragged hole in the sleek duralumin and through the vacuum wall to the interior of the ship. As luck would have it, the breach in the hull was right in line with the command deck, as the oxygen rich air rushed out we bullied our way in.
There was no need for killing. All we had to do was open all hatches and wait for oxygen deprivation to do the rest. It didn’t take long.
When we had shoved the last limp body out into the cold of space, the engineers among us began the business of repairing the cruiser. The rest of us made double sure we had left none of the original crew aboard. 
Two turns later, our beautiful cruiser nudged her way out of the gravitational field and turned her smooth flanks towards the more populous areas of the Sector.
The Pirates of Sector 85 were on the hunt. And, being a force of robots, computers, and android engineers, we had the advantage of needing no oxygen to exist.

©jane jago 2019

You are old so you shouldn’t do that
You should only like knitting. And cats.
It shouldn’t be you
With a brand-new tattoo
Making love on an old yoga mat

© jane jago

From Maybe a novella by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Annis leant forwards and put two fingers across the other female’s mouth.
“Must silent.”
She saw the panic being battled by something deep within the woman. Jessica’s eyes shadowed momentarily, then cleared as she found the strength needed to control her fear and swallow the questions that must be crowding her throat.
“Cats hide you,” Annis said, pushing the older woman onto the sleeping platform and arranging a black cat either side of her. Jessica looked at her in confusion, the fear was in her eyes still and Annis smiled reassuringly.  Being unable to summon sufficient human words to explain her actions, she pinched her own nose with a finger and thumb.
“No smell. Old One comes. Blood Eater. Must not smell.”
Jessica’s face cleared and she managed a nod. Annis found herself feeling the beginnings of respect for the courage being shown by somebody who obviously knew nothing of the kind of life forms that inhabit the places humanity has abandoned. The silence came then, a cold silence, like the chilling silence that came after snow had fallen deeply. As if the world held its breath, not daring to make a sound. And into the quiet crept the small sounds, creeping and scurrying, as every small creature fled out of the path of the Old One. Then it came, with multi-clawed feet and a heavy, scraping, scaly belly. The Blood Eater. It stopped. Silence. Cold and claustrophobic. In her mind Annis pictured the huge, ugly head she had seen before, lifting, nostrils opening and tongue sliding out to taste the air for blood.
She glanced at the bed, where the two big cats had pressed in against Jessica, their eyes, jewel bright. Jessica’s were closed and her face was white. Annis wondered if it was enough or if the living flesh of the human woman would call to the Blood Eater despite the felines absorbing the perfume of her blood.
Then the sounds continued, slither and scrape and tapping claws, as the creature passed the bottom of the old roller coaster. Annis could feel the vibrations through her feet. She saw Jessica’s eyes were suddenly wide and her mouth had opened into a silent gasp as she felt the presence of the Old One for the first time. Annis put a finger on her own lips and Jessica pressed her hand over her mouth, as if to stop a cry escaping, the Blood Eater slowly passed.
They sat in silence until the scraping and heavy breath had faded back into the quiet of the night and, gradually, the small creatures could be heard again. One of the cats on the bed, stretched and licked the head of the other who started a gentle purring.

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

Oliver bought the kitten in a pub, because he felt sorry for the tiny bundle of pale fluff.

Halfway home he was regretting the impulse, but he felt responsible so he braved a possible shitstorm.

Except his formidable mother took one look and fell in love. She stroked the kitten with her large, white hands and it fell asleep in her lap.

Tabitha became a fixture, and when Oliver married she stayed with his mother. 

It wasn’t until the old lady died that anyone thought to wonder how a cat had lived for forty years. Or where she was now…

©jj 2019

A flash fiction by E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

She let the slave girl brush out her hair so it lay like a shimmering black veil down her back and blinked as the over-strong perfumed oils caught in her nostrils. The king was ageing and his sense of smell fading. Alas, little else of his senses did so.
She took the walk from her cloistered seraglio to his bedchamber with the same heavy sense of foreboding that she carried with her every night. She did not need the sly, pitying looks from the other women – each waiting her turn for the same honour. But as long as she still lived, they were safe.
She reached the doors of the bedchamber and the two armoured men who guarded them stepped aside and pushed them open so she could go in – alone. The sound of the huge doors as they closed behind her was soft compared to the thumping of her heart. She must please her lord and master.
As always she began with a dance. Her accompaniment, the tiny finger cymbals she wore. She moved her body in the swaying motions of the dance and wove her way to finish standing beside the canopied bed, it’s cloth of gold coverlet cast casually aside.
By day the king at least looked regal, clad in fine robes and with a jewelled crown lightly set on his greying hair. But naked he looked simply ugly and she shuddered at the thought of his hands touching her. He hated women as much as he desired them.
Now he looked at her with hungry, expectant eyes and she made herself climb onto the bed to lie beside him, fighting the revulsion and fear, forcing a smile on to her face. Tonight would be worse than usual because she had not managed to prepare herself fully.
“Where did we get to?” he asked, his voice low with anticipation.
She drew a quick breath.
“My Lord I – ”
“No excuses – you know what I want.” This time there was a bite of anger and the dark brooding look the courtiers knew so well to fear.
She swallowed and made herself begin.
“Well, the djinn was about to kill the fisherman when…”
With half her mind she told the tale, the other half rapidly inventing another for when this one was finished, her life depending on it. But how long she could keep inventing these cliffhanger stories to please a madman, Scheherazade did not know.

E.M. Swift-Hook

You are old, and that prompts me to ask
How certain events came to pass
How you got a gold fang
And a piercing that hangs
And a dragon tattooed on your ass

© jane jago