An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

“Okay. So we need a plan.”
Em was thinking at her usual pace, and when Agnes opened her mouth she silenced her with an upraised hand.
“Very well. This is what we do…”
Ginny looked as if she might have been about to argue, but Agnes elbowed her sharply and hissed.
“When the Queen tells us what to do we at least listen before we argue.”
“Ginny. You accept the parish council gig, and if you could remember to appear wispy and ineffectual it would be helpful. Agnes. You set your family mafia on planning applications. Once we find out what they are after we can spike their guns. In the meantime I’m about to sink my principles and make friends with the television bloke who left me his card after the vicar went batshit about the bats. Any questions?”
“Hundreds,” Agnes said cheerfully, “but until we find out what the heck is toward nobody can answer any of them. Ginny, you better come home with me now, and I’ll give you some reading material. Normally you’d be living in my house for a month or so while you learn. But I don’t think we want old Harmless-Peashooter to know you are one of us just yet.”
Em frowned. “Agnes. Less of the Harmless-Peashooter if you please. With money behind him the gormless bastard could be dangerous.”
Agnes sighed. “I know. It just helps to think of him by his nickname. Otherwise he’s….”
She stopped in the middle of what she was saying and stared into the middle distance.
Em looked at Ginny and mouthed ‘thinking’.
Agnes showed her teeth in a feral grimace. “Now perhaps we can begin to understand why the housing association is bullying its tenants.”
“Explain yourself Agnes.”
“Well. If you think back twenty years. When Harmsley-Gunn sold the building land to the council we all thought he rather shot himself in the foot.”
“Of course we did. And now he needs to sort it. Yes. I cede you that point Agnes.”
Ginny made a noise like a confused sheep. “Can someone please explain.”
“Yes. Sorry. Harmsley-Gunn owns a rather large tract of land running from the middle of the village down to the river. It’s no use agriculturally, and there is supposed to be some sort of a covenant preventing it from being built on.”
Agnes took over. “And even if the rotten little chiseller thinks he has found a way around the covenant there’s no practicable access. Except through the little housing estate.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes and Em thought how un-sheeplike she was when aroused to anger.
“We’re saying, then, that the housing association is trying to get rid of its tenants and make a killing selling its land?”
“Looks mighty like. Either that or they are being pressured to do so by an irresistible force and an offer they literally can’t refuse.”
“And I assume we are not going to let them get away with it?”
“No. Not if we can stop it and we can try very hard to do that. I will have a high-powered solicitor here tomorrow. The tenants association just gots itself a fighting fund.”
“Tenants association? Since when has there been one of them?”
“Since about a couple of hour’s time, when Jamelia rounds up a couple of the residents to form one.”
Agnes snorted. “I do wonder if HG realises he has a tiger by the tail.”
Em shrugged. “I doubt he will notice until I bite his face off.” She noticed Ginny’s horrified expression. “Metaphorically, sister.”

Part Twenty-Three of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

The telegram came on a sultry August day. Rowan read its brief message then went to milk the house cow. She never spoke about it.

As summer drifted into autumn she felt herself fading with the year and her once sturdy body grew thin enough for the wind to almost blow through her.

It was October when Rowan saw the eagle. He rode a thermal and his feathers were burnished by the autumn sun. For a moment she was blinded by tears, then a beloved voice spoke in her soul. 

“Live Rowan, that I may not have died in vain.”

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

actuslly – (adverb) oozing artificial affection after the manner of actors and other artistic types

anaywa (noun) the indigenous people of the hooflungdung islands whose national sport is easily guessed

andenoid (noun) – a gland in the hypothalamus excreting the chatter hormone: over action of this gland is the direct cause of verbal diarrhoea

buhher (noun) – a person with an unhealthy interest in poo 

hig (noun) – small mammal of the genus typographicus which subsists entirely on eggcorns

installmetn (noun) – the nasal parts of an anteater

learb (verb) – to batter the ignorant into submission with the sheer weight of one’s intellect

madochism (somewhere between a noun and a verb) – pertaining to the action of persistently hitting one’s thumb with a hammer to distract oneself from a blinding headache

marjeting (noun) – decorative wall embellishments created when children throw their breakfast at the cat

mis recall (noun) – one of the lesser known pipes on the Great Organ of our Lady in the Cathedral of the Tiny Redeemer

repvious (adjective) – having scaly skin and an aversion to cold

stopopid (adjective) – having very hairy feet

suppoding (adjective) – of wounds excreting green slime smelling faintly of ouzo

tnaks (noun) – small, hard balls of mucus found in elderly handkerchiefs

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

I remember the days before time travel when you’d catch the news that someone famous had died and feel a bit sad.
Then when we had our chrononauts setting off into the unknown and everyone cheered. The odd thing was they were back almost as soon as they had gone. So, for us watching, it was almost as if they had never travelled at all.
That made it hard to believe their stories of the future, but eventually, we learned to do so.
Then one day the news started reporting the births of famous people as well as their deaths…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Take this exclusive opportunity to consult the wisdom of the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica…

Aries

The cuddly lambs of the zodiac. Scratch an Arian between the ears and gambol about in the grass with them and you will have a lover for on whom you can depend.

Never show an Aries any harsh behaviour. They will run away.

Taurus

The laziest of lovers a Taurus will always be torn between making love and having a nice rest. Be gentle in your expectations and a Tauren will be faithful for life.

Never get between a Taurus and a bed, you will be crushed.

Gemini 

This sign never knows what it wants in a relationship. One face is absorbed in the relationship of the moment while the other is looking about for something new. Unsettling.

Never leave your Gemini lover alone with your best friend.

Cancer

Cancerians have a propensity towards the less gentle pleasures of the bedroom and are prone to pinching. Keep the upper hand and your love life will never be boring.

Never allow a Cancerian anything sharp.

Leo

The lion likes to roar and loves to be admired, but is mostly only interested in his or her own gratification. Purr a bit and they will know how to treat you.

Never have a mirror in the bedroom with a Leo or you won’t stop them admiring themselves for long enough to enjoy any physical closeness.

Virgo

The conundrum of the zodiac. Virgo lovers pretend disinterest and even dislike although in truth they are virtually insatiable. Keep fit if you want to stay in a relationship with a Virgo.

Never believe a Virgo headache, it’s just a ploy to make you work harder at convincing them.

Libra

While your Libra lover is weighing the consequences of each and every action and embrace, you will be able to get in plenty of nice naps. If you are not bothered by speed or continuity a Libra will get there in the end.

Never offer a Libra any choices or you will lose the will to live while they consider.

Scorpio

If you want affection avoid Scorpios like the plague. Ditto if you want fidelity or kindliness. However, if you want your bottom spanked… Experimentation is meat and drink to Scorpios so expect the unexpected.

Never let your Scorpio handcuff you to the bed. They may just find it amusing to leave you there.

Sagittarius 

The lover with the truest aim. Sagittarians are true bedroom athletes and satisfaction is guaranteed. Enjoy.

Never expect a good night’s sleep 

Aquarius 

The workaholics of the zodiac. Love is just another burden to this lot. But if you can wrest the water pot away from them they make charming lovers.

Never allow an Aquarius to bring their work into the bedroom.

Pisces

Cheerfully amoral, Pisceans are extremely able lovers and very good company. Open a bottle of something expensive and prepare to enjoy the ride.

Never let a Pisces see you care. It frightens them off. 

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

O calories, I love your flavour
Away, you rolling kilos
I’ll take you sweet or savour
And fat I’m bound to to be
With a wide tummy!

O weighing scales, I hate to see you
Away, you rolling kilos
I’ll happily deceive you
And fat I’m bound to be
With a wide tummy!

Seven years, I’ve been a-dieting
Away, you rolling kilos
Seven years, I’ve not lost anything
And fat I’m bound to to be
With a wide tummy!

Oh calories, I’ll always crave you
Away, you rolling kilos,
I’ll hors-d’œuvre and dessert you
And fat I’m bound to to be
With a wide tummy!

E.M. Swift-Hook

The Dai and Julia Mysteries are set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules…

“Sheep.”
Dai pointed to the tussock-pocked hillside that veered up sharply from the bottom of the valley. These sheep were a hardy local breed with grey-white fleeces and small curling horns. They moved with agility over the rocky slope, their flock spread out into groups, pairs and singletons.
It was early morning and the report of a new theft had them driving through the wild country that formed the hinterland between Viriconium and the coast.
“The first question I have,” Bryn said, his own gaze firmly on the narrow road ahead as it wound along beside a stream at the bottom of the valley, “is how do you take sheep from a hillside like that? I mean it’s not like they are in a field and you can just wave your arms at them and back up a trailer to the gate. You couldn’t bring something big enough to carry all those along a road like this anyway.”
They were heading out to the small crofting farm which had been the victim of the last sheep rustling incident, in the hope of gaining some insight into who might have known where the flock was when it was stolen.
“Dogs,” Dai said, wondering if he was right. “Or maybe people on quads?”
“At night?” Bryn sounded doubtful. “And over this terrain?” He gestured with one hand to the high-lifting hills on either side.
“Drones, then maybe? Though no one seems to have seen any around that shouldn’t be there, I did the checks. It does make you wonder.”
They reached the main farm buildings after a bumpy journey over a potholed mud and gravel track that led up from the road. Two skinny herding dogs with lolling tongues and high lifted tails followed the woman who owned the croft out of the door of the small cottage, built from local stone. She stayed by the house as Dai and Bryn parked up and got out, the dogs now sitting beside her. For a moment Dai was reminded of Canis and Lupo sitting beside Julia. These dogs had an owner not much taller than Julia was, but maybe a decade older. She stood, back held stiffly straight and chin lifted with an almost defensive pride, brown eyes fierce, her dark blonde hair half hidden under a woolly hat.
Bryn gave her a friendly nod as she looked between them. “You’ll be Hyla Edris, I’m SI Bryn Cartivel. We’re here…”
“About last night?” The woman’s voice sounded taut.
“That’s right. I was hoping you could help me understand a few things about what happened and then we might be able to get your sheep back more easily.”
Hyla Edris shook her head, and Dai was sure he could see an extra brightness of moisture in her eyes.
“No. You won’t be bringing my girls home. They’ll all be dead by now. But the fools that took them have no idea what they did.”
“What they..?”
“My girls weren’t bred for eating They were all bred for their wool. Five different rare breeds I had in my flock, from three different provinces. They were worth a lot, lot more than just meat on the hoof.”
“You’ll have insurance for them?”
“Oh, for sure, there is a man due out tomorrow to talk to me about it. Seems there was some problem with my paperwork. But that won’t bring my girls back, will it? And even though the money will help, my business is ruined.”
“You can get more sheep,” Dai said. “Surely even rare ones?”
The woman shook her head as if he was missing the point. Then she gestured towards a recently re-roofed outbuilding. “My business is spinning and weaving. I keep the sheep because I can’t buy in the wool I need. It’s not so simple as you think. But then you lot from Viriconium, you know next to nothing of what life is like for us here in the hill farms. We’re not all inbred yokels chasing round a few sheep, there’s some of us with a bit more going on.”
Dai spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “I promise we will do our best to bring those who took your sheep to justice.”
Which was when she saw the silver band of Citizenship on his finger and her face changed. A quickly hidden mix of fear and anger.
“Roman justice. Killing people for entertainment. That’s not going to help me… dominus.” She made the honorific sound more like an insult.
Bryn cleared his throat.
“I need to ask you a few questions about what happened. Where were the sheep last night?”
The woman drew a tight breath as if to get herself back under control.
“I had them in the low field because I was supposed to have them microchipped today.”
“So it would have been relatively straightforward for someone to steal them? No need to go all over the hills for them?”
“Very.”
“Who would have known they were in that particular field?” Dai asked and almost winced at the ferocity of the look the question earned him.
“Most everyone in the area.”
“Local gossip is that good?”
This time there was more of contempt than anger in her face. She put a hand into the pocket of the long coat she was wearing and pulled out a much-folded sheet of paper which she thrust into Dai’s hand. He opened it out noting the Demetae and Cornovii administrative area official logo at the top. It was a notice of compulsory microchipping of all sheep in the district. It included a list of names and dates for all the farms in the locality.
Dai passed the letter to Bryn who read it quickly.
“At least one other farm on this list has had their flock stolen,” he said.
“Now isn’t that just the coincidence.” Hyla Edris sounded bitter.

The following day in the more amenable environment of the Taberna Roma across the forum from where the Vigiles House hid behind the grand facade of the Basilica Viriconia, Dai listened and sipped some good ale as Bryn went over what he had found out.
“So this microchipping thing is some kind of local initiative introduced by the new Prima Veterinaria for the district. Apparently, it has been used in places like Iberia where they migrate sheep every year to keep track of which sheep belongs to whom as often local farmers will club together on transport.”
“I thought they marked them with dye and patterns and such.”
“Did, Bard, and still do. But the problem was that some unscrupulous farmers were changing the markings to claim sheep were theirs when they weren’t.”
“So some flocks wound up arriving at their destination a bit bigger or smaller than they left home?”
“Precisely. And microchipping was introduced a few years ago to prevent that happening.”
“So why do we need it here in Britannia? I’ve not heard that we have migrating sheep?”
“We don’t but I spoke to the new Prima Veterinaria, one Rhoswen Falx, she said that it was to prevent the practice of passing off one sheep for another which, apparently, is a local tendency when it comes to tax assessment and insurance purposes or something.”
“People pretending they have more sheep than they do?”
“You can get subsidies for certain sized flocks, apparently. Something to do with the need to feed too many sheep on too little land. I asked a few of the locals about that and they say it is not unknown but is pretty rare in this part of the Empire. The payouts are insignificant compared to the risk of being caught for it, which could result in the confiscation of the entire flock.”
“And those letters which give full details of who is going to have their sheep chipped when in each locality, who’s idea was it to send them out like that rather than individually?”
“Apparently that was to save on administrative costs.”
Dai thought about that for a bit.
“Now, it could just be a new incumbent trying to make their mark on the area, but the timing seems a bit of a coincidence to me. I think I’d like to talk with Prima Veterinaria Falx.”

From ‘Dying to be Fleeced’ one of the bonus short stories in The Second Dai and Julia Omnibus  by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago 

An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

They were rescued from what Em was beginning to feel was a treacly morass of emotion by the insistent burbling of her phone. She dragged it out of her pocket. It was Leodigrace so she answered.
“Em speaking.”
“Your wererabbit is completely insane, Emmeline. He won’t ever be fit to be allowed back into society.”
“Well isn’t that a surprise. And what’s with the my wererabbit crap?”
Leodigrace laughed, a deep sensual sound guaranteed to melt the knickers of any normal female. But Em wasn’t a normal female so she snarled at him.
“Did you have anything useful to say, doggy?”
It was his turn to snarl and Em laughed at his discomfiture. 
“Okay, Emmeline shall we call it an honourable draw? And I do have some information you may find interesting.”
Em put her phone on speaker.
“I’m listening.”
“The batshit crazy bat hater was actually being paid to exterminate the small fliers. He seems to have reported locally to one Sidney Harmsley-Gunn, but the paymaster was an American gentleman called Dominic Schilling.” Leodigrace suddenly sounded serious and profoundly formal. “Be very careful, Emmeline Vanderbilt, your little village has something someone somewhere is prepared to go to almost any lengths to get. And. Queen of Vampires, I am permitted to offer you the aid of weres, should it be that we can help.”
Em felt a prickle over her skin at his formal tone. Leodigrace was someone she respected, which was rare for a were. They were still early on in their own Time of Mitigation, having not read the way things were changing as quickly as the vampire community. So now they had the same kind of problems with rogues that Em had needed to confront a century past. She had some sympathy for that, although tempered by frustration at their folly in failing to see the signs and leaving it so late. 
But Leodigrace had been one of the first to listen and had even swallowed his pride to ask her advice on how it could be done for the were community. If he was now offering his aid then whatever plans Harmsley-Gunn had bought into would be disastrous for the village. So she answered his formality with her own. 
“Thank you, Father of Weres.”
He broke the connection and Em looked at Agnes who was barely keeping her anger in check, but it was Ginny who held her attention. The wispy woman whose surprising bravery had bought her near destruction was gone and in her place sat a proper vampire. She looked as cold as death and as implacable.
“Dominic Schilling,” she hissed, “is a creature without honour or compassion, Demonic Schilling is closer to the mark and he belongs to Ronald Dump.”
Em heard the name, but for a moment she was unable to make any connection to the words. 
Agnes was a different matter. “Ronald Dump? Well we aren’t having that bastard on our patch.” Then she began to swear, comprehensively and with real white-hot anger.
Then Em put the pieces together. “Dump? Fat, bald guy with more money than God? Builds upmarket ‘resorts’, drives out the locals and bankrupts the surrounding economies?”
“Yes,” Ginny snarled. “That awful excuse for a human being. If I am right he will already have bought most of the county council. That’s how he operates – carpeting cash over everything so he can stroll over the crushed bodies to his next photoshoot with the latest bigtime supermodel. And Schilling is his procurer in chief, his right hand flunky.” She almost spat her contempt. “We have to stop him. That werewolf you were talking to is absolutely right. Everything we love about this village would be devoured by his obsessive need to win. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone except himself.”
Ginny broke off and closed her mouth tightly as if afraid what might come out of it if she let it open.
“You have encountered him before?” Em prompted.
 “I lost a battle with him many years ago. He wanted to demolish some listed buildings to expand one of his hotels. We had all the evidence. We had the law on our side. But he corrupted the leadership of the planning department – who I happened to be married to at the time. So he won then. But I’m ready for him now. And this time it’s personal.”
She flexed her fingers and Em almost heard the bugle that was calling her to battle.
Agnes finished swearing under breath and looked at Ginny.
“First stop, Harmsley-Gunn?”
“He invited me onto the parish council, so I really should accept.”
Ginny managed a grin so vicious that it gave Em a good feeling about their new recruit. She had thought her a wet hen, but the youngest vampire in the country seemed to be coming out of her corner, brimming with passion and spoiling for a fight even before her Making was complete.

Part Twenty-Two of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

Emily poured Theo his Earl Grey tea in a delicate cup. It always struck her as funny, how someone so large and so intensely male could so enjoy the ritual of afternoon tea. But he had always loved everything about it, and because she loved him she had learned to love it too.

As he ate she watched him, storing memories for yet another lonely year.

The clock struck four and their precious hour was gone. But he didn’t waver and disappear. 

“You can come with me if you will.”

Emily stepped out of her body and took his hand. 

©️Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

Apble (noun) fruit that is a cross between an apple and an overripe banana

Blosh (adjective) a strangely washed out shade of pink commonly found in elderly ladies’ corsets

Crete (verb) to make something so slipshod that it falls over very quickly

Diffle coat (noun) an oversized coat (the sleeves of which usually brush the ground) bought by the mother of a seven-year-old on the theory that he/she will grow into it

Ho about (noun/adjective combo) indicative that a lady of dubious virtue is in the vicinity

Grubble (verb) to make strange moaning noises while asleep 

Interbalise (verb) to write absolute bollocks and think it literature

Sillock (noun) a blue fur ball commonly found in the navel

Snaggledoof (noun) a buck-toothed dog often found on instagram wearing unsuitable headgear

Sork (verb) to lick ones dinner plate with noisy enjoyment

Unack (verb) to be unable to cough up whatever is making your throat tickle

Wee-see (noun) the first successful use of the potty by a toddler

Wrek (noun) the corpse of a nerd killed by the snaggledoof for putting stupid hats on his head and posting pictures of same all across the Internet

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