From Pulling The Rug III by Jane Jago, one of 13 books in the Great Spring Giveaway of science fiction and fantasy books. You can pick them all up FREE for the next five days....

“All hail Emperor Sulieman and his Empress Leonore.”
People ran from their homes and businesses to line the streets and stare at their dark emperor in his dented armour and drink in the beauty of the velvet-clad empress.
At the palace, they rode through the wide open gates, and if the empress saw the heads that decorated the walls above the gatehouse she gave no sign. The first sign of any interest came as they progressed through the dragon’s garden.
“Husband,” she said in a wooden little voice, “why is that Drake so chained?”
“He always has been.”
“Always?”
“For a hundred and half a hundred years.”
She frowned. “Then it is past time to strike off his chains.”
“And let him fly away?”
“Whether he flies or does not fly is immaterial. He should not be thus imprisoned.”
Sulieman shrugged. “Very well. I will give the order.”
“And I will stay to see it done.”
She slipped from her horse and went to stand at the dragon’s head. Those who gathered in the garden were later to swear that it was as if the Ivory Empress and the green/gold dragon were communicating on some subliminal level too deep for mere humans to comprehend. But that was much later. Truth to tell nobody saw anything to remark save the straight tall figure of the Empress with one hand on the dragon’s neck as the smiths struck off the chains that held him captive. Once he was free the firedrake inclined his head to the Emperor, almost as equal to equal, before curling himself into the soft grass and closing his eyes.
Sulieman was curious. “Why does he not fly away?”
“On wings unused for more than a hundred years? It will take time before he can fly. If indeed he ever can.”
A shadow passed over Sulieman’s face and he tugged his intricately plaited beard. “I shall be sorry if that is true. Bad enough to be tricked and held prisoner, without being maimed.” He turned his handsome head towards the dragon. “Good firedrake,” he said with extreme formality, “if it should so be that the actions of my father’s father’s father have maimed thee. I would apologise and make such reparation as I can.”
For the first time since his capture the dragon spoke. His voice was like the crackle of flames around the Yuletide fire and it made one think of woodsmoke and autumn. “I think myself unhurt, Magister, it is just to think of whether I wish to go or stay a while and observe.”
Then he shut his mouth and closed his eyes.
Sulieman looked at his Empress. “He can speak, habiiba, why has he never spoken before?”
The Empress sighed. “For the same reason you did not beg your captors for water.”
Sulieman bowed his head. “That is hard hearing, and I feel shame that I had not thought that a firedrake may have his pride too. I should have freed him long since.”
For the first time in their too brief acquaintance, Leonore reached out a hand to her husband. It was a massive step forward and Sulieman smiled.

Between 30 May and the 5 June, you can snag these other books for FREE as well...

First-Contact Science Fiction
Aliens Crashed in My Backyard by Mike van Horn
Singer Selena M rescues a very non-human alien from a crashed spaceship and nurses it back to health. She is surprised to discover that it communicates through song, and they help each other rekindle their passion for singing. But the government wants that spaceship and comes to take it from Selena.
How did this young alien escape her home world and make a taboo trip to Earth? What was she running from? How long before the Elders come after her?

Near-Future Science Fiction
Dragon Moon by Scott E, Tarbet
A new space race explodes into violence when China quietly sets its sights on the Moon. Now, an unlikely team of US Navy SEALs, Russian Spetsnaz, and a Chinese-American agent have one chance to stop the activation of China’s powerful new weapon before all hope is lost. The cost of failure: worldwide Chinese empire.

Urban Fantasy
Hunting Darkness by Ian Bristow
Driven by the death of his sergeant, Detective Inspector Hunter Davis sets out to solve a case they had closed the previous year. Soon he will discover that not all realities are explained on our terms, and sometimes the path we are so desperate to travel can lead to realms beyond our comprehension. Full of secrets from an ancient past, mystery and magic will collide in this captivating Urban Fantasy.

Dystopian
Hyde’s Lament by L.N. Denison
A revelation has been made, and it will change things forever. Forced into submission, Hyde’s life hangs in the balance. Can she overcome? Or will her captors succeed? It all ends here!

Sci-Fi Horror
I Killed the Man That Wasn’t There by Darrell B. Nelson
Four tales of Futuristic Horror.
Tales of revenge, retaliation and surprise set in the not so distant future.

Zombie Thriller
The Journey of Malchus by Chandra Truelove Fry
It’s the end of the world, and evil zombies have taken over!
Try convincing Malchus of that when he can understand and communicate with them…

Alternate History
Light’s Dawn by Yvette Bostic
Mikel, a young merchant with the East India Trading Company, always considered fortune to be his mistress…until the Amboyan Massacre. The Dutch spare his life, but he’s forced into the deep jungles of South America to act as bait for a hidden menace picking off their scouts one by one. It works all too well: a demonic horde, drawn into the open, annihilates the entire Dutch battalion, leaving Mikel running for his life.

Shifter Science Fantasy
Lost Dogs 1 by Nils Odlund
Sixteen years ago, Roy van Waldenberger made a promise to the woman he loved, and it’s ruled his life ever since: No cheating. No lies.
To save the few people he still cares about, Roy must turn his back on everything he believes in, break the promise he made, and defeat his own inner beast.
He’s not sure he can.

A Science Fiction and A Science Fantasy Anthology from Inklings Press
Tales from the Universe 
Science fiction stories that deal with love, and fear, hope and despair, the ugliness of mankind and its beauty. Tales that reach to the farthest edge of the galaxy, and that face startling futures right here on Earth. These ten stories deal with artificial intelligences, cloning, aliens, war, peace and humanity’s place in it all.

Tales of Wonder
Science Fantasy is the collision of science fiction and fantasy – where the impossible and the improbable come together. This is a universe of spaceships and sorcery, of mechanics and magic, where zeppelins soar through the ether and conjurers stalk dark tunnels with a ball of light in their fist. So cut loose, let slip the mooring ropes on your imagination, and join these nine authors as they set course for the horizon – and beyond.

Dark Space Opera
Trust a Few by E.M. Swift-Hook
“You’ve been gone a long time Jaz, and word is you’ve come back – changed.”
After five years of brutal convict military service, Jaz just wants to rebuild his shattered life. But the past is hard to escape. As Jaz tries to find an old friend who needs him, a new ally offers to help. But in the ‘City, who you decide to trust is a matter of life and death.

Comedy Horror
Zombie Turkeys by Andy Zach
Sam Melvin, an underachieving e-reporter from a small town, changes forever when he meets turkeys that won’t stay dead. You can shoot ’em, chop ’em, burn ’em—they come back stronger. The undead plague of poultry spreads uncontrollably, rocking the whole country. As Sam tracks down the zombie turkeys and how to eradicate them, his editor, Lisa Kambacher, nags him to turn his stories and expenses in on time.

Grab them while this offer lasts 30 May – 3 June!

We knew we shouldn’t oughter be swimming in the merman’s lake, but it was hot and we’d been working in the fields all day. The water was so cold it made you want to squeal, but we held our breath as we threw ourselves into the freezing depths. Rosie saw him first as he lifted his naked body out of the reeds. He waded towards us shaking water out of his long hair. 

“Do us reckon he got legs?” Rosie breathed.

“I dunno. But I ain’t stopping to find out.”

“Me neither.”

We held hands and ran for our lives.

©️jj 2019

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

abaresque (adjective) – of or relating to scandipop

bedthong (noun) – alternative nightwear for those hot summer nights

carcodile (adjective) – queue of Chelsea Tractors outside a Montessori School at three pm

claimign (verb) – walking very carefully as if one has had a spoon inserted in one’s rectum

expsired (adjective) – father unknown likely to be an alien

imajine (verb) – to think weird stuff when very drunk

inaccrate (adjective) – travelling in a very old car

insipration (noun) – an attempt to breathe in that is frustrated by a cat sitting on your chest

migic (adjective) – shiny and full of spurious joyfulness

phre (adjective) – slightly sweaty and deeply afraid

rednack (adjective) – sunburned wedding tackle among the lower classes

retcal (adjective) – of thermometers, spectacularly inaccurate

therecus (noun) – small rat living in the underwear of obese teenagers

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

When Walter Smith retired, his replacement was a young giant with thighs like an oak tree and broad capable hands. His name was Eudric and his guileless blue eyes told of a simple man with a gentle uncomplicated nature.

All the young women in the village sat up and took notice, but he saw none of them except the innkeeper’s homely middle-aged daughter who he courted with gentle persistence.

When he shyly asked for her hand in marriage she smiled and kissed him.

“Yes please. But why me?” 

“Because you are kind. And clever enough for both of us.” 

©️jj 2019

Ty’s link had reached him, dinging insistently on his screens as soon as the resupply hopper had dropped from FTL into the planetoid’s traffic stream. He got back to her right away.
What are you playing at, Grim? I already gave you a three-day extension and you take that and ask me for two more. I know you have to live up to your maverick rep, but you are not helping us to build any trust doing the lone bounty hunter thing.”
He tried to sound penitent.
“I just need two more days Ty – then I’ll be in and have something to make up for it. I promise.”
“That’s what you said last time. What is this, Grim? Seeing how far you can push me? I don’t take kindly to being pushed. You keep it up and I’ll push back. And I can push harder than you, maybe so hard you’ll find yourself off the case and back on basic duties for the next five years.”
“I’m not trying to push you,” Grim heard the slight edge of hostility in his own voice. Then he boxed it all off and swung himself into Ty’s corner for a moment – putting himself behind her eyes, feeling the intense pressure from Jecks, the weight of knowledge – greater than his own – about the possible consequences of failure in this investigation, and the frustration and concern that the man she was supposed to be working with was apparently running amok and not telling her anything even before they had hit the ground running. He took a breath to regain his own composure. Ty was not the enemy, she was his best and greatest ally. He spoke again, his tone much more conciliatory:
“I am working on something I got from a personal contact – I can’t take this down any official road, if you want it logged and signed up, it can’t happen at all. Right now, I‘m on leave and I’m my own master – trust me for two more days, please Ty, and I’ll be able to bring you something really worthwhile. Call me in now, and I can’t get that for you.”
He was guessing that part of the reason he had been chosen for this case was this very tendency of his to blaze off-trail and get things done. That and the fact he had a proven record which showed he really could bring down the big beasts of the criminal jungle when he was allowed to do so.
He could see Ty considering his appeal. She had to be a risk taker too – no one was going to assign a stolid jobsworth to this kind of investigation. But, she would also be grappling with the concern that she needed to assert her authority over him and it was very possible letting him get away with this might be one step beyond her comfort zone on that particular score. Grim hoped she’d realise he wasn’t seeing this as any kind of power struggle. He had no wish to challenge Ty’s authority – just a burning desire to get done what he needed to get done.
“At least tell me where you’re going to be for those two days,” she said, after a moment. Grim felt a tight satisfaction, knowing he had got his two days. Hopefully, that would be enough.
“A place in the middle of nowhere called Hell’s Breath,” he told her.

From Iconoclast: Mistrust and Treason a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook

Ever have the feeling you were being watched? Ellie couldn’t concentrate on being kissed because she felt eyes boring into her. She wriggled in Herman’s embrace.

“Get off me. I don’t feel like it.”

“Whassamatter babe?”

“There’s somebody watching us.”

He obviously thought she was being silly, but he knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with her in this mood, so he grabbed her hand and walked her back to the waiting car.

Atsutsa looked at his mother. “What humans were doing Etsi ?”

His mother showed her teeth in a rueful grin.

“When Etsi and Gadoda did that. Atsusa came after.”

©️jj 2019

The Interspecies Poker Tournament, Case 27 of The Roshaven Files, by Claire Buss is a humorous fantasy novella following the adventures of Ned Spinks and Jenni, a prequel to The Rose Thief. If you loved Terry Pratchett's Discworld, you'll love Roshaven.

Ned Spinks, Chief Thief-Catcher, has a new case. A murderous moustache-wearing cult is killing off members of Roshaven’s fae community. At least that’s what he’s been led to believe by his not-so-trusty sidekick, Jenni the sprite. She has information she’s not sharing but plans to get her boss into the Interspecies Poker Tournament so he can catch the bad guy and save the day. If only Ned knew how to play!

‘As I was trying to tell you fifty million times, he’s killed Kevin! I don’t know why that is so difficult for you to comprehend but there it is – dead as a dodo – and all we’re getting is persecution for being loud! Kevin is dead. Where is the compassion? The sympathy? The cake?’ The chief was so indignant that his jowls quivered.
‘Cake? I can ring for some cake if you like, if it would help.’ Lady Shillot hovered helpfully.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Ma’am,’ replied Ned. Then he did a double take. ‘Do you speak Brownese?’
‘Oh no. That’s not one of my languages, I’m afraid. Daddy didn’t think we should learn anything  irregular.’
‘So ‘ow did you know ‘e wanted cake?’ asked Jenni.
‘They always want cake, those things. Poor Cookie is in a dreadful state, always having to bake. She never gets to do much savoury.’
The door to the drawing room opened and the butler appeared. Ned could tell he was the butler because he looked very disapprovingly at everything, including Lady Shillot.
‘Ah, Jenkins. Could you bring us some tea and cake? There’s a good chap.’
‘As you wish, Ma’am.’ The butler retreated silently. Ned wondered if they’d actually get any refreshments and if they did, how long it would take before they arrived.
‘What are you going to do about it then?’ A small voice demanded.
Ned tried to get back to the murder in hand. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘We’ve had a new arrival. It’s not unusual. Brownies come and brownies go. It’s all part of cake-up. With there being so many bakers in the city, it’s our duty to keep them on their toes and continue to check residencies for any new tasty slices. Why, only the other day Aggie improved on her cinnamon twist. She needs brownie approval to declare that, you know?’
Ned nodded in agreement. His waistline was all too aware how great Aggie’s cinnamon twists were.
‘So we had this new brownie – name of Arnold – and he wasn’t that taken by the fruit cake we had. I thought to myself then, he was unusual. Fruit cake is the centre of the universe, you know?’ The chief waited for Ned to nod in agreement. He didn’t.
‘He asked a lot of questions, did Arnold. Why this and why that. He spent time with everyone and was always looking closely at everything as if he was trying to take a picture with his mind or something.’
‘How does that relate to the murder of Kevin?’ asked Ned.
‘Well, can you see Arnold here?’ retorted the chief.
Ned shrugged helplessly.
‘He’s not. He disappeared shortly after we found the body inside the salad bowl! The salad bowl!’
The other brownies had been listening intently and at the mention of the salad bowl, they became very agitated.
‘Brownies don’t like salad, Boss – say it’s devil food.’
‘I’m quite partial to a seasonal leaf,’ piped up Lady Shillot

A Bite of... Claire Buss

Q1: How much of you is in your hero/villain?

My hero’s are Ned Spinks, a cynical thief-catcher in need of good boots and a penchant for cake, and Jenni the sprite, an extremely powerful fae who pongs strongly and has a strong Cockney-ish accent. It’s true that I always seem to need new shoes and I do like cake…

Q2: What time of day do you write best?

I write best when I get five minutes to get stuck in. I struggle with the adage of write every day because I can never guarantee being able to sit down and write at the same time each day. I tried getting up at 5am to write. That lasted less than the five seconds it took for me to turn off my alarm. I often end up staying up late just in an effort to try and shoehorn everything in, not necessarily writing. Plus if the muse is not with me, I can’t write anything at all.

Q3: Are you ticklish? If so where?

I have ticklish feet but be warned, you take your life into your own hands if you try to tickle them. I have a wicked roundhouse attack that’s completely involuntary. Plus I’m a master at getting my own back when you least expect it. Best to avoid antagonising me (cracks knuckles) (would crack knuckles if could crack knuckles).

Claire Buss is a multi-genre author and poet based in the UK. She wanted to be Lois Lane when she grew up but work experience at her local paper was eye-opening. Instead, Claire went on to work in a variety of admin roles for over a decade but never felt quite at home. An avid reader, baker and Pinterest addict Claire won second place in the Barking and Dagenham Pen to Print writing competition in 2015 with her debut novel, The Gaia Effect, setting her writing career in motion. She continues to write passionately and is hopelessly addicted to cake.

You can find her on Facebook, Twitter and her own Website, follow her on her blog and join her Facebook Group.

It started out as a serious experiment, there was very little doubt of that. The funding came from a concerned group of multi-billionaires with an interest in hydroponics.

All was going well until somebody decided they could afford a couple of interns to do the boring work.

They appointed a girl with impressive ‘assets’, and a skinny geek with yellow dreadlocks.

The duo was left to manage the hot greenhouses.

Authority smiled, until the day the board met to be presented with the results of two decades of work and three billion euros.

The world’s first self-slicing banana.

©️jj 2019

Dear People Who Read This,

This is Jacintha Farquhar and I’m the unfortunate mother of Moons – that’s the twonk who usually writes this blog thing for you and always signs himself Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV. He wrote a truly dreadful book once called “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’ and peed himself with excitement (and I am not being metaphorical) when it rose to one million on the Amazon ‘in store’ sales listing. He’d just bought a copy I think.

Anyway, Moons isn’t writing his thing this week because he’s in bed with man flu. Which, now I come to think of it, is probably the manliest thing the miserable little squit has ever laidclaim to in his life. Be that as it may, I even offered to lend him my tablet so he didn’t have to go into that pokey stinking coal-hole he normally writes in and could do so in bed. But he turned me down saying his creative muse was mocking him or some such delirious crap. Honestly, there are days I wonder if they made a mistake at the hospital and I’ve had to bring up some other poor cow’s freak of an offspring. More likely it was that terrible school his sperm-donor insisted he went to. It was all cold showers, canings and stiff upper lips – and stiff other parts too, from what I could tell.

Sec. Bear with. Need a refill.

That’s better. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I’m supposed to be doing something about how to write. Moons gave me his notes, but I used them as a coaster and the ink’s gone smudgy with the advocaat. So, you lot will just have to put up with my thoughts instead. I mean, you read his shite week after week so you can’t be very discriminating. Fact is most of you won’t even notice it’s not Moons.

How To Write A Book – The Write Way

So you really want to know how to write a book?

S’easy. Pick up your frikking metaphorical pen and write the sucker. I remember that some poncey author or another was once asked how he wrote and the big festering gobshite replied ‘one word at a time’. Ha bloody ha ha! Who’s a clever asshole then?

But there is a grain of truth in. You can read enormous amounts of pretentious shite about courting muses, and engaging with your characters, and story arcs, and much other meaningless birdcrap. But as far as I can see that is about as likely to result in a bestseller as any of the puerile stratagems employed by my sad excuse for a son.

Basically, find a rattling good story and tell it. Sprinkle it with the most perverse sex you can imagine. Add a goodly dollop of blood and gore. And don’t forget the happy ever after.

Job done.

Consider this. The horrendous old bat Moons moons over (in a literary way) managed to churn out over 700 of her sickly tales in between interfering in the lives of anybody who would listen to her. By my reckoning, that means anybody should be able to knock out two or three a week. You will be wealthy by Christmas.

Or maybe not.  

Who knows? Who cares?

Coffee time now so you’re on your own. If you get really unlucky, Moons will be back next week.

Go on, piss off then. I’ve said all I’m going to say.

Jacintha Farquahar, unfortunate mother of Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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

When the traveller had his pleasure, he indicated that the girl might leave.

“There is money on the chest by the door. Take a coin for your trouble.”

He watched her, curious to see what value she placed on her favours.

She took the smallest coin.

“Wait,” he said, “I would know why you value yourself so low.”

She actually smiled. “I won’t be keepin’ your coin. Innkeeper will have it from me as soon as I get downstairs. I don’t see why you should pay ‘un twice.”

It is unwise to cheat a dragon, as the innkeeper soon discovered.

©jj 2019