Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Three Hundred and Thirty-Five

The angel had blinding white wings and an often reiterated ‘don’t touch The Tree’ speech. Eve hated the way he looked at her, with a combination of contempt and something she didn’t understand in his cold eyes.

It made her angry enough to visit The Tree, where the serpent’s smooth green coils hung in the afternoon sun. He eyed her as well and something snapped.

She plucked a shiny fruit and bit into its sweet flesh.

Suddenly she understood.

The knowledge made her smile, and she picked a fruit for Adam.

This was one thing she couldn’t do alone.

©jj 2019

Be More Dog

Stop the stressing
That’s depressing
Have a snooze instead
If you can’t eat it
Or defeat it
Turn away your head
If it won’t cuddle
And it makes you muddled
Cut the bugger dead

©jj

Out Today Dying on the Streets – The Latest Dai & Julia Mystery

Out today Dying on the Streets the eighth Dai and Julia Mystery from Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.  Don’t forget you can listen in on YouTube if you prefer. As a reader of the Working Title blog, if you buy today or tomorrow you can claim a free copy of the short story ‘Dying to Make Music’ too!

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.

DTMMMTo keep reading, click here and grab your copy of Dying on the Streets. Don’t forget to claim your free copy of the short story Dying to Make Music – a special offer for those who read the Working Title Blog!

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.
Anno Diocletiani – Year of Diocletian. The calendar dates from the birth of Diocletian, the reforming emperor who established a new empire
Demetae and Cornovii – Wales and several English Midland counties including Shropshire
Domin-a/us – Ma’am/Sir. Used to superiors both in rank and social status
Lupa – prostitute
Magistratus – senior official with legal jurisdiction over an area
Puta – whore
Submagistratus – a more junior official with legal jurisdiction over an area, under the authority of a Magistratus
Vigiles – Police. In Dai and Julia’s world the police are a sub-branch of the military
Viriconium – we would call it Wroxeter. The area capital of Demetae and Cornovii

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Three Hundred and Thirty-Four

The sea looked like molten steel, shining so brightly it hurt. Under her feet, the pebbles felt harsh and unforgiving, but she kept walking.

Once the water was up to her waist she began to swim, glorying in the coolness and her own strength.

When a hand grasped her ankle and pulled, she sunk into the monochrome depths. Laughing as she went down.

They surfaced together, one fair head and one dark. That kiss seemed to go on forever.

Much later, she swam back to shore and found her shoes.

The worry lifted from her husband’s face as she smiled.

©jj 2019

Ageing

Ageing is trendy at ten,
But when you hit thirty, not then.
Though if you survive
Until you’re ninety-five
You’ll find that you’re quite cool again…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam F. Metheringham IV reviews ‘Starship Troopers’ by Robert A. Heinlein

You can also listen to this on YouTube.

‘Starship Troopers’ was not a book that one had any intention to read.

Ever.

The blurb made it abundantly clear it was about boot camp and killing insectoid aliens in great quantities and the antithesis of everything that represents fine literature. To one, such as oneself, raised upon more the most sophisticated themes and rarified tomes by She Whose Name One Is Unfit To Mention, it seemed like being asked to enter into a rugby scrum only after ensuring two weeks of torrential rain have softened the pitch.

So why would I do such a thing? One hears the single nonplused warble resonating from my myriad readers. You can be sure, gentle people, it was through no choice of oneself.

This is a cautionary tale that tells how karma always finds a way.

Last month I was prevailed upon to join the local literati gathering – or ‘Ben’s Book Club’ as it is is listed on the Community Centre noticeboard. Mumsie had declared that it would be of great value to my own written words were I to take more time to peruse those of others. She also threatened to evict me from my writing sanctuary and turn it into a hell-hole brewery for her own vile alcoholic distillations if I refused.

So, perforce, enforced by force majeur, I went. The torrid event occupies an entire afternoon each week, filled with in-depth and avid discussion and dissection. Then, once the local gossip is dealt with, the group spends a few minutes at the end considering whatever book Ben has chosen for the week and being assigned one to read for the next.  The first week I went it was Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein.

The Review

A young man goes to boot camp and learns how to fight insectoid aliens so he can vote. The rest of the book describes the fighting. Spoiler: he doesn’t vote at the end of the book.

Stars: Four – for allowing me to learn sufficient juicy gossip from Ben’s Book Club members to blackmail Mumsie into letting me keep my writing sanctuary.

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.

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Three Hundred and Thirty-Three

Shining Raindrops was dancing for the shogun. 

Lord Shen was dark and heavily muscular, with flat, emotionless eyes, and she found herself a little afraid of that which might follow if she pleased him.

The musicians finished and he motioned them away.

Raindrops held her pose, hoping that she could keep as still as tradition demanded.

The assassin came through the rice paper wall. In one motion he cut the shogun’s throat from ear to ear. Even as thickly, scarlet blood pumped from the wound, the ronin was gone, with the limp form of a fainting geisha over his shoulder.

©jj 2019

Coffee Break Read – Pride and…

A short story by Jane Jago from Pulling the Rug IV. You can listen to this on YouTube.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an ageing rockstar in possession of an eight-figure fortune, must be in want of a nubile young woman to supplant his no longer appetising wife

Eric Scoggins, the lead singer of The Wobbly Pebbles lay naked on the enormous bed in his Miami hotel and regarded his skinny, wrinkled body with sour amusement.
“I dunno about you,” he remarked to his sleeping penis, “but I reckon the only reason anybody wants us now is the fame and the money.”
For a moment he smiled as he remembered back when he started out in the business. Things felt different then, and groupies had seemed like an amusing way to chart the band’s rise to fame and fortune: the richer they got, the prettier the girls became. And, if pushed, he would have to admit to sampling a few along the way. But now he was almost seventy he would honestly prefer a cup of tea and an early night.
He sighed, and his thoughts grew sombre. The business of a farewell tour was exhausting enough without the necessity to run from the rapacious claws of the young and greedy. He wasn’t remotely interested, but these girls were unrelenting and he was beginning to feel like the quarry in a very bloody hunt.
To cap it off he was lonely, and only one person could help. He speed dialled a number in England and spoke to the person who had been the centre of his life for some forty years.
“I miss you. Please come.”
“Okay.”
Three nights later, as the band played its final encore ever, a particularly persistent blonde bribed a hotel desk clerk for a room key.
Blondie let herself into Eric’s palatial suite, and slipped out of her clothes before disposing herself decoratively across the wide whiteness of the bed. This, she thought with a smirk, would be almost too easy.
It was more than an hour later when she heard the door to the suite open. Carefully tousling her blonde curls she sat up in the bed and plastered on a seductive smile. Almost at once her smile became a frown as she heard voices. What was going on? The old fool never brought anybody upstairs with him. But there was somebody with him now. Somebody who could wreck all her plans. Her smooth pink hands curled into claws.
The first words she could make out were spoken in the distinctive gravelly tones of a voice that had broken a million hearts.
“I’m going out on the balcony for a smoke. You coming?”
“Yeah. I will. But I need the bathroom first.”
The sound of what could only be a kiss pushed Blondie’s patience almost beyond its limits, but she managed to wait until she heard the balcony door slide and the sound of heels crossing to the bathroom. Quick as a flash she streaked across the corridor to where an ordinary looking, and far from young, woman was sitting on the john.
“Clear off,” Blondie snarled, “it cost me five thousand dollars to get in here and I’m not having some used up old tart ruin my chances.”
The woman looked at her incuriously. Then she laughed. “I have a better idea. You clear off.”
Blondie led with her nails, going for the older woman’s face. But she was caught from behind and her wrists were held in an iron grip. She wriggled and kicked but all to no avail. The woman got up off the pan and disappeared for a second, coming back with a bundle of clothes.
“You have two minutes to dress and leave. If you aren’t gone in that time I’m calling security.”
Blondie looked from Eric’s determined face to the bland expression of the woman who stood at his side.
“I don’t understand,” she said fretfully, “why don’t you want me? Everybody knows you are ripe for a wife upgrade.”
Eric shook his head.“Just get out.”

It is a truth less universally acknowledged that some ageing rockstars might even love their wives…

Jane Jago

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Three Hundred and Thirty-Two

Ssith lifted his head out of his bowl of mead.

“What I don’t understand is the obsession with virgins. Do they taste any different?”

The bardragon flicked a dirty cloth over the meadstained wood. 

“Don’t arst me. I’m a vegetarian.”

An oldster at the end of the bar belched a gout of flame. “It ain’t obsession, youngster, it’s the law.”

“The law?”

“Yes. Stupid. The law. Stops young sprigs like yourself depopulating the country.”

The suit of armour in the corner lifted its visor. “That, and dirty old buggers like the king have an excuse to shag the prettiest girls.”

©jj 2019

Mrs Jago’s Handy Guide to the Meaning Behind Typographical Errors: Part XIV

.... or 'How To Speak Typo' by Jane Jago

chellenge (verb) – the action of drinking a pint of Very Fizzy beer in one go

consonentn (noun) – the bit in the bottom of the marmite jar you can’t reach with any implement, including your fingers/tongue

disturn (verb) – of barbecues the act of forgetting to turn over the burgers thus presenting one side raw and one charcoal

eggro (noun) – fight caused by somebody being a big head

farder (adjective) – of corporal punishment the act of being administered with a rolled up newspaper 

gung (noun) – the lickings in the bottom of a mixing bowl having been used to create chocolate cake

histpry (noun) – an old woman who sticks her nose in everyone’s business

immersian (noun) – native to the island of Immers (somewhere near the centre of Lake Titicaca)

messgae (noun) – a man who cooks but don’t clean the kitchen after (mostly just a man, then)

munge (verb) – to mix together foodstuffs until of a homogeneous texture and uniform khaki colour

persoanl (adjective) – of or pertaining to the bum crack

proverbail (noun) – legal terminology meaning the release of a story after payment of a large sum of money

remmeber (noun) – small burrowing rodent of the genus fartus fartus renowned for the unusual odour it leaves behind it

skart (noun) – garment worn randomly somewhere between the waist and the knees

vesnion (noun) – bright yellow garment worn by cyclists and elderly dog walkers

whsiky (noun) – a type of alcoholic drink beloved of those already too inebriated to speak properly

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

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