DHSS ADVICE

DHSS ADVICE NOTE 338

Thanks to Richard Banks for the submission

In a recent survey conducted by Age Concern, street watching was found to be the favourite recreational activity of 63% of pensioners in the seventy to eighty-nine age group. The same survey, when  extended to people of non-pensionable age, also found that the visual intrusions of elderly neighbours cause more social friction than any of their other behaviours, including cat poisoning and witchcraft.

      The purpose of this circular is, therefore, to advise practising street watchers, and those about to take up this hobby, on how it can be carried out while at all times maintaining peaceful relations with the observed.

Tip 1

      All watching should, if possible, be unobserved. If someone doesn’t know they are being watched they have no reason to complain. Place a large pot plant in the watching window and sit behind it at all times. Camouflage jackets intended for jungle warfare can be purchased from many High Street outfitters and provide excellent concealment for those parts of the watcher likely to be visible on either side of the plant. If it should be necessary to peer over the plant, the wearing of a Christmas wreath on top of the head is also recommended. While many experienced watchers also apply face paint, it should always be removed when undertaking other activities, such as shopping or family visits. Forgetful pensioners prone to senior moments beware! 

Tip 2

      If your efforts at concealment should prove unsuccessful, maintain your surveillance operation by methods not requiring direct interface with the necessary window. The positioning of several large mirrors on the wall opposite the window will allow you to observe the street - and all those in it - while keeping your back to the said window at all times. While this has proved to be a satisfactory method of observation for many watchers it suffers from the disadvantage that reflected sunlight is a contributory factor in 4.2% of road accidents during the summer months, June to August. Ensure that you are adequately insured, otherwise claims for damages could make your little hobby more expensive than a second home on the Algarve.

      An option preferred by an increasing numbers of watchers is closed circuit television (CCTV). Installed ostensibly for reasons of security, cameras enable the watcher to view on-street activity on his or her television in a room not fronting the viewing area. It has the additional advantage that all passing movements are captured on film, enabling the replay of particularly interesting sequences.

      While static cameras provide only limited coverage of passing cars and pedestrians, much of the equipment presently on sale has one hundred and eighty degree vision enabling extended time viewing over distances of several hundred yards. However, beware! Modern day cameras are more collectable than much of the property they are installed to protect. Many go missing only to reappear outside the homes of bargain seeking watchers.

Tip 3

      The brazen approach. Make no secret of the fact that the street is constantly within your field of vision. Acknowledge all those passing with a cheery wave or a thumbs up sign. If challenged be ready with one of the following explanations:

i) I am a bird watcher undertaking a survey for the Wildlife Trust. To back up this claim you should ensure that several books on British birds are easily visible to anyone peering through your window from the other side.

ii) similarly, nocturnal observations can be justified by a professed interest in astronomy. Again, make sure that the necessary books are to hand, and that you have sufficient knowledge of the subject to identify at least three constellations. An additional advantage of methods i and ii is that they provide convincing explanations for your use of optical equipment, such as binoculars and telescopes.

ii) alternatively you can claim that you are a member of the Neighbourhood Watch, and that your watching activities are an essential part of the fight against crime. To prevent being outed by genuine members of the Watch, those favouring this approach should seriously consider joining that organisation.

Tip 4

      Outside activities, such as car washing and gardening, also provide excellent opportunities for street watching. Make good use of peripheral vision, and avoid excessive pruning of trees and bushes. Remember that although your neighbours may admire the cleanliness of your car, your readiness to wash it more than six times a week may arouse their suspicions.

Tip 5

    Street watching for periods in excess of nine hours a day has been identified as a category two psychiatric disorder requiring many hours of expensive therapy. Don’t let your obsession become your therapist’s goldmine. Join a branch of Snoopers Anonymous. Break the habit and take up a less harmful hobby, such as cage fighting.

For further advice and information see the DHSS website:dhssweirdthingsbestavoided. 

 

Submitted by Richard Banks

Tylywoch ~ 23

 Tylywoch ~ 23 Swordsmith IV 

By Len Morgan 

   For three days, Jax lay, pale and silent, in the arms of death.   Terrek was beginning to fear the worst, when suddenly without warning the young man took a deep and very noisy breath.   His eyes shot open, and he stared angrily at Terrek.   "You have killed me," he cried in a mortified voice. 

"Obviously not!"   Terrek grinned stupidly, "Thank goodness you're still with us, it has been so long I was about to call the mortician, you almost had me worried," he answered slapping Jax playfully on the cheeks. 

"You stabbed me!" said Jax undeterred.

"Don't carry on so, I did what had to be done?" he countered defensively.   "The fluid in the syringe was a viral blood plasma modifier.   It will reprogram your genetic code, making it a hundred times more efficient.   It's self-replicating, and will eventually reprogram your blood.   In time all your other cells will be changed, improving your physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional state…" 

"What is this gibberish you're spouting?" 

Terrek continued undeterred.   "For every fifty years you live, you will age but one, you'll become healthier stronger and faster.   Your brain capacity will increase.   Over time, you may eventually even become normal - but I don't want to raise your hopes on that…" he dodged a sluggish roundhouse punch.   "Take it easy young fellow, you've just slept for three days non-stop.   Your body is already changing."    Taking a knife from the forge racks and before Jax could stop him he slit his own arm.   Squeezing the cut flesh together he held it for twenty seconds, when he released his grip, it was already in advanced stages of healing.   In minutes there was a thin scar, in half an hour it was totally gone. 

“That’s Witchery!” Jax stood back…

"Wounds heal a hundred times faster, mortal wounds are as pinpricks, short of cutting you in two, separating the parts, and burying them on opposite sides of a hill, any damage to your body will repair within days.   You could lose a limb and regenerate it in the same time.   It will seem as though a mist has cleared from your mind, something that has hitherto prevented you from using it correctly, as if something was deliberately inhibiting your thought processes, preventing your mind from evolving.   Whilst at Ordens forge, you will have experienced heightened perception, and an increased potential to learn.   But, it will be as nothing to what is to still to come." 

"So, what is the downside?" Jax asked. 

"Downside?   Did you not hear what I just told you?   Do you think you have a choice? There is no going back…"

"It all seems just too good to be true.   Often life has its own little checks and balances, tradeoffs…"

"Your hair will turn grey like mine, you can't have children, your eyes will turn blue like mine, you will become increasingly desirable to women and…"

"Wait!   No children?"   His face told a story.

"It is not impossible, just less likely.   The genes are so radically altered that you would have to find a woman with similarly altered genes, a converted woman, it isn't impossible just unlikely."

"Don't you think you should have given me, a choice, a chance to say no?" 

"No!" Terrek answered.   "If you'd said no I would have had to kill you, we cannot afford to let outsiders know about us, that would be an unnecessary complication; you never showed any inclination to father children..." 

"I need to be alone," said Jax I need to think.    He sat for an hour saying nothing, Terrek moved away leaving him to his thoughts and waited patiently.   Finally, he stood up and turned to face Terrek.

"I can't explain it," said Jax "but I have to leave, I have to get away from here for a while.   I have to seek out Bianne wherever she may be regardless of cost." 

"That is a perfectly normal healthy reaction but, I must impose one condition before you do so" Terrek answered quietly.  

“What!” Jax shook his head. 

"You must create a repository for your alter ego, an elemental to be your confidante and conscience, strong enough to contain and sustain you in the years to come.   It should be any inanimate object we of the sword traditionally create a blade.   Now you have been made, you must fuse all you have gained - the knowledge, know-how, experience, the power, and the magic - into a blade that will do your will…" 

"I don't know if I could just now…" Jax began doubtfully. 

"I am afraid I could not allow you to leave without doing so," Terrek replied gently but firmly, a hard edge creeping into his voice that would not brook refusal.

Jax stared at him surprise registering on his face.   Several minutes passed.

Terrek stared back equally determined, placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, and said "This is not negotiable."   His eyes had become bright with flecks of orange and yellow.

 Just as it seemed they would come to blows, Jax said “I’ll do it.” He nodded and smiled conveying acceptance.

"You will need a familiar to protect you, guide you, and centre your life force.   It will take you but three days to accomplish the task if you forego sleep.   During that time the forge will be exclusively yours."   Slapping Jax on the shoulder good-naturedly he left the premises without another word, locking the doors behind him. 

.-…-. 

Towards the close of the third day, Jax viewed the blank steel blade critically, now sharpened and tempered.  It still required final hardening, a hilt, a guard, decoration, and furniture.    He cast his eyes up, outside the tall barn like doors, routinely left opened when the forge was fired up, the sky was cloudless.   He raised the rough blade to the sky chanting, a litany in a strange unworldly tongue, words of power, words of magic, shards of something else, something nonhuman that would unleash the fury of the elements.   At his final utterance, the world became quiet and still as if holding its breath.    Lightning burst forth from the clear blue firmament.  Randomly striking and enveloping the base sword and the man holding it, as if it were a life raft in a raging sea.   Living ribbons of coloured flame lingered seductively fibrillating, caressing, the singularity who is their familiar.   Great gouts of sinuous green blue and white fire burst into being, fed by bolt after bolt of lightning, licking tongues of flame assail and bath the seemingly immutable figure.   Randomly lashing and binding him to the rampant sword, blackened now from the continual assault, yet both the sword and the man remain.   Black, like the depths of the darkest ocean; the blade absorbed instead of reflecting light and, whilst in motion, become invisible to mortal eyes. 

"AAAAAARRGGEEAWWMMMAAA" his yell a bestial defiance, in answer to the heavens grumbling moodily, as if resentful at being rudely awakened.   An hour later the rumbling had subsided, Jax supine on the unyielding floor slept in a deep trance like state.  

Terrek gazes upon the creation with silent respect, proud of what his newly made journeyman had accomplished.  

He'd witnessed the thunder and lightning and knew he would have to contain his impatience for at least another few days.

Now, he would readily admit the wait had been worth it - three days in the forging, two for chasing and gilding, then the creation of furniture - hilt, hand guard, sheath, and belt.   Jax would then have imbued the living blade with his physical personality - thrusting it through his own torso and withdrawing it, inflicting what to a normal human would have been a mortal wound - that must have been painful. 

He'd seen the flashes of coloured lights, for several minutes before darkness returned.   For a second time, Jax sank into a trance-like state lasting a further two days.

As he slept, Terrek returned to the forge and crafted a matching dagger from the remainder of the strange black metal.   He ritually anointed the blade with his own blood by stabbing it into his chest.   When it was completed, he crafted a sheath to hold it. 

                                             .-...-.

He awoke ravenous.   Terrek had prepared him a sumptuous meal, which he devoured without uttering a sound.   Then he gathered his personal belongings, and took tearful leave of his mentor.   No longer a boy, he was not yet a man, whilst being far more than a man, he had things to do, big things, he did not need to explain.

This, Terrek understood, "It is as it should be," he said nodding a reflective but warm farewell to the new Swordsmith.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan  

JAMES BOND AND THE PELOSI AFFAIR 

By Bob French

Henry felt as though he was sitting in the very room as Bond entered the large office of the Director of the British Secret Service.

“You’re late Bond.  This is important.”  M sounded annoyed.

He glanced at the Minister and nodded, then smiled as the tall, stocky figure of Felix Lighter of the CIA stood up out of the high-backed chair and turned to face Bond. “Good to see you, Felix.  This must be serious to drag you away from the other side of the pond?”

“Bond, do you mind?  Take a seat and let me explain. You may not have heard that the American Congressional Delegation is visiting the Indo-Pacific region to reaffirm its strong and unshakable commitment to its allies.  The mission is led by Nancy Pelosi the Speaker of the United States House of Representatives and has the backing of the house and the President.

Bond nodded.  “Nothing new in that Sir.  Most of the first world nations are sending delegations out to the far east in the hope of picking up trade deals.”

What was omitted from the press release is that Pelosi intends to visit Taiwan in early August.”

Bond sat quietly and cast his mind back over the files he had read about the continued tension between China and Taiwan and the reputation of Nancy Pelosi and was momentarily worried.

“Not a very sensible thing to do Sir, bearing in mind the delicate situation between the two countries.  I find it hard to believe that President Biden approved the visit.”

Felix cleared his throat “That’s it, James.  She deliberately omitted to list her visit to Taiwan in her travel plans and No.  The President does not approve of her visit to Taiwan and has gone on record that he thinks that the visit is not a very good idea.”

“Then why doesn’t she wind her neck in and follow the advice of her president?”

The Minister put down his glass of brandy.  “Bond, the Americans have a different style of politics than ours.  Apparently, the Speaker outranks the President in certain matters of state.”

Bond frowned, then turned to M.  “So how are we involved, Sir?”

“The problem is that our Customs have been tipped off that there is going to be an attempt on her life during the visit.”

“Surely, then it’s their problem, Sir.”  He turned to Felix.  “No offence, but I think you need to get your house in order before involving us.”

Felix grinned.  “Not exactly James.  You see the CIA has come up with a plan which means for security reasons, Pelosi will be residing in the British Embassy instead of the American during her visit. They think it will fool the Chinese protesters.”

Bond looked at Felix with a question in his eyes.  “Nothing to do with me, James.  It came from on high.”

“Bond, it doesn’t matter.  The thing to remember is that our old friend The Spider is involved.  You will recall he helped to create the panic over the shortages of PPE, then offered Europe and UK masses of the stuff.  What we didn’t know at that time was that he was using this import of PPE to smuggle his drugs.  If you hadn’t stopped him, God knows what would have happened.”

Bond felt his temper start to rise and glanced at Felix. “Does anyone in your organization know where the Spider is at present?”

He shook his head, took a deep breath as though beginning a confession. “James.  This isn’t going to be easy.  We have found out that The Spider has connections inside the MSS, the Chinese secret intelligence, and the secret police service. And if that isn’t enough, Pelosi is a stubborn old bitch and when she makes her mind up, nothing will stop her.  You Brits can be arrogant, but wait until you see her in action.  She’s something else man, believe me.  You also have to remember that our country is having its elections this year, so a stunt like this will get her a lot of votes.”

The last words from M were, “get out there, find out what is going on and stop it, and if you should happen to come across The Spider, eliminate him.”  The meeting ended abruptly and as they filed past Moneypenny, she caught Bond’s eye and smiled then discretely slipped him an envelope.

Felix was met outside the offices of Universal Exports by a swarthy-looking man in a flashy grey Italian suit and keen steel blue eyes.  He was quickly introduced as Sirius Bromovitch, Section Chief of the Eastern Desk at the US Embassy.  Without any foreplay, he invited them around the corner to the Three Feathers pub, just off Craven Street, tucked away behind Charring Cross Station and off the tourist beat.   

Bromovitch ordered a Martini on the rocks, but Bond chose a black coffee along with Felix.

“So. How did it go Lighter?  Did you convince the Brits to cooperate?”

Bond stared at Lighter, then took a sip of his coffee, letting Felix start the conversation.

“Well, we have their cooperation but it is early days and ….” Bromovitch butted in.

“Listen Bud, we don’t have much time.  She is planning to visit Taiwan during the next few days so…” Bond lent forward so his face was a few inches away from Bromovitch’s.

“Listen.  If you are going to work with the Bits, as you put it, I suggest that you respect the confidentiality of the matter and not blab it around a place you know nothing about.”

Bramovitch jumped back and stared at Bond.  “What do you mean Bud?”

“Firstly, I am not your Bud, and secondly, this pub is frequented by the staff from at least four embassies all within a few minute's walking distance.  I don’t have to tell you that what is said in here will be reported back to their respective Charge d’affairs within minutes, so Bud! I suggest we go for a walk down by the Thames where we can have a little privacy.  Felix?” Bond nodded to Felix who was already standing.

As Bond and Felix reached the sunshine of the pavement outside the pub Bond spoke quietly.  “Who is this clown? Do we have to work with him?”  Before Felix could answer him, the arrogant American Section Chief joined them.

  “Sorry about that Bond. I agree, let’s take a walk along the Thames and go over the plan.”

After an hour, Sirus Bramovitch was happy that Bond was on board with the insertion plan and took his leave.

“Sorry James.  He’s new to the appointment.  He has connections in Washington, hence his appointment to London.”

 

Bond nodded, but said nothing. They parted at Trafalgar Tube Station and Bond explained that he would get back in contact once he had digested the details of how the Americans wanted to play this.  On the tube back across the capital Bond decided that he needed to think and decided once he got back to the hotel he’d go for a long hard swim in the hotel pool.  He thought better when he pushed his body to the limit.  After a blistering forty lengths, he pulled his tired body out of the pool and smiled to himself. His insertion plan was sorted. 

At ten that night he called his friend, Adrien Benoit, an ex-Sergeant Major who had served in the 2^nd Battalion of the French Foreign Legion Parachute Regiment before being recruited by the French Intelligence Service, in Lyon.  Adrien had been in on the first operation to take down The Spider.  The phone call was brief and within two hours Benoit was on a flight out to Taiwan.  

When Felix called just before seven in the morning to inform Bond when his car would be picking him up, he was not surprised to be told that Bond had booked out at five.  Felix knew that Bond had little trust in the CIA and like Felix, only dealt with people he knew and trusted.

Felix met Bramovitch at the steps of the Gulfstream G700 on the pad.

Before Felix could greet him Bramovitch demanded. “Where the hell’s the Brit?”

Felix ignored him, stepped past him, and boarded the private CIA jet.  He turned to the pilot at the top of the steps, “OK Jim, let’s roll.”

Bramovitch stormed up the steps and confronted Lighter.

“Hay! I asked you a Godam question.  Where’s the Brit?”

“He’s gone.” 

Bramovitch stepped back in mild shock. “What ja mean, gone?”

“Listen Bramovitch.  You’ve been behind a desk too long.  Out in the field things are a little different.  For a start we don’t advertise the fact that we are about to arrive in Chinese air space in a CIA private jet when on a secret mission.”  He saw the cogs slowly turning in Bramovitch’s face.

Realising it was taking Bramovitch too long to work out, he turned and sat down.

Bond met Adrien at the pre-arranged time in a restaurant outside the entrance to the Yangmingsham National Park.  Bond noticed the strain in hs friend’s eyes and quietly questioned him.

“What’s on your mind? You don’t seem at ease.”

Adrien casually glanced around to ensure that no one was trying to listen in on their conversation. “Before I left, a friend of mine from the old days told me that something was going down out here.  Is it to do with this American woman?”

Bond nodded slowly.  How on earth did the French Intelligence Service get to know about the job, unless there was a leak in the CIA, he thought.

“I have been sent out here because there is a threat to the life of Ms Pelosi.  The Americans think that the Chinese are going to try and take her out.”

Adrien frowned.  “That is not what I heard.  The word on the street is that the CIA are using The Spider as a decoy whilst their own team are going to take her out.”

Henry froze, then turned the page of his comic and cursed.

‘TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT,  BUY THE AUGUST EDITION OF “THE ADVENTURES OF JAMES BOND 007.”

Copyright Bob French

 The Heatwave

 

By Sis Unsworth

 

The heat did so engulf us, those days not long ago,

a Sun that reigned supreme, so intensely it did glow.

Our streets were isolated, as midday came too soon,

While men and dogs took shelter, throughout the afternoon.

trains were often cancelled, as rail lines were affected,

the heat they warned was coming, was hotter than expected.

Many fires were started, and they so quickly spread,

Engulfed by an inferno, fields blazed, in flames so red.

Homes were set ablaze, and people had to flee,

panic and despair, on their faces you could see.

If this is Global Warming, it’s a really scary sight,

At last, it’s getting cooler, and we can sleep at night.

But we must try, to change our ways, before it is too late,

to start a war with nature, will surely seal our fate!

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

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