Dear Reader Who Writes,

By now one’s profile is such that one scarcely needs to trouble oneself with an introduction. The trademark quill? The eloquent and sophisticated writing style? It could be none other than Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV – acclaimed and admired author of “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth” whose fantastical and fortuitous adventures through the megaplex-multiverse have been steady in the Amazon charts as Bestseller One – in a – Million for over a year.

Mummy tells one that as a consequence of one’s talent and application one can now claim millionaire status as an author – and as such, one’s advice, dear Reader Who Writes (henceforth for brevity, my RWW), should be deemed as of a value beyond that of any lesser star in the literary firmament.

How to Start Writing a Book – Lesson 3. The Write Backcloth

Today, we shall consider decor. For how shall a man write words of beauty if surrounded by ugliness… Let your writing environment be as the oyster shell that contains the pearl of your wisdom in its nacreous depths. Let all be of characteristic colour and lustrous texture. Let even the floor upon which you rest your prognathous toes be a thing of surpassing beauty.

For oneself, one has chosen a monochrome background against which the vibrant colours of one’s imagination can flower like the tenderest of cymbalom orchids. Against the purity of nero and blanco, one may await the prognostications of Euterpe and Calliope in perfect symbiosis with one’s environment. Oh, how one’s soul sings for sheer beauty, as one takes up the metaphorical pen with which one dispenses the finest flowers of one’s intellect and one’s experience to both enlighten the minds and titivate the jaded palates of the proletariat behind their electronic reading devices.

And this, gentle RWR, is the prescription for perfection in the decor of your own little writing hovel. Let your decoration be tasteful and rich, playful and precocious, seductive and austere, lightsome and weighty. Let it be all these things, but above all let it be the perfect backdrop for the blossoms that are seeded in your mind by the gentle Muses as they blow the breath of inspiration into your hearts and souls. Oh, and don’t forget cushions. One can never have too many cushions.

The next time I speak to you we will consider the vital importance of writing rituals.

Until next then, my faithful students you RWW. Bon ecrit!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

The start of ‘Cherry Pickers’ by Bonnie Milani.

Grimm’s was gone. I flung my go-to-Committee shoes out of my bunk box and stared at the empty bottom. Nothing. I ran an eyeball inventory of my bedroom as if the one and only real book on this whole planet might somehow have embedded itself in the gently vibrating walls. No luck, which was no surprise. Sisyphus’ early morning sun lit up the silk weave of our house dome like smoky glass and turned the fine web strands of my window to shimmering glory. My bunk sat flat on the flooring, so there was no place to check under there. That left only Sam’s nest. Rising, I angled around to put the gray silk bulb hanging limp and empty from the ceiling between the window and me. If my romance-crazed adopted brother had stashed Grimm’s in there again, the book’s shadow would show through the weave. Nothing.

Damn! I slammed the lid of the box down and gave it a kick for being there. I needed that book! I’d spent the whole night working out plans for some crew member of the merchanters ship that had made planet fall last night. There were men in that crew, and one of them was going to help me make Mah acknowledge me as a woman, even though he didn’t know it yet. That probably wouldn’t have been such a challenge on any other planet in the Commonwealth. Only Sisyphus Penal Colony Number One was a woman-only colony. I’d never even seen a man except for the fat old captains who signed off on Mah’s shipping invoices, and those didn’t count. So I was counting on a re-read of Grimm’s to give me pointers in how to handle one of them. I really needed to find that book!

Except my Grimm’s was gone. Frustrated, I scooped my day boots out of the corner I’d thrown them in. Habit made me smack them upside down on the floor to make sure no nosher seeds had managed to take root in the last few minims. On Sisyphus, it pays to be paranoid; the whole damn planet really is out to get you.

Bonnie Milani.

 From ‘The Young Soldier: Pursuing Dreams‘

Don scowled. “Fine!” he snapped. “I’m sick and tired of being restricted because of who I am. I’m tired of having a father whose position gets me stepping into shit piles everywhere I go. I’ve worked too hard to get here, just to sit in the belly of a ship, grounded because my Cobra might get shot down. God forbid we ever get into a real fight. Lauden might have to tuck me away in a pod and jettison me from the Morning Star, lest she take damage!”

“Well, shoo, General! It’s no good letting all that negativity build up. You go crazy like that. We all angry, but you don’t see Xena and me keeping it in.”

“Xena?”

Syke grinned wickedly. “That’s Ki’s codename. She don’t like it much, so she forbid us using it.”

“She forbid you?”

“Yup, she hates it.”

“But you don’t obey anyone.”

Syke smirked. “Yeah, well, she good in a fight. It’s why I trust her to back me up.”
Don’s jaw dropped. “You’re actually afraid of her, aren’t you?”

Syke guffawed but didn’t answer.

“You are!” Don laughed and kept laughing as Syke scowled in response.

“What’s up with him?” Lana asked from somewhere behind Don.
One look at her perplexed expression was all it took to send Don into another round of uncontrolled laughter.

“Not a clue,” Syke snapped. “Probably gone stir crazy.”

Lana frowned. “I ain’t flying with no crazy man.”

Syke patted her shoulder sympathetically as he stood. “It’s okay. He’ll be better in a few days.”

“Not gonna cut it,” she answered. “Yo-Yo finally landed us a mission.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth when Don sobered. He jumped up to face her.

“When?”

“Briefing in ten.”

Syke and Don whooped and ran from the mess hall, leaving Lana to grab their trays and dispose of them.

MK Clark can also be found on Facebook and Twitter

Lana Ki is a Space Jumper Pilot

Q1. What do you feel is the most important thing you have achieved in your life so far?

Probably being a pilot in the Space Jumpers. It’s not a glorious job. It’s hard and dangerous, and my mother is against it, but it’s life changing. I can make a difference in a way I never had a chance to on our colony. I can send my kid sister to the university on my salary and that is something. That is an achievement I am proud of.

 Q2. What do you want to achieve in the future?

We don’t really talk about the future much in my wing. Syke thinks it’s a jinx, but he’s like that. I think, when the war is over, or when I get out, I’d like to one day own a shipping business. Growing up on a space colony showed me there’s a market out there for hauling cargo, but with pirates and the war, not a lot of captains want to go out to the colonies on the edges. I think I could be good at that.

 Q3. What do you enjoy doing in your free time?

If I can find a partner, I enjoy perfecting my Krav Maga. It can be hard to train when deployed, but I try to make it work where I can, even if that means training my wingman. I’ve found that keeping my training up is worth the trouble. People tend to stop messing with you after the second or third time you put them on the ground.

Lana is from The Young Soldier: Pursuing Dreams available to buy on Kindle and on KU for free.

From ‘Dying to be Friends’ by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

The Prefect had an office at the top of the Vigiles building with a panoramic view over Londinium. The Augusta Arena, Constantius Column, the Temple of the Divine Diocletian set in beautiful parkland running down to the river, the sub aquila housing, the Forum and the new baths. Dai presumed the Prefect’s view would be even better than the one he had from the small waiting area outside the office. He was on his fourth cup of water from the cooler and wondering if he should risk a quick trip to the snack dispenser he had seen by the lifts to curtail his stomach’s noisy ambition to digest itself, when the door opened and he was shown in to the Prefect’s sanctum.

The Prefect was a stiff-backed old-school Vigiles, clearly not too many years from his – presumably – well-earned retirement back to the warmth and civilisation of Rome. He was standing, not sitting when Dai walked in and responded to his salute with little more than an upwards nod of his head. Dai, standing in his best parade-ground stance, said nothing.

“Llewellyn,” the Prefect was behind his desk and reached down to tap a folder on it – old-school – with the photo of Dai pinned to the front they had taken when he signed up for the course. “Good things. It says very good things.”

There was a pause and the prefect stared at him as if expecting some response.

“Thank you, dominus, I am glad I have been meeting expectations.”

“Meeting. Exceeding. Top of the class, Llewellyn. Highest score we’ve had in years.”

This time Dai said nothing in the silence. They were not told their mark on the Investigator’s exam, only that they had passed it.

“Yes,” the Prefect went on as if answering a question, “Impressive for a Briton. Direct graduate too. Master’s degree. What was that in again?”

“British History,” Dai provided, painfully aware how that sounded every time he said it. “I did do sub-units on the Early Empire and the reign of the Divine Diocletian as well,” he added hurriedly. But for all the reaction he got, he could have said it was Celebrity Studies or Creative Cartwheeling. Dai felt the usual sensation of being invisible, even though on this occasion at least, he was the supposed focus of a Roman’s attention.

“Vacancy here,” the Prefect was saying. “Lost the last man. Tragedy. He was promising too. Very bright. Shame. But have to have someone and you’ll do. Be wasted in the sticks anyway.”

Dai blinked and tried to make sense of what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to ask if he could ask something, but the prefect was speaking again.

“Accommodation provided for the first month, after that on your own – but you’ll be paid by then and can find something in one of the estates.” Then the Prefect stepped away from the desk and glowered at Dai. “I don’t like appointing one of you people, but this role needs it. You will be dealing more with your sort than with Citizens.”

Your sort. The sting of made Dai’s guts tighten.

“I’m not sure I understand, dominus. I am going home tom-”

The Prefect made that odd upward nod, like a wild animal scenting blood.

“No. Not happening. We need you here. Starting now.”

Keep up-to-date with the latest information on the Dai and Julia Mysteries.

Sonnet IV

Within the inglenook of creeping night
I steal Calliope’s wings steeped with flame
And an homunculus enters my sight
Bearing aloft a banner with my name.
I stalk to rocky kloofs of distant height
To claim the fabled Phoenix for my own
And by the wounding pens terrible might
I slay the fierce chimaera all alone.
Those Labyrinthine paths conquered by right
So now upon my head Theseus crown
Marks my soliloquy of posey bright
As in Morpheus arms, I softly drown.
From forth my dreams thus comes triumphs of rhyme
For of the Muses choice, I am the prime.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

This comes at a low point in the case, Felix has broken a leg and is mostly confined to home. He has managed to deactivate some curses (in the form of tabella definiones – curse tablets – but is yet to go after the person who commissioned them. In comes Araxus, his magically talented but mentally unbalanced acquaintance. This is how Felix deals with things, when he gets stuck.

As if to reinforce that point in a grim reminder of my past, the next morning I found Araxus knocking on my door. Bedraggled, stooped, unwashed, unshaven. But his green right eye was looking at me openly, and the mad black one seemingly under his control.

“Do you have a pig?” he asked before I could say anything.

“Ah…”

“Never mind, you will. It’s about the tabellae defixones that we disposed of the other day. Do you still have them?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Why?”

“I wanted to check something.”

My hackles rose. “Do you think they are not inert? I thought we disposed of their magia safely.”

“We did, we did. They are nothing but plumber supplies now. Could I see them, please?”

“Did you think of something new?” I asked, and motioned for him to follow me to my study. I dug out the curse tablets and handed them to Araxus.

He took one from my hand and unfolded it carefully. I looked at him examine the engraved signs. As he read, his green right eye clouded, darkened, became as black as his mad left eye. Clouds drifted past my window, and the room acquired a dark chill.

“Well?” I asked. “What is it?”

He raised his head and looked at me, both eyes black and focused on me, his gaze boring into my soul, my spine shivering and broken ankle suddenly aching more. “It’s as I feared,” he said, voice rasping. “There is more baaa to this than a baaa curse. It’s not a mere supplication to the major baaa gods, it’s almost a love sonnet baaa to invite them to procreate. Do you realise what this baaa means?”

“It means you are insane.”

“No! It means that the black sheep has three bags of wool! Baaa!” And with this he broke into a mad little jig, reciting a silly children’s ditty about lambs. After a while I gave up trying to restore his reason, and — somewhat fearful that in his mad state he might reactivate the curse tablets — escorted him out of my house.

I decided I needed some time away from everyone, and that I would not be getting it at home.

My mobility impaired, I could not take on another case. I was in no condition to walk far, but I limped down to the docks between the grain and fish markets, found a good corner, chalked ‘FORTUNES TOLD CURSES IDENTIFIED’ on the wall, sat down on a folding stool, put on airs, and busied myself with a scroll of Assyrican star-gazing that looked impressive with all its strange and foreign symbols.

People being what they are, especially sailors and dock workers, I scraped enough small coins that day to cover a night of drinking. Calculating people’s horoscopes is tedious, but at least cleaner than haruspicy. One sailor wanted me to write a curse against his fellow, whom he swore stole his lucky fascinum when they were asleep. I scribbled a supplication to Hygieia — about as magical as a bucket of piss — to withdraw her protection from the thief’s health. I also sold him a mild laxative in the guise of ‘special medicine’, and told him to slip it in the evening meal whilst at sea to make the guilty party revealed to all. On the off-chance he was wrong about the culprit, the laxative was to go into the main pot, with the supplication into the fire. I taught him a meaningless doggerel to repeat, so I could claim it was his fault for botching it. Thoughts of future winds generated below decks by an overly flatulent crew cheered me up.

In Numina is the sequel to Murder In Absentia: Togas, Daggers, and Magic. If you enjoyed this extract you find some free short stories about Felix on the Egretia website and do check out our interview with the creator of Felix, Assaph Mehr!

We managed to persuade Assaph Mehr, creator of Felix the Fox and the world of Egretia to sit down long enough to answer some questions for us.

Q1: If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

I’d love to be close to classical Europe again. Hope on a train or a short flight, and visit museum, historical sites and what not. It’s probably the one thing I miss most about moving to Australia – it’s just so far away from everything!

That said, I think I’d also love not just where, but WHEN. When I visit ancient sites, heck even when I walk in the “old” streets of Sydney (with building under 150 years old – practically new), I only half pay attention to traffic. The other half of my mind is always seeing things as they once were. I’d love to visit some of those historical places when they were in their prime, see how they really were and how close my imagination filled in the details.

Q2: Which aspects of you are in Felix and why do you feel it is those ones that came through?

There is a lot of me in Felix. Not surprising, really. He’s more gregarious in social situation, though I’d say he’s probably still just a high-functioning introvert. He likes to solve things by himself, by thinking them through (like me), even though he’s very effective in face to face human interactions (unlike me).

He’s a bit of a jack of all trades, master of none. When I used to role-play, most of my characters were that way. Specialisation, as Heinlein once said, is for insects. Just like in my day job and in my author life I tend to pick up broad knowledge and enough skills to get the job done, so does Felix. He never completed his arcane studies, he didn’t stick long in the legions, he learned the art of investigation but went on his own quickly enough. It’s that unique blend of skills – plus his (unlike mine 😉 looser morals – that make him such an effective paranormal trouble solver.

Q3: Who, outside of family and friends, would you most want to read and enjoy your books?

There are authors I admire, some of whose characters influenced Felix. Steven Saylor, author of the Roma Sub Rosa series starring Gordianus the finder, for example. Mr Saylor was very gracious when I sent him an early copy of my novel, and had some encouraging words. Lindsey Davis, author of the Marcus Didius Falco mysteries, on the other hand refuses to read anything by fans of her works.

Ruth Downie, author of the Medicus Roman Mysteries starring Gaius Petreius Russo, was also very supportive. When Felix needed a medic in my upcoming novel, I borrowed Russo – with Ms Downie’s permission!

And there are others, so many others, who’s work influenced me and my writing. Harry Turtledove (the master of alternate histories), Boris Akunin (with his amazing detective Erast Fandorin), Barry Hughart (whose Number Ten Ox is still my favourite historical-fantasy-detective), and many, many others. I’d like to think it’s only a matter of time till I could hold a discussion with them, with turning into an awestruck, blubbering fool.

You can catch up with Assaph on his website, Amazon or Facebook pages and be sure to check out the coffee break read extract from his next Felix adventure that we have right here on the blog!