Whispers of the Past Blog Tour

This is a scheduled post, but I am pleased to be part of the Whispers of the Past blog tour (albeit from a distance!), which runs for 10 days from today, 23^rd March.  Whispers of the Past is an anthology of paranormal stories from several authors compiled by Kaye Lynne Booth, which also includes Jeff Bowles’ winning entry in the 2019  WordCrafter Paranormal Short Fiction Contest, A Peaceful Life I’ve Never Known.

My short story Partners in Time is included in the anthology.  I had already written and published the full novel, but had got so used to my characters that I didn’t want to let them go.  I decided to write an abridged version of the book, but with a different ending.

Partners in Time is a story for fans of time travel.  John Finbow, a successful writer, and his wife Kay move into Southcombe Rectory, a large Victorian house that has been empty since the 1960s. It had previously been owned by the Cuthbertson family who had lived there for generations. Their marriage is under strain, as John, 39 would like children before he gets too old, but Kay, 34, does not.

When John is working in his study soon after moving in, he is disturbed by the sight of a young woman who appears out of the blue on his sofa. Emily Cuthbertson, whose old bedroom is now John’s study, was 25 at the time of her death and the youngest of 8 offspring of the late Reverend Arthur Cuthbertson and his wife Delia. Emily had died in 1868 but is now unwilling to leave behind her old life on earth, due to having missed out on a family of her own whilst being a companion to her widowed mother. Emily is still desperate for a husband and children, and John is the answer to her dreams.

One hundred and thirty years separate them. Will Emily and John’s love survive time’s relentless march?

---

Here is Darlene Foster’s 5 star review of Partners in Time:

A captivating story written by prolific author, Stevie Turner. This paranormal romance has many twists and turns, making you wonder what will happen next. The author is very good at writing about families and family dynamics. Throw in a ghost or two, add a Victorian mansion and you have a terrific tale that will keep you turning the pages.

Jump aboard the blog tour and check out the anthology.  Prepare to be scared!

 

 

 

 

Jim Webster and the ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’ Blog Tour.

I’m pleased to be part of Jim Webster’s blog tour today and to share ‘Bringing the Joys of Civilisation‘; one of the new stories from his ‘Port Naain Intelligencer‘ series of books, which can be found here:

Bringing the Joys of Civilisation

I have done many things in my time, but I must surely be one of the few people who can claim to have brought the joys of civilisation to an entire municipality. Some kind souls have suggested that the place my benign influence has been most profoundly felt is Port Naain. Candour compels me to admit that whilst I might well have spread the healing balm of literature to some small areas within the city, my influence has, by and large, been mainly superficial. It must be further confessed that for many people, the words and actions of Tallis Steelyard, leading poet of his generation, are nugatory. But the same cannot be said of the small community of Slipshade which lies on the coast between Port Naain and Prae Ducis.

This small coastal village lies north of the river Travitant. Facing it across the river mouth is Travitant Quay. Both of the two villages have castles on the headlands above them, reminders of the area’s wild past. The castle on the south side of the inlet is large but essentially ruinous. The castle above Slipshade is in better condition, perhaps because it is smaller and more easily maintained.

Up until a few years ago Slipshade castle or Keep was the dwelling of the Kastair family. This family fell upon hard times when the Balstep clan, notorious pirates, smugglers, and insurance fraudsters, gradually took over the village of Slipshade and used it as their base. They diverted for their own purposes the feudal dues the villagers would normally pay to those who held the Keep, and at the same time proceeded to farm the farmland owned by the Kastairs. Combined with this they took over the existing protection rackets and put their own bullies on the doors of the temple to collect ‘peace offerings’ from all the worshippers. Thus, within a year or two, and with no more than a couple of inconclusive skirmishes, the Kastairs could no longer afford to maintain a force strong enough to even man the walls of their keep and were forced to decamp by night for Port Naain. The Balstep clan moved into the Keep, and Darstep Balstep appointed himself Lord of Slipshade Keep.

The Lady Kastair joined Port Naain society and as is inevitably the case, she was lucky enough to attend an event that I organised. Indeed at the same event, I also performed some of my latest work to general acclaim. Obviously, a lady of good taste and breeding, she was both deeply moved and properly impressed. Thus, on a number of occasions, she asked me to perform at affairs held in her residence. Whilst not regular, I would be summoned at least twice a year.

Finally I got an unusual summons. The Lady Kastair had me brought through to her private study. There she asked me to perform a most unusual service. “Tallis, I have an event to organise and I’d like you to organise it.” This was obviously the sort of thing a jobbing poet likes to hear. I composed my expression to be one of enthusiastic competence. “I’d be delighted to oblige, Madam.”

“I knew I could count on you”. In short, every ten years the Kastair family must organise an entertainment for the populace of Slipshade. It is one of our feudal duties and if we fail to provide the performance, it weakens the legitimacy of our claim over Slipshade Keep. Thus I want you to lead a party south to put on this event. Remembering that you are to amuse the inhabitants of a fishing village I would recommend a very wide programme. Money will be forthcoming to enable the expedition to be mounted. I will pay all those going on this trip two alars a week and you as the leader will get an extra alar per week as well as a sensible sum to cover expenses.” On one hand the money was excellent, especially is it was agreed she would pay in advance. On the other hand, the entertainment was going to be in Partann, rather than Port Naain. Also it was obvious that I couldn’t merely take poets, I would need a full range of performers. Not merely poets but singers, musicians, and even novelty acts like Flobbard Wangil. In the case of the latter, years of practice have given his mouth and throat an almost obscene flexibility so he can swallow an egg whole. Whilst not what you might call high art, an eating contest of some sort always draws a crowd and he was the man whose performance in this field would set the standard other competitors would have to meet.

So who to include in my company? I gave considerable thought to the issue. For dancers, I asked Calina Salin if she could lend me a troupe. After some prevarication she agreed, but insisted I pay her and she would pay them. Between ourselves not only is she a fine dancer, but she is a very competent business woman. Personally I suspect that she was nervous at the idea of her girls earning too much; she has often commented that many a dancer has been spoiled by easy money earned too young. So she tended to collect the money herself and dole it out in small quantities to her girls. Whether she felt that once one reached one’s middle years one was better able to cope with the temptations of too much ready cash, I’m not really sure. Still she seemed to feel that she was strong willed enough to ensure that a surfeit of money wouldn’t change her for the worse.

For musicians I approached Old Jerky. He has played drum and whistle in rough bars, honkytonk piano in rough bordellos and the fiddle in seedy dancehalls. Not only that but I’ve worked with him before. His face is as battered as that of a prize fighter and he rarely bothers with airs and graces. But he is both competent and reliable. Unfortunately respectable hostesses look askance when you introduce him to their home; preferring instead some pretty boy who can neither sing nor play, but will flatter them and seduce their daughters. I asked him to find me a singer he could work with, and then to put together a small group who could support both singer and dancers. In his case I just told him the pay was two alars a day, and he promised me he’d have his ensemble ready within a day or two. Flobbard Wangil was hard to find but easily hired. He was lying low after being accused of begging without a licence. Frankly I was somewhat surprised at his audacity, beggars are precious about this sort of thing. I’ve known one cast aside his crutches and run as fast as his two sound legs could carry him in his enthusiasm to inform on an unlicensed imposter. Flobbard was glad of an excuse to be out of the city for a while. He was staying with his sister, Malinflua Wangil. She is a most accomplished prestidigitator or stage magician, and he suggested that I might like to hire her as well. I had seen her work and was delighted to.

I returned to Lady Kastair with the names of my company. I had also given some thought to how we would proceed. We’d need a number of horse drawn carts, and my fancy was to travel slowly to Slipshade, performing as we went. This, I felt, would give us chance to bond as a company, and perhaps even earn a little extra money on top of the honorarium we were to receive. When I arrived at the appointed time, I was surprised to find Lady Kastair closeted with Eran Klun. I know Eran, a pleasant young man and a man-at-arms in the service of Lord Cartin. I greeted him warmly.

“Eran, it is good to meet you again. Are you coming south with us, we need a good man on a bladder pipe. Alternatively can you dance? Whilst I have already filled the ranks of my gallant band, I am not averse to adding another fine artist to their number.”
Eran rose and bowed to me. “Alas that the harsh dictates of duty forbid me from taking you up on your most generous offer. When I was a child, my sister, ever my harshest critic, was forced to admit that she had seen worse dancers than me.”

At this point Lady Kastair interrupted, “Tallis, I have been giving thought to the logistics of your trip, and I felt that Lord Cartin, a dear friend, was the obvious person to ask for advice. So Sir Eran here is present to advise us.”

It did make sense. After all, Lord Cartin would move considerable numbers of men across Partann. Admittedly they were more numerous, more heavily armed and better disciplined than the party I was intending to lead, but I was sure some of the experience was transferable.

Eran spoke. “We’ve considered various options and it’s been decided that we’ll send you south on the steam packet, the Unrivalled. Lord Cartin charters her from time to time anyway, so it’ll be quite economical and we are pretty sure that you’ll be there in time to perform on the correct day.” Well that put paid to my plan of earning money whilst being paid for travelling. Still one has to learn to bend with the wind, no matter which way it blows. “I trust the Unrivalled will remain with us to fetch us home.” “Actually no, but I’m sure you’ll be able to make good money performing on the way back. After all, once you’ve finished at Slipshade and we’ve paid you off, your time is your own and you might want to go on an extended tour.” He paused, and then added, “After all after your inevitable success at Slipshade, you’ll be the toast of Partann and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss out on a chance to build on your triumph?”

 

And now we’d better hear from Jim Webster. So here I am again with another blog tour. Not one book but three. The first is another of the Port Naain Intelligencer collection. These stories are a bit like the Sherlock Holmes stories. You can read them in any order. On the Mud. The Port Naain Intelligencer https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mud-Port-Naain-Intelligencer-ebook/dp/B07ZKYD7TR When mages and their suppliers fall out, people tend to die. This becomes a problem when somebody dies before they manage to pass on the important artefact they had stolen. Now a lot of dangerous, violent or merely amoral people are searching, and Benor has got caught up in it all. There are times when you discover that being forced to rely upon a poet for back-up isn’t as reassuring as you might hope.

Then we have a Tallis Steelyard novella. Tallis Steelyard and the Rustic Idyll https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07ZKYMG1G/ When he is asked to oversee the performance of the celebrated ‘Ten Speeches’, Tallis Steelyard realises that his unique gifts as a poet have finally been recognised. He may now truly call himself the leading poet of his generation. Then the past comes back to haunt him, and his immediate future involves too much time in the saddle, being asked to die in a blue silk dress, blackmail and the abuse of unregulated intoxicants. All this is set in delightful countryside as he is invited to be poet in residence at a lichen festival.

And finally, for the first time in print we proudly present Maljie, the episodic memoirs of a lady. https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07ZKVXP24/ In his own well-chosen words, Tallis Steelyard reveals to us the life of Maljie, a lady of his acquaintance. In no particular order we hear about her bathing with clog dancers, her time as a usurer, pirate, and the difficulties encountered when one tries to sell on a kidnapped orchestra. We enter a world of fish, pet pigs, steam launches, theological disputation, and the use of water under pressure to dispose of foul smelling birds. Oh yes, and we learn how the donkey ended up on the roof.

All a mere 99p each

Tallis Steelyard on Tour

Tags

Jim Webster, Novellas, Tallis Steelyard

I’m pleased to be part of Jim Webster’s blog tour today to promote two of his novellas, Tallis Steelyard, Deep Waters and Other Stories, and Tallis Steelyard, Playing the Game and Other Stories.

Here is a story from one of these novellas to whet your appetite:

A Significant Gesture,  by Jim Webster

I have in the past mentioned the ‘Society of Minor Poets’. Every year we put
on an entertainment for the elderly and the children in the Ropewalk area.
Yet whilst we might do our bit to feed these folk once a year, for some, the
rest of the year can be a hungry time. So we did think to do something about
it.

How, might you ask, can a group of poets who can barely feed themselves,
look to feeding others?

It’s a good question and frankly it’s one we struggle to answer. But we felt
that as we knew hunger so well, there was nobody else better placed to help
others cope with it. Now in our hall, (which was in better days, a dried
grape and carpet warehouse,) we have what might pass as a kitchen. No lady
would admit to having anything so basic in her home, but there is a cauldron
which hangs over a fire, and there are ovens built into the fire surround.
Indeed there is even a counter which runs down one side so that food can be
served to people who then take their plate through to the main hall to eat.
So provided we have managed to find fuel for the fire to heat the cauldron,
and have something to put in the cauldron, we can produce a meal. To be
fair, the meal is often porridge. In part this is because we have got good
contacts with some of the racing stables and livery barns and we pick up
quite a lot of grains that aren’t really good enough for feeding to
expensive horses. We long ago gave up trying to make porridge from only one
grain, and our regulars will have long discussions after they finish their
bowl as to the proportions of wheat, oats and barley.

Still we get by and when we minor artists sit and eat with our guests, it’s
not merely a nice gesture of solidarity. A good bowl full of porridge can
set a poet up nicely for a day tramping the streets trying to woo new
patrons.

In theory we would like to have sponsors to help fund our good work. Yes
people do drop in with food for us, but it is all somewhat hand to mouth.
Eventually we realised we needed real money, because the roof needed fixing.
When I say it needed fixing, what I mean was that on wet days we didn’t put
buckets out to collect the drips, we used baths. Then waste not, want not,
some of our guests would bring their own towels and have a bath before their
meal. Apparently rain water collected in such a manner isn’t as cold as you’d
think and works wonders for the complexion. Be that as it may, on some wet
mornings you’d get seven or eight of them splashing merrily whilst we put
their clothes to warm for them on racks in front of the fire.

Eventually I prevailed upon the other minor poets to let me approach
Mistress Bellin Hanchkillian. If we impressed her with the work we were
doing then she could afford to pay for the roof to be fixed. So I invited
her to come and see what we did.

She graciously announced that she’d be delighted to look around and a date
was fixed.

Now at this point people started to panic. Somebody asked me, “What if one
of our drunks insults her?”
Another person told me that they felt that she might take one look at the
hall and decide that it was beyond saving, and refuse to have anything to do
with it. Others felt we ought to do our best to make a good impression, so
she would regard us as a cause she could feel proud to support.

The week leading up to her visit was, frankly, a descent into madness.
Everything was scrubbed, the inside of the building, the kitchen utensils
(such as they were) and our clients. One elderly widower had six baths in
five days, and at one point stood naked and shivering as various ladies
frantically washed, darned and then ironed his clothes.

But it wasn’t merely a case of making our clients presentable. There were
our minor poets, the volunteers who did the work. They too were asked to
make an effort. To be fair, the ladies did. Dresses normally saved for the
greatest of occasions were brought out, let out (or occasionally tucked in)
and somehow made to fit. The gentlemen decided that they would appear in the
clothes they wore for their most demanding of patrons. In all candour, we
looked smart.

Now we minor poets are a mixed bunch. We have people who have achieved a
level of modest prosperity, and others who struggle to make ends meet. All
rub along pretty well. One lady whom we all rather liked was Mistress Darni.
An attractive young lady who tended to wear long light coloured dresses with
a high neck, she was a fine poet in her own right, and lived with her
widowed mother in genteel poverty, struggling to survive on a small
investment income. All of us assumed that at some point one of her admirers
would finally talk her into matrimony, but she appeared to be in no
particular hurry. Certainly she was a most useful source of supplies for us.
There were times when we felt that she merely had to mention that the
kitchen was short of some ingredient for half a dozen prosperous and
eligible young men to arrive carrying sacks of whatever it was we were short
of.

It was agreed that Mistress Darni would be one of those who would wait
behind the counter, apparently ready to serve people, when Mistress
Hanchkillian visited us.  Another lady who had also won the right to appear behind the counter was Nalmi Wreedle. She was, in our terms, a wealthy widow. Her husband had made his money in catgut, cornering the market in Port Naain because of his close
links with the abattoir trade. The problem was that Nalmi seemed to feel the
world looked down on her. Some of it was her own fault, she had a wonderful
gift with obscene doggerel, yet she also could write the most beautiful
romantic verses which would bring even the most cynical close to tears. The
problem was she was embarrassed by her verses but cheerfully dropped her
doggerel into every conversation.

To be honest I was a little worried about what Nalmi might say to Mistress
Hanchkillian. Not that I could imagine the lady being shocked, (I remember
her late husband) but she might feel she had to appear to be shocked. So I
asked Darni to keep an eye on her companion behind the counter and to step
in should it look as if Nalmi was about to say something too unforgivable.
Actually it was worse than I feared. In the days before the visit Nalmi was
getting herself quite worked up over the whole thing. She made comments
like, “Who does this woman think she is?” and “Why is she any better than
the rest of us?” At one point Darni overheard her muttering about, “I’ll
make a significant gesture and smear the smile off her face.”

On the great day, everybody was in their places. It was raining but not
heavily, so at least we could display the problems we had with the roof to
our advantage. Mistress Hanchkillian arrived in her coach accompanied by one
of her many nephews. She took his arm as we showed her around. We took her
into the kitchen and there she was introduced to Nalmi and Darni behind the
counter. Nalmi said nothing and I relaxed. Luckily Darni didn’t. As Mistress
Hanchkillian turned to go, Nalmi produced from under the counter a large
bowl full of flour, water, raw eggs, and some bright red food colouring.
This she raised as if to hurl at the back of our guest.

Darni didn’t hesitate; she dived at Nalmi, knocked her down onto the floor
and lay on top of her to hold her down. The bowl of mixture landed on both
of them and on the floor. Nalmi was, as you can imagine, less than happy
that her gesture had gone unnoticed. Darni ensured that this happy state
continued by clamping her hand firmly over Nalmi’s mouth. Nalmi tried
opening her mouth to shout, got a mouthful of flour, water, egg and food
colouring, and shut it again rapidly.

We managed to get Mistress Hanchkillian out of the kitchen without her
apparently noticing anything untoward, and into the main hall where she met
our clients. There she picked her way through an assortment of baths
collecting rainwater. From the hall I heard Nalmi’s voice shouting something
in the kitchen; but it was abruptly cut off again.

Finally our guest decided she’d seen all she needed to. She commented in
passing that she was impressed with what we had achieved, and had decided to
ask her estate maintenance men to come and fix our roof. There was a lot of
genuine applause and she left. I went back into the kitchen to discover two
angry women rolling on the floor in a pool of red paste, apparently trying
to strangle each other. We separated them and Nalmi stormed off. Darni
stayed as we tried to wash down the ruins of her one decent dress and then
she made her way home.

I confess I felt guilty about the incident. Darni and her mother were living
on less than a young woman like Darni might spend as a dress allowance. Alas
I couldn’t think of what to do about it. Others could. Apparently that
evening Darni heard a knock at the door, and went to see who it was. It was
one of Mistress Hanchkillian’s maids, escorted by Mistress Hanchkillian’s
nephew, who explained that her mistress insisted on having the dress
cleaned. Darni felt the dress was beyond repair but the maid merely shook
her head, took the dress and left with it.

Three days later she came back with the dress, and much to Darni’s surprise
it was perfect. It was only when she looked closely that she realised that
the maids had taken the old one apart and used it as a pattern to allow them
to make a new one. In the pocket was an invitation from the nephew to dine
with him the following evening. Darni has another admirer.

And the hard sell!

So welcome back to Port Naain. This blog tour is to celebrate the genius of
Tallis Steelyard, and to promote two novella length collections of his
tales.

So meet Tallis Steelyard, the jobbing poet from the city of Port Naain. This
great city is situated on the fringes of the Land of the Three Seas. Tallis
makes his living as a poet, living with his wife, Shena, on a barge tied to
a wharf in the Paraeba estuary. Tallis scrapes a meagre living giving poetry
readings, acting as a master of ceremonies, and helping his patrons run
their soirees.
These are his stories, the anecdotes of somebody who knows Port Naain and
its denizens like nobody else. With Tallis as a guide you’ll meet petty
criminals and criminals so wealthy they’ve become respectable. You’ll meet
musicians, dark mages, condottieri and street children. All human life is
here, and perhaps even a little more.

Firstly;-
Tallis Steelyard, Deep waters, and other stories.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07PTS3FGS

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PTS3FGS

More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Discover
the damage done by the Bucolic poets, wonder at the commode of Falan
Birling, and read the tales better not told. We have squid wrestling, lady
writers, and occasions when it probably wasn’t Tallis’s fault. He even asks
the great question, who are the innocent anyway?

And then there is;-
Tallis Steelyard. Playing the game, and other stories.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07PV1N7XZ

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PV1N7XZ

More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Marvel at
the delicate sensitivities of an assassin, wonder at the unexpected revolt
of Callin Dorg. Beware of the dangers of fine dining, and of a Lady in red.
Travel with Tallis as his poetical wanderings have him meandering through
the pretty villages of the north. Who but Tallis Steelyard could cheat death
by changing the rules?

If you want to see more of the stories from the Land of the Three Seas, some
of them featuring Tallis Steelyard, go to my Amazon page at

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jim-Webster/e/B009UT450I/

https://www.amazon.com/Jim-Webster/e/B009UT450I/

Tallis even has a blog of his own at https://tallissteelyard.wordpress.com/

 

 

Blog Tour: The Port Naain Intelligencer Series, by Jim Webster.

I’m pleased to showcase two of Jim Webster’s new books today, which are part of The Port Naain Intelligencer series of short stories.  The first one, ‘The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily‘ features our friend Benor, who takes on a few small jobs in order to find a lost husband, to vet potential suitors for two young ladies, and to find a tenant for an empty house.  He begins to feel that things are getting out of hand when somebody attempts to drown him!

Jim has given you a taste of Port Naain in the delightful story The Eyes Have It below:

THE EYES HAVE IT, BY JIM WEBSTER
It was early evening and Benor was dozing quietly. Technically he was
reading but his eyes had closed in spite of his best efforts. He was
awakened by a rapping on the door of the barge. Shena, sitting nearest,
opened it to admit a tall, well build young woman. Benor thought he
recognised her, but couldn’t put a name to her.
“Begging your pardon sir, but after meeting you at the house of the
Chevaleresse of Windcutter Keep I thought I’d seek your services myself.”
Now he’d been given a clue, Benor recognised her. “Ah, of course, you’re
Minny. You are the maid for the Chevaleresse.”
“Not any longer sir, I gave my notice a month since.”
Looking at her, Benor could tell. That was one reason he hadn’t recognised
the young woman. As Minny the maid, he’d seen her in a blouse which fastened
at the neck, with a skirt that hung decorously at the calves. The dress she
wore now was still long but seemed to ‘swirl’ as she moved. The dress was
also displayed considerably more embonpoint than the previous blouse had
even hinted at.
Cautiously Benor asked, “So what are you doing now?”
“Well I found my sister, as I was asking after. She’s here in Port Naain,
and has her own clothes shop. So I’m in partnership with her. I had a few
trinkets and suchlike I’d put aside from my time in service, so I sold those
to raise the capital needed.”
It has to be admitted that the answer was more respectable than Benor had
feared, so when he offered his congratulations, they were genuine. Then he
asked the obvious question. “So to what do we owe the honour of this visit?”
“It’s a matter of the heart.”
Benor could see a grin steal across Shena’s face. Shena was still standing
behind Minny having just closed the door after her. Cautiously Benor asked,
“Could you explain.”
“Well my sister and I have admirers and seeing as how we’re young women with
no father to fall back on, we wondered if you would investigate them for us
and see if they’re everything they claim to be.”
Before Benor could say anything, mischievously Shena said, “I’m sure Mister
Dorfinngil would be delighted to assist you in this. But remember he’s a
busy man and his time is money.”
Benor started to say something but Shena continued, “For a simple case like
this I think ten vintenars will cover it. Is that acceptable?”
Minny winked knowingly at Benor, “Perfectly and I’m sure my sister and I
will cover any costs.”
Hastily Benor asked, “And who are these gentlemen?”
“Santon Gilfell and Wast Divot.”
“And where could I find these two?”
“Well that’s the difficulty. They’re gentlemen adventurers and if we need to
contact them we have to leave a message at the Black Grapes.”
Benor ostentatiously noted down what he’d been told. “And where can I catch
you or your sister?”
“There’s a dress shop called, ‘Two Sisters’, just down Dollymop Street.”
“I know it,” Shena said, “You’ve got some nice stuff in the window, but if I’m
right, you make most of the clothes yourself to fit the lady when she comes
in.”
Minny turned round, and Benor heard genuine enthusiasm in the young woman’s
voice. “Yes, that’s us. I’m glad you like it.”
Shena allowed herself to be caught up by the enthusiasm. “I do. When I first
saw the display I thought it might be a bit young for me, but you’ve got
some dresses with really classic lines. Somebody has a real eye for colour
and line.”
“That will be my sister Timmy, she’s got the way with that sort of thing. I’m
a better needlewoman than her, but she has an eye for style.”
Shena opened the door for their guest. “You and your sister can rest assured
Benor will have something for you by this time tomorrow.”
“And my sister and I will have something for Benor.” Saying this, Minny
curtseyed to them both and left. Shena closed the door and leaned on it,
giggling. “Benor, if you manage to get paid in cash you’re a tougher man
than I think you are. In fact if you avoid being paid in kind, I’ll match
whatever you get.”
Benor looked under the galley table, “Coming Mutt?”
The boy crawled out, clutching his shoes. “Is this cartography?”
Benor paused. “Not properly, but it’ll teach you some useful skills.”
Mutt looked at his shoes and then put them carefully back under the table.
“I heard money mentioned; ten vintenars don’t sound like cartography.”

The first stop was the Black Grapes. Benor looked round the bar and noted
that his friend Xeston, was sitting finishing his meal. Benor walked across
and sat next to him. “I thought you gallant condottieri were always off
doing great deeds of derring do?”
Xeston gestured around him. “This place isn’t as busy as it was a week ago.
The companies are gathering their horsemen together and issuing contracts
for the next season. In another week I’ll be riding south.”
“Anywhere special?”
Xeston just shrugged. “South about covers it at the moment.” He paused and
then asked, “Why don’t you come with us for a season?”
“I’m not a man-at-arms.”
Xeston made a rude gesture. “Which is true, but seriously, we need people
who know which way up to hold a map, and can tell us what is over the next
ridge.”
Benor paused. “Well not this season Xeston, but you never know. Perhaps next
year I’ll want to head home, and if I hire on with a company, I can leave
them and head west over the Paps at the end of the campaigning season.”
“I might just keep you to that. Anyway, you rarely wander in here for no
reason, so why are you here tonight?”
“I’m looking for two young men called Santon Gilfell and Wast Divot.
Apparently they’re ‘adventurers’. Whatever that means.”
“It normally means ‘poseurs.’”
“I suspect as much, but apparently they’ve given this as a place where they
can be contacted.”
Xeston stood up. “Then that we can investigate immediately.”
He walked across to the bar, Benor and Mutt following him. The barman walked
across to them and Xeston asked, “I’m looking for two chaps.” He turned to
Benor, “What were their names again?”
“Santon Gilfell and Wast Divot.”
Xeston continued, “We could be a few men short riding south and somebody
mentioned their names and said that they might be interested in hiring on.”
The barman laughed. “Somebody has been teasing you. They’re a couple of
clerks who have messages left behind the bar here because they don’t want
their landlady discovering what they’re up to.”
Benor said, “Clerks?”
“Well Gilfell is, because I’ve seen him working in the offices of Raswil
Muldecker the usurer.”

It was next morning Benor and Mutt called in at the offices of Raswil
Muldecker. It was a traditional establishment and there, on a board outside
the door was listed the names, first of the partners, and then of clerks and
others in strict order of seniority. Benor started at the bottom and soon
found the names Gilfell and Divot. Glancing in through the window he could
see a
lady sitting behind a desk, placed to intercept anybody who entered. He
weighed her up briefly and then walked it.
The woman looked up from some papers she was working on. “Can we help you
sir.”
Hesitantly Benor said, “I’m afraid I’ve got a rather embarrassing duty to
perform.”
As he hoped, she immediately looked interested. He continued, “Can I ask for
your complete confidentiality?”
She glanced round; all the doors out of the hallway were closed. “Yes.”
“I’ve been asked by two young ladies if I would investigate Santon Gilfell
and Wast Divot. They don’t have a father to fall back on for this sort of
thing so they’ve asked me. Apparently there is some romantic interest and
the girls wondered whether they were two respectable young men.”
The woman’s smile had been growing broader as Benor explained. “Oh yes they’re
respectable enough. They try to be rakish, they try to be dashing, but to be
honest they’re two quiet hardworking young men and I confess I have a soft
spot for them.”
Serious now she added, “And actually Master Muldecker liked his clerks to be
married and settled, so if they were serious and did go through with it,
they’d probably get a bit of a promotion on the strength of it.”
“So you’d vouch for them?”
“As much as I’d vouch for anything male; but a lass could make herself a
decent husband out of either of them.”


With Mutt as a chaperone, Benor called in at the dress shop, ‘Two Sisters.’
He caught the young women at a quiet moment and explained what he’d learned.
He wasn’t entirely sure whether they’d be entirely happy when their
gentlemen adventurers had somehow metamorphosed into clerks. Still they
seemed to take it well enough.
It was Minny who asked, “If they are as you say, they might actually be a
bit shy.”
Benor considered this. “Certainly they might want a gentle push. Especially
if they know you have discovered their real employment.”
Minny asked. “Could you bring them here this evening then, just for the four
of us to have an evening of wine and pretzels, just to get to know each
other properly.”
“Certainly.”
“We can pay you tomorrow; we’ve got the money together.”


Thanks to his ally in reception, it wasn’t difficult for Benor to arrange to
meet the two young men immediately they finished work. Initially somewhat
surprised, they allowed Benor’s devil-may-care attitude to win them over and
pausing only to drop round at their digs to change, they allowed him to
escort them to the dress shop.
Benor, remembering his role as nominal father, accompanied the two young men
upstairs to where his two nominal daughters had made their preparations for
entertaining. He performed the formal introductions and accepted a glass of
wine, with which he drank to the health of the assembled company. Then he
made his excuses and left. He felt his presence would serve no further
useful purpose.
That being said, as he closed the door behind him, the look of growing panic
in Wast Divot’s eyes would haunt him for some time.

The following evening Benor dined with Tallis and Shena. It was here that
Shena asked a question that had obviously been on her mind.
“So when are you going to collect your pay from those two young ladies?”
Adopting the air of an innocent abroad, Benor said, “I’ve already got the
money.”
Surprised, Shena gestured for him to produce the evidence. Benor placed on
the table five silver vintenars.
“The agreed price was ten.”
“Yes, well I sent Mutt to collect and obviously he got half. As he most
perceptively said, ‘Shena said she’d match whatever money you collected, so
you’ll still have ten.’”
Shena glared at him. “Benor Dorfinngil, that’s cheating!”

---

In the second book, Swimming for Profit and Pleasure, Benor learns a new craft, joins the second hand book trade, attempts to rescue a friend, and awakens a terror from the deep. Meddling in the affairs of mages is unwise, even if they have been assumed to be dead for centuries.

 

 

---

A note from the author, Jim Webster:

I’ve thought long and hard about blog tours. I often wonder how much
somebody reading a book wants to know about the author. After all, I as a
writer have gone to a lot of trouble to produce an interesting world for my
characters to frolic in. Hopefully the characters and their story pull the
reader into the world with them. So does the reader really want me tampering
with the fourth wall to tell them how wonderful I am? Indeed given the
number of film stars and writers who have fallen from grace over the years,
perhaps the less you know about me the better?
Still, ignoring me, you might want to know a bit about the world. Over the
years I’ve written four novels and numerous novellas set in the Land of the
Three Seas, and a lot of the action has happened in the city of Port Naain.
They’re not a series, they’re written to be a collection, so you can read
them in any order, a bit like the Sherlock Holmes stories in that regard.
So I had a new novella I wanted to release. ‘Swimming for profit and
pleasure.’ It’s one of the ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’ collection and I
decided I’d like to put together a blog tour to promote it. But what sort of
tour? Then I had a brainwave. I’d get bloggers who know Port Naain to send
me suitable pictures and I’d do a short story about that picture. It would
be an incident in the life of Benor as he gets to know Port Naain.
Except that when the pictures came in it was obvious that they linked
together to form a story in their own right, which is how I ended up writing
one novella to promote another! In simple terms it’s a chapter with each
picture. So you can read the novella by following the blogs in order. There
is an afterword which does appear in the novella that isn’t on the blogs,
but it’s more rounding things off and tying up the lose ends.
Given that the largest number of pictures was provided by a lady of my
acquaintance, I felt I had to credit her in some way.
So the second novella I’m releasing is ‘The plight of the Lady Gingerlily.’
It too is part of the Port Naain Intelligencer collection.

#BryntinsBLT: Big Loud Twit

Check out Bryntin’s blog tour. It’s kind of unusual…

O4FS

#BryntinsBLT; Big Loud Twit?

No, of course not really.

I’m not loud at all.

As per an introductory post for a spur of the moment idea and due to temporary physical erkiness, BLT stands not for a famous type of sandwich involving at least some pig and some other stuff but ‘Blog Leap Tour’.

Originally I called it #GBBT but there was a story to finding a need to change it (here).

I think #BryntinsBLT is better anyway.

So you’ve jumped back and read them?

No, of course not, probably wise.

Right, quick summary…

I choose a post ‘like’ avatar on my blog, go to visit their blog, read their latest post and link to that post here. Then I choose one of the ‘like’ avatars on their post – normally the sixth one because it fits all the six degrees of separation trope requirements – go to…

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Tallis Steelyard: Six Men in a Boat Blog Tour.

This blog today is part of the Six Men in a Boat blog tour, which features Jim Webster’s new book :

Tallis Steelyard: Six Men in a Boat

Instead of his usual collection of anecdotes, this time Tallis presents us with a gripping adventure. Why is Tallis ‘run out of town’ by hired ruffians? Why does a very sensible young woman want his company when plunging into unknown danger? Who or what was buried in the catacombs? And why has there been so much interest in making sure they stay dead? Also featuring flower arranging, life on the river, and a mule of notable erudition.

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

A Constant Struggle for Funding.

Of all the various Drane offspring, I feel that Quinnia was perhaps the most
adventurous. The second daughter of the family, she had an advantage over
her older sister in that her path had not been mapped out for her when
young. So she entered the world unburdened by parental guidance.
Admittedly, had she ever bothered to ask them for advice they’d probably
have stressed security, followed perhaps by matrimony. I suppose that by
becoming apprenticed to a herbalist and druggist she achieved security, if
not any great social standing. But as she learned her trade she drifted more
towards the art of the apothecary. By the time she was out of her teens she
was reading the writings of the great alchemists and thanks to her practical
background, seemed to be making great strides in her studies.

Now the problem with alchemy as a career is that, in theory, it should be
lucrative. After all, if your creditors come knocking, merely turn a little
more base metal into gold and pay them off.

Alas it has been bitterly observed that alchemists are the poets of the
scientific world, promising much and yet delivering little that is of
practical value.

So if Quinnia was to make progress in her studies she would have to find
some way of funding them. But how? Working as a druggist might put a roof
over her head and feed her, but unfortunately for the budding alchemist it
wouldn’t keep replacing the roof.

Now Quinnia wasn’t conventionally pretty but she was attractive and
fascinating. Intelligent, witty, and with a robust sense of humour she
became the toast of society. At this point I might usefully explain a little
about society. I would not expect Quinnia to attend one of the soirees my
patrons expect me to arrange for them. Quinnia moved in an entirely
different part of society.

The vast majority of my patrons are ladies, although there are gentlemen who
will summon me to do work for them. Also my patrons tend to be at least
nominally respectable. At their affairs one does not expect to see guests
drinking intemperately, indulging in libidinous excess, nor fighting with
knives in the drawing room. To be fair, all these things have happened, but
they’re not expected.

There are other areas of society where patrons have different agendas.
Admittedly I have been called upon to help out, but they demand different
skills from a poet, and whilst I can churn out humorous and bawdy verse as
quickly as the next poetaster, I confess to having no liking for either the
incontinently dissipated or the pruriently concupiscent. Still Quinnia made
her way carefully into this society.

At some point she made what was for her a most advantageous discovery. If
she became a gentleman’s mistress he would support her and even provide her
with the occasional gift. On the downside she learned that a gentleman
tended to be a little put out to enter the house he was providing for her to
discover that she was distilling urine in the kitchen or was storing her
alembics on a shelf in the bedroom where she could keep an eye on them.
On the other hand, if she was ‘almost’ a gentleman’s mistress he would be
far more generous with his presents and less demanding with his presence.
Not only that but a lady can be ‘almost’ the mistress of a number of
gentlemen, all of who can be relied upon to give her expensive presents.
Indeed the larger the number of gentlemen (within reason) the more expensive
the presents as they competed for her favours.

With her new mode of fundraising she discovered she had more time than ever
for her research. She would take a leisurely breakfast, catching up on her
reading. Then she’d have three or four hours in her workroom before a late
lunch. After that she’d bathe, dress carefully and make herself ready for
the evening’s entertainment.

It has to be said that her way of life didn’t meet with universal approval.
Whilst her family remained supportive, there were a number of older ladies
who were most vocal in their disapproval. The torchbearer of this movement
was Dillys Warbutton. I never really knew the lady, but her contemporaries
maintain that she had been a chorus girl in her youth and had married an
elderly and wealthy gentleman who soon died leaving her to enjoy a long and
affluent widowhood. By the time she had taken a dislike to Quinnia she had
been a widow for the best part of forty years. Given that at the time she
claimed to be not a day over fifty most people doubted her ability to do
arithmetic as well as her sense of proportion. Still if Madam Warbutton
harangued and pontificated, she did so from the sidelines. Quinnia might be
immensely irritated by the other woman, but they were rarely invited to the
same functions.

Obviously there were times when Quinnia’s social life did occasionally break
in on her working time. On one celebrated occasion she managed to flirt with
several of her gentlemen at once by doing nothing more exciting than
allowing one of them to push her on a swing whilst the others, suitably
concealed, watched on.

One problem Quinnia faced was a certain difficulty in keeping staff. It wasn’t
the inherent immorality implicit in her lifestyle that put them off. It was
the higher than normal chance of explosions. When you live in a house with
thick walls and a light roof, servants refuse to live in. Still even that
was turned, inadvertently, to her advantage. She had been working with
spirit of niter and oil of vitriol. Normally she did this in her workroom
but on this occasion she was merely toying with an idea and was working in
her kitchen. The work done she realised she’d spilt both liquids on her
kitchen table. So rather guiltily she hastily mopped them up with an apron,
then washed the apron in the sink and hung it over the fireguard to dry. But
as soon as the apron was dry, it flashed into nothingness with a small
explosion.

Fascinated she experimented further but never managed to produce an
explosive compound that you might call commercially viable. Eventually she
took up new lines of research, concentrating on transmutation and the
hermetic side of the craft. Still in the interests of completeness it should
be mentioned in passing that there was something of a spontaneous eruption
at the house of Madam Warbutton. Nobody was injured, but it seems that the
airing cupboard spontaneously exploded, taking out two external walls and
most of the roof.

And now the hard sell!
OK so perhaps the not so hard sell. It’s just that this is part of a blog
tour which is peering into the lives of Garrat Drane, and his lady wife
Taffetia Drane. Now we are meeting their various offspring, delightful
people and pillars of the community. Or perhaps not.
But still now is your chance to meet them and inadvertently you may discover
their importance to our hero, Tallis Steelyard. Tallis has his own blog at
https://tallissteelyard.wordpress.com/

But actually the purpose of this blog is to draw your attention to the fact
that a new book has been published. ‘Tallis Steelyard: Six men in a boat.’

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tallis-Steelyard-Six-men-boat-ebook/dp/B07JPKYJJN

Rather than a collection of his anecdotes, this is indeed an ‘adventure’ as
Tallis ventures forth from the city of Port Naain.  Questions are asked that
may even be answered, why is Tallis ‘run out of town’ by hired ruffians? Why
does a very sensible young woman want his company when plunging into unknown
danger? Who or what was buried in the catacombs? And why has there been so
much interest in making sure they stay dead? Also featuring flower
arranging, life on the river, and a mule of notable erudition.

Treat yourself; you know you’re worth it!

Blog Tour – ‘LAZY DAYS’ by Jaye Marie & Anita Dawes.

I am pleased to be able to host a blog tour for Anita Dawes & Jaye Marie’s new autobiographical novella ‘Lazy Days’.  Below is a book description, links to Anita and Jaye’s social media sites, and guest posts by both Anita and Jaye:

Worldwide Purchase Link

 

LAZY DAYS – BOOK DESCRIPTION:

This novella is the true story of our family’s first proper holiday back in the Seventies. Looking back, I wonder what made us think it was a good idea, but despite all the things that could have gone wrong, we had a fantastic time. I was the Skipper most of the time, and for some reason decided to record our adventures in a small notebook. We were young and without husbands, Anita was a widow, and I was glad to be rid of mine (and that is another story). Money was precious and scarce back then, but all the saving and sacrifice turned out to be worth every single memory we all cherish.

This notebook has been treasured and kept safe, despite numerous house moves and family disasters, as a symbol of our courage and determination. Renting a boat on the Norfolk Broads could so easily have been one of the stupidest things we had ever done, but even after 40 years, we have such good memories of that time.

Over the years, we often thought of making it into a proper book, but along with everything else in our often-complicated family life, it was something we never got around to. Until just recently, when we were looking for some old photographs, found the now fragile notebook and knew it was time.  It wasn’t as easy as we imagined it would be either, for our logbook writing skills leave a lot to be desired, but there was just enough information entered on those pages to get us started.

Links Website:     http://jenanita01.com

Twitter:      https://twitter.com/jaydawes2/media

Facebook:  http://facebook.com/anita.dawes.37

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8638857.

Jaye_Marie & Anita’s Author Pages/Amazon Links :

https://Author.to/AnitaLink

https://Author.to/JayeLink

Jaye:

I had no intention of becoming a writer. I loved to read, and for most of my life, that was enough for me. More than enough really, for I am a compulsive reader and will read anything I can lay my hands on. Give me a bookshelf full of books and I will start at one end and read my way to the other.

Then I offered to edit my sister Anita’s books. She hates computers, so I offered to type them up too. Before I knew it, my brain began to explore what other things I could be doing.

I tried to ignore that inner voice, for I was busy enough already. Anita was writing faster than I could format, and there were all my other interests too. Gardening, DIY, dressmaking and a host of craft projects. I love to be busy, but it came to the point where something had to give, never mind add something else to the list.

I considered myself a writer when I held my first paperback copy of my book Nine Lives in my hand for the first time. Up until that magic moment, I doubted I would ever feel like a writer. But holding that paperback copy finally convinced me.
My favourite character didn’t really appear until book two, The Last Life, and his name is Detective Inspector David Snow. The fact that my detective looks a lot like Tom Selleck should indicate how fond I am of him. I just love writing about him.

That was then, and I have now finished writing The Broken Life, the third book in my mystery thriller series.  The characters just turned up in my head, one by one, nagged me for weeks until I gave in, and listened. So you can never say never.

This genre came as a surprise, for I lean towards the supernatural, spooky kind of book, so I have no idea where the idea came from. If anything, I should have expected to write medical stories, as I always wanted to be a doctor, and these are some of my favourite television programmes.

My favourite fiction book just happens to be The Scarlet Ribbon, Anita’s supernatural mystery romance. I was the editor for this one and fell in love with it. And no, she didn’t have to pay me to say this!
My life has not been easy by anyone’s standards, and now I am growing old, I sometimes look back and wonder how I managed to get through it all. So, the perfect epitaph for me would be… “She did her best…” Even though I made a pigs ear out of most of it!

Anita:

Two years ago, when I first started hearing about Indie publishing, I never thought it would be something I could actually do, as the thought of anything to do with a computer filled me with dread.

I had been writing for years, and submitted my work to most of the mainstream publishers. Very nearly made it too, but as they say, a miss is as good as a mile! Which was a shame, for many people liked what I wrote.

So it didn’t take long for the idea of doing it yourself to become something I was determined to do. I enlisted the help of my sister, Jaye, as she is far more computer literate than I. More stubborn too!

What Jaye had to learn was incredible, and unbelievably hard. I tried to keep up with her, but there were days when even she was pulling her hair out. Some of it was easy, which tended to lull us into a false sense of achievement, but we persevered.
Eventually, we learned how to upload one of my manuscripts to Amazon, and I was finally a published author. (Well, sort of)

We didn’t stop there. We wanted to upload my other books and create paperback copies too, proof positive that I was truly a writer. One little success meant there could very well be others, and that was the best incentive in the world.  Learning how to do all that was a nightmare, but soon, four of my books were on Amazon and we were like a couple of Cheshire cats. We were tempted to stop there; after all, I now had four paperback copies of my books on my shelf, as well as the Kindle editions.

But we soon discovered that this was only half of the battle. Apparently, you need a platform, a reader friendly website to promote my books or they would remain in limbo. Then there was all the socialising and networking. So many writers were publishing their own books; we were a very small pebble in a very large pond!  We managed to create a passable website and established a presence on the internet. Not that this is the end of the story, there is no way you can rest on your laurels (that is if you even have some!)

Even if nothing monumental comes from all our efforts, we know we have tried our hardest. But we won’t stop writing, for that’s the fun part!

Anita and Jaye are also running a quiz and a Facebook event during the tour.  Please see below for details.

https://www.facebook.com/events/#LazyDaysBookTour

#TheBrokenLifeblogtour @jaydawes2 #excerpt #thriller #mystery

I shall also be promoting Jaye Marie’s new book in my next newsletter, which will be published on 1st July http://www.stevie-turner-author.co.uk

Suzanne Rogerson Fantasy Author

I’m really pleased to take a break from my own blog tour to introduce Jaye Marie and her book The Broken Life. Both Jaye and Anita have been very supportive taking part in both my blog tours, so it’s a real pleasure to return the favour by being their host on the blog tour today.

I  have a very exciting excerpt to share, but first here’s a little about the book.

Book Description of The Broken Life

DI David Snow has a serial killer to catch, a killer as mysterious as the crimes he commits.

Snow is due to retire, but not before he discovers why someone killed his sergeant and is now coming after him.

The killer seems to have a personal vendetta against Snow, but he is determined that no one else should die because of him. His efforts are hampered by the arrival of a new sergeant, ‘ruthless’ Ruth Winton…

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Meet Jaye Marie!

Good luck to Jaye Marie with her blog tour!

Lizzie Chantree

Today it’s my pleasure to introduce you to The Broken Life Blog Tour

by Jaye Marie @jaydawes2

I really enjoy discovering a new book to read and finding authors who work together and support other writers is always a pleasure. Today I am showcasing the work of one half of sibling writing team, as part of her blog tour. Jaye Marie’s new book Broken Life  is now available to buy and download on Amazon. Don’t forget to stop off at the other blogs on the tour to find out even more about her work. Details are at the end of this post.

About Jaye Marie

My name is Jaye Marie, the ‘oily rag’ of the partnership Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie and usually, I prefer to stay in the background. Since my sister and I decided to publish our books ourselves, most of my other interests have had to take a…

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ARE YOU READY FOR THE B2BCYCON?

Lots of authors taking part this weekend, including me!  https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/18479056-2017-stevie-turner-thriller-mystery-author-showcase

Urbanhype101

What is that? I hear you ask.

The Brain to Books Cyber Convention & Book Expo has the feeling of a normal book/author convention but with so much more for the readers to see, hear and play.
The Cyber Convention is celebrating it’s 3rd year and it’s bigger than ever! Angela, B Chrysler is the brains, and working mechanics behind the CyCon and owner of Brain to Books, which is an open portal for independent authors. And thanks to the hard work of the genres managers, customer service, tech and the rest of the working wheels – who are ALL volunteers and have spent months making sure you and all the authors are happy and this years CyCon  and Book Expo is going to be the most successful and largest ever!

CyCon & Book Expo

Let me break it down. Imagine 200+ authors taking part in genre specific events such…

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