The Daimler ground up our rutted mountain track like a racehorse pulling a plough.

Father put down his axe and motioned us to his side.

As the car bounced to a halt, Mother wheeled herself out onto the wide planks of the balcony.

A woman threw herself from the back seat of the car.

“Clara,” she cried. “Clara my baby. It’s Mama.”

Mother lifted a thin shoulder.

“Go away.”

Then she took herself indoors.

The woman stood irresolute for a moment before slamming her way back into the vehicle.

Eleanor looked at Father.

“Who was that?”

He smiled grimly. “Nobody.”

©️jj 2018

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

arspittle (noun) – where premiership footballers go to get their metatarsals fixed

brosom (adjective) – the unyielding and motionless quality of silicone breast implants

chuklit (noun) – disposable books of dubious literary merit usually featuring headless torsos on the covers

coffy (adjective) – needing to clear the throat by means if the application of hot caffeine 

concensus (noun) –  believing that all statistics are lies

eht (noun) – small insect that enters typing fingers and causes error

hink (verb) – the action of scratching the genitalia (to be accurate most usually the scrotum) whilst searching for inspiration

huffler (noun) – one who precedes every remark with a loud harrumph

ratehr (noun) – rodent in line to  inherit

sepnsive (adjective) – given to looking into the middle distance and sighing 

shoul (noun)  – knitted garment worn by those unable to take decisions

steert (verb) – the way a drunk walks along a road

suasgae (noun)  – Celtic dance performed over two crossed bratwurst

vanaship (noun) – motorised caravan with amphibious capabilities

wrte (past participle of the verb to wrt) – having written a page to edit it down to half a paragraph and three obscene references

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

He looked down his patrician nose at her, and she flipped him a very rude gesture.

“Young lady,” he said portentously, “that is not the way to gain admission.”

The raddled-looking woman laughed.

“Kiddo,” she replied, in a voice rendered harsh by cigarettes and bourbon, “I ain’t even sure I want in.”

His perfect lips curled in disbelief. “Of course you ‘want in’. Everybody wants in.”

She shrugged. “Gimme two good reasons why I should…”

The gatekeeper’s chin sagged, and he goggled as she turned and sauntered away from the Pearly Gates. 

Saint Peter stared at her retreating back…

©️jj 2018

After a final blessing, the doors of the sanctuary were closed behind the shivering priests, who scuttled inside bearing with them the expensive offerings of a grateful city.
“Thank you so much for doing that, Julia, especially with it being so cold. I do have to think the Divine Diocletian didn’t have in mind that we should stand freezing in his honour when these festivities were first added to Saturnalia,” Caudinus observed as they made their way back across the atrium. “But then I don’t suppose it gets quite so cold in Spalatum in December as it does here in Cornovii so it was prob-”
“Magistratus!”
Their escort had move smartly to come between Caudinus and the two men who suddenly appeared from the dispersing crowd, shepherding a smaller cloak-wrapped figure between them.
Caudinus frowned and made a frustrated tutting sound as they came to a halt in the middle of the atrium.
“I am Mot Fionn, dominus. This is my father Kalgo and my only child Megan.”
Julia realised with a slight shock of surprise that she recognised the name. Dai had told her how this time last year, well before he had even met Julia, Hywel had tried to match-make Megan and Dai on a blind date. The Fionns were neighbours to the Llewellyn lands, such close neighbours that their land wrapped around a strip of Hywel’s. Megan was the heiress to the Fionn lands and it had seemed a good idea to both families if an alliance could be arranged. But, it had not gone well, by Dai’s account and had finished with him returning an unhappy and rather drunk Megan home whilst not being exactly sober himself.

Dai had told her Megan was a young woman but had not said how young. Julia could see she was still really a child, maybe seventeen and beneath the hood of her cloak her face looked pinched and miserable.
“Please, Magistratus, I demand justice for my child,” Mot called out. “She has been treated badly and left in a sorry state.”
Caudinus gestured to his guards to let the trio approach.
“This is not the time or place, Fionn, but tell me the thrust of it quickly and then put the details in an email. When we get back to business after the festival I will see you have your justice.”
The two men were glaring at him with cold antipathy. Julia glanced at Megan, but she had her head lowered as if protecting something she was holding under the cloak.
“So? What is this? Speak up. I am willing to hear you, but not to freeze whilst you take your time thinking of what to say.”
“My apologies, dominus,” Kalgo said, bobbing his head respectfully. “It is just – I – well, we – are afraid to speak.”
Caudinus was frowning now.
“Unless you need to admit to some crime, you have no need to be afraid to speak. Just tell me what this is about.”
“With the greatest respect, dominus,” Mot said, his tone obsequious, “there is always peril is speaking truth to power. You are known to be a just and fair man, but when matters touch one’s own family – justice can be lost.”
“Oh for -” Caudinus snapped his mouth shut and drew a breath. “Part of being ‘just and fair’ is not favouring any. Now, please state your problem so we can all get into the warm.”
“Then I state here before witnesses that Dai Llewellyn fathered a child on my daughter and abandoned them both to marry another.” As he spoke he pulled open Megan’s cloak to show the dark-haired infant she held. Julia found the air she was breathing had no oxygen. An odd, detached and lightheaded sensation pulsed behind her eyes. For a moment she even thought she might faint.
Caudinus raised a hand to silence the sudden low buzz of speculation.
“You can’t just walk up to someone and make accusations like that, Fionn. This is not the time or the place – this is a temple on a sacred holiday, not a family court session.”
But Mot was pushing Megan forward, so much that she staggered a couple of paces, clutching the infant to her. Julia put out an instinctive hand to stop the girl stumbling and her face looked up in abject misery.
“Tell them, girl,” Mot demanded, “tell them who is the father of your child. Swear it before the gods and the people.”
“Dai Llewellyn is the father of my child,” she said the words in little more than a whisper.
“And?” Kalgo growled as if prompting her in a lesson.
“And I do swear it before the gods and the people.”
That was enough, more than enough, to set flame to the tinder of crowd gossip and Caudinus had to shout this time to get attention. Julia fought down the impulse to scream and run. With her head pounding and her heart lead in her breast, she drew on her years of military training to stand erect and proud.
“That is enough, Fionn!” Caudinus was saying. “Get your daughter and her baby into the warm and make a proper presentation of your claim in due legal manner. And if I find this is an accusation without proof -”
“We have proof, dominus,” Kalgo told him, face twisting in a grimace. “We have DNA test results. And don’t worry we’ll put it all in legal writing and send it to you like you ask.” He jerked his head and Mot almost pulled Megan over, as he seized her arm and strode off. In Megan’s arms, the baby started crying and the wails seemed to transfix the people in the temple precincts until the Fionn family had walked back out through the gate.

From Dying as a Druid, the fourth in the Dai and Julia mysteries by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

“Why does a handsome young man like you need a love potion?”

He blushed until his face was the colour of brick.

“She don’t want me. Says I don’t have enough money nor prospects.”

The witch held out a grubby hand into which he dropped a copper penny.

“Three days.”

He collected the bottle and went on his way. Whistling. 

As he made his way home it was as if the scales fell from his eyes. He turned away from the cold one, back into the waiting arms of his childhood sweetheart. 

There’s more than one sort of love potion…

©️jj 2018

Alpha Tales 2044 by Wesley Britton is a new collection of stories that are part sci-fi, part murder mysteries, part horror, and part social commentary. But completely full of the unexpected, surprises, and tales, unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

I vividly remember the afternoon when Jrin Rol, the second-in-command of our security unit, and I stepped onto the ground floor of the Hotel Domino in the new city called Monte Carlo. The hotel was an entertainment center named after yet another Alpha game Malcolm Renbourn had brought to our planet. It should have been named Hotel Backgammon for all the pointed spikes of alternating colors on the floors and walls.

On this day, I was listening to Jrin’s wistful hopes for an extended leave from service so she could deepen her studies in linguistic morphologies, geographic spatial patterns, and other analytical investigative techniques that would make her far more than a skilled expert in stealth and counter-espionage operations. I was becoming more and more impressed with what I heard as we walked into the dining hall.

Then, my blood chilled. In one moment, I felt as if I’d drank a bath shell-sized cocktail of adrenaline and dread. Sitting alone at a table in the corner was First Helprim Kiem Holenris from ital, the supreme head of the Munchen Collective. The last I’d seen of this seeming old crone had been in my offices in Bercumel. On that day, Holendris had let me know my life was on the line if I continued my then-pointless, personal war with my bond-family. For, like her, my genetically-enhanced mutations had come at a cost. The little pills the Collective now provided me slowed the metabolic rushing of time that aged such as us much faster than our years. If I wanted to live a healthy and beautiful life and for a good long time, I needed the pills only the Collective could provide me.

Holendris looked like a woman who’d seen four generations of descendants from her womb. But she was merely the age of my own mother. Like me, her appearance concealed a body of extraordinary gifts. Unlike me, she had started her pill regimen much later in her life than I had, hence her aged face and deceptively marked skin. On this day, while her lips were twisted in an almost skullish smile, her eyes sent a clear message to me across the wide hall of tables and happy noises.

“Child,” they wordlessly told me, “bring your sun-drenched bronze skin and bright, blonde hair over here to me. You must come to me now. A matter of dire importance awaits you. Awaits us.”

I looked to Jrin, who understood my own silent signal. We slowly made our way to the Helprim’s round, polished white table where Kiem studied our movements with practiced eyes. She nodded as we came close and indicated two chairs.

“Sit, little kitty,” she cooed. “Sit, Jrin Rol of the Mask-Painters.”

Wordlessly, we took our places as serving hands quickly brought us trays of beverages. Kiem waited until the hands departed and took a sip of her own red pravine, then said softly, “Thank you for your quick compliance, as what I am here to discuss requires some delicacy.”

Alpha Tales 2044 is out now.

A Bite of... Wesley Britton

Question one: Have you ever invented a language?

Yes, the first four books of the Beta-Earth Chronicles are built on dialects I invented.

Question two: Would you rather be James Bond or Batman? 

007. He has a better sex life.

Question three: Would you rather live in this world or the one you create in your books?

I’d answer that in different ways depending on when you ask me the question.  Sometimes, I’d rather be anywhere other than this world, especially after the presidential election of 2016.   But right now, I’m pretty content to be here on Alpha-earth

A bit about Wesley Britton

Besides his 33 years in the classroom, Dr. Wesley Britton considers his Beta-Earth Chronicles the most important work he’s ever done. “I suppose an author profile is intended to be a good little biography,” Britton says, “but the best way to know who I am is to read my novels.”

Britton earned his doctorate in American Literature at the University of North Texas in 1990. He taught English at Harrisburg Area Community College until his retirement in 2016. He serves on the Board of Directors for Vision Resources of Central Pennsylvania.

You can find Wesley Britton on his website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and sign up for his newsletter.

They called him Mario, and his face and body had been public property for decades. At last he had agreed to be interviewed and the feminist press had sent their finest to do a hatchet job on him.

She stood outside the door of his modest home with her lip curled. What fun it would be, she thought, to destroy him.

The door opened and the man himself stood there. Nobody warned her about his magnetism or the depth of his dark, dark eyes.

They sent her to spear him with her intellect, but instead he snared her with his…

©️jj 2018

“Shooters. That’s not good…”
Anna held up a hand.
“Sam. Why’d you want a screen grab of that bloke’s ugly face?”
“We need to send it to Geordie Jackson. If the accent was what I thought it was, Geordie is going to know him, and he’s not going to be too pleased to hear that Anna and I have been threatened.”
“No,” Jim said slowly. “He ain’t, is he? Shooters indeed. I think our friend needs to be very careful that he don’t wind up wearing a concrete waistcoat and floating, or not, in the Clyde.”
Anna grinned tautly.
“What a pleasant thought. Right, Sam, gimme your phone and I’ll get the picture on it ready to send. Then you can call Geordie.”
He handed his phone over. Grinning fiercely.
“Let’s fuck up that bastard’s day for him.”

In a very few minutes he was talking to Geordie, who was, to put it mildly, displeased to hear what had been going on. He didn’t like Sam and Anna being threatened, and he most certainly didn’t like the idea that a Glaswegian was at the bottom of it. When he heard about the threats to Jim’s family he became all but incoherent with rage. When Sam handed the phone to Anna so she could send the picture the whole room was treated to the sound of his displeasure.
“Ye don’t go after a mon’s wife and kids. We ain’t living in the dark ages. It’s fucking disgusting.”
Then the picture must have arrived.
“Oh. That mean bastard. I might have guessed. I ken well where he lives. He’ll be getting some visitors within the hour. And I’ll find out who is paying him before I have him dropped in the river.”
He laughed harshly.
“Tell Anna it’s sorted. And as a side benefit I’ll be doing his wife and kids a favour…”
Then he broke the connection.
“That should help a bit,” Sam said.
“It should help a lot,” Jim got up and wrung his hand. “I never thought of Geordie. And I should have.”
“You were a bit distracted. Somebody went after your family.”
Jim stood up to his full height and stretched until his bones cracked.
“I feel a bit better now. After I’ve called my mum, I might even be hungry. What say you, Pats?”
“I’m with you. Once we’ve talked to your Ma.”
Anna smiled at them.
“Soup and sandwiches?’
“Please.”
“You two talk to your family. Sam, can you carve some meat for sarnies?”
“Can do. But I’ll just take Bonnie out for a wee first. You wanna come?”
“What? Oh! Oh yes. I’d like some fresh air for a minute.”
Out in the garden she turned into his arms.
“What a dear man you are. Privacy for Jim and Pats?”
“I just thought they could do with a few minutes. They’ve had a shit day.”
“Sure have, and I wasn’t helping until you rode to the rescue.”
He laughed down into her face.
“Just call me Lancelot. Damsels in distress a speciality.”
She giggled, then showed him a serious face.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
“What made you look into Mum’s illness? Were you worried in case it was genetic?”
“I wasn’t. But Danny was. He asked me to find out. Said nobody would tell him anything. Also said he looks like your Dad but has your Mum’s hard-edged character, while you look like your Mum but have your Dad’s natural warmth and serenity. He thought that if the dementia was hereditary he was likely to be the one to get it. He was deeply relieved to find out it wasn’t, but horribly shocked by your Mum’s childhood. Paul held him while he cried. A first for them, I think.”
Anna shook her head and one slow tear ran down her face. “Poor cow,” she said softly. “It’s hard enough for me to comprehend and I didn’t love her. Danny did. Probably because she loved him. And resented me.”
“I know love. But you have me and Bonnie now.”
“I do. And I can’t believe how close I came to throwing that away. Why was I being so silly?”
“Easy love. You never had anybody before and the thought I might be in danger knocked you for six. One wobble in those circumstances is quite allowable. You’ll know better from now on.”
“I will. I do. But I feel very guilty about Pats and Jim. Somebody went after their kids and I only thought about me.”
“I reckon they understand. Should we offer them a bed for the night? It’s gone midnight and I think they could both do with a big drink.”
“Yup. I reckon. Let’s go ask them.”
They went indoors, to find Patsy in Jim’s lap with her face against his chest.
“You all right Pats?” Anna asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine now. It’s just my bloody kids. I talked to them to find they are completely unafraid, but are seriously pissed off because I’ve been upset. And that made me want to cry.”
“Little shits,” Jim said proudly. “Mam says they were on a bit of a high when they turned up, especially the twins, but they are settling down at last. They’ve eaten three bowls of stew each, and are watching porn with Granddad now. But it’s OK, it’s only soft porn. And the dogs are fine.”
Patsy snuffled into his shirt front and he handed her a handkerchief about the size of a pillowcase. She mopped herself carefully.
“How much of a hag do I look?”
Jim looked at her and grinned.
“No more so than usual.”
She thumped him half heartedly.
“Asshole.”

Anna patted them both.
“D’you two want a bed for the night? Then you could have a big drink, which you probably need.”
“That would be so good. But are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s no bother. Jim can get Gandalf out of the truck, and Sam can do the bed, while I do food.”
“What about me?”
“You go with Sam, and you can repair your face while he does the bed.”

Jane Jago

They rested in the shade while the goat herd foraged for tasty titbits.

Suddenly the goats scattered.

Eamonn swore, and Eula-Mae reached into the pocket of her pinafore.

Two men came out of a stand of stunted trees. One held a rifle at waist height, the other stared at them through little red eyes.

“Oho,” he chortled, “if it ain’t a girlie.”

He grabbed his crotch suggestively.

Eula-Mae tossed up a handful of powder, which the breeze carried into the faces of the oncoming marauders.

Honestly, the change wasn’t dramatic, but pig stew fed the family for weeks…

©️jj 2018  

The sun that shines upon you warms your heart,
The icy blast of cold tears you apart.
The ups are always followed by the downs
The smiles always falter into frowns.
But yet the opposite is also true
And holds out hope when all is looking blue.
You know that feeling, sure as you know pain,
What goes around just comes around again.
You take each day with all you’ve got to give
Push past the grind and find a way to live.
For everything that happens has its end
And time may often seem a fickle friend.
When things go well you’d stop the hourglass
But nothing breaks the law: ‘This too shall pass.’

E.M. Swift-Hook.