Mary stood before the altar with the grim-visaged black-clad lawyer her father had chosen for her and swallowed nervously. She sat silent at his side throughout the wedding breakfast. When the last bawdy joke had been told, he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the bedchamber.

“Will you trust me?” he asked.

She could only nod mutely.

Much later she lay sated in his arms, shockingly naked save for the silken strands of her hair.

“Oh my goodness,” she said faintly. “Who knew what a lawyer might hide beneath his robes…”

©️jj 2018

In simple quietude we end the day
No need for tender whispers in the dark
Just once you touch my cheek, as if to say
That Father Time has surely left his mark
Then hand in hand we tumble into sleep
I never think to move or draw apart
As through my dreams, however dark or deep
You stand beside me guardian of my heart
My only light and comfort is your face
Its every feature sharp and clearly drawn
And deep inside I pray for one small grace
That we shall both awaken, come the dawn

©️ Jane Jago 2018

The name’s Nero, Sam Nero. Private eye and augmented android. Me and my holographic sidekick, Sugar, operate out of an office on the fifty-fifth level of The Last City. We do okay. But some days are a bit bumpier than others…

If you missed the first instalments you can catch up here.

The silence around the big table hadn’t quite gone on long enough to be uncomfortable when Myk returned with a bundle wrapped in a sheet slung over one shoulder. The bundle was wriggling. He set it down and the sheet fell away to disclose a thin man, who was trussed up like a joint of beef and had his mouth taped shut. I walked over to him and untaped his mouth. I wasn’t too gentle about it.

“If it isn’t my old buddy Cletus, android tinkerer to the scum of the earth.”
He sneered at me, so I slapped him. Once. It was no more than an open-handed slap, but it rocked his head on its thin neck.
“Manners,” I admonished.
His eyes slid around the room and finding neither support nor sympathy he attempted a shrug.
“Why am I here.”
Before I had the chance to answer, Katie was at my side, moving like a sleek, dangerous cat. She ran one pointed fingernail down his cheek.
“Oh. I think you know why you are here,” she purred.
The skinny guy lost every vestige of bravado and his face paled. He swallowed noisily and I could see the adam’s apple bobbing up and down his scrawny throat.
“You have,” I said quietly, “about ten seconds to start talking before I let my little friend here do her worst.”
He opened and shut his mouth a couple times.
“Nine, eight, seven….”
He slid from Myk’s grasp in a boneless heap. Katie Scarlett sorta poked him with her toe.
“Fainted, who’d a thought it…” she turned on her heel and headed back to the group at the table, where Sugar offered a congratulatory upturned thumb.

When Cletus emerged from his faint he found himself bound securely to a high-backed chair, with the ropes sufficiently tight to cause him some discomfort. I had carefully placed a spotlamp so that its bright light shone directly in his eyes. He tried to move his head, but his overlong hair was affixed to the chairback with a row of staples. Predictably, he started to weep noisily.

Katie moved into his line of vision with a sharply pointed kitchen knife held casually in one hand.
“Talk to me,” she whispered. “Talk to me and perhaps I won’t cut your testicles off.”
“I’ll do anything. What do you want to know?”
“Don’t play the innocent with me.”
She moved so the light fell directly on her face, and it must have been the first time that he had looked at her properly.
“Oh,” he said “that. But they said they would kill me if I talked.”
“Then you are in a fix, aren’t t you? Because I’ll kill you if you don’t talk.”
He must have seen something implacable in her eyes.
“Seamus O’Halleran came to me six months ago with an order for two droids. He had pictures. I just built the droids.” He showed a mouthful of yellow teeth in a rodent grimace. “Made a change from making sexbots.”
“How much?”
“Half a mil.”
“Would’ve been worth it,” Daddy Aitch murmured judiciously. “I’m worth about fifty times that. And my businesses. Who knows? Level one’s the limit.”

Katie looked at the droid maker with real loathing in her eyes.
“What about this carrion?”
“Oh,” I said, “we haven’t finished with him yet.”
“Is there more?”
“There’s always more. In this case we want the security camera feeds from his shop, and we want the details of the tracking devices.”
“What tracking devices?” the O’Hallerans spoke in unison.
“The ones he will have put in the droids. You might think your cousin is a snake in the grass but compared to Cletus here, he’s a straight shooter.”
Cletus shut his mouth tightly, and closed his eyes.

He wasn’t expecting what happened next and it rocked him to the foundation of his being. Zig took something out of his inside pocket, something furry and svelte, something with bright black eyes and sharp white teeth, something that looked hungry. Myk shook the prisoner gently, and as his eyes flew open Zig draped the creature on his face. He screamed for quite a while, then when his voice was getting rusty Katy Scarlett sidled up to him and breathed in his ear.
“Are you ready to cooperate?”

Once Cletus had got himself together enough to indicate acquiescence, Myk retrieved his pet. The O’Halleran father and daughter team went at the droid manufacturer like jackhammers, so I had leisure to introduce myself to what turned out to be a polecat. Looked at closely he was a handsome creature, with golden fur tipped in brown and a triangular face dominated by a pair of gleaming black eyes. He seemed to want to climb onto me, and, once he had established that I had no fear, Myk let him.

By the time the Cletus had talked himself dry, I had fed Riki Tiki with some of his special dried meat and he had curled himself around my neck where he fell asleep. Snoring gently. With every outward breath, his whiskers tickled the side of my neck. I found this warm weight a surprisingly comfortable thing.

Then I realised O’Halleran and Katie Scarlett were staring at me open mouthed.
“Well I’ll be damned. First he charms my little girl, then that damned animal cosies up to him like it was actually tame.”
“Nobody,” Katie Scarlett chimed in, “and that’s actually nobody, except Myk, can safely handle Riki Tiki, it even bites Zig.”
I smiled an amiable but not-too-bright smile – the one I keep for awkward occasions.  Mister Aitch crooked a thick, black eyebrow but didn’t comment.

I broke the silence. “You want I should go pick up Seamus and his sons?”
O’Halleran grinned his killer’s grin.
“I do indeed. Usual rates do?”
“I reckon. If I can borrow the twins and Riki Tiki.”
“You can. Now what to do with our friend Cletus…” O’Halleran didn’t sound like he was planning a birthday party, and, judging by the sudden appalling stench, the droid manufacturer’s bowels agreed with my assessment of the situation.
Katie Scarlett curled her lip.
“Let him go, Daddy. We know where to find him if we want him again. Let him go and spend the rest of his miserable life praying that Seamus’ family don’t find out how much he told us.”
Cletus passed out again.

To be continued…

©️Jane Jago 2018

You can find the first Sam Nero story in Dust Publishing's anthology The Last City together with other stories about his fellow Citizens...

Perkin was a serial abuser, but he was also the adored only child of the most influential woman in the industry. So he got away with it. Because anybody accusing him of being anything but a paragon of all the virtues soon found themselves unemployed.

Until the night he picked the wrong woman.

Nobody knew who took such exception to his attentions, but his body was found half in and half out of a recycling bin. Minus his dick.

Which some wag posted to his mother in a pretty box. To add insult to injury they sent it ‘small packet’.

©️jj 2018

“I’m tired of trying to see the good in people.” Clarence stalked around the pen with his wattles waving distractedly. You get fond of people and they just go away and leave you. Last week there were five thousand turkeys in the barns. Yesterday there were five hundred. Today there is just me.”
The only other occupants of the fifteen-acre field eyed him in something like contempt. “Didn’t the same happen last year?” Gloria asked waspishly.
Clarence stopped and looked down at the fat little chicken and her sister.
“Did it?”
“Yes, Clarence, it did.” In contrast to Gloria’s waspishness, Florence just sounded tired. “And the year before.”
He looked puzzled.
“I don’t remember.”
“No, you never remember. But it’s always the same. From now until the winters end it will be just the three of us. Then there will be baby turkeys. Then they will grow up. Then they will go away.”
“But why. Where do they go.”
Gloria came as close to a shrug as a chicken can.
“We should know…”

The two humans who sat on the fence looked at the trio with some amusement.
“Have you never wondered what they think?” the man was feeling whimsical.
“Does poultry think,” his companion leaned on his shoulder.
“Presumably. On some level they must. Ergo, do they wonder where the rest of the turkeys go?”
“You may as well ask if that turkey cock wonders why he is still alive.”
“He might not wonder, but I do.”
“He was a mistake. We only sell hen birds. And the hatcheries aren’t supposed to send anything else. But three years ago he arrived with the girls. Dad thought it would be interesting to keep him and see just how big a turkey can get. But he pined on his own, so we got him the chickens for company.”
“How compassionate.”
“It’s no good you looking at me like that, and at least our birds have a decent life.”
“What there is of it.”
The woman lifted a pettish shoulder and they fell silent.

No more was said until the turkey-cock stalked across the field to where they sat.
“Poor old boy,” the man said. “I wouldn’t like it if somebody took you away and replaced you with a chimpanzee.”
His companion laughed and moved into his embrace.

Clarence peered shortsightedly up at them.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Can you tell me where my chums have gone? The chickens are very nice, but a chap wants his own kind, doncha know.”
But they all they heard was gobble-gobble, and the women threw him a handful of grain from her pocket.
He ignored the corn. “I don’t mean to be impolite, but I did ask you an important question.”
Of course they didn’t answer, and in the end he gave a doleful sniff and went to back to where Gloria and Florence were scratching in the dirt and squabbling over earthworms.

©️jane jago 2017

It was Jessie’s fifth birthday. All she wanted was chocolate cake. But we had no money to buy one. So we went and looked at one in the confectioner’s window instead. In the end she sighed.

“Was we always dirt poor?”

“So long as I can remember.”

Then we went home.

Mum saw us coming down the alleyway and waved frantically. We ran. Afraid of what might have happened.

She sat in her wheelchair with slow tears running down her face.

“Go look in the kitchen…”

And there it was. The chocolate cake from the shop window. Jessie cried too…

©️jj 2018

This list is not an exclusive list of all the great Indie books out there – or even all the great indie books we have read this year. It is a well-considered recommended reading list of books we have enjoyed in the last twelve months, consciously spanning genres and all books we have given 5 stars in a review.

The main thing is we recommend these books wholeheartedly and if you have yet to read them you should consider doing so if they are in a genre you enjoy.

So, onto the list. This is given in alphabetical order of author name and there is no ranking. All are stonking good reads!

The Working Title Blog 5 Star Golden Reads for 2018

Tales from the Seaside – Claire Buss
Little stories with a light touch and an innate sense of pace.

The Nest of Nessies – Chrys Cymri
Can we have our submarine back, please? Dead merwomen, were-sharks, and missing boats. What could possibly go wrong?

Bad Candy – India Emerald
Its the sheer imagination that gets you.

Duke Grandfather Saves the World – James Maxstadt
Brilliant, moving and funny, about fighting crime in a fantasy city.

In Numina – Assaph Mehr
Togas, daggers, magic and an elusive hint of romance.

Whiskey Kills – Lolli Powell
A fast-paced contemporary whodunit with a very engaging female main character.

Dark in Death – JD Robb
Without spoiling the story, this is a murder mystery with special relevance to novelists everywhere.

5 Minute Vacations – Cindy Tomamichel
Beautifully relaxing mini-meditations which help to take the stress from your day.

Pirats: A Tale of Mutiny on the High Seas – Rhian Waller
A wonderful children’s book of daring-do with the heroine of the story being a ship’s rat!

Rafferty Lincoln Loves – Emily Williams
An incredibly powerful story of real teenage life and challenges, truly unmissable reading.

And here’s to another year of great reading in 2019!

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

Although I know I’m lucky, being ninety-five still sucks. Sure I still have my wits about me and I manage perfectly well in this little house. But I’m lonely. Not the not seeing people sort of lonely, the watching all your friends die sort.

Last night I dreamed of my beloved Alfie. He’s been gone thirty years now, and I don’t know why I asked him what he thought of the skinny bag of bones I’ve become. 

He grinned and hugged me. 

“You always were a bag of bones…”

And that’s the most comfort I’ve had since he died.

©️jj 2018

Hannah hung the children’s stockings on the extreme ends of the mantelshelf away from the heat of the fire. Emily and Robert looked at her with shining eyes. 
“Yes,” she said, “Santa will be here tonight.”
“Will he bring Daddy home?”
Hannah knelt on the floor between her four-year-old twins and hugged them.
“I shouldn’t think he has room for daddies on his sleigh. But at least we do know your daddy is safe and he will be home soon.”
This seemed to satisfy the small ones and they drank their bedtime milk in blissful quiet. Milk consumed they climbed down from the table and went to kiss their grandfather goodnight. He bent and touched their downy cheeks.
“You go to bed now and dream of Santa.”
They took their mother’s hands and she led them to their bedroom, tucking them in and kissing them lovingly.
“Goodnight my loves.”
“Goodnight Mummy.”
Hannah put some more peat on the fire and settled the fire guard securely before slipping out of the room. The tired children were already asleep as she gently shut the door.

Downstairs, her father-in-law had left his fireside chair and she wondered where he might have gone. She didn’t have time to speculate, though, as he came out of his office with his hands full of clumsily wrapped knobbly parcels. He smiled the smile that was so like his son’s that it brought a lump to Hannah’s throat.
“Stocking fillers.”
Hannah took two already bulging striped woollen stockings from a high cupboard in the wall. The old man grinned.
“How long have you been saving stuff, girl?”
“Months. You?”
“Not so long. I just called in some favours.”
They sat at the table and finished stuffing the stockings in companionable quiet. With the job completed, Hannah replaced the empty stockings with their bounteous counterparts. She stood back  hugging her elbows.
“Don’t fret girl. Think of it this way. This’ll be your last Christmas without him.”
“It will. I just miss him.”
The old man cleared his throat, and when he spoke his voice was thick with suppressed emotion.
“Aye. I miss the useless bugger too.” 

Hannah didn’t know what to say, so she moved over to the other end of the room where the big kettle sat on the back of the Rayburn. She moved the kettle onto the hotplate.
“Cocoa?”
“I might have got something better than that,” he got up and headed back to his office returning with a brown bottle in one calloused hand. “Whisky,” he said conspiratorially. “I reckon you and me deserve a Christmas Eve dram. Get the glasses girl.”
Hannah needed no second telling, getting a couple of heavy glasses from the dresser. “Toddy?” she asked. “we’ve got sugar.”
He nodded and poured whisky with a lavish hand.
Drinks made, they returned to the fireside and sat sipping their drinks. The big kitchen was cozy and Hannah put her slippered feet on the fire guard. She sighed a contented little sigh. The old man reached over and patted her shoulder.
“Tired, girl?”
“A bit.”
“You take your drink to bed with you then. I’ll lock up.”
Hannah gave him a grateful smile and took her drink upstairs. She stood in her bedroom window for a minute looking out over the village street where the rolling fog was so thick that she almost thought she could probably walk on it. Not a night to be out at all. She pulled the curtains and made ready for bed quickly, before jumping between the sheets to enjoy the rare luxury of a hot toddy.  Once the delicious drink was finished she snuggled down into the soft warmth of her lonely bed.

She wasn’t sure what time of the night or morning it was when she woke up to the feeling of cold feet tangled with hers and rough stubble on the back of her neck.
“Rob Newisham,” she said, sleepily, “will you get to your own side of the bloody bed.” Then she woke up fully. “Rob? Rob. Is it really you?”
She heard a longed for laugh and turned into the arms of the husband she hadn’t seen for more than three years. 
“Merry Christmas, love,” he said. Then he bent his head to kiss her and Hannah thought perhaps Santa was real after all. 

Jane Jago 2018

I dream this night
Of snowflakes white
And frost that bites
I smell the smell
Of pine as well
Whereat I dwell
In my mind’s eye
The Christmas pie
Goes dancing by
I dream today
Of games to play
And words to say
Oh Christmas Muse
Whose shiny shoes
Give one the blues
I dream of thee
Incessantly
Along with Street of Quality.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV