Protesting 

By Jane Scoggins

Joe took his TV dinner from the oven and carried it on a tray to the sitting room. He put the tea cloth with which he had carried his hot dinner on the little coffee table before setting down his dinner plate. The little Ercol table was one of three in a nest that fitted neatly together one on top of another. Joe was always very careful when using any of the three, as the tables, had been treasured pieces of furniture since he and his wife Margie had received them as a wedding present many years ago from an aunt, long since dead. He was proud to say that they were still in excellent condition, with no marks on them. 

They had been regularly polished through the years, although in recent years Margie had not been so keen, and left this task more or less to Joe.

She had said, ‘Now I know about the cutting down of the Amazon Forest and the damage it does I am less inclined to polish this wood. It was probably cut down illegally, is not a sustainable variety, and will have taken away vital trees and land from the local people, reducing vital resources and increasing poverty’

Joe had not given any thought to this before, or the history of the much-loved tables. A bit taken aback and not wanting to annoy his wife, he shrugged and made some sort of placatory comment. Margie had since become more involved in reading about other environmental issues. She joined Greenpeace and became involved in their anti-whaling campaign ‘Save the Whales’ Joe was a purser on a ship at the time and knowing how much rubbish got heaved overboard almost daily when out at sea, not to mention the occasional fuel spillage, however small and not reported on, he kept quiet and did not mention these things to Margie when he was home on leave. He enjoyed his job and didn’t want to spark Margie into another campaign that might impact him and his employment. Joe turned on the TV and then carefully slid the little table across the carpet to just in front of his armchair. Reaching for his slippers under the chair he slipped them on and settled back into the comfy depths of the chair. He had returned that day from his life on the ocean waves and was looking forward to a few days rest. He wasn’t sure where Margie was, or when she would be back. He had gotten used to coming home and finding she was about to set off to join a campaign or had already gone on one. The last year he felt he had hardly seen her, but there again he had been away at sea a lot. He had accepted extra long shifts in an attempt to build up his savings and pension so he could retire early in the not-too-distant future. He thought he could then take on a local job and he and Margie could get back to spending time together like they used to. This drifting away from each other was not a good thing and their marriage was suffering. When was the last time they had been on a holiday or spent proper time together talking and listening to each other, he asked himself? He was doing things alone on his shore leave while Margie was busy or involved with Greenpeace. She had even spoken about putting herself forward for a voyage on their ship Rainbow Warrior. He had been silent on that one. He thought that was going a bit far. He had heard that these trips took months, across to the other side of the world. Joe started on his dinner, a lasagne tonight. He was hungry and looking forward to it, and an evening watching the box. He would message Margie this evening and see when she was coming home. He really must start paying her more attention.

During the evening Joe messaged Margie. When by 9pm he had not had a reply he tried phoning her. Her phone was turned off. Joe dozed and woke just as the music for the BBC Ten O’Clock news came on. He was feeling a bit groggy but alerted himself and sat up when he saw a picture of a large sailing vessel with a huge green and white banner across the side GREENPEACE. 

The newscaster said ‘Today the Greenpeace ship Rainbow Warrior set off on its voyage of education and protests against commercial whaling, nuclear testing and oil exploitation. It will sail around the world via Antarctica stopping at as many countries as it can. The voyage is expected to take at least 6 months.’

 Joe stared at the screen. When the camera zoomed in to see the figures of the people on board waving Greenpeace and Save the Whales banners Joe could clearly see Margie’s face, no doubt about it. And close beside her to his further shock and dismay, a tall handsome man with his arm around her waist. They were laughing and cheering. Joe had not seen Margie as happy as that for a long time. He realised then that perhaps she was not coming back to him, and he had lost her, not just to Greenpeace, protests and campaigns but to another man, with whom she had more in common. He had to ask himself whether protesting about it would do any good…

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

 A Fairy Story

By Grace Petersson

She looked incredulously at the nurse before her.  “My name,” said the nurse in a softly spoken West Country accent “is Nurse Kingfisher, Victoria Kingfisher at your service.”  Nurse Kingfisher looked as if she had walked off a WW1 battlefield first aid station wearing a grey dress and cape, white cuffs and a white muslin cap.  “I can help you, dear,” said the smiling, rosy-cheeked matron.  But how thought Flora………

Flora always craved two things: to have a son and to be beautiful all her life.  She coveted beautiful women.  She envied them; wanted to be them.  Flora also wanted beautiful children, so she searched for the most drop dead gorgeous man and found all her most ardent desire in Christian Oboe.  Christian seemed the perfect man: handsome with chiselled jaw, wavy blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, sweet, kind and most of all he adored Flora with a passion.

So when Flora discovered herself pregnant soon after their marriage, she felt her life could not be more perfect.  The pregnancy went well; Flora looked after herself ensuring she was still irresistible to the attentive Christian who found her curvaceous body equally irresistible.

Flora and Christian had a son – the pinnacle of perfection.  They named him Rowan after Christian’s grandfather.  Rowan was a good quiet baby, who hardly ever cried and Flora’s body returned swiftly to its trim, sexy and enticing self.  She was comfortable in her beauty, her husband’s and that of her perfect son.

However, this perfect state came crashing down when Flora noticed Rowan was not progressing as quickly as her friend's children. 

“Johnny smiles at me all the time,” said Flora’s best friend Cara, of her adored offspring.  Rowan was not smiling at either Flora or Christian.  Slowly, after studying the signs of autism, Flora began to notice other signs of autism in Rowan: he rarely responded to her smiles or any facial expressions and would not look at toys or other objects even when Flora pointed to them.  Something was just not right, she knew and after many consultations, severe autism was finally diagnosed.

The first response of Christian, Flora’s husband was to deny any responsibility for the often inherited illness.  “It can’t be me!” he staunchly cried.  “No one in my family has ever had this condition, “it must be you he postulated”, pointing accusingly at Flora who was brokenhearted at the plight of her son and the cruel reaction of her husband.  She just desired to have her beauty, her stunning husband and her perfect son.  Now, none of that seemed possible.

Gradually as the months went by, Christian withdrew more and more from the family unit, until he finally, said he was leaving.  He had a new relationship with a beautician who he claimed made him happy and met all his needs.  Reluctantly and tearfully, Flora accepted the situation, taking Rowan for regular check-ups and talking to other mothers in the same situation. 

During one of these check-ups, Flora was so distraught and overcome by events that she fainted.  When she awoke in a ward, Flora found the nurse who called herself Nurse Kingfisher, looking at her sympathetically and offering hope.  Flora’s first cry was “What have you done with my baby!” 

“Don’t worry yourself dear, he is in good hands for a little while.”

“So how can you help me?” asked Flora.

“Well,” said the redoubtable Nurse Kingfisher, “You want your beauty, your handsome husband, and a perfect baby, is this not so?”

“Well yes,” replied Flora uncertainly,” but it’s not feasible is it?”

“Aha, that’s where you’re wrong, my dear.  I am your fairy godmother, and through me all things are possible.”

“What’s the catch?” asked Flora suspiciously.

“You just have to complete a few wee challenges and all your dreams will be yours,” said Nurse Kingfisher with a flutter of hands in the air.

“And what may they be,” asked Flora suspiciously?  “Will Rowan be safe?”

“Not only will he be safe, he would be made perfect in your eyes again and your pretty husband will be back in your arms and your home.  Isn’t that what you want?”

Flora thought about it and decided what the heck just ask the crazy lady what she would have to do.

“While looking after Rowan, you must train to be a professional nurse, choosing your specialism of working with children with autism in all areas and levels of the autistic spectrum until Rowan is ten years old.  You will have to ensure Rowan is looked after properly and appropriately whilst you study. You will have to utilise all the trusted contacts you can muster to achieve your goal.  Once you can prove to me that you understand fully the needs and challenges of an autistic child, your husband and Rowan will be returned to you perfect and good as new.”

Flora so desperately desired her beauty, her husband who loved her for her beauty and mostly for her son to be perfect; she was willing to try anything.

“However,” warned her fairy godmother, “if you should fail in your challenge, you will look like the wicked witch of the east in the Dorothy story and we all know what happened to her!”

So Flora, being so very proud of her appearance and the admiring glances she received from men everywhere, immediately found a suitable nursing course.  She asked friends and relatives to help care for Rowan as she studied.  Then she threw herself into the lives and needs of all autistic children she encountered, no matter where they were on the spectrum.  Amazingly, Flora discovered she loved the children, not in spite of their condition, but because of their so-called affliction.  She gradually realised how blessed she was to have Rowan, just as he was.  He actually was perfect she now knew.

As Rowan grew in confidence, poise, and beauty both inside and out, Flora discovered she loved and valued her son far more than her presumed beautiful appearance.

Eventually, Rowan reached his tenth birthday and Flora was a fully qualified nurse, working part-time and wholly happy in her situation, so much so, she forgot about the consequences of Nurse Kingfisher’s challenge.

One day as Flora walked in a field of bluebells with their son galloping through the azure blue blooms, Nurse Victoria Kingfisher appeared and said “Well done Flora, you have fulfilled the challenge and I am ready to return your handsome Christian to you and make Rowan just as you desired.  The fairy godmother was about to wave her magic wand, when Flora shouted “No, no!”  Rowan alarmed looked to his mother to ensure she was safe.

“No!” repeated Flora, “I don’t want my husband back, beautiful or not and I don’t want a hair on Rowan’s head to be changed.  I see now beauty is within and not just on the outside.  I know now I have been vain and shallow and could not see until just now that Rowan is perfect just as he is.”

“Well,” said Nurse Kingfisher with a little smile and a twinkle in her perceptive blue eyes, “My work appeared to be complete here.”  With that, she flew over the rainbow to save another soul in torment.

Copyright Grace Petersson

TANKA

by Rob Kingston

 TEFLON ANNY.

By Bob French

It was 6 o’clock on the morning of 21^st November 2021, the second anniversary of   the death of Mandy Hamilton’s mother.  She sat quietly at her kitchen table, staring at the photograph of her mum and thought of the good times they had spent together.

They had attended a wedding of a good friend, but during the reception, her Mum said that she felt ill and was going to go home.  But ten minutes into her journey, her mum decided that she felt really ill, and decided to go to A&E.  As she drove down a poorly lit street, an old woman stepped out into her path and was killed.

Mandy’s Mum was duly arrested and when she appeared in front of the judge, the evidence given by the police was that she was high on drugs.  Her solicitor, in her defence, stated that she was on special medication and should in fact be in hospital this very afternoon.  He even presented an expert witness to confirmed the solicitor’s statement, but the judge dismissed the plea and sentenced her to five years.  A year into her sentence, she died.

Mandy, a Detective Inspector with the Met, wiped away her tears, stood, drained the dregs of her cold cup of coffee, then made her way towards her front door.  ‘Got to keep busy.’ She thought, knowing that it was the only way she could get through the day.

Just as she got to work, her phone rang; It was John, a promising young constable who had been tasked with going through the evidence lockers before the old case files were sent off to Feltham for long terml storage.

“Boss, you asked me to tell you if I found anything interesting.”

“Thanks John.  Give me a minute to grab a coffee and I’ll join you.”

Ten minutes later Mandy entered the Evidence Room, in the bowels of Old Scotland Yard.  “Hi John, what have you found?”

“This note book in the evidence box of a Miss Wendy Drew who died mysteriously last year.  I think you should read it.”

Mandy noticed the expression on John’s face and realised that he was telling her something important. Just then her phone rang.  It was her Sergeant.

“Sorry John, must dash. The chief’s just called a meeting, but thank you for this.”  She slipped the book into her pocked and hurried away.

She got to the meeting just as her Boss summed up the situation.

“So, in the last three months, this particular protest group has interfered with traffic on fourteen different occasions, causing complete mayhem, resulting in a substantial dent in my budget and some pretty poor PR for the force.  It is led by a real piece of work; Dame Ann Vetch-Smyth, AKA Teflon Anny, a retired judge.  Now I’m getting it in the back of the neck from upstairs to sort this group out.  So, for the next two weeks, I want each division to concentrate their resources on bringing an end to Teflon Anny’s reign.”

As they left the conference room, a call came through saying that the protesters had struck again on the South Circular.  From what Mandy knew of this group, Teflon Anny and her followers would all be released without charge by the end of the day.

That evening as she sat at her kitchen table, Mandy began to read the book John had given her, making notes as she went.

The following morning on the way up to the fifth floor, she popped into Fred Mason, an ex-Sweeny Todd Commander.

“Fred, do you still have contacts with the old team?”

Fred, a good friend grinned. He detested being a desk jockey and would do anything to get out onto the streets again.

“Your wish is my command love.”

Mandy showed him the list of people she wanted to speak to. “Leave it with me.  I’ll get back to you by this evening.”

Just as she was getting ready to leave, Fred called her.  He didn’t say much, just; “Meet me at the Turks Head at nine.” 

As usual the place was packed as Mandy pushed open the door to the bar and allowed the warm familiar smelling air to wash over her.  Fred called her over and as she sat down, a mysterious hand appeared with a rum and coke, her favorite, and placed it down in front of her.

“We could only find three out of the five.  Two died of old age. One is in a hospice in Kent suffering from dementia, but the remaining two are good to go.” As he spoke, he discretely slipped a piece of paper across the table with the addresses of the two remaining persons of interest.

At ten o’clock on Monday morning, Mandy entered the public library in Brentford and asked to see Mrs. Fay Jillingham.  She was pointed in the direction of a serious looking grey-haired woman who was cataloging some library cards.

After talking quietly with her, she discovered that she had worked with two other women; Wendy Drew and Millie Shilling, all three were legal secretaries to Ann Vetch-Smyth, and was happy to confirmed certain details Mandy had read in the book.  When Mandy informed Mrs Jillingham that Wendy Drew had passed away under mysterious circumstances, Jillingham simply said that she was not surprised, and when pressed, Mrs Jillingham refused to comment.  Mandy thanked her and said that she would be in touch.  Her next appointment was with Mrs. Mille Shilling who, unlike Mrs. Jillingham didn’t want to talk of the time she was employed by Ann Vetch-Smyth for fear of retribution.  Mandy stood and said quietly that she fully understood, then left.

She called Fred that night and asked if he could help with some more addresses?

“Cost you a drink love.”

Five days later, she met Fred in the Turks Head again and received the list of address.  “What you up to then love?”

“Can’t say just yet Fred, but I may need your help later on, if that’s OK?”

During the following month Mandy, with the help of John, visited the people whose names appeared in the book to corroborated the details concerning them and to obtain a statement  to exactly what happened when they came into contact with Ann Vetch-Smyth.  Upon return to their office each day, they compared the details taken from those they visited with the notes on the police case files.

When she met Fred for a third time, she asked him if he could find out where and when the protest group that Teflon Anny led was going to strike next.

Fred called her a few days later. “They are going to be at the junction of the B4557 and the north Circular just outside Wembley Stadium on Tuesday night, just before the England and Scotland game.”

“Thanks Fred.  Now I am going to speak to my DCI, but can you get the serious crime boys ready to do a snatch job?”  She heard him chuckle.

“Just give the word love.”

At ten the next morning, Mandy walked into her Bosses office. “I know you are busy Sir, but I may have a plan that may interest you.”

Her boss sat back, and invited her to sit.

After half an hour her Boss had made three phone calls and had invited Mandy to take the overall lead in the operation.

That evening Fred called her and said he owed her a large drink.  Her boss had just tasked him to lead the SCS, The Serious Crime Squad, on the operation.

At ten to six on Tuesday evening, a couple of scruffy looking mini buses made their way into Wembley car park nearest to the junction of the B4557 and the North Circular. The SCS, who had been scattered around the area quickly identified the protesters as they started to move towards the junction.  Fred had made the point to the rest of his team that he wanted to be the one to collar Teflon Anny.

Just as the protesters were getting ready to strike, the SCS pounced.  Fred, who had recognized Ann Vetch-Smyth quickly approached a group of protesters who were trying to protect their leader. He pushed them aside then grabbed Teflon Anny by the scruff of her neck, spun her around and informed her, in not so many words. “You love, are kicked.”

She just smiled at him. “Don’t worry love, I’ll be out by half time.”

Ann Vetch-Smyth spent the night in the cells and the following morning, was escorted up-stairs to the magistrate’s court.

The judge simply asked her to confirm her name and address, then remanded her into custody until her case could be heard in the Crown Court.  Ann instantly protested her innocence, demanding to know what she was being tried for.

The judge looked down at her papers; “Perverting the course of justice, tampering with evidence, falsifying statements, Abusing the office of a magistrate, taking bribes and leaking evidence to persons considered a threat to the state.”  The judge looked up.  “And that’s just for starters.  Take her down.”

Fred and his group had been tasked with rounding up all those whose names had appeared in the little book that John had found in the evidence box belonging to the late Wendy Drew who, it appeared, had threatened to betray Judge Vetch-Smyth. 

It took Mandy over an hour to slowly reveal the facts surrounding the evidence being presented, based on the details contained in the little book and the statements of those interviewed along with the Metropolitan police case files.  It showed that judge Vetch-Smyth had imprisoned those she was asked to by gangland friends or business colleague for large sums of money, Mandy explained that she could connected these events with the large sums of money paid into Vetch-Smyth’s bank account; to instances where people were imprisoned, including those whose evidence had been altered to protect her associates and the fee she was paid; evidence that she had intimidated her staff to alter statements and lastly, bribes she had paid to judges who, when she and her group of protesters appeared before them, had their cases dismissed.

Members of the press were sent scurrying from the public gallery once they heard the judge sentence Teflon Anny to thirty-five years with no remission.

She met up with Fred that evening just as she was leaving for home.

“Well done love, you got some real low life off the streets today.  Should be proud of yourself.

Mandy looked at Fred and shook her head.  “I didn’t do it to keep those people off the streets Fred, I did it for revenge.  You see Ann Vetch-Smyth was the judge who ignoring the pleas of my Mum’s solicitor, and knowing that she was very ill, still sent her to prison where she died.

Copyright Bob French

 

All my life I have loved Sewing

 All my life I have loved Sewing 

By Grace Petersson 

As soon as I bought a sewing machine I knew I could make a dress.

Once I had chosen a perfect pattern I could plan the cutting out but oh I wish I had an overlocker.

 

Alas in the 1970s there was no overlocker

to possibly enhance my rubbishy sewing.

The main challenge was the cutting out

and a worthy reliable sewing machine.

Although I did have a tried and trusted pattern

To make a reasonably presentable dress,

oh but I cried what kind of fancy dress

could I possibly make without an overlocker?

Just study carefully all aspects of your pattern

always study well before beginning your sewing.

You now have an improved sewing machine

and sharp scissors for cutting out.

 

Most challenging though is the cutting out

to create a well-fitting dress.

Even with an unimpeachable sewing machine,

oh for goodness sake forget about the overlocker

just focus on your competent and clever sewing.

Following the exact instructions of the pattern.

 

What joy in the 2020s a perfect pattern

Although, still check your measurements before cutting out.

Jay, I just love this art of sewing.

Today I wear my cute and colourful dress;

would you believe it I now have an overlocker,

to compliment my trusty sewing machine.

 

To my shame, I am on model six sewing machine

and so different is my latest pattern.

Frustrating it is to thread the overlocker,

but there are now slicing wheels to aid the cutting out.

Online fabric shops are key to the incomparable dress

Youtube buddies embellish and enrich my experience of sewing.

 

Hear this though:  overlockers and sewing machines are equally useful.

But to do sewing of any kind one needs a pattern and the cutting out remains eternally crucial to the perfectly fitting dress.

 

Copyright Grace Petersson

 

 

 

Tylywoch ~ 30

 Tylywoch ~ 30 Sword-smith V

By Len Morgan

   Terrek looked up from his forge, wiping sweat from his eyes, first with a tattered shirt that had seen better days, and moments later with the back of his large soot encrusted hand.   He smiled, tired but content, as he witnessed the birth of a new dawn.   He glanced over at the finishers' racks and noted with satisfaction the fruits of their day's labour.  Five hundred blades and, Jax had matched him blade for blade.  It would be several hours before the next shipment, of a thousand blanks, arrived from Orden, which would be another two days work for them.   They had been working fourteen hours a day for eight consecutive days, they had produced four thousand blades in all.   It took fire quad and sixteen experienced finishers to keep pace.   But, the strain was telling on them all, the target of five thousand in ten days, had to be achieved in the next two days.   Both Jax and Terrek had every intention of heading for the fort at Stokk with the final shipment and were resolute in their intent to join the fight for the freedom of the West. 

.-…-. 

Three hours passed, during which time they slept, then the final wagons arrived.   In the driving seat of the last wagon was Orden himself.   The short stocky dwarf-like man grinned from ear to ear knowing he would at least be viewed with suspicion by the allies.   In reality, he was surprised at their hostility when he sampled their minds.   Though they stopped short of open aggression their treatment was frosty, to say the least.   Being of generous spirit and magnanimous, he chose to ignore it.   They soon warmed towards him however when they saw the depth of feeling displayed towards him by Terrek and Jax.   But, when it was explained that Orden had single-handedly produced the five thousand blanks they would soon be using against the Bluttlanders, he achieved hero status.

"Are you here to mind the forge while we are gone?"  Terrek asked  playfully. 

Orden smiled and slapped Terrek on the back.   "Jus jesting Yes?   I have to be there to deal with brother Bedelacq should he decide to take a hand."

Terrek physically blanched under the weight of the Jelonans playful tap.

"Terrek!   You always jesting…" he chuckled.   "Hello my young friend," he smiled and clasped the hand extended to him, by Jax, shaking it vigorously.  

Jax forced the smile to freeze on his face, flexing his hand soothingly when at last it was released from Orden’s grasp. 

With Orden's help, they completed the work in less than two days.   They rested, while the finisher's carried out their work, and were refreshed and ready to go when the final wagon was loaded.

The party consisted of Fire, Flood, and Earthquake quads; the latter referred to simply as Quake were responsible for transporting the blanks from Orden's Forge.   When they moved out Quake took up point with Flood as rearguard.   The others either drove or accompanied the wagons. 

Despite the rough terrain, Terrek and Jax slept for a full day and a night, then awoke none the worse for their nine-day forced work schedule. 

Terrek with his innate curiosity and lifelong interest in medicine & healing found himself most often in the company of Galein.   He wanted to learn about the uses she had, for each of the common plants, herbs, and minerals they found on their journey, and to describe the uses he'd discovered for them.    Galein was both a good teacher and a quick learner, whilst Terrek displayed an almost childlike need for answers, he could not stop himself from asking the question…  "Why?"

Bran and Orden got heavily embroiled in debating tactics, the merits, and demerits of this or that maneuver, they would argue the point hour after hour gaining obvious pleasure in each other's company.   Jax with little experience in such matters found himself relegated to the role of spectator occasionally picking up snippets of useful information.   He felt like a dog eating scraps thrown to him by diners at a feast.   Later, Orden would explain their joint role in the expedition, which would be, coordinating and communicating between units, over the wide area of the conflict zone.   They would be attached to different units under Aldor's overall control, as he was the ultimate tactician.

 At midnight, the sky was overcast with low-lying cover and the seas were running high.   Scudding clouds distorted the two moons alternately lighting the drama being played out far below.  Heavy winds made speech impossible and threatened to tear the observers from their cliff tops perches.  Two ships had already foundered on the jagged rocks below, the first failed attempt at landfall.   Orden knew at a glance, that nobody living would be coming ashore at Teel tonight!

He established a mind link with Terrek further upriver at Ricc, and with Jax even further North, far away from the raw power of the ocean, where it may just have been possible to attempt a landing.   But, Jax confirmed Orden's earlier assessment, reporting that seven ships had made an abortive, attempt at landing prior to losing their nerve and running for open water.  

Terrek witnessed three ships attempt to make a safe landing.   One was dis-masted and thrown onto the rocks, like a pile of kindling wood, disappearing without a trace on the ebb of the next heavy waves.   Helpless in the teeth of the elements the other two fought to turn away, from certain destruction, only one survived.   

With the cold grey dawn, came the rough but comparatively calmer weather.  

Several ships were beached in the area close to Jax, but neither their crews or human cargo were in a fit state to put up any resistance, nor were the defending forces inclined to allow them time to recover.   Empire troops moved in on the hundreds who made it to shore and put them to the sword, some were so overcome with sea sickness they were unable even to draw their weapons.   When the ships were fired, hundreds more burned in the hulks, unable to get out.   Those who escaped burning, died jumping from the ship's rails or were carried off by the heavy swell.   Others found themselves trapped in treacherous sinking sands and were sucked down to their deaths.   The smell of death became sickening, a rough estimate of the dead, including the crew, was between five hundred and a thousand from the two ships.   The Empire's losses were minimal.   Remarkably the action took less than half an hour, and neither of the ships appeared badly damaged from a distance. 

Major Morten the officer commanding ordered that their colours should not be struck, and the hulks were to be moored to give the impression of a successful landing to hopefully encourage other ships to beach there.   Three more ships landed and were captured at little cost to the defenders.   It was a cruel deception, but war has no rules; it’s kill or be killed.  

The fourth ship carried one of the brides of Bedelacq.   They came ashore the worse for wear but fought ferociously and fanatically.   When the Empire forces closed in, they immediately came under her scrutiny and power.   Following a kiss from the lady, they fought as fanatically against their own side as did the Blutt warriors.  

The Empire troops were withdrawn and had to watch helplessly as the invaders fortified and consolidated their positions with anything they could drag from their ship.   Morten ordered flights of fire arrows, but the wind and the water put out most of the fires before they became established on the damp oak superstructure.   Damp sand was used to easily smother any fire that took hold.   More importantly, other ships were heading for the shore…

.-…-. 

Major Morten called for Jax.   "We need to know how to deal with this creature, or they will set up the permanent beachhead we have all been fearing, and I don't want it to go down in history as Morten's Folly!" he yelled above the crashing seas. 

Jax closed his eyes… 'Orden.   We need help and advice.   We need to mount a counter attack, but that creature is overpowering our forces and turning them against us…'

'I am not permitted to attack Bedelacq's servants directly unless he intervenes directly by attacking our forces.   You on the other hand can get close enough to confront her, and counter her power, and protect our forces.   She initially controls with eye contact.   If they do not look into her eyes they can get closer.   I am unsure as to how many she can control at the same time, without the physical bond of a kiss.   Her saliva, perspiration, and other body fluids all contain a highly addictive drug which lowers resistance to her will.' 

'Then how do we overpower her?' Jax asked again, 'Is she immortal like us?'

'Nobody is immortal, they simply have increased life expectancy.   If you cut out her heart or your own for that matter, death will follow.' 

They attacked at sunset, a thousand against hundreds.   The attack was successful, but somehow she escaped.   However they had no time to dwell on it, two more ships were approaching the shoreline.   Morten ordered flights of fire arrows laced with pitch and sulphur to be fired into the rigging, from the cliff tops, the sails burned and the ships foundered. 

(To be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan

HAIKU In ACTION

By Rob Kingston