My favourite dress

Blood had soaked through the front of my dress, turning green silk to black. The shawl covered part of the stain, but I kept to the shadows and the narrow streets, avoiding anybody who might remember seeing me. I could faintly hear the music, echoing between the stone facades of the trading quarter, but nothing to suggest the alarm had been raised.

The last time I had worn the ball gown was on the eve of the war when I danced with Gabriel York and, with his assistance, murdered Admiral Morton. Since then it had spent five years stuffed in a travel case and dragged from one posting to another, but the chance to wear it again never arose. Despite that, it looked pristine as I waited in the market square, watching a small group of musicians set out their instruments. The sun was setting over the castle hill and lanterns were being lit by the owners of the bars and restaurants that had re-opened, now that the war was almost over.

  He strode across the market square, radiating authority and purpose. His greatcoat displayed medals that weren’t there when we last met, and each one of a row of silver stars along the left sleeve signified an enemy ship destroyed. As I moved to cross his path, I hoped he would remember me. My hair was longer, and a different colour. He had shaved his head and grown a goatee beard. It made him look dangerous; it suited him.

  “Admiral York.”

  “My lady.” If he was surprised he didn’t show it. Once again he bowed and kissed my hand. “You look different, but as beautiful as I remember. I have thought of you so often.”

  This surprised me. We had been together for only one night and so many terrible things had happened since then.

  “I would have expected a warrior to think of nothing but war. You have been most successful.”

  He didn’t reply, but led me to a table outside one of the bars. We sat and he gestured an order to the waiter.

  “Success? Yes, we have almost won. But the cost has been so high. I have lost many ships and thousands of men. And the war has taken a toll here too. Before the war, we prized art, music, poetry. We were civilised. Now, all that matters is protecting the state. And we have done many terrible things to achieve it. I have done terrible things. Everything is different now. Everybody is different, and something important has been lost.”

  He fell silent as the waiter brought glasses and a dusty bottle. He showed the label to York, who nodded his approval. As the waiter poured the first glass, a clarinet began to play, an argument against York’s words drifting across the square.

  “In times like these, everything needs someone to keep fighting for. I don’t know why, but all these years I thought of you. Wondered where you were. If you were still alive.”

  “Me? But you have family. Your brother?”

  “We were never close when we were young and, once we grew up, our paths were decided for us, just like the children of all the old aristocratic families. The first son goes into public service, the second into the military. I hear it said that he will be the next Prime Minister. I’m pleased for him, but we’re almost strangers.” He took a sip of the wine and looked me in the eye. “Five years and every day it’s you I’ve thought about.”

  I understood. I didn’t want to, but I felt the same. We had only been together a few hours but, in that time, we had shared an experience that bonded us intimately and inextricably.

  The band was playing melancholy tunes and few couples were dancing. York was right; before the war the square would have been packed, the crowd swirling to fast and exciting melodies. York put his glass on the table and stood. He laid his greatcoat over the chair and held out his hand towards me.

  “My lady, will you dance with me?”

  “Admiral, I’d be honoured.”

  We held each other like shipwrecked survivors cling to wreckage, like we were the only two people left. I lay my head on his shoulder and his jacket absorb my tears. I hardly heard the music; just let myself follow where he led. As one piece finish, he muttered “Enough of this.” and called an instruction to the musicians. They conferred briefly and then struck an opening note. Naval officers, all drawn from the elite families, were schooled in etiquette and the full range of social skills. His tango was impeccable; aggressive and arrogant, but not aloof. Every time we faced each other, his eyes locked on mine. I saw no fear, no regrets, and even the question I feared most wasn’t asked. But he already knew why I was here, and I could see he understood, even if I did not.

  The music came to a close and I took his hand and led him into a narrow alleyway, pushing his back against the wall. As I pressed my lips to his it would have been so easy to succumb to the passion I felt rising. To abandon everything I was and beg him to take me with him. Then there was a knife in my hand and I thrust it upwards with all my strength.

Training had taken over and I ran, putting as much distance between myself and the market square as possible. Twice I stopped and almost went back, but there was nothing I could do for him now and no help that I could bring to save him. York was dead; my knife had pierced his heart and his blood marked me for the crime.

  I would have given everything to spend the night with York, but it was not to be. I did not choose my profession; indeed, I was never given a choice although I had never been ashamed to embrace it. I had done many terrible things to protect the state, but surely none worse than this. Morton had to die to make way for a far superior man and there was honour in that; but I killed York and never knew why it was necessary.

  I had to press on, not through fear of imprisonment, but because I served the state and it would have need of me again before the war was over. By daybreak I would be back in the capital and deep within the corridors and chambers of the Department of War. I would inform Minister York of the death of his brother, and he would give me my next set of orders.

The wisdom of Gary Player

I've been struggling a bit with E2. I spent a lot of time thinking about it, but getting something worthwhile down wasn't going too well. Because of the arm (and a house full of in-laws), i was only writing in short spells and it wasn't very satisfying. Partly there's the pressure to make sure that Clarke satisfies my legion of fans (that would be you, Paul) and partly i hadn't figured out the underlying theme - is Clarke still about the relationship between Echo and York and, if so, where can i take it? Is it about the clash between a secular culture and one with a strong belief system. Is it about discovering your past.

And then i discovered the wise words of Gary Player (or at least the wise words of a golfer and the majority of the net thinks it was Gary Player).

He said - The more i practice, the luckier i get.

Translating this to writing - the more i write, the easier it is to write.

I was in fracture clinic yesterday and had a couple of hours to kill and a laptop. By the end of it i had 1500 new words for chapter 3. But, better than that, i'd figured out how i was going to end the current scenario and move on, the cause of the relationship twist between Echo and York, where i'm going to insert the prequel stuff that i posted on here a few weeks ago. I now have so much stuff in my head that i'm struggling to get it down before i forget them. It doesn't help that some of you kind people keep adding more exciting ideas. So many i'm drowning in them. It's great.

We have lift off.

An author, i am

i know it's been quiet recently. There are two reasons. firstly i was away last week. I have a real job, this stuff is just for fun, although it has brought in a tenner in the last few hours.

Secondly, i've been finishing the formatting and final read through ready for publishing.

And today, i published :-)

Sometimes, at work, you write a difficult / slightly controversial email and your finger hovers over the send button. Eventually you just have to say 'bugger it' and press the button. Publishing the book on Kindle has been a bit like that. There's been a bit of a psychological block.

What if i can't figure out how to upload it? - actually that was dead easy
What if i can't find it on Amazon? i couldn't, but Bill found it and kindly sent me a link - cheers mate
What if nobody buys it? as i said, so far i've made a tenner. I'm hoping if the people who said they would buy it do so, i'll just about break even but that doesn't matter. I am an author

Oh, and then there's the big one. What if it's rubbish?
So far six people have read it and the feedback has been good. There were issues around trying to stuff too much into the first couple of chapters, but i'm not the only one guilt of that. I'm reading something that wants to move apace, but sometimes pace just leads to overload. I'm hoping the readers will find out a bit more about my characters in each chapter. There might be action and adventure and blood and spaceships but it's really a story about two people (and their friends).

I'm still buzzing

So, if you've bought it, thank you. I really appreciate it. I'm blessed with good friends, most of whom will tell me if it's rubbish and demand their £1.95 back (come and get it!).

If you haven't, just click here 
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Echo-ebook/dp/B007HA6CQW/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1331051979&sr=1-3

Editing with Stelios

I'd wanted to publish before i went on holiday, but i was still working on the final draft. I took a copy with me but was too busy (!) catching rays and making vitamin D to look at it. However, there's no in-flight movie with Easyjet so i had four hours on my hands coming back. It was really useful to be able to shut out the world and focus.
I got through the entire second half of the book. I've read and changed and re-read and changed again the first half, but there were big chunks of the second half that i'd forgotten about. i not only sorted out a load of grammatical errors and double spaces i also found a couple of mistakes.
That's the problem with taking so long to write a story, and the fact that it covers 179 pages. You forget what you said in the first part and unless you're constantly flicking backwards and forwards it's easy to introduce continuity errors. Hopefully i've found them all, but i'll get E to read it through and check.
Whilst i was at it i also discovered an error that didn't exist. At the start of the book there are eight soldiers but, towards the end there were only six. I knew where one of them had gone but, as far as i could tell, i'd accidently lost somebody along the way. I scribbled notes and slotted in the missing character in several places, then got to a point nine chapters earlier and found out that they'd purposefully been written out.

DOH!

Almost ready to publish. I'm getting slightly nervous.

Snow White's Revenge

Snow White had no need of the knife, hidden in the folds of her dress. As soon as the Huntsman had stepped out of the tree line an arrow had whispered across the clearing, piercing his neck and severing the carotid artery.

“You let him get too close!” shouted Grumpy, from the doorway

“We had to be sure” answered Happy, slinging his bow across his shoulder. “He could have been hunting.”

“Unlikely! Are you sure he’s alone?”

“Sneezy and Doc are guarding the paths. There’s nobody else out there.”

“You know what this means” said Grumpy to Snow White, who was turning the body over with her foot. “The Queen has found you.”

“Perhaps he came across us by chance.”

Dopey was searching the body. He held up his findings. “I’m sorry, Snow White. He was carrying poison apples. This man worked for the Magic Mirror, and when he doesn’t report in, more will come. It’s time.”

“Well, I for one am glad.” Said Happy. “We’ve been hiding out here long enough.”

The Castle was a wonderful place for a girl to grow up. Staff scattered as the fourteen year old heir apparent, ran through the chambers. Always there was one of her personal guards, fearsome warriors from under the mountains of the North, close by. Every chamber, except those in the Queen’s Tower. No-one entered the Queen’s Tower except the King. The Queen herself had not ventured out for several months. Snow White was not unhappy with this, as her relationship with her stepmother, difficult at the best of times, had become increasingly volatile, and her father often seemed troubled and distracted.

“Dozey, have you ever been in the Queen’s Tower?” asked Snow White.

“No, my Princess.”

“Do you think we could get in, could get to the top?”

“Nobody goes in the Queen’s Tower, snapped Grumpy. “The Queen has forbidden it.”

Disappointed, Snow White didn’t notice Happy approach but, suddenly, he was by her side, speaking quietly.

“I can get you in. Midnight.” Casually, he drifted away.

Snow White was ready, and followed Happy through long forgotten passageways filled with debris and thick with cobwebs. They rested at the top of a long staircase that spiralled between the inner and outer walls of the massive tower. When Snow White pressed her ear against the timbers of the door, she could hear raised voices. Producing a large key,

Happy unlocked the door without a sound and led the way through a series of narrow passageways, built into the tower walls. Small holes looked onto the Queen’s rooms. Most were empty but, looking into a dimly lit chamber on the far side of the tower, Snow White’s life was changed. The King lay on the floor, a pool of blood spreading slowly across the stones. The Queen was turned towards a large mirror on the wall, the simple wooden frame out of character with the ornate furnishings. Snow White could see no reflection in the mirror, only a shadow in the shape of a man. When she looked at the mirror, a sense of bitterness and hate almost overwhelmed her.

“It is done. Now, will I rule?”

“Not yet, my Queen.” The voice came from nowhere. “Send for the Princess. She stands between you and the crown.”

Snow White didn’t wait to hear more. Numb with fear and grief she fled the Tower. Happy had served many regimes and knew what had to be done. Before the Queen’s word had gone out, the Princess and her bodyguards were gone.

In the four years since the flight from the castle, the land had gone from a rich, fertile, welcoming place to one filled with suspicion and treachery. A wise monarchy had been replaced by despotism, the Queen falling further under the influence of the malevolent spirit that was trapped in the mirror. The seven warriors had taught Snow White many skills. She was proficient with the bow and could fight with every weapon they brought to her. She had also mastered the art of moving through a crowd unnoticed, of passing, almost invisibly through shadows. Of all the skills they had passed on, this would be the most important if they were to get back into the castle.

In the morning, before setting out for the castle, they burnt the cottage, resolute that there would be no turning back. The Mirror would be smashed and the Queen would die.