Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well-dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends.

Leaving Sian to feed the twins, I dragged Ben over to the office. He opened his mouth and I forestalled him with a big kiss.
“I take it we are expecting visitors.”
He nodded, but there was a grim set to his jaw.
“Right then. Let’s do contingency planning. There’s no way to stop Stella from going to assure herself Audrey is okay, so we’ll send a couple of Connor Smith’s boys to ride shotgun. They all adore Star, and her cream buns, so she’ll be as safe as houses.”
The atmosphere in the office dialled down several notches and he managed a half a grin.
“Why didn’t we think of that?”
I let that one go and enumerated the rest of my thinking on my fingers.
“Extra manpower in the ice cream parlour. And in here. And a couple of big lads in the house. That should do the job.”
“It should. But what do we tell the twins?”
I thought for a minute.
“Are any of the guardsmen any good with tools?”
“They’re all better than me,” he offered.
I shook my head. “So are Bud and Lew.”
His chuckle was real enough and he fondly mussed my hair before pulling himself back to the business in hand.
“I think that the two older guys who replaced that louse Andrew are pretty handy. But why?”
“There’s quite a bit of maintenance wants doing over at the house. The twins won’t question a man with a screwdriver. Though they might just get right on his nerves.”
He beamed. “You never let me down.”
After a stolen kiss he went off to make arrangements and I grabbed a few precious minutes with my girls. All too soon it was time to smarten myself up and head across to meet some gentlemen I had rather hoped to never encounter again. I left Bud and Lew playing with the twins but took Stan and Ollie with me. We bellied up to the bar and I fortified myself with a glass of impeccable claret. Ben wasn’t far behind me, and, although he opted for a pint of a local golden ale, and we managed to talk about the possibility of stocking the brand regularly instead of as a ‘guest’ we were both as edgy as cats in a rainstorm.
At the appointed time, three men came quietly into the bar. One was slight and expensively tailored. I remembered him. The other two were more obviously hard men, though I reckoned them less dangerous than their boss. They walked over to where I sat and the man I remembered smiled.
“Mrs Beckett. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
I extended my hand and he shook it with careful gentleness. Meanwhile the dogs were giving his companions their most unfriendly side-eye. One man put a hand in his jacket pocket and I felt myself stiffen.
Before I had chance to do more than glare his boss rounded on him and snapped out an order. The hard man cringed and seemed to diminish inside his clothing.
“Our hostess’s dogs would seem to be correct in their estimation of you. Either remember your manners or go and wait in the car.”
The hard boy met my eyes and I kept my face cool and disinterested. Eventually he ducked his head.
“Apologies, madam.”
I inclined my head. “Accepted. But please remember I am very fond of my dogs.”
Boss man laughed, a sound of genuine amusement.
“There is a lesson there for you boys. Courage doesn’t always come with big muscles.”
I didn’t quite follow his train of thought there, but I wasn’t about to ask dumb questions.
Ben put a restraining hand on my shoulder, though, just in case.
“Be welcome to The Fair Maid and Falcon,” he said formally. Then in a more normal voice. “Can we feed you?”
“That would be a greater civility than we are accustomed to.”
I grinned at him as Ellen appeared with menus.
“Your table is ready, if you would like to follow me.”
Once we were seated and our drinks order was placed I had a thought.
“How many of you are out in the car park?”
“Four. In two cars.”
I signalled to the waiting Ellen.
“There are four gentlemen in the car park who are also hungry I’m sure. Have two of the boys move a picnic table to a convenient spot and take their food orders out to them.”
“Which cars?”
Once she had the necessary information she bustled off.
The two hard boys fiddled with their hands and I sort of took pity on them.
“You having a problem deciding what you want to eat?”
They nodded. “We aren’t used to eating at the establishment of a Michelin starred chef.”
I had to laugh. “Would it help to know I don’t cook much these days?”
That drew a smile, but then the braver of the duo shook his head. “I don’t reckon you as the type to let standards slip.”
“Busted. And I will admit to being proud of what we serve. What sort of food do you like?”
This time they both grinned naturally. “We aren’t proud, so long as there’s plenty.”
Ben took over as smoothly as if he wasn’t in a state of high adrenaline.
“How about tapas?”
“What, like you eat in bars at Benidorm to stop yourself getting pissed?”
“Sort of. Only better.”
They nodded enthusiastically and in the end we opted for tapas for five, with extra chips and garlic bread.
Boss man smiled at me, but addressed Ben.
“You may find it difficult to believe, but I’m truly not here to pick a fight with your family. I have a great deal of respect for your business ethics and your support for the community. It’s merely a case of explanations from both sides.”
Ben’s jaw unclenched fractionally. “Okay. I guess.”
“Shall we eat our lunch and talk after?” I suggested.
“That seems like an excellent notion.”
The food arrived with commendable speed, and our guests were soon wholly occupied by the variety and excellence of the dishes. Even the boss man lost his veneer of superiority sufficiently to all but groan at the medley of flavours. I had wondered at Ben’s addition of extra chips and garlic bread, but he turned out to have been right on the money as every dish was all but licked clean.
When they had finished eating, the youngest of the trio made me a mock bow.
“It’s a good job you’re married, or I’d be here every night making a fool of myself by courting you for your tapas.”
His boss offered him a stern look, but when I laughed he palliated the severity with a wry grin.
“It’s a good job I more than halfway agree with you. It’s also a good job her husband is a secure sort of a gentleman.” He indicated Ben with a hitch of his chin. “Because he’s certainly not a man it would be sensible to irritate.”
“Indeed he wouldn’t.”
“As the woman is blind enough to never see any man but me, I can afford to be complacent.” Ben spread his easy charm. “Does anyone want pudding?”
After a fair bit of groaning we established that everyone was full and coffee would be the order of the day.
Ben and the two hard boys took their coffees to the bar, leaving me and my dogs to converse with the boss man.
“Cards on the table?” I asked.
“It would be easiest.”
“I’ll begin then. It has been brought to my notice that certain groups of people are interested in a plot of land we acquired to add to the pub and the market garden. I’m also pretty certain that some people are suspicious of our motives for buying it.”
He nodded and I continued.
“The old man to whom the land belonged died and his daughter offered it to the parish council, who had neither the money nor the will to make the purchase. They suggested that Ben and I buy it. Given that one part of the land is a field that abuts the market garden and another is an orchard that runs alongside our beer garden I could see the business sense. Ben, of course, thought the paddock would be ideal to house ponies for our twin daughters. This. Is. Not. Happening.”
My companion grinned a sort of sharky grin. “My daughter has a horse, and it keeps me poor.” Then he sobered. “I can see the field to add to the market garden. But what use are the other bits?”
“Not a lot. Particularly as it’s all protected and covenanted. But look at it this way. If a developer got his sticky hands on the orchard how long would it take them to break the covenant and build on the orchard at least. Imagine having a dozen or so ‘luxury homes’ sharing the access road we maintain and complaining that the pub is too noisy, etcetera.”
“I hadn’t considered that, but it’s a valid point. It is indeed a valid point. And the paddock?”
“It was just part of the parcel. Currently it’s home to some sheep and a group of pigmy goats. Now. I believe we said something about cards on the table.”
“We did, and it’s a troubling tale. Forty or so years ago, a shipment of arms and ammunition went missing. So far as I am able to ascertain it just disappeared. Those for whom the consignment was destined were unamused, as were those who were the providers. After some ‘investigation’, suspicion fell on a fairly small cog in the delivery machinery. He was questioned closely and let go. However, there was a faction convinced enough of his guilt to take vengeance. His wife was kidnapped and never seen again. He was sent her fingers in a box, but nothing else was ever found. She was seven months pregnant. The young man hanged himself.”
He stopped speaking and one look at the porridge grey of his skin had me signal to Ben for a large brandy. A few sips later and my guest had himself back in hand.
“Thank you for your patience. Anyway. This sad story was all but forgotten until a very old man died in a hospice in Limerick. His last action in life was to write a confession of his part in the abduction and murder of an innocent woman.”
It came into my head that a lot of innocent women, and children, and men had died in what is often revered to as ‘the troubles’, although that was an idea I had sense enough to keep to myself as my guest continued speaking.
“The letter stated that the murder victim was buried somewhere in the New Forest, which doesn’t narrow things down by much, and we were pretty much back to square one when we got a breakthrough. The hospice where our informant died received a monthly cheque to help pay for his care. From the man from whose daughter you purchased the land.”
And that was when the penny dropped. The hidden thing supposedly on our land was the body of a murdered woman. My companion passed me his brandy glass…

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

Milla watched the fight, wondering what to do. She couldn’t let Glory kill String or String kill Glory and if she didn’t do something one of the two was going to go down. Pew was still shouting at them both to just stop fighting, but neither was listening. Neither was paying her any attention either.
Without giving it much thought she grabbed at String from behind, hoping to trip him up so he could be subdued before Glory did him any real damage. But he ducked as she grabbed and instead of catching at his clothing she was gripping the tiara. As String sidestepped she pulled it away and the dwarf let out a horrible scream, dropping the axe and falling to his knees sobbing.
“No! No! No! You’ve made it all end. I want to stay here…. Nooooo!”
The kneeling figure shimmered briefly then seemed to suck in to a single point of light and disappear.
There was a sudden and terrible silence. Then Pew spoke, his voice shaky.
“Are there any volcanoes around here? I think we need to find one to throw that… that thing you’re holding in.”
Milla looked down at the tiara and let go instantly. It had changed from being a golden crown into a writhing black band of…? Milla really didn’t care to know and certainly wasn’t going to study it closely enough to see. Glory reached down and scooped it up in her armoured fist.
“I think I know just the crack of doom for this, leave it to me.”
Milla wanted to say she wasn’t sure that was a very good idea, but Pew was there and hugging her.
“Did we save String?” she asked.
“I think we did. You did.”
“Well thanks for the group,” Glory said, still holding the black crown. “It was certainly different. I’m out. Running late for raid. They’re already forming up, so using my home-stone.”
“I don’t think…” Milla began, but before she could finish Glory had vanished.
“Let’s get back to WBS,” Pew said. “I’ll use my ring of recall. Just hold on tight and…”
The world flashed out of existence and back again. From being a weirdly glowing blue the light was bright and sunny. A palm tree waved overhead and there, right in front of them was her house.
She was home.
They were home.
Milla was suddenly very certain she never wanted to go on a venture ever again.

Two days later, sitting on the beach with Pew throwing sticks for Ruffkin, she was already not so sure about that. There was something about ventures. Perhaps they were addictive.
“String is fine. Seems he thinks he just got very drunk and hallucinated. Sent me a load of in game messages describing this dream he had about you and me rescuing him. I didn’t bother to say anything different.”
“And Glory? Did she get rid of that..that thing?”
Pew shrugged.
“Well that’s the odd thing. She’s not been in game since. I’ve asked around but no one seems to know what’s happened to her.”
Despite the warmth of the day Milla shivered and moved closer to Pew who put an arm around her.
“I’m just glad we’ve got each other,” he said and kissed her gently.

And that is the story so far in Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook.

Return to Wrathburnt Sands was first published in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

When the loud banging and creative swearing started to emanate from the hole in the ground under the greenhouse, Brenda went for a visit with Granny.
“They find somebody to read their book to them?”
“No. They’m following the pictures.”
“What. Like the biggers and flat pack furniture?”
“Very like.”
Brenda winced. “I’ll just have everybody move to a safe distance then.”
“I would. Them three isn’t likely to get hurt, they’m too stupid. But one of the flower fairies could cop for a big problem.”
Brenda nodded.
The fairytale people shifted themselves away from the veggible garden and waited…

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

achnor (noun) – a Caledonian person who says no a lot

brillaint (adjective) – of hair, shined and glued into place with brylcreeem

cramine (noun) – the peculiar colour all the washing turns when you put a red sock in it by mistake 

defetas (adverb) – of speech or singing, loud, flat and with one of those accents that removes two vowel sounds

dilemna (noun) a long-legged coot-like bird characterised by an inability to make up its mind

foor (adjective) – poor in the terms of reference of the very rich in that one’s children have to attend minor public schools and one cannot afford more than one divorce

hosematre (noun) – pedagogue who beats pupils with a hollow length of rubber

jamsine (adjective) – sticky and bright red

jusat (adjective) – smelling vaguely of old socks and Vimto

lineger (noun) – underwear that smells like a chip shop

morgin (adjective) – grumpy and prone to spitting

omouf (adjective) – of lipstick, misapplied so it slips over the edges of the lips

sinnic (noun) – a person with no charm and little intellect 

totamo (noun) – yellow fruit with hard skin that tastes like stew and smells like sick

upsdie (noun) – a dice that only throws sixes

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

Telling an entire story in just one hundred words…

Rex had been through several homes so he had no great expectations when he was chosen at the pound that this one would be any different. The woman who had stared at him in his run with an intense piercing look had not seemed that pleased to take him. She wore hard heels that tapped along the floor and didn’t say anything as she put him into the car and drove home.

The man who sat alone in the garden looked very sad until he saw Rex. Then he smiled.

“Charlie? My Charlie!”

Rex decided he liked his new name.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Good morrow sweet Reader Who Writes,

It is I, Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV, harbinger of spring, dispenser of wisdom, icon of perfect taste, and world-renowned author. For those of you who do not know one, one has sincere commiserations, but no intention of repeating one’s credentials. Look me up!

Oh yes, my beloved students, your pedagogue is in waspish form on this day. Try not one’s patience lest one turns upon you with the svelte ferocity of a maculate tiger, lest one bites you with the teeth of the hooded cobra, lest one scorn you with the poisoned barbs of a beautiful woman, lest, worst of all, one turns one’s back on you and excludes you from one’s tribe. Which, with all one’s usual deftness of touch, brings one to…

Tribes

Tribalism, as one needs to see it from the point of view of the intelligent scribe, is the basic breaking of humanity into groups. This occurs in order that our peculiar bipedal species may function both socially and emotionally. Even though we all – yes even you – belong to the same basic genus (the human race), it is impossible for the tiny minds of most to comprehend anything so vast. And even those of us with the largeness of vision and the scope of imagination to see the vast sprawl of humanity as our brethren will still be more at ease as part of a defined sub-group, or tribe.

Ergo, my wide-eyed innocents, it behoves us as humble scribblers, as the custodians of the communal mind, as the still small voice of the conscience of humanity, to take cognisance of tribal mores and the tightness of social groups when we build the complex worlds upon which our heroes stride and our villains crawl.

So how may we define our tribal groupings for the benefit of our readership?

The smallest and simplest group is the family, which we may simply define by name, be that patronym, matronymic, or any other device that occurs.

One up in size from family will be the village/town/school/workplace group. This can be defined by where a person lives, or they can be referred to as alumni of wherever, or, of course, we have the device of uniform for workplace tribes.

One larger will be areas, such as the counties in our own fair land, whose denizens may be conveniently delineated by accent or quirk of speech.

And finally: Nationality can be shorthanded by physical characteristics – such as the bland coldness of certain northerners, the dark oiliness of the mare nostrum nations, the dark smoothness of those who hail from some subcontinents, and so forth.

All very easy and precise, but where those of you without ones breadth of experience and largeness of both intellect and imagination will fall every time is on those tribes not defined by any of the above.

The tribe whose defining characteristic is its support of the hero: This group may be defined either by outstanding physical beauty or by its humbleness and willingness to sit at the feet of one’s hero basking in his knowledge and beauty. Or both.

The antithesis of the first will be the tribe whose sole purpose in life is to make our hero’s life a misery, or to profit from crime, or to promulgate lies, or…: This tribe may be conveniently singled out by one of the following methods. They may have chosen for themselves a uniform of sorts (preferably a black one). They will bear a distinguishing mark from birth (ugliness, mole, deformity etc). Or they may have chosen to mark themselves by means of tattoo, body piercing, hair colour/style/shaven head.

From one’s own experience the use of bodily inking in specified patterns is among the most easily understood devices by which one can identify the tribe from which one’s antagonist springs. That or many gold teeth, sharpened and set with jewels, should one’s antihero emanate from wealth as well as depravity.

And that mes estudas concludes our lesson on tribalism.

Do not have nightmares trying to identify your own tribe.

Bene scribere!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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

A slow worm called stumpy
Lives under the tin
And five little mice were born
Right beside him
Out in the garden
Where dappled leaves shade
Under old rusty iron
Creatures live. Unafraid

©️jane jago 2024

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well-dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends.

With Sian’s help I sailed through the two days before Roz and Allie returned from their holiday, and even managed the time to meet them at the station. They erupted from the train like miniature tornadoes, followed at a more leisurely pace by Ben’s dad, Don, and Stella’s mum, Audrey. I hugged my wriggling daughters very tightly and listened while they tried to cram a whole three weeks of good times into as few sentences as possible.
After loading them into the car I turned my attention to their doting grandfather.
“Are you sure you two won’t come back to the Fair Maid for a few days.”
He grinned. “We’re sure. Home calls and we’re missing the dogs.”
“And the peace and quiet. I hope the girls haven’t been too much for you.”
“No. They’ve been exemplary. It’s just the questions.”
I could relate to that. “Tell them to Google it. That’s why they have iPads.”
“Unfortunately we didn’t have wifi. So. But here’s our lift.”
A battered Land Rover belonging to my cousin, who is also Don and Audrey’s neighbour, pulled up alongside and a pair of border collies boiled out to greet their humans.
“Let us out, Mummy Beckett,” Roz demanded. “We want to speak to Spot and Rover.”
I could see the grandparents wilting at the thought of even more excitement in the car park. So I put my foot down.
“Sorry my loves, we don’t have time. Daddy is wanting to see you.”
I looked at Audrey, noticing for the first time how pale she was.
“What’s up? If those pair have been naughty…”
She smiled wearily. “Not the girls. My own silly fault. We went to the water park yesterday and I fell over. Nothing broken, but I’ve bruised my ribs badly. I’ll be fine with plenty of rest.”
I kissed her cheek. “Does Stella know?”
“Yes. I spoke to her this morning. She knows I’ll be well looked after with Don.”
“Yes. You will. Shall I send someone along with a box of cooked meals?”
“That would be a help.” She brightened perceptibly. “Maybe a steak and Stilton pie?”
“Certainly A pie or two.”
I hugged her carefully and Don helped her into the front of the Landy where there was a nest of blankets. He climbed into the back with his dogs and my cousin made me a cheery salute before pulling gently away for their drive home.
I jumped into my own car where the twins were inclined to be indignant about not speaking to the dogs. But they calmed down when I asked what had happened to Audrey.
“Granny went on the big water slide and she came down whoosh. But when she was climbing out some big lout of a boy pushed her and she fell down hard on her side.” Roz explained.
Allie took up the story. “Grandpa was furious. But he didn’t go after the boy because he was helping Granny. I think she would have cried if we wasn’t there. But the first aid men gave her something to suck and we all went for a ride in a ambulancia. The doctor said she has no broke bones and he gave her some tablets.”
“Then we went home and we was quiet, quiet so Granny could rest. And Grandpa sent out for pizza so we could eat on the patio.”
The girls sounded worried so I hastened to reassure them.
“Granny will be fine. She’s just very sore right now. When we get home you can help me put together a basket of foods for them. Because grandpa isn’t much of a cook.”
They nodded wisely, then Allie spoke in her most serious tones.
“Mummy Beckett. We have been thinking.”
“And what have you thought, my loves?”
“We have thought about how busy you and Daddy Beckett is and we wants to know if we can help you while we aren’t in school.”
My heart felt so full in my chest that it was likely to burst. “Thank you my dear ones, but you are a bit too young to work in the pub. Though you could help mummy and daddy by being good girls if mummy gets someone to help her look after you.”
“Are you getting a help person?”
They spoke as one child
“I am, and it’s one of your favourite friends. It’s Sian.”
They clapped their hands in delight before Roz gave me one of her straight looks.
“Will we have to do as Sian says?”
Ali chimed in.
“Just like she was a proper grown up?”
“Indeed you will. Is that a problem?”
They thought for a moment then shook their fair heads. Ali voiced their opinion.
“It won’t be a problem. Because Sian is kind. And you said we can help you and Daddy Beckett by being good.”
“You can indeed. Now. Shall we go home?”
The wriggled their bottoms more securely into their car seats and nodded.
“Yes please, Mummy. We have been looking forward to seeing you all.”
They enlivened the drive home with holiday anecdotes, and some songs that Audrey had taught them sung rather off-key. When we were all but there I pulled into a lay-by and passed them my phone.
“Would you like to call Daddy and let him know we will be home in ten minutes?”
Their smiles almost split their faces and they carefully dialled Ben’s number. He answered at once.
“You nearly, home Joss?” There was a slight thread of anxiety in his voice.
The twins giggled. “We’re not Mummy. It’s Allie and Roz, Daddy Beckett. Be home to give you kisses in ten minutes.”
They ended the call and handed back my phone.
“Daddy sounded a bit wobbly so we better hurry home to hug him.”
“Daddy’s just excited. He’s been missing you. As have I, and the dogs, and all your friends.”
Which was about the best I could do by way of distracting them. It went quiet for a few seconds and I awaited the explosion, but it didn’t come. Instead they spoke gently.
“We’ve missed you all too. But we did have a lovely holiday.”
As soon as my Discovery pulled onto the gravel of our private parking, the house door flew open and Ben charged out with four dogs frolicking around his legs. How they got to the car without mishap is beyond me, but they did, and Ben wrenched open the rear door, receiving his daughters in the warmth of his large embrace. The dogs managed to squeeze themselves into the car alongside the three hugging humans. Mayhem ensued and my eardrums were being assaulted so I decided to move.
I got out of the driving seat and looked towards the open front door, where Sian stood laughing. She gave me a thumbs up and I wandered over to where she stood.
“What’s bugging Ben?”
“Mum’s off duty after lunch finishes, and she wants to go and see gran. Ben was going to go with her, but he got a phone call and now he says he can’t go. He don’t want Mum to go on her own and neither does Dad. So there’s a bit of a standoff going on.”
I sighed. “We’ll just send a couple of Connor Smith’s ‘boys’ along with her. They worship her cream buns so she’ll be as safe as houses.”
Sian chuckled. “You don’t half think fast.”
“It’s a case of having to, love. Encompassed about with macho men as I am.”

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

The cavern entrance became a long tunnel that went down for a while, lit by a weird blue luminescence which seemed to come from the walls. Then there was an abrupt angle up and the rock had been carved into steps. Climbing these, Milla suddenly found herself emerging from water into a huge underground chamber, with the same spooky illumination coming from pillars of rock.
“Awesome!” Pew breathed. “We made it in.”
“Well, now we’re here. What are we doing?”
Milla wondered how Pew would explain the situation to Glory. It wasn’t going to be easy she was sure of that.
“We’re here to rescue someone,” Pew began. “It’s a kind of friend of mine and…”
“Well frack me! Pew, what you doing here?”
Milla spun around and saw a rather fat dwarf, with a long beard which was plaited into a complex design. But it wasn’t the beard that held her attention. It was more that he was wearing something that looked part way between a bikini and a sarong. On his head was a golden tiara set with a huge glowing diadem.
“String?” Pew sounded faint and Milla felt him grip her hand tightly as the dwarf waddled over towards them.
“Oh hello Milla. You here too? And who’s this?”
“Uh.. I’m Glory. Nice to meet you…um.. String?”
String smiled happily.
“I’m glad you came by. I’ve missed you buddy!”
“String,” Pew released Milla’s hand and put both his on the dwarf’s shoulders. “You’ve got to leave here. Come with us now before the Queen repops.”
String laughed.
“You fracking kidding? Leave? I got it all here, bro. You seen these Lamia? Let me tell you the Queen is the hottes…”
“String! You are being controlled by her. You’re stuck here. Like really here. Your roomies are going wild. You’ve got to come with us.”
The dwarf pulled away.
“I don’t think so.” Slowly he began to grow until he was almost twice the size he had been. A giant dwarf, now looking Pew in the eye, his inappropriate attire stretched almost to breaking over his bulging body. He produced a double-headed axe from somewhere, each blade engraved with dwarven runes of power and the haft bound with strips of black dragon leather. String grinned and gave it a test swing. “Nice action. Now, what were you saying, Pew?”
Pew stepped back shaking his head.
“You’re not yourself. Look at you. Dressed like that. Wake up!”
The giant dwarf threw back his head and laughed.
“You thought you had it good with a girlfriend in game. You don’t know nothing, Pew. Nothing.”
Then without warning his face transformed to a snarl and he leapt forward, axe swinging, aimed right at Pews neck. The axe blade clanged into Glory’s sword which was suddenly in the way, and then Glory was too, standing between Pew and String, sword ready.
“No, don’t attack him Glory. It’s too dangerous. If he dies here… I don’t know. He might really die. In the real world.”
The dwarf was swinging again and Glory parried and reposted, pushing him onto the defensive.
“Not sure I know what you are on about,” she said, her own face stone featured. “I didn’t start this with, fats here, but I’m going to finish it if he doesn’t put that axe down.”
String laughed maniacally and swung into full on attack mode, Glory moved and dodged the swing, bringing her sword up to cut into his unarmoured flesh, but the blade seemed to do little damage.

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 26th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

With the rotting potato having been given a decent burial, life returned to something like normality, although…
Some days later, Oisin was seen staggering across the croquet lawn with a book clasped in his skinny arms. He stopped beside the stone seat where ‘Dolphus nome sat reading his little volume of pomes. The ensuing conversation was loud and recriminatory.
“Brenda said no poteen.”
“I ain’t axing you to make poteen.”
“No. But you’m axing me to tell you how to do it.”
“Don’t be a bumwipe ‘Dolphus.”
Even reading nomes have a breaking point—as Oisin and his book discovered.

Jane Jago