Tylywoch ~ 22

 Tylywoch ~ 22  Travellers III 

By Len Morgan

   Aldor had been busy raising a force to infiltrate the Eternal City, and restore the balance.   Things were not moving as fast as planned.   This years harvest was not good which didn’t make the provisioning of an army any easier, but they still had to be fed.   Gathering the supplies required, without stripping the countryside, was something of a conjuring trick. 

Dealing with a coupe was not as simple as dealing with external invaders.   The majority of people caught up in it were not enemies, neither was it their fault.   Even the majority of the 9^th clan were not engaged in the conspiracy and therefore not their enemy.   Most were not even aware of what was happening.   Most of their troops thought they were bringing criminals to justice.   Even Taleen was more misguided than guilty of true evil; he thought he was in the right… 

Aldor had visited the 9^th clan and spoken with Taleen’s new bride Bianne, daughter of the Meyam Ambassador.   She and her father had tried to dissuade him, but his Blutt advisors had set him on a course from which he would not be turned, he was firmly in the clutches of the Surbatt.   The man Wilden was an accomplished plausible and persuasive speaker, and that woman Glamhorten, has an even greater hold on him…  

Aldor didn’t even know for definite that the Empress still lived, though he suspected as much, or that the coupe had stalled.   He knew that Galyx and Weilla were in the city somewhere attempting to turn the conventional forces and ensure the Empress would not remain a prisoner in her own palace indefinitely.    Had she been dead, by now he would have been informed.   Aldor had, by default, been allotted the task of surgeon; responsible for cutting away the bad, without overly damaging the healthy parts of Cheilin society. 

.-…-.  

Weilla was conscious of being observed.  The feeling had persisted since the attack on the store.   Being Tylywoch, she'd long since developed a sixth sense about such things, and being aware of his presence she was able to play cat and mouse games with him.   Once she had sight of him, the tables were effectively turned.   Once He had lost sight of her she was then able to follow him.   Before very long the path led to the Emerald Palace where he slipped behind a hedge of vines and into the building proper through a hidden doorway.

She was tempted to follow, but something held her back, training, instinct, she didn't know which but it had served her well in the past and she couldn't risk taking chances at this stage of the game, given her role in it.   Her responsibility now was to all, not simply herself, she couldn't allow herself the luxury of self-indulgence.

She returned to the shop to quiz Galt & Amree.   They both knew the man she described, his name was Wilden; he was a close associate of Prince Taleen.

"This man is dangerous," Galt said "I think it's time to seek an alternative base.   In urban areas like this, it's harder to pass unnoticed for any length of time." 

"We could pass you on to another family group on the other side of the city," Amree suggested. 

"That would be wise, but at this moment he doesn't know that I suspect…" 

"It's possible he's better than we think.   What if he was trying to lure you through that door," said Amree "maybe we should apprehend him…"

"My thoughts exactly." Said Galt. 

"I'm inclined to agree, but we need to know what they plan and he is the closest to Taleen bar Glamhorten, and she it was who introduced him to the prince when she was his nurse.   I'm inclined to stay here and observe, for the time being at least." 

"You're in charge, it's your decision but, don't think that if you can open up his mind you can discover how they think." Said Amree "My father spent many years in Bluttland, he was convinced the whole race is totally obsessed with spreading that vile religion of their, god of vengeance Bedelacq.   During the conjunction, twice yearly - when the red moon occludes the blue, each village or community sheds the blood of hundreds of their own kind acting as if it were a celebration.   All that bloodshed in his name, such a waste, animals and humans the latter is more potent." said Amree shaking her head sadly.

"Her father was killed in one of those rituals," Galt explained. 

.-…-. 

"Wilden, we are running out of time!   Apprehend the Red guard and those Tylywoch or your life will be short and very painful.  The conjunction is almost upon us." she hissed hypnotically, eyes closed, she went into his mind and shut off his optic nerves and activated his fear senses, "can you feel the rats scratching at your belly trying to get out…?" 

"Aaah!   I understand" he gasped perspiration breaking out on his forehead.

"If Taleen is not declared emperor tomorrow, it will be too late!   For all of us, do you understand?"  

"Yes…   Yes Mistress!" 

"If Bedelacq does not receive his blood feast at the allotted time he will…"  she mentally squeezed his large intestine from the inside, disrupting its peristaltic action.  "Do I have to say it?"  He turned pale and doubled up in agony. "We must capture the throne room and produce the little slut's body to prove the Tylywoch failed, then we can execute them all in HIS name."

"Yes mistress," he gasped "We have the Red guard trapped in the Labyrinth of tunnels beneath the palace, and a force of five hundred heading for the throne room as we speak.   All are tried and trusted members of the Surbatt.   If by a miracle she did survive they will finish the job properly this time.   Galyx though is still at large but he will be apprehended it's just a matter of time.   The girl is a totally different quarry, we know where she is, and with a dozen guards I shall take her without trouble."

"Do not underestimate her because of her age and sex Wilden, I can protect you only so far…"

.-…-.

   Empress Veille, 34^th ruler of the Cheilin Empire, sat in meditation beside the body of her long time friend Cholou, an eighteen-year-old Tylywoch, who had sacrificed her life to save her Empress.   They had been very close, but now they were apart.   Cholou lay cold and still in the small anteroom, dressed in the finest gown, an Empress in all but name.   She looked down at the painted face cheeks and lips rouged warm and red with cochen;   Eyes dark with kohl; so regal, in death, so much the Empress.   Cholou was one of six body doubles with similar facial features to Veille, she was the best, looking at her face was like looking into a mirror.   She had officiated at as many state functions as Veille herself, allowing her mistress to mingle amongst the visiting dignitaries as a normal person.   She mourned the loss of her friend, she'd always known it could happen, but never really believed it would.   Veille in contrast wore simple Tylywoch working clothes and spent most of her time training, exercising, and improving her weapon skills.   It was only a matter of time before the final assault.   She expected to die anonymously and honestly in combat.   She stirred from her thoughts, realising that Ferrice the young captain of her honour guard was beside her.

"It seems terrible to admit it but, this is the most exhilarating and exciting time of my life" she said smiling wanly, "Does that shock you?" 

He smiled, "No, strangely it doesn't.   We may now be close to death but, in truth, I have never felt more alive." 

In moments she would be practicing hand-to-hand combat.   Looking into a mirror she saw a fit lithe healthy young woman.   The person staring back at her was someone she scarcely recognised.   "Ferrice, I understand you once had a near-death experience.   Do you feel you live on borrowed time?"

Yes and no" he answered thoughtfully.   "Life is not a gift, but a loan that we all have to repay eventually.   I will simply enjoy it for what it is and for as long as it lasts."   He smiled warmly and took her hand, "I--we all wish you a long life, ‘Light of the World’."    He led her out from the anteroom, into the Doho, where their senses were assuaged by the Musky scent of sweating bodies, humidity, and the curses of protagonists breathing heavily from their exertions on the rhandori mats; neither lessened as they entered.  Only the Doho master commanded respect here, she was but an acolyte.   Outside the Doho if she requested they commit ritual suicide it would be done instantly without question.   Here she was a student learning skills her life may soon depend upon, if they went easy on her she might approach combat with the wrong attitude then her life and all she stood for would be lost.

Veille and Ferrice bowed low to show their respect for the Sempai, who nodded in their direction giving permission for them to enter the Doho.

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

  A FAMILY AFFAIR    (Part 3 & Last)   

 by Richard Banks

         ……... so tell me their precise whereabouts and I will guarantee that what should happen, does happen.” 

                                              *****

         It was not until the following day when everyone was taking lunch that I made my way to the library where the necklaces awaited me in a secret compartment behind Gibbon’s Rise and Fall on the top shelf of the main bookcase. I was pushing the steps towards said volume when a polite cough signalled that I was not alone. Aunt Flora smiled benignly and bid me join her at one of the occasional tables where readers were expected to quietly read or write their letters. As she was doing neither a sinking feeling told me that this meeting was unlikely to be a chance encounter. Nevertheless, I turned on my own smile and with a display of untroubled innocence pretended to be glad to see her.

         “How’s that migraine?” she asked, “better now? No, don’t answer, I know what you’ve been up to. You see after your séance last night Hector also paid me a visit. He wanted me to tell you what he was too embarrassed to tell you himself, a secret that no man would want known, especially one so proud and manly as himself. You see, Hector was not capable of having children. He had all the usual urges and gave great satisfaction to his many lady friends of which I gather you were one, but to use a vulgar metaphor he was shooting blanks. Of course, he wanted to believe that he was the father of your child, you almost convinced him that he was, then he saw the name of the clinic on the papers you showed him and knew, at once, that you were attempting to deceive him. You see the clinic there named was the very one that had told him he was sterile. There was a biological abnormality they were unable to reverse; an honest admission considering they had many expensive treatments that a less ethical establishment might have offered him. So, that raises the question of how you are in possession of a medical document indicating that your son and Hector’s nephew are of the same lineage. Do you have anything to say on that subject?”

         I did not. There are times when silence is by far the best defence, sometimes the only defence, no one has ever been found guilty by their silence. Anyway, why tell Aunt Flora what she may not know? I shrugged my shoulders and tried to look bemused.

         “Come on, my dear has no one told you that confession is good for the soul - if you have one?  Well, allow me to do your confessing for you. Professor Earnshaw, of the clinic in question, is a personal friend of both Hector and myself. That’s why we choose to go there for the tests that diagnosed his condition. I spoke to him on the telephone this morning after breakfast and he assured me that they have undertaken no tests, of any kind, at your request. He tells me that the document in your possession can only be the work of a scammer on the black web. Let’s hope that he or she will soon be apprehended, although I fear that when that happens it may well have unfortunate repercussions for yourself. Anyway, forewarned is forearmed, as they say, so come the time you will, no doubt, find much to say in your defence. What I will say, if asked, I’m less than sure. Needless to say, if I should maintain my right to silence it won’t be because of any loyalty I feel for you.

         What a lot of fuss and bother you have put yourself to, and all so unnecessary. You have been looking for something that doesn’t exist. There are no diamond necklaces, never have been.   Lord knows who started that silly rumour. It wasn’t me or Hector but once it got into Society Magazine we realised that it was only good news for our attempts to market Brookvale as an events venue. Of course, we never said or hinted that the rumours might be true, but we didn’t need to. Our refusal to say anything on the subject was taken as proof positive that the so-called treasure existed. As for what your Uncle told you, don’t believe a word of it, that was your cum-up-pence for trying to deceive him; no doubt he was hoping you would fall off the steps and do yourself a mischief.”

         “But what about the receipt you found for the purchase of the necklaces?”

         “A rumour on a rumour. There was no receipt. I never said there was. So, my dear, there you have it, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, none of which is going to do you one jot of good. Indeed, if I choose to alert the authorities to your little deception you could be facing serious criminal charges especially if I show them the forged papers I took from your room during breakfast. So, let us come to an understanding, you will say nothing likely to embarrass your dear uncle and in return, the document you commissioned will never see the light of day. As for the necklaces, you can say what you will. After all who is going to believe you if I say otherwise? You really are an unprincipled little vixen good for nothing but intrigue, mischief and an extraordinary capacity for extracting money from the many men of your acquaintance. And, although it pains me to say so, you are just what Brookvale needs. So, what I suggest is that you divorce that apology of a husband and marry Eric.”

         “No, no Aunt, stop there! That’s preposterous, Eric is as poor as a church mouse and when he inherits this place he will be over his head in debt.”

         “Yes, my dear, but remember by then you will have received a substantial divorce settlement, which when added to the large sums you have already ferreted away in offshore accounts will keep the tax man at bay for several years at least. By then your deviously inventive mind will have sniffed out no end of money-making opportunities. Also, bear in mind that your elevation to the peerage will give you access to a more exhorted rank of married men – Earls, Dukes, even the odd Prince or two. What an opportunity they represent, indeed so many opportunities. It’s big money now, especially when your noble friends want their names kept out of the tabloids. Plenty for you, and plenty more to spend on Brookvale; after all, you will now have a position in society to maintain, Brookvale must be restored and improved. This you will do not only for yourself but for the child that you and Eric will be having in blessed wedlock. Oh my goodness you have so much to do. It’s just like Scarlet O’Hara and that plantation in Georgia. What an inspiration she is, and you, my dear, will do even better, it’s as good as written.”

         “Only if I write it, Aunt. Supposing I have a script of my own?”

         “No, dear, that won’t do at all. Do you believe in ghosts? Of course, you do, you’ve already met one, but in addition to your Uncle, these walls are home to another three Lords of Brookvale. Let me tell you about them. They’re not very nice. First of all, there’s Hugo the Terrible who chroniclers tell us turned the moat of his castle red with the blood of a thousand foes. Well, no doubt some exaggeration there, but an awful lot of bones have been discovered. Then there’s Maurice the Torturer – need I say more – and, most recently, Sir Jasper of the Hellfire Club who was hanged at Tyburn for eating his mother-in-law during Lent. All of them agree with me that Brookvale must be saved and that it is you who must do it. Should you not comply with their wishes they will, I promise, take it, in turn, to haunt you every night for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter where you go they will follow and make your life an utter misery. So, my dear, you really have no choice, and why should you want one when the alternative has so much to offer?

         Now let us be off and join the diners for their liqueurs and coffees. Eric will be there, awkwardly adrift as always, hoping against hope that someone is going to talk to him. What better time than now for you to seek him out and begin the whirlwind romance that’s going to change both of your lives? Are you ready? Of course, you are, my little Scarlet. The prologue’s over and chapter one is about to begin, the empty pages ready to fill with all the things that you must do. What a wonderful story it will be!”

         “But,” I said. But this was no time for buts. A bewigged man was advancing towards me with a blood-stained saw. Aunt Flora, who was now on her feet, acknowledged him with a polite but affectionless smile. I sprang to her side and together we made our way, unmolested, to the Dining Room and the reassuring sight of Aunt Flora’s other guests. I looked across the room at Eric and he at me. He was smitten, and I desperate not to disappoint those who demanded I succeed. Chapter 1 was up and running. There would be many more to come...

 

The End.

 

Copyright Richard Banks

 A Lovers Moon

 

By Sis Unsworth

 

Across the misty frosted fields, they strolled that winters evening,

mindful that the well-worn path, they walked along was freezing.

The Moon above, their only friend, reflecting beams of light,

the lovers close together, so grateful for the night.

They had enjoyed their dinner, now it was time for home,

This place was quite familiar, as frequently they’d roam,

the pathway lighted by the moon, expressed a true love token,

aware of what the future held, though not a word was spoken,

like lovers do they had their plans, and hoped their life to share.

Then the dog fox and the vixen, went home to their lair.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 The Moon

Janet Baldey

It was so hot.  Cindy lay in bed tossing from side to side, searching for a cool spot.  She forced herself to stop and squeezed her eyes shut, she had to get some sleep.   At last, she gave up, plucking damp sheets away from her  body, she oozed out of bed.  Perhaps a glass of water would help.

         As she stood by the kitchen sink, rattling ice cubes in her glass, she tried to plan the coming day but her brain was tired.  She glanced out of the window at a black and grey panorama where nothing moved.  It was like a still life.  Suddenly there was a flash of light and she looked up at the sky where a rift in the clouds had opened to reveal a slender semi-circle of silver. She forgot the heat and caught her breath watching as the new moon’s eerie beauty transformed the night.  It brought with it a childhood memory; every Christmas, before the New Year had time to catch her unawares, her Mum would sit at the kitchen table laboriously marking a bright red cross on new moon evenings.  Cindy remembered herself as a teenager mocking her mother’s stupid superstitions and from a distant void, heard her mother’s reply.

         “You may laugh, my girl.  But nothing good comes of looking at a New Moon through glass and you’d do well to remember it.  You won’t always have me around to make sure the blinds are drawn.  My mum, your grandma, used to tack up sheets over every single window to make sure we didn’t slip up.  It was like living inside a tomb but it kept us safe.”

         Cindy smiled to herself, it was a good thing she wasn’t superstitious; she looked up at the moon again, she’d well and truly done it now if that old rubbish was true.  Anyway, it hadn’t done her Mum much good. A brief longing flared, if only she could have her Mum back, she’d be much kinder to her,

She pressed the cool rim of her glass against her forehead and rolled it around.  She really must sleep; she had to get up early, there was lots to do.  Top of the list was the delivery of her new phone.  A top of the range iphone 13 Pro Max.   She’d been saving up for so long but had never got very far before her money disappeared; there was always something that caught her eye that she must have.  She looked into her glass thinking that money and ice cubes had a lot in common, both had a habit of melting away fast.  Luckily, dear old Dad had come to her rescue as he always did if she whined enough.  

         “Okay, my love, don’t fuss.  You’ve got a special birthday coming up, so I’ll foot the bill.  You’ll have to pay for the running costs mind, and when November comes, don’t forget  you’ve had your present.”

         She’d thrown her arms around him, thinking November was far away.  She wouldn’t forget but he might.  It had happened before.

         Number two on her list was her date with a chap she’d been emailing for some time.  He was perfect, on paper.  Tall, dark, handsome and with a job in the City.  She sighed, It was about time she got herself a new fella, might rinse the taste of Jason out of her mouth.  She’d been quite smitten with Jason and he’d seemed keen on her.  Then one evening, he’d taken her to the Red Lion for a pub meal and as they’d sat sipping their beers, the bare bones of their feast still on the table, Jason excused himself “to be a gentleman” - a quaint old-fashion phrase he often used that always tickled her.  After he’d disappeared in the direction of The Gents, she’d waited for what seemed like forever.  She’d sat, staring at the door of The Gents until she began to worry, perhaps he’d been taken ill.  The worry deepened until she was quite sure he was lying dead on a cubicle floor.   Eventually, she plucked up enough courage to share her concern with the barkeeper and he’d gone to have a look.

         “No one in there, Miss.” He reported back.  She’d stared, not believing it.  Then, it dawned, she’d been ditched, abandoned, left in the lurch.  Whatever words you used, it hurt.  To deepen the trauma, she’d no money and the bill hadn’t been paid.  Luckily, the owner had been very understanding but the embarrassment!  She still squirmed whenever she thought of it.  She stopped thinking about it.  Instead, she tried to think of all the good things that had happened recently.  There weren’t many, like a lot of Scorpios, she seemed dogged by bad luck.  One good thing though, her recent root canal had stopped hurting - at last. 

Not expecting much, she went back to bed and at last, sleep threw its black cloak over her and the next thing she knew a blade of sunshine was trying to access her eyeballs. She squinted at her watch.  Nine o’clock already, thank goodness she’d taken a day off work, knowing she’d not be able to concentrate.  She flew out of bed and almost fell downstairs.

         “Has it come yet?”

         Her father knew what she meant.  After all, she’d been talking of nothing else for the past week.  He swallowed and tiny toast crumbs decorating his beard fell onto his shirt.

         “Give it a chance love.  You could be waiting all day.”

He was right.  Cindy had waited all day, most of the time perched on a seat by the window staring out at a street that was mostly empty apart the odd cat and women with buggies ferrying their kids to the local school.  At last, she gave up and decided to give Yodel a ring.  She opened her ‘phone and yelped loud enough to wake her father who was just catching a crafty nap to gird himself against the drama of the new phone’s arrival.

         “It says it’s been delivered.   Look …”  Her mouth rivalled her eyes as she stared.  “Ten minutes ago, but it can’t have.  I’ve been practically stapled to the window for the last coupla hours.  And OMG look there’s a picture….”  A blurred picture of a package leaning up against a brick wall accompanied the message.  It could have been anything anywhere but just to make sure, she made for the door, just remembering to open it before she cannoned out.  It was just as she’d thought, zero package, zero van, zero anything.  She looked up and down the street but the only thing that moved was the glint of sunshine on parked cars.

         Wearily, she went back in to phone the delivery company.  She dreaded it.  It would be the inevitable recorded message endlessly repeating that they were sorry for the delay and thanking her for her patience, accompanied by the same endless, brain-damaging music.  It was enough to tip anyone over the edge.  She sat slumped in her chair, waiting for the end of days.  Then so suddenly she almost forgot to press 1, a voice answered.  It was so faint she could hardly hear it and sounded if its owner was chewing gum.

         “Help you?”

         “I’ve been waiting in for my new phone all day.  It hasn’t come but you say it has!”

         “Order number?”

         Cindy repeated the number and heard the far-away tapping of keys.

         “Your packet was delivered 45 minutes ago.”

         “No, it wasn’t.  That’s the whole point.”

         “Got a picture here.”

         “That picture, doesn’t mean a thing.  There’s nothing to see - just bricks.”

         “Are they your bricks?”  Cindy hadn’t a clue, to her a brick was a brick.

         “Have you asked your neighbours? P’raps they took it in.”

         “My neighbours are at work.”

         “Is your ‘phone insured.”

         “No, of course it isn’t.  I haven’t got it yet.”

         There was silence at the other end, Cindy realised the girl hadn’t a clue what to do next.  Anyway, they were getting nowhere, it was time to pull on her big girl pants.  She raised her voice.

         “Can I speak to your supervisor please.”

         There was a shrill whine as the connection was broken.  Cindy would have thrown her phone across the room except it was the only one she had.  After a while she pulled herself together.  P’raps Dad would sort it out tomorrow; after all, he had all day.  Meanwhile, she had to get ready for her date tonight.

From inside a cloud of fragrance, Cindy gazed into her mirror.  She’d done her best; and sat admiring the effect of lipstick, mascara and foundation.  She’d even managed to thread her eyebrows with glitter.  She couldn’t lie to herself, she looked stunning.  She was particularly pleased with her new set of Turkey teeth.  True, they’d cost a bomb but nothing like English prices.  She gave a big open-mouthed grin and was rewarded with a dazzle of white teeth.  She was so glad she’d had the big ones, the ones that jealous people called tombstones.  True, she couldn’t close her mouth properly but as her Dad had said,

“What’s the use of spending all that money on your choppers when half the time they’re covered by your lips?”

She looked at the time and jumped up, she had to go.  Didn’t want to miss him when he looked so gorgeous – a cross between Christian Bale and a much younger Johnny Depp.

It didn’t take her long to walk to the station although long enough for a butterfly ball to start up in her stomach.  To make matters even worse, just as she left her house her Dad had completely spoiled her mood by warning her that if her phone didn’t turn up, legally she’d be liable for its running costs.  Thanks Dad, she thought, that was truly the icing on the cake.

Apathetically, she glanced around the station forecourt.  She’d bet the farm he wouldn’t turn up.  Then, everything else was forgotten as she realised she was wrong.  He was there talking to an ugly guy standing next to him.  OMG he looked even more sick than his photo.  She scrabbled for her ‘phone with a hand that was suddenly so sweaty she almost dropped it.  She saw both men look at each other then she was left with her mouth hanging open as her date winked, patted the dork on his shoulder and walked towards a waiting train.

She was still fuming as she walked back home.  How the hell did men think they’d get away with a stunt like that?  Were they so arrogant they thought women were thick and wouldn’t notice their date had suddenly been hit with an ugly stick?  Mind you, she’d got her own back.  The look-alike gremlin had suggested a drink and biding her time, she’d agreed and ordered the largest and most expensive cocktail on the menu.  She watched him waddle to the bar and just as he ordered, she slipped out of a side door.  If she hadn’t been so angry she might have laughed at the thought of him with a surplus drink on his hands.  The pub was quite crowded and somebody would be bound to notice a fat nerd sitting on his own moodily sipping his beer with a double gin cocktail, complete with cherry, as a chaser.

Instead, she sighed, her depression too deep to care. At least, nothing else could go wrong.  Suddenly she leaped a full foot into the air as 240 volts swept through her jaw.  The pain was sickening and all too familiar, her root canal had decided now was a good time to join the party.

Copyright Janet Baldey

 Mr. Albert Moon Got what he deserved

By Bob French

Jeremy Wentworth looked up at the office clock.  It was ten past ten on a Friday evening, long past the time he should have gone home.  He relived the rocketing he had received from his boss, Mr. Alfred bloody Moon, as he was known by his staff, was a right horrible piece of work. Sadly, Moon was Jeremy’s boss at the Estate Agents in Braintree, Essex.

Mary, his personal secretary, looked up in shock as Moon burst into her office at ten to six.

          “Sir, what time do you call this? Your meeting at the town hall must have gone on for such a long time?”

Albert staggered slightly having spent the afternoon on the golf course with a couple of his mates, then down the Rose and Crown for a few ‘sun-downers’.

          “Oh, be quiet Mary.  No, as a matter of fact, I missed the bloody meeting.  I told Wentworth to cover it. Anything important to tell me, if not I’m off home.”

          Mary quickly studied the diary.  “You have a meeting with the bank manager at ten on Monday and the town’s charity commissioners at three in the afternoon.”

          “Thank you. Off you go then and I shall be in early on Monday, so don’t be late.  Oh, and get me, Wentworth, on your way out.”

          Mary stepped into Jeremy’s office and quietly informed him that the boss was back and wanted to see him asap.  She had a soft spot for Jeremy and did what she could to protect him, so pulled a face at him, warning him that Mr. bloody Moon was in a foul mood.

          Jeremy thought the worst as he took up his notepad and made his way to Moon’s office.  He knocked and waited until he was invited in.

          “Enter.  Ah, Wentworth, how did the meeting go at the town hall?”

          “Sorry, Sir.  What meeting?  I was attending the meeting at the Building Society most of the afternoon.  Was there a meeting at the town hall?”

          “What do you mean?  I told you to attend the meeting on my behalf.”

          Jeremy Wentworth had grown used to Mr. bloody Moon’s behavior; forgetting to do something, then swearing blind he told him that he was to attend to it.  He sometimes asked him to meet him off the train at a certain time, only to find that Moon had taken an earlier train, leaving him waiting like an idiot at the station for an hour or so.   

“Sorry Sir, you did not ask me to attend the Town Hall meeting in the afternoon.  Had you, I would have told you.  Even your secretary would have told you that I was already engaged all afternoon.”

          “Are you calling me a liar Wentworth?”

          The room fell silent for a few minutes, then Moon went into one of his frenzied outbursts. 

“Listen you incompetent waste of space, I don’t care what your excuse is, you were supposed to be at the town hall.  Anyway, I have a meeting at ten on Monday with the bank manager so I want a full run down on our accounts with the bank; sales figures expected gains and losses with the two new housing estates, plus the possibility of staffing cost increases.  I want it on my desk by nine-thirty or else you can find new employment, and don’t expect a recommendation from me, now get out of my sight.”

          Jeremy knew all too well that to argue with this arrogant bully of a man was a waste of time, so kept his mouth shut.  Moon stared at Jeremy with his cruel eyes for a minute, then picked up his overcoat, pushed past him, and slammed his office door behind him.

          It was an overcast Monday morning when Mary quietly approached Jeremy’s desk and waited until he had stopped adding up some figures.

          “Sorry Jeremy, but it's five to ten and Moon hasn’t shown up yet.  Please can you take his place at the Bank Managers meeting?”

          Jeremy looked up and smiled at her.  He liked Mary.  They were about the same age and she had, on a number of occasions, protected him from Albert bloody Moon when he was in a foul mood.

          “Not a problem Mary.  If you can telephone the manager and explain that I will be there in a few minutes.” 

          It was nearly eleven o’clock when Albert Moon rolled into his office.  As Mary placed his black coffee on his desk, she quietly mentioned that Jeremy had attended the meeting as he had failed to turn up.  All Mood did was grunt as he picked up his telephone.  He started to speak to one of his friends about playing a few rounds of golf this afternoon.  Mary tried to warn him again about the charity commissioners meeting, but he just waived her away.    

          Around one-thirty the bank manager telephoned and wanted to speak to Mr. Moon.  Mary put him through and after a few minutes, Mood stepped out of his office with a smile on his face.

          “Where is Wentworth?”

          “He’s on his way back from the bank Sir.  Probably stopped off to get a coffee.”

          “Tell him I want to see him the second he gets into the office.”

          Mary began to get concerned when the office clock struck two and there was still no sign of Jeremy.  Then she heard his footsteps clumping up the stairs.  She rushed towards the door and pulled it open, only to bump into a large bunch of flowers, which Jeremy was holding.

          “Oh, my goodness!  They look wonderful.  Who are they for, someone special?”!

          “Yes, as a matter of fact.  They are for you, to say thank you for always looking out for me.”  Then thrust them into her hands.

          Mary stared at the flowers, then at Jeremy. “No one has ever bought me flowers before.  That’s very kind of you Jeremy, thank you”

          The spell was broken when the office door was flung open.  “Where the hell have you been Wentworth?  I need to talk to you, now.”  And with that, he turned on his heels and stormed off to the office.

          By the time Jeremy got to his boss’s office, Moon was in a foul mood. “Look I have a special meeting at three, so I want you to attend the charity commissioner's meeting.  Brief me when I get back.”

          When Jeremy got back to his office, Mary was rearranging her flowers.  When he told her that he had to attend the charity commissioner's meeting because his Lordship had another meeting, Mary’s mouth fell open.

“He does not!  He’s arranged to play golf this afternoon.  God, the man is a swine.”

Jeremy knew the brief for the meeting off by heart as he had been working on the charity portfolio for the past few years for Moon and was happy to attend.  He came away from the meeting with the distinct impression that Albert bloody Moon was going to be rewarded for all his charity work.  This annoyed him as most of the briefings and background work in the past had been done by him.

In the middle of April, Mary came into the office looking very sheepish.

“Fancy going out for lunch today?”  Jeremy knew that Moon was away for two days.

After the waitress had taken their orders, Mary slipped a posh letter under the table to him.

“What’s this?”

“Just read it, then give it back to me discretely please.”

She saw his eyebrows rise in surprise as he saw the green embossed port-cullis crest of the Prime Minister’s office. then she saw the anger spread across his face.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Mary quickly took back the letter and said that she would respond to it, but would not tell Albert bloody Moon.

Jeremy stared at her in confusion, but she gently placed her hand on his. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it.”

The month of June brought sunshine and the good news that Moon and his wife were off to Barbados for three weeks.

During the first week, Mary had invited Jeremy down to Devon to look at a really nice cottage on the side of the moors.  She asked if he would like to live in such a place and grinned when he nodded enthusiastically. 

During the second week, she invited him to take a tour of London for a couple of days, including Buckingham Palace but insisted that on Thursday he had to wear a dark suit to look his best.  Jeremy didn’t mind, in fact, he was really looking forward to spending time with Mary.

Early on Thursday morning she met him and gave the seal of approval of his suit.

“Now today we are visiting Buckingham Palace.  When we are inside, please listen and do exactly as I tell you, alright.”

Halfway through the tour and the constant calling of their tour guide to keep up, Mary tugged Jeremy’s arm and led him away from the group.  Jeremy just stared at her.

“Just do as I say alright.”  Jeremey, thinking that it was some sort of practical joke, played along.  She guided him towards some all-wide gold doors with a tall, serious looking officer standing outside.  Mary stepped forward and handed the gold embossed invitation to the officer.

The officer handed the invitation back to Jeremy and then spoke. “Mr. Moon, please follow me, Sir.”

Jeremy frowned and was about to say something when Mary simply told him to do exactly as he was told.

Jeremy was ushered into a long high ceilinged room where his invitation was again checked.  He was then ushered into another room where he was surrounded by lots of people; some in uniform, some in morning suits, and some in dark suits.  He listened to the briefing given by an elderly Guards Officer and stood where he was told.

The room fell into silence as the Prince of Wales entered the room and stood on the platform at the head of the room.  Then, one by one the people were called forward and decorated by the prince.

“Mr. Albert Moon.  For outstanding charitable work to the community.”  Jeremy froze.  Then he felt the gentle hand of one of the ushers, easing him forward.

He was surprised at how easy it was to talk to the prince about all the charity work he had been working on down the years, as the prince pinned a shiny decoration on his jacket.

Then in a flash, he was outside the palace and Mary was running toward him with a huge smile on her face.

“Well done Jeremy.  You got what you deserved, and so did Albert bloody Moon. Now we are going to vanish down to Devon where no one can find us and retire, just you and me.”

Copyright Bob French

 A FAMILY AFFAIR  (Part 2 of 3)

by Richard Banks 

         My preference was for the spirits and on a coolish afternoon, I was more than content to wile away the several hours until dinner with a large G&T in the conservatory. It was while observing a strange plant of Triffid-like proportions that I inadvertently made the discovery that my fellow guests were attempting by more active means. In the intestines of this transparent monster was not only the necklaces but a hoard of gold coins that I took to be the fabled pieces of eight. Alas, I had fallen asleep, but my dream, although disappointing for not being reality, had at least brought me within an hour of dinner and the French cuisine of Aunt Flora’s faithful retainer, Madam DuSavoury. 

         Having located Teddy on the veranda of the Drawing Room we departed to our room where we again attended to our ablutions before changing into our evening things. Our subsequent entry into the dilapidated grandeur of the Queen Ann Dining Room was made all the more pleasant by the demeanour of our fellow diners which while expressing conviviality gave no indication that any of them had scooped the jackpot. The meal took its usual form with three excellent courses that, in the absence of the elusive necklaces, were likely to be the only highlight of our stay. 

         Coffee served, we endured the usual speeches eulogising Uncle Hector and bowed our heads respectfully when the vicar offered up a prayer to the old rogue who apparently was in Heaven and fondly looking down on us. “Here, here,” I muttered briefly breaking ranks to look up at the ceiling which responded by jettisoning a large flake of whitewash that spiralled slowly downwards until coming to rest in Cousin Izzy’s coffee cup. If this was a sign from heaven it was not one likely to benefit Izzy who might, perceivably, provide some entertainment by choking on the whitewash. With that thought in mind, I felt a pleasant tingle of optimism that within the next few hours the necklaces would be mine. 

         The dinner broke-up around 11.30 and after ushering Teddy into the male preserve of the smoking room I lost no time on returning to our bedroom ready to make good use of everything I had learnt at the twice monthly meetings of the East Dulwich Spiritualists. Having exchanged my evening dress for a see-through nightie that I thought likely to attract Uncle’s attention I offered up my first incantation at precisely twelve midnight. To my delight, this was immediately answered by a knocking on the ceiling above me. On my calling out, “Is that you Uncle Hector?” The knocking promptly ceased and a male voice answered,”no” and that he was sorry to have disturbed me. “But who are you!” I demanded. There was only one way to find out and having placed a chair on the bed I climbed up onto it and pushed aside the loft hatch in the ceiling. A dazzling blue light was shining in the otherwise inky blackness of the loft. “Are you a spirit?” I asked, bracing myself for a confrontation with one of Brookvale’s former owners. “Identify yourself and come in peace.” The light shifted from side to side and with much heavy breathing drew closer revealing in its wake a helmet and a grimy face I was beginning to recognise. 

         “Hello, Aunty, it’s Archie here, your nephew. Just doing a bit of potholing in the loft – awfully good practice, you know.”

         I did not know, although it was only too obvious what he was up to. “Found anything of interest?” I said, in an accusing sort of way, and on receiving the answer, “only a dead rat” I bid him continue his potholing out of earshot of myself who did not wish to be disturbed again. This I said with all the icy censor I could muster which was more than enough to send him scuttling-off in the direction of the Beck-Cooper’s room. Pausing only to entertain myself with the notion that he might fall through their ceiling and into their bed for an uninvited three-some I descended to the steady foundation of the bedroom floor where I cleared my mind ready for a second outreaching into the spirit world. It was not long before my call was answered by an unfamiliar voice speaking in an unfamiliar language that might have been Italian. It was not Uncle Hector. 

         I needed to clear the line, so to speak, but spirits, once they answer a call, are often reluctant to hang-up. The logical thing of course was for me do so but the psychic words that should have sent him on his way had no effect whatsoever. “Push-off!” I demanded in the vernacular, to which I added a rude word in Italian that I had learned on a school trip to Florence. While it had been reasonably successful in discouraging the bum-pinching activities of Italian youth it had no effect on my unwanted visitor until another voice gruffly told him to bugger off, which the spirit did with an indignant sigh. My new visitor not only spoke but, without being summoned, materialised in front of me.

         “So what does my little temptress want?” he asked. “Is she missing her dear old uncle? And why not, after all we did have some memorable moments together. Although, of course, it wasn’t just me. What a gal you were. I was your number fifty-two I recall and you were once kind enough to reward my efforts with a ten. You wrote it in that little black book of yours. But that was in the old blood and flesh days. There’s no going back to them, at least not for me. Now put on a cardigan or something before you catch a cold and tell your poor departed uncle why you have dragged him away from the sweet smell of tobacco in the smoking room. Incidentally, I saw Teddy there; is he still putting up with your tricks?”

         “Teddy does what I say and believes what I tell him. He’s an ideal husband and providing I light his fire once a week he’s happier than he has any right to be. He’s not half the man you were.” 

         “Very flattering, I’m sure, but you haven’t answered my first question, as if I didn’t know the answer. Well, let’s ask you something else: why should I tell you where the necklaces are? What right do you have to them?”        

        “So I can pass them on to Robert, of course.”        

        “You mean, Robert, your son?”

         “Yes, of course, I mean Robert. Your favourite nephew, a chip off the old block you once said, and with good reason.” 

         “What do you mean?”

         “I mean that Robert is not only my son, he’s yours too.”

         “Poppycock! Mind you I never thought that Teddy was the father, nothing more obvious than that, even Teddy must have had his doubts, but why me? And don’t tell me that he was born nine months after one of our assignations. There’ll be a dozen other candidates for sure; knowing you, more than that. No, no my dear you’ll have to do better than that.” 

         “Then I will. If it’s proof you want, then proof you will have. Not that I needed any, a mother always knows the father of her child. However, with this interview in mind, I resolved to put the question beyond doubt.”

         “How so?” 

         “DNA testing, of course, first I took a lock of Robert’s hair, and then a few days later at the wedding of your brother’s younger son, I encouraged his brother to become the worse for drink at which time I also cut-off a lock of his hair. Both were sent to a clinic in London and their forensic analysis is to be found in the several documents on the writing desk. Take a look at them, take a good look. Robert is indeed a chip off the old block. He’s your son, there’s no doubt about it, none at all.” 

         Uncle’s spectral image flickered like a florescent tube about to expire, his face registering surprise bordering on incredulity. At last, he steadied himself and with eyes, only on the papers I had set out crossed the room and stared down at them in their numbered order. 

         “Congratulations,” I said, once he was through. “You are a father. Now let us consider what you can do to help your son.”

         “I take it you are referring to the necklaces?”

         “Of course I am. Only you can ensure that he receives what is rightly his.”

         “And how much would he get once you sold them to your Hatton Garden friends?” 

         “Uncle, how ungallant of you, I am the mother of your only child, surely you don’t begrudge me a few little comforts in my middling years. Anyway, let’s face it, what choice do you have? If left where they are they will either be lost forever or discovered by one of the navies who one day will be demolishing this crumbling ruin. Is that what you want? No, of course not, so tell me their precise whereabouts and I will guarantee that what should happen does happen.” 

(To be continued)

 Copyright Richard Banks

                                                                           

Three Tanka

 Three Tanka 

By Rob Kingston

Recently published in issue 9 of HaikaiKatha.

HaikaiKatha is a journal published through the Triveni haiku India website.

A journal dedicated to Japanese short form poetry in India where the form is growing at a very fast rate.

 

Tanka is a short love song.

 

a walk

by the river

how these gulls

remind me of days gone by

arguing over nonsense

 

on repeat

the blackbird's song ...

recalling the days

when dad whistled the tune

i whistle today

 

 

stretching rainbows

from his new fishing rod

that memory

of a time in Southend

when all he caught was a cold

 

Copyright Robert Kingston