I am over the moon to be able to launch the book tour for one of two newly translated releases by Amazon Crossing.
Today’s book is Karitas Untitled, by Kristín Marja Baldursdóttir.
Growing up on a farm in early twentieth-century rural Iceland, Karitas Ólafsdóttir, one of six siblings, yearns for a new life. As an artist, Karitas has a powerful calling and is determined to never let go of her true unconventional self. But she is powerless against the fateful turns of real life and all its expectations of women. Pulled back time and again by design and by chance to the Icelandic countryside―as dutiful daughter, loving mother, and fisherman’s wife―she struggles to thrive, to be what she was meant to be. Spanning decades and set against a breathtaking historical canvas, Karitas Untitled, an award-winning classic of Icelandic literature, is a complex and immersive portrait of an artist’s conflict with love, family, nature, and a country unaccustomed to an untraditional woman―but most of all, with herself and the creative instincts she has no choice but to follow.
I am able to share a sneak peek chapter of the book for you to peruse at your leisure.
Untitled 1915Pencil drawing
The morning is misty gray.
The colors of the sea, the mountain, and the valley have dulled, as if the thin strip of fog painted over a picture in haste before fleeing the bitter cold that crept into the bay in the small hours.
Over the heath, still white with snow despite it being Whitsuntide, goes a cart, pulled by sturdy workhorses. Men from the valley escort the widow to her ship.
She rides straight-backed, with Halldóra next to her, shoulders slumped. The two elder brothers follow the cart, listening to its every creak.
Among the trunks, knitting machine, and sacks huddle we two younger sisters, bundled in wool. Our youngest brother rests in the arms of Bjarghildur, who hums to him, while I sit scrunched between two trunks, watching the shoreline recede.
A horse-drawn cart on a white heath.
Anxiety at the trip over the heath has kept me from sleeping for many nights. I know that an evil spirit dwells here, luring travelers and dragging them to a deep bowl hidden among the steep, landslide-ridden slopes. I look bitterly at my siblings, who have never sensed the presence of trolls and monsters as I have, let alone perceived ghosts, and I regret not having stayed behind like the maid.
Over the white heath hangs a fog that is waiting to swallow us.
All around me in the cold stillness, I hear whispering.
The hold’s hatches and the opening to the staircase had both been shut after the sea worsened, and the sour smell of vomit hung over the prostrate passengers. The families had prepared makeshift beds on the floor, while two women not in the death grip of seasickness propped themselves on their elbows and entertained each other with birthing stories. Steinunn was speaking.
“Karitas came from the sea, but Bjarghildur from the ground like any old potato plant. I was home digging up potatoes when I began having contractions, and everyone else was out in the fields. At first, I ignored the disturbance because the potatoes needed harvesting no less than the hay, and I was convinced I had enough time as it had taken three days to bring my eldest daughter into the world. But when the pangs intensified and I thought I had better go inside, it was too late: all I could do was squat there in the potato patch and let nature take its course. Two years later, when I had my third daughter, it was the same story, but that time, I was down at the beach gathering seaweed when the contractions began. From my previous experience, I knew how things would go, so I went behind a big rock where I would have sand beneath my feet, but as I was delivering, the tide began coming in, and it was only by the grace of God that the child wasn’t swept away. After two births in nature, I didn’t dare venture far from the farmhouse the next times I was due, and because of that, it was soft bedclothes that received my three boys, not sea and soil.”
It was evident from the other passenger’s expression that she wasn’t certain whether Steinunn was telling her what really happened or a dream. Still, it being an excellent story, she decided not to ask, although she did peer at the sisters as if trying to guess which had come from where and which had come into the world the ordinary way. They lay sprawled over each other like kits in their den, deathly pale and helpless from nausea, but their brothers, apart from the youngest, sleeping in his mother’s lap, were no longer susceptible to seasickness and had stayed on deck with the crew.
Steinunn’s fellow passenger had no such stories of her own, having delivered all of her children indoors, but in order not to be outdone by the widow, she resorted to relating some unusual delivery stories that she’d heard. After chatting long enough to reach the point when conversants begin sharing their personal circumstances and plans, Steinunn told the woman briefly about her desire to provide her children with educations. The woman, astonished at Steinunn’s daring, rocked on her mattress and asked whether it wasn’t madness for the widow to rush off into the unknown with six children and an empty purse. Steinunn replied that in this case, having no money made no difference.
“In Iceland, no one who works dies.”
Her fellow passenger agreed, but said that she, poor commoner that she was, could never have imagined sending her children to school, and in any case, it was too late now, since they’d all grown up and moved away. Yet she couldn’t resist mentioning one of her sons, who was a highly distinguished person, “and a deckhand on the Gullfoss itself, neither more nor less, the new ship that arrived in the spring. On board, they dance and sing, I’m told; the ship is so big and steady that there’s hardly any rolling out on the open sea. The cabins are all first class, and when the ship glides into the ports of Europe, all of the passengers, most of whom are higher-ups, gather on deck and wave at the crowd waiting on the quay.” Steinunn, who’d had to settle for a place in the ship’s hold to spare expenditure and had little desire to hear about the luxuries of the upper class, thought for a moment before replying that she doubted that people waited on the quay in foreign lands—“at least not the men, because as far as I know, all of Europe is at war, and they’re most likely on the battlefield, and although I don’t doubt the magnificence of the ship, I can hardly imagine that women on the Continent have any more time than we do for loitering on the quay, even if a ship docks.” At this reminder of the war being fought on the Continent, Steinunn’s fellow passenger grew anxious about her son and didn’t hear it when Karitas asked quietly whether she had any idea what it cost to sail aboard such a fine ship. When no answer came, Karitas gave Bjarghildur a little nudge and whispered in her ear: “Do you think we’ll ever sail overseas aboard such a ship?” Bjarghildur responded crustily to the irritating whispering, waved Karitas off, and exhaled weakly, “Leave me alone; I have no home.” Karitas saw that there was little to be gained from her in the state she was in and turned to Halldóra to ask the same thing, but stopped when she saw her sister’s expression. It didn’t result from nausea alone, that much she knew, and she stroked her sister’s arm to express affection and sympathy. Her sister just lay there, curled up and miserable on her makeshift bed, although the suffering on her face did nothing to spoil her comeliness. She resembled an image of the Savior on the cross.
Gloom settled over the hold; they were out on the deep, and the rolling intensified. The vomiting worsened, the little ones wet themselves, and the sisters held their noses, tried to breathe through their mouths. Then they felt the ship slow down; the engines hiccupped and stopped. People propped themselves on their elbows and stared at the hatches. For several moments, neither a cough nor a groan was heard.
“Ice,” someone then groaned from one corner. “Damned ice.”
The hatches were torn open.
Freezing sea air streamed into the hold.
Purchase your copy, here!
Kristín Marja Baldursdóttir is one of Iceland’s most acclaimed writers and the internationally bestselling author of numerous novels, including Karitas Untitled, a Nordic Council Literature Prize nominee; Street of the Mothers; Chaos on Canvas; and Seagull’s Laughter, which was adapted for the stage and also into an award-winning film. She received her degree in 1991 from the University of Iceland and has also worked as a teacher and a journalist. Among Kristín Marja’s many honors are the Knight’s Cross of the Icelandic Order of the Falcon for her achievements in writing and her contributions to Icelandic literature, the Jónas Hallgrímsson Prize, and the Fjöruverðlaun Women’s Literature Prize. Kristín Marja lives in Reykjavík. Philip Roughton is an award-winning translator of many of Iceland’s best-known authors, including Nobel laureate Halldór Laxness, Jón Kalman Stefánsson, Þórarinn Eldjárn, Bergsveinn Birgisson, and Steinunn Sigurðardóttir.
I am honoured to pop an extra post on today, to help celebrate the publication of Zoe May’s newest release, Flying Duo, which is out today!
A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy chick lit novel about love, dreams and self-discovery by bestselling author, Zoe May
London lawyer Rachel Watson has wound up in an Indian ashram with hippy heartthrob lover, Seb.
A high-achiever, Rachel has always lived life according to her Life List, ticking off goals along the way. But now that she’s in India, Rachel is going with the flow, or at least trying to…
Rachel’s visa is running out and it’s time to decide whether her relationship with Seb is a holiday romance or built to last.
The pair embark on a trip to Nepal for an Everest base camp trek, but will their relationship survive this gruelling expedition or is it time to part ways?
★ Flying Duo is the second romantic comedy in the ‘Flying’ series, following on from bestseller, Flying Solo. If you are looking for escapist women’s fiction, Flying Duo is offers a heartwarming romance in classic feel-good, funny chicklit style. It guarantees armchair adventure during lockdown. ★
And, here’s my review!
My Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Right, so, I read Flying Solo last year, and totally fell in love with the whole Eat Love Pray kinda feel, even though our heroine wasn’t off to find herself, in India, but to rekindle her romance with her ex, who had left her back in England. Still, the descriptions of the Ashram that Rachel found herself at, and the ensuing adventures, the people she met, followed by the romance she did find (not with that ex!) made me hanker for more, and I was over the moon to get a chance to read Flying Duo, the sequel. Rachel is in a happy place with her Ashram love, Canadian Sam. After turning things upside down in the ashram, by sparking an investigation of the head honcho there, she isn’t as welcome as she thought, and her visa was fast running out. A flippant comment sees the duo end up in Nepal, experiencing uncomfortable hostels, as well as deciding to climb Everest to the basecamp. Not quite the relaxing break Rachel had wanted, but it ends up being an enlightening time. We see Rachel grow, in a different way, through the course of Flying Duo, as she decides what to do with her life, and with whom. There are some gigglesome moments throughout, and some more disturbing ones (Bloodsucking leeches, anyone?) but the ending is truly fitting, and again…. might we see a Flying Trio soon???
And if you’ve not read the first, here it is, too!
Zoe has written several successful romantic comedies, and I highly recommend her books for a bit of escapism, especially right now!
I was really excited to be asked to review a secret release last month, and it wasan’t any old book, but a story by world famous comedienne, Dawn French!
How cool was that?
It was all a bit secretive, as it hadn’t been publicised that Dawn was releasing a new book, so I had to hold my review close to my chest… and, here it is, now the book, Because Of You, has been published.
But first, the blurb!
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock . . . midnight.
The old millennium turns into the new.
In the same hospital, two very different women give birth to two very similar daughters.
Hope leaves with a beautiful baby girl.
Anna leaves with empty arms.
Seventeen years later, the gods who keep watch over broken-hearted mothers wreak mighty revenge, and the truth starts rolling, terrible and deep, toward them all.
The power of mother-love will be tested to its limits.
Perhaps beyond . . .
Because Of You is Dawn French’s stunning new novel, told with her signature humour, warmth and so much love.
And my review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I was extremely excited to be chosen to read an advanced copy of Dawn French’s new book, Because of You, having read all of her previous novels, and enjoyed them immensely. The story centres around two women, due to give birth on New Year’s Eve/Day, 2000. Anna, wife of wannabe politician Julian, and Hope, the girlfriend of gentle Isaac. Tragedy surrounds both women, yet out of the despair, one baby, Minnie, emerges.
It took me a little while to really get into the book, but within a few pages, I was truly immersed in the story. A story about mothers and daughters, and love that grows. How real relationships are formed. Matters of the heart. Dawn French has created beautiful, rounded, characters, that cause you to either to care deeply about them, or want to throttle them (Julian, anyone?) Every step of the way, I wondered when the truth would be exposed. I had an inkling, but I wasn’t sure. The book is written from the point of view of Hope, Anna and Minnie, in turn, with snippets of Julian and Isaac too, giving you a complete picture of the thoughts of everyone throughout a surreal situation. I don’t want to give too much away, but suffice to say, I had tears in my eyes by the end of the book. Absolutely wonderfully written.
Available at all good retailers.
Dawn French has been making people laugh for thirty years. On purpose.
As a writer, comedian and actor, she has appeared in some of the UK’s most long running, cherished and celebrated shows, including French and Saunders, The Comic Strip Presents …, Murder Most Horrid, The Vicar of Dibley, Jam and Jerusalem, Lark Rise to Candleford, and more recently, Roger and Val Have Just Got In.
Last year I was introduced to the debut novel of someone who I have come to view as one of those authors whose books I will put others aside, to read as soon as I can.
Kiley Dunbar’s first book, One Summer’s Night, is a wonderful story, based in Stratford-upon-Avon, and heavily influenced by that famous bard, William Shakespeare. As I read her fourth book, One Winter’s Night, (yes, she’s got that many under her belt since last year’s release!) I realised it was also Shakey-heavy, too, so I decided to be nosy and ask all about her fascination with Shakespeare, and how much he’s influenced her writing, and life, too!
Over to you, Kiley!
I fell in love with Shakespeare’s poetry when I was fourteen and I talked my mum into buying me A Midsummer Night’s Dream, based solely on my lovestruck reaction to its gorgeous cover. I still have that book! (pictured).
That was the summer my parents dug out a small pond in the back garden of their terrace in the coal board village where I grew up. I spent hours that summer sitting by the pond trying to get to grips with the strange language and magical characters. I only understood half of what I read and it took me the whole summer to finish the play.
I was always a dreamy kid but something about the summer moon reflecting in the water and this 400-year-dead beardy English bloke had me reeling. I was a goner.
Cut to Mrs Marr’s English class a few years later and I’m head over heels for Hamlet, outraged by Othello and totalled on Twelfth Night. Thank you Mrs Marr!
In May 1999 I was writing a long letter to the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust in Stratford upon Avon explaining my obsession and asking if they have any summer job vacancies – and they did!
Within weeks I was living in Stratford, working as a tour-guide and seeing every single play at the RST and the Swan. I was in heaven!
And I didn’t want to leave.
So I applied to study at the Shakespeare Institute and, to my amazement, got a place – after a nerve wracking interview. I made Shakespeare-obsessed friends for life there.
A few years, and a lot of studying, later I have been fortunate enough to be able to teach my own Shakespeare courses at a uni in the North of England. Seeing the moment where it finally all made sense for my students was utterly magical!
It felt as though all my teenage summer dreams had come true. Except for one. I wanted to write love stories and comedies of my own.
In March 2019 my debut novel, a rom com, called ‘One Summer’s Night’ came out with Hera Books, inspired by my love of Shaky and (v. v. loosely) based on my first summer in Stratford all these years ago where I met my husband and we got engaged after FOUR days! I know, I’m not exactly risk averse. Now I’m looking forward to sharing the sequel to that novel. It’s called One Winter’s Night and is out on 17th September 2020 and follows the same characters and some new ones through a very romantic, dramatic winter in Shakespeare’s hometown. One of the storylines is a gender-reversed version of Love’s Labour’s Lost, one of my favourite Shakespeare plays.
I hope you love it, Kiley, x
You can download your copy of One Summer’s Night here:
A gorgeously uplifting, romantic read that will warm your heart – take a trip to Stratford-Upon-Avon, where magic happens…
It’s autumn in beautiful Stratford-Upon-Avon and Kelsey Anderson is enjoying her new life in her adopted town. Her Shakespearean tour guide days behind her, she’s now opened her own photography studio and loved up with boyfriend Jonathan – even if a long-distance relationship is sometimes lonely.
When best friend Mirren Imrie moves down from Scotland, Kelsey is delighted to have her friend at her side – and as the nights turn colder, Mirren throws herself into dating, until she finds herself growing closer to sexy journalist, Adrian Armadale. But when Mirren uncovers a long-buried scandal while working at the local newspaper, her big scoop might throw Kelsey’s – and Jonathan’s – life upside down. Will she choose her career over her friends’ happiness?
And when Jonathan returns from America and discovers the secrets Mirren has uncovered about his family, it throws his relationship with Kelsey onto shaky ground. Can they find their way back to love, before it becomes the winter of their discontent?
A romantic, funny and feelgood read that will make you smile from ear to ear. Fans of Milly Johnson, Heidi Swain and Holly Martin will fall in love with this cosy winter read!
Thank you, so much, Kiley, for sharing your love affair with Shakespeare with us all!
And four days! Wowzer! Well, they do say, when you know, you know. 😉
As I mentioned, I was honoured to be able to read an ARC of One Winter’s Night, and it was fabulous! Here’s my review.
I happened upon Kiley Dunbar and her debut last year, and after devouring the first one, I have awaited any other releases with great anticipation, and she’s never failed to satisfy. Hearing that the characters from One Summer Night, Dunbar’s debut were getting another outing in One Winter’s Night, made my summer. I love Shakespeare, Stratford-Upon-Avon is a place we visited plenty when I was growing up, And though I’ve never been, Scotland and its. beauty has always enticed me. One day I will visit. And romance? Well, I love a bit of romance, so, having all these components in a book should be a guaranteed good read, for me, at least. And it surely was! Catching up with Kelsey Anderson, as the Scottish lass comes to grips with settling far south of her home town, in Shakespeare’s land, attempting to set up a business fuelled by her passion for photography, with no good friends or family close by, and the love of her life off acting across the Atlantic was a joy. And I loved the parallel story of Kelsey’s best friend Mirren, the newly single, Scottish journalist who’s finally had enough of the sexist world of broadsheet journalism, and finds herself swearing off men, jacking in her job, and jumping on a train to join her best friend, for a little while, as she straightens her life out. There were a whole host of new characters introduced, including the old soak, propping up the local bar, who ended up being a rather famous actor in his prime, with a hidden secret, and Blythe. Oh, I loved Blythe! Everyone needs a Blythe in their lives. An eccentric elderly woman who was a force to be reckoned with in her prime, on stage, until life threw her some huge curveballs. Blythe may be a bit of a recluse, but she has amassed a veritable smorgasbord of memorabilia and hard-learned wisdom over the years, along with the talent of distilling her own extremely strong flavoured gins. Kelsey’s unusual, initial meeting with Blythe cements a multi-generational friendship that adds another layer to an already wonderful story. So there’s love, heartbreaks, more romance, Shakespeare, family angst, and GIN! What more could a reader want? Absolutely a recommended read. Many thanks to NetGalley and Hera Books for an ARC, in exchange for an honest review.
Now, I 100% recommend you get reading all of Kiley’s books, they are wonderful little nuggets of escapism!
Today, I am delighted to host fantastic author Jim Webster as he is going on a tour of the Blogosphere for his new release, The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily.
Without further ado, I shall pass you over to Jim!
We shall start with a photo, and the story that was inspired by it!
Delicate work A casual observer might have assumed that Benor Dorfinngil was in a good mood. He had a spring in his step and might even be whistling a merry tune. There was good reason for his high spirits. Things were going rather well. He had funds. Admittedly he’d ended up giving two of the ten alar coins to Shena, on the grounds that the costs entailed in purchasing a dress might well come within the definition of legitimate expenses incurred during the investigation. On the other hand, he’d been firm with Tallis. Benor couldn’t see why Tallis needed compensating for the strain of looking after innumerable grandchildren. Given that the alternative would have been accompanying Shena to purchase a dress, Benor felt he’d taken the easy option. Once she’d accepted the coins, Benor had mentioned the name, Salat Wheelstrain, to her and Shena had, in good grace, promised to ask around. Another of the coins had been broken into a most commendable quantity of small change and Mutt was using this to marshal his array of watchers. If the two sisters left the house their movements were tracked and their conversations overheard by a collection of inconspicuous and apparently innocent children. Benor had been surprised just how much activity Mutt could command for a comparatively small outlay. Now he was intent on seeing Faldon the priest. As Faldon had been the instigator of the inquiry, Benor felt that it was only right that he occasionally reported back on what had been achieved. There was the problem that Faldon was disinclined to support anything to unethical, but Benor felt he could gloss over some matters. There was also the hope that Faldon would keep his eyes and ears open and might even have something to contribute to the investigation. When Benor arrived at the house he found Faldon sitting out in the street enjoying the afternoon sun. Unwilling to accept payment for cutting the hair of passers-by, Faldon tended to be paid in kind. Obviously, somebody had gifted him a bench of solid but inelegant construction, and this was set against the front wall of the house. Faldon sat on it, but when Benor appeared, the priest moved to one end to allow the younger man space to sit down. “So how are things progressing?” Airily Benor said, “I now have the two women watched by experts.” “Hopefully we shall be ready if she makes a move against the child.” Faldon shifted his position on the bench as if his comment had left him uncomfortable. Then he changed the subject, “So what do you know about Jorrocks Boat Yard?” “Well, they bought a lot of very poor quality second-hand timber. Also it appears Minny thought it important that Santon handled the Jorrocks Boat Yard account for Raswil Muldecker the usurer.” “What do we know about the yard?” “I’d never heard of them,” Benor admitted. “But then I thought to ask Shena. They are one of the smaller yards. Old Yalla Jorrocks had a good name, his son, Belan, wasn’t a bad boat builder, but by all accounts, he wasn’t the cheapest and apparently you had to keep an eye on him or corners were cut. Of the current generation, Ardal is in charge and he is, apparently, the person to go to if you’re planning an insurance swindle or want something doing that isn’t particularly legal. The smugglers tend to deal with him.” Faldon asked, “So would it be worth having a look at the yard?” “It could be. But I doubt they’d welcome casual visitors. I suspect I’d have to look round at night.” Hesitantly Faldon asked, “Would you like me to come with you?” Surprised Benor said, “Certainly, it’s good to have support, but it didn’t strike me as the sort of thing you’d want to get involved in.” “I’m feeling a bit guilty,” Faldon admitted. “I dumped this job on you and haven’t really done a lot to help.” “Fair enough. If Mutt can spare the time I’ll get him to come as well. Today has been overcast so it looks like we’ll get a dark night.”
The night was as dark as Benor hoped. Mutt met them just outside the yard. He’d insisted on doing a private reconnaissance first. When they met he led them down a narrow lane between two boatyards leading to the estuary. The yards on either side of the lane had tall fences made of a mixture of second and third-hand timber; in various states of decay. As they got close enough to see the water glinting in the estuary, Mutt stopped. “This bit is rotten; I got through. You two can follow me.” Luckily both men were slender and wiry; a more thickset man would have had trouble. Still, by the time they’d pushed through, the hole was noticeably larger. They entered the yard behind a pile of timber. Fortunately, it hadn’t been piled against the fence, probably because it was unlikely that the fence could support the weight. The three of them crept out from behind the pile of wood and into the open. The entire area seemed to be a haphazard collection of piles of timber looming out of the darkness. Benor led the way. He could see something against the skyline which looked like a boat on the stocks. He stopped and listened. There was no sound, just the noises of the city in the background. He stood up. Quietly he said, “I think we can walk. There doesn’t look to be anybody about.” Cautiously the other two stood up. Mutt hissed, “I’ll go to the right a bit, see if there’s any sign of anybody over there. There’s some sort of hut near the gate in.” Benor nodded and made his way towards the boat. Faldon moved off to the left, “There’s a pile of something over here.” Benor kept his eye on Mutt, the boy disappeared around a pile of wood, but there was still no sound. He waited but the boy didn’t come back, so he’d obviously not found anything. He moved forward and as he did so there was a ripping sound and then a scream to his left. He spun around and Faldon wasn’t there. Hastily he dropped down onto his hands and knees to make himself less conspicuous and crawled in the direction of the scream. Suddenly his hands touched canvas. Quietly he said, “Faldon?” From below him came Faldon’s voice. “Down here. I went through the canvas. The ground here is stone slabs!” Benor reached out, found a torn end, and tore it further so he could see down. Below him, he could see the pale blob of Faldon’s face. Mutt appeared next to him. “What ‘appened.” From below Faldon commented, “There’s a boat down here.” Benor explained, “So Faldon’s fallen through the cover over a dry dock.” “Well get ‘im out. There’s a hut over there with a light in the windows. I heard the scream, they might of.” Benor reached down. “Can you grab my hand?” Faldon tried to stand up. “I’ve damaged my ankle.” Benor tried to estimate the depth. “Is there a ladder, I don’t fancy the drop.” “Yes, just along there.” Benor tried to see in the direction Faldon was pointing. There might be something. He tore the rotten canvas and made his way in that direction. Yes, there was a ladder. “Mutt, I’ll go down and help him up, you catch him.” At the foot of the ladder, Faldon was waiting; he’d used the ladder to haul himself upright. Slowly and with Benor taking the weight, he climbed the ladder. “Get on, someone coming.” Benor put his shoulder under Faldon and pushed the other man out of the hole. As he did so a rung, rotten with age, snapped and Benor fell onto the next which also snapped. At this, he tumbled back into the hole. Mutt repeated, “Someone coming.” “Get Faldon hidden, I’ll hide down here.” “If they find owt, I’ll let ‘em chase me.” Benor looked round for a hiding place. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the light. There was a boat here; perhaps he could hide inside the hull. He scrambled up the rope tied to the side, dashed across the deck and lowered himself over the combing and into the hold. In there it was dark. He stood completely still and listened. A voice said, “Telled you there were someone. The sheet’s torn.” A second voice said, “Better go down and look then.” There was silence then a curse. “Watch the bluidy ladder, it’s knackered.” “Here, stop moaning and I’ll pass you down the torch.” Suddenly there was a hint of light inside the hull. Obviously, some of the planking hadn’t been caulked yet so light was coming in between them. Benor glanced around; he could make out the mast, seated in a block fastened to the keel. He moved and stood behind that. From outside he heard, “Nobody out here.” “Then look inside the boat.” “Waste of time.” “Why, had you got something more interesting planned? Look inside the boat.” Benor heard muffled cursing then there was the sound of booted feet on the deck above him. Suddenly there was light streaming in through the hatch. Benor pressed himself against the mast. Now with more illumination, he could see something strange at the stern of the boat. There was some sort of box. From outside a voice said, “Well are you going in?” “If I am you can bluidy well come up here and hold the ladder.” Benor looked around desperately for a better place to hide. The box at the stern was the only possible place. He made his way carefully to the stern. He paused briefly. There were two large timber planks, curved to match the curve of the hull. There was one on the port side, another to starboard, and they appeared to be fastened to the timbers of the hull. For some reason, the two planks were linked, across the hold, by a rope. Benor carefully stepped over it. It appeared to be bar-tight. Then he saw that running from this rope was another rope which led unto the box. Hastily Benor ducked under the second rope and climbed up into the box. It appeared to be full of canvas. Frantically he burrowed into it and lay there. Now whoever was holding the light was obviously in the hold. Benor could see it coming in through the gaps between the planks of the box. “Still see nowt.” A third voice said, “Well happen it’s because there’s nowt to see.” The second voice replied. “Then stop wasting time and let us search the rest of the yard.” The light grew dimmer. Benor lay utterly still in the darkness. He listened to men cross the deck and drop down onto the ground. He then heard somebody cursing the broken rungs of the ladder and finally he was alone in the silent darkness. He lay there, still listening; in the far distance he could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words. Carefully he pulled a stub of candle out of his belt pouch. Then he took a match out of its tin and with the small pliers provided by the manufacturer, crushed the bulb at the end of the match. It flared into flame and he hastily lit the candle. Then he looked around. He found himself lying on neatly folded canvas in a box that was comfortably large enough to hold him and the canvas. When he looked, the back of the box was the stern of the boat, but it seemed to be hinged. Why would you want to get out of a boat under the waterline? Also, why was there a rope sewn to the canvas and disappearing out through a hole in the hatch? Was it a drogue to slow the boat down or assist steering? He climbed out of the box and lowered himself onto the bottom of the hold. He stepped over the taut robes. If the drogue was released into the water, it would pull on the cross rope, but the planks fastened to the sides of the hull would take the strain. That didn’t make a lot of sense. If asked to build something like this, he’d have fastened it to the keel, or even to the block in which the mast was seated. These were more substantial pieces of wood, and capable of taking the strain. He made his way to the entrance hatch. He climbed up the ladder and onto the deck, shielding his candle with his hat lest the light be seen from outside. He walked silently across the deck and lowered himself over the edge, dropping down to the ground at the stern of the boat. From the outside the hatch was visible and it had a length of rope dangling from it. He shook his head, puzzled, and made his way along the side of the boat. A third of the way along, he came to a plank running vertically up the side of the boat. He held the candle nearer to it, lifting the hat slightly with his other hand to let more light shine on the hull. This plank seemed to be bolted to the plank inside the hull as if to ensure the strain was spread across more of the timbers. He looked at them carefully. They were freshly nailed, but the more he looked at them, the more incredulous he became. He then looked round the dry dock. Stacked against the side of the dock there were some more planks. These had obviously come off the side of a boat; you could see the nail holes where they’d been fastened on. Now it wasn’t uncommon for a boatyard to replace ships timbers, but these were in excellent condition. They’d obviously been taken off the hull and replaced by wood in a very poor condition. At this point, Benor remembered what he’d heard about the yard buying a lot of very poor quality second-hand timber. The only thing that made sense was an insurance fraud. The crew could wait until they were out at sea; get all sails set and then abandon ship. They would then pull on the rope at the back of the boat so that the drogue deployed and very rapidly this would put too much strain on the hull and would tear in two large areas of planking. Benor guessed that the water pouring in through the great gaps in the hull would sink the boat within minutes. He stopped and thought about it. It was a bit fussy and involved a lot of planning, but there again; it could be done perfectly safely by the person doing it. He continued along the side of the boat. At the bow was a nameplate. He raised the candle to illuminate it. The Flower of Partann. A shout from somewhere in the yard brought him back to the present. Somewhere out there was Faldon who needed help. Swiftly Benor snuffed out the candle and climbed the damaged ladder, avoiding the broken rungs. There were raised voices and angry shouting near the gate. He couldn’t imagine Mutt could have got Faldon to the gate on his own, so he made his way back towards the way they’d come in. He’d not passed the second pile of timber before he heard a soft voice saying, “Benor, this way.” He ducked down behind the woodpile. Faldon lay there waiting for him. “Mutt has gone to get Tallis; he reckons it’ll take two of you to move me any distance.” “How’s the ankle?” “Probably broken.” “Right, so which way will Tallis come?” “Mutt said to go to the hole we came in through.” ”Right, I’ll try and get you there.” Benor helped the other man to his feet and Faldon threw an arm over Benor’s shoulders. The priest’s inability to put his left foot on the ground slowed them considerably, and Benor kept looking over his shoulder towards the main entrance. “I hope Mutt got away.” ”He said there were other holes he could get through.” As he glanced back, Benor could see light moving in their vague direction.” “Down, we’ll have to crawl this bit.” On hands and knees they made their way behind the pile of timber screening the hole in the fence. A voice shouted, “Right, now search this bluidy yard properly. Cover every bluidy inch of it. That kid must be somewhere and he probably wasn’t alone.” For the next half hour Benor watched the lights working methodically around the boatyard. More lights appeared as reinforcements were called in. “I think I better help you through the hole.” “What about Tallis?” Benor bit his tongue and then said, “Tallis can look after himself. If the worst comes to the worst I can get you down to the Estuary and into the water.” “I’ve never tried swimming with a broken ankle.” “There’s a first time for everything. Don’t worry, I can support you and we’ll let the current carry us away from here.” “Where will it take us?” “That’s just an embarrassing detail; away from here is the important bit.” Faldon fell silent and Benor helped him wiggle through the hole. Then on hands and knees they continued down the narrow lane towards the beach. By the water’s edge Benor said quietly, “I’ll go back to the hole. If Tallis gets here soon we might be able to go with him.” Benor stood in the dark for what seemed like hours. The searchers were getting closer, at some point they would reach the hole in the fence. Then he heard another noise, footsteps. Somebody was coming down the lane. In the gloom he could see several men who appeared to be carrying something. Ahead of them was Tallis. “Where are you Benor?” Benor hissed, “Keep your bluidy voice down.” Tallis turned round. “We’re here. Put the chair down.” He turned back to Benor, “Where’s the casualty.” Silently Benor pointed down the lane to the estuary. Tallis nodded, “This way chaps.” Benor looked on with astonishment as a two-person sedan chair with four chairmen made their way past him. He would have sworn that a lady smiled at him out of the window. He grabbed Tallis. “What in the forty-seven hells is going on?” “Mutt found me at the house of the Widow Handwill. It was she who pointed out that a sedan chair was the obvious mode of transport, and that the presence of a lady would help maintain decorum.” “Will it?” Benor asked, his tone indicating disbelief. “If not, the presence of four sturdy chairmen will,” said Tallis with an air of absolute confidence. “And then there’s Mutt.” “Why, what’s he doing?” “A diversion, listen.” There were shouts from in the boatyard. Benor ducked down and looked through the hole. There were flames at the far end near where he’d assumed the offices were. “He’s set fire to something?” The sedan chair came back past them, the bearers were grinning. Benor saw two faces smiling at him through the window. “Coming?” Asked Tallis, “or do you want to spend the night here?”
I’m sure you’ll all agree that was a fantastic story! But what about the book, time for Jim’s input…
Here’s the man, himself!
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 loose 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.
So we have ‘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.
And we have ‘
The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily
No good deed goes unpunished. To help make ends meet, Benor takes on a few small jobs, to find a lost husband, to vet potential suitors for two young ladies, and to find a tenant for an empty house. He began to feel that things were getting out of hand when somebody attempted to drown him.
But I Smile Anyway... 