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In a word: Incline

When you first think of this word, it is with a slippery slope in mind.

I’ve been on a few of those in my time.

And while we’re on the subject, those inclines measured in degrees are very important if you want a train to get up and down the side of a mountain.

For the train, that’s an incline plane, the point where traction alone won’t get the iron horse up the hill.

Did I say ‘Iron Horse’?  Sorry, regressed there, back to the mid-1800s in the American West for a moment.

It’s not that important when it comes to trucks and cars, and less so if you like four-wheel driving; getting up near-vertical mountainsides often present a welcome challenge to the true enthusiast

But for the rest of us, not so much if you find yourself sliding in reverse uncontrollably into the bay.  I’m sure it’s happened more than once.

Then…

Are you inclined to go?

A very different sort of incline, ie to be disposed towards an attitude or desire.

An inclination, maybe, not to go four-wheel driving?

There is another, probably more obscure use of the word incline, and that relates to an elevated geological formation.  Not the sort of reference that crops up in everyday conversation at the coffee shop.

But, you never know.  Try it next time you have coffee and see what happens.

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Writing about writing a book – Day 2

Hang about.  Didn’t I read somewhere you need to plan your novel, create an outline setting the plot points, and flesh out the characters?

I’m sure it didn’t say, sit down and start writing!

Time to find a writing pad, and put my thinking cap on.

I make a list, what’s the story going to be about? Who’s going to be in it, at least at the start?

Like a newspaper story, I need a who, what, when, where, and how.

Right now.

 

I pick up the pen.

 

Character number one:

Computer nerd, ok, that’s a little close to the bone, a computer manager who is trying to be everything at once, and failing.  Still me, but with a twist.  Now, add a little mystery to him, and give him a secret, one that will only be revealed after a specific set of circumstance.  Yes, I like that.

We’ll call him Bill, ex-regular army, a badly injured and repatriated soldier who was sent to fight a war in Vietnam, the result of which had made him, at times, unfit to live with.

He had a wife, which brings us to,

Character number two:

Ellen, Bill’s ex-wife, an army brat and a General’s daughter, and the result of one of those romances that met disapproval for so many reasons.  It worked until Bill came back from the war, and from there it slowly disintegrated.  There are two daughters, both by the time the novel begins, old enough to understand the ramifications of a divorce.

Character number three:

The man who is Bill’s immediate superior, the Services Department manager, a rather officious man who blindly follows orders, a man who takes pleasure in making others feel small and insignificant, and worst of all, takes the credit where none is due.

Oops, too much, that is my old boss.  He’ll know immediately I’m parodying him.  Tone it down, just a little, but more or less that’s him.  Last name Benton.  He will play a small role in the story.

Character number four:

Jennifer, the IT Department’s assistant manager, a woman who arrives in a shroud of mystery, and then, in time, to provide Bill with a shoulder to cry on when he and Ellen finally split, and perhaps something else later on.

More on her later as the story unfolds.

So far so good.

What’s the plot?

Huge corporation plotting to take over the world using computers?  No, that’s been done to death.

Huge corporation, OK, let’s stop blaming the corporate world for everything wrong in the world.  Corporations are not bad people, people are the bad people.  That’s a rip off cliché, from guns don’t kill people, people kill people!  There will be guns, and there will be dead people.

There will be people hiding behind a huge corporation, using a part of their computer network to move billions of illegally gained money around.  That’s better.

Now, having got that, our ‘hero’ has to ‘discover’ this network, and the people behind it.

All we need now is to set the ball rolling, a single event that ‘throws a cat among the pigeons’.

Yes, Bill is on holidays, a welcome relief from the problems of work.  He dreams of what he’s going to do for the next two weeks.  The phone rings.  Benton calling, the world is coming to an end, the network is down.  He’s needed.  A few terse words, but he relents.

Pen in hand I begin to write.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta reader’s view

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well, not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end of it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum: find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father, who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

Searching for locations – Port Macquarie -Day 2 – Part 1

Wherever we go, we are always looking for historical sites, and points of interest.

For Coffs Harbour, it was the largest collection of old trains, both steam engines and passenger carriages, in the southern hemisphere.

And, of course, an old disused logging railway.

Here in Port Macquarie, there are no trains.

Here, there are a few remnants of the colonial past, and being on the coast, a rich history of ship wrecks.

But, sadly, I don’t dive, but they do have an excellent Maritime Museum, spread over various locations.

The first site we visited was the Pilot Boathouse.

Not exactly to sort of boat I would want to go out to a ship in, especially if it was a dark and stormy night.

Unfortunately, the sign doesn’t face the shed.

That’s the boatshed.

Inside, they also have model ships, which are for sale, if you like that sort of thing.

PI Walthenson’s second case – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’.

Known only to a few, there is a legend that a ship named the ‘Flying Dutchman’ left Nazi Germany in the last weeks of the war and set sail for America, escorted by U-boats, under a different name. Aboard was a trove of treasure and gold worth a ‘king’s ransom’.

It was said that it had been sent to a group of American Nazis to create the Fourth Reich at an appropriate time. Over the years since many expeditions off the coast had searched, but found no trace of the vessel or the treasure.

In other words, it was just a legend created to boost tourism.

…

Fast forward to 2024. Our intrepid private detective, Harry Walthenson, overhears a conversation at Grand Central Station. It was the oddness of the message that caught his attention. An investigation turned up nothing out of the ordinary, and he thinks no more about it.

Then Harry is kidnapped, interrogated, and asked questions over and over about a date and a place, why he went there, and when he could not give satisfactory answers, he was beaten half to death and left for dead on a rubbish heap. He was lucky that it was a living space for homeless men; otherwise, he would have died.

In the aftermath, he once again gives it no more thought.

…

After resolving his first case successfully, there’s no rest. Harry’s angry mother comes to his office and demands that he find out where his father has gone. She believes he has run off with a mistress, not for the first time.

Perhaps it was not the wisest decision she has made, because Harry promises to investigate, and adds that she might not like what he finds.

He soon discovered he does not like what he finds, that his father’s friends, a cabal formed at University, have two who are his mother’s current lovers, and another, a criminal blackmailing his father.

Felicity, now his partner, working on a different case, and trying to get answers, uncovers a crime family involved in guarding a disused warehouse on the docks, where she believes Harry had been taken for interrogation, and subsequently dumped nearby to die.

Why are they up to? What is so important that the empty warehouse needs guarding? Who is employing them?

Harry, following up on the death of the blackmailer, traces his death back to an enforcer employed by his grandfather. His mother’s grandfather was a pre-war industrialist who made his fortune in war munitions and shipbuilding.

He was also a member of the American Nazi party.

When Harry also discovers a logbook belonging to a so-called wartime Liberty ship the “Paul Revere” in brackets ‘Freiheitskämpfer’, hidden by his father, and written in a code that is not readily identifiable.

It is no longer a matter of a father who has run off with his mistress; it is a very frightened man in fear of his life, running from a group who will stop at nothing to get the logbook back. And when Harry discovers a family connection to the group, it becomes a race against time to decode the log and find his father before his grandfather does.

…

Coming soon: Harry Walthenson’s new adventure – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 62

Day 62 – Writing exercise

The first time he understood what hate felt like

…

Things don’t fall apart in a proverbial ball of fire, it’s the result of a single, almost invisible flame that takes time to take hold.

You see the smoke, a small tendril against a background that makes it almost invisible, and because you cannot definitively see it, it’s left to fester, then take hold.

And before you realise what’s happening, a gust of wind fans the embers and suddenly you have a forest fire.

It was an analogy my father told all of us when we were old enough to understand.

There were five of us: the eldest son, Harold, then me, Joseph, then Elizabeth, Mary, and Charles, the youngest.  We were members of a royal family, and one of five kingdoms, ours being Zarevia.

Our father was the King, a man who understood what it meant to be the ruler of a kingdom where the people looked for strength and fairness.  He was universally loved by everyone.  His Queen, our mother, was the epitome of kindness and light, and had taught us that what we had was not a divine right or privilege to be abused, but to be used for the betterment of our country and people.

The king understood that and led by example every day.  We, as children and successors, were allowed to practise every day.

Then, as time does to everyone, the current ruler ages and comes to the end of his reign, and a successor steps up and continues the work seamlessly.

Harold was the eldest son; he had spent his whole life preparing to continue as if nothing had changed.  Everything was as it should be.

Except…

One of the more interesting aspects of being a royal was the fact that the children’s lives were managed as tightly as the kingdom’s finances.  We had little say in our choice of partner, where the eldest son needed a wife fit to be queen, and the rest, whatever was left.

That might sound cruel, and to a certain extent it was, but it was tradition, and it had worked well for many centuries. 

Harold was matched with a princess from a distant kingdom, the eldest daughter, who was strong and forthright, which was more than what some would say about the future king.  It was a choice made solely to strengthen his position.

I was matched with what some might call an equivalent level princess, a rather condescending term I thought, but my station in the family dictated like-for-like, second son, second Princess.

But here’s the thing, I had known her since both of us were born, and I had adored her for the same amount of time.  She was charming, affable, approachable and adorable.  The people loved her, and mercifully, I wrapped myself in her bubble.

The others were equally fortunate in their matches, and it was only a matter of time before they would be married and living in their husbands’ kingdoms.

Everything was as it should be until…

…

Screams filled the castle when there should be peace and tranquillity.

The succession plan had been invoked, and over the next six months, my eldest brother would slowly step into the shoes of the monarch.

The screams put paid to that timeline.

I knew exactly what they meant.

The king had died suddenly, an outcome that had been predicted and prepared for.  That is to say, the Palace staff were prepared.  Harold was not.

Yet within an hour, Harold had been sworn in as the new King, and the first very small, almost invisible flame was lit. 

Eloise had leapt out of bed and gone straight to the Queen, thinking only of her pain at the premature loss of her husband and lifelong friend.  Theirs had been a match with a risky start, and love had developed over time.

Morgana, now Queen, decided that death was not on her agenda today, and pulled the covers over her and hoped it would all go away.

I just sat in the room with the man who was once my father, my mentor, and basically my whole life.  Even in death, he looked peaceful and content as if he knew he had done a good job.

Eloise had soothed my mother’s raw emotions and came with her to join me, and we sat on the lounge and quietly contemplated what this meant for each of us.

After an hour, Morgana stepped into the room, and the whole atmosphere changed.  There was not one ounce of sympathy in her condolences to my mother.  Then, that chore done, she looked around the room, wrinkling her nose.

“We are definitely going to have to do something about the gloomy room.  Not fit for a king, not at all.”

She was already taking over.  It was a side of her that none of us had seen, but rumours had filtered back from her kingdom, the princess they were glad to offload on someone else. 

Her own people hated her.

Until now I could not understand why.

Now I did.

My mother was too immersed in her grief to notice.

…

Harold was weak.  His father knew that and had worked hard on turning him into the man he needed to be.  But he hadn’t reckoned on the Morgana factor.

It was what I called it, and basically worked like this.  Harold made a decision, and if she liked it, it stayed; if she did not, it was not adopted.  Within a week, it was clear who was running the country.

Certainly not our family.

Harold’s saving grace was that she could not kill him and take over as monarch.  Ours was a kingdom that did not seat Queens, even if the line of succession was all female.

There had to be a king.  There was no other alternative.  Morgana may have thought something else, which is why she asked me about succession rules.  There was no reason for her to kill him; she needed him on the throne for her to be Queen.

Harold, of course, because of his training and father’s influence, was about maintaining the status quo.  In fact in his first speech to his people after the investiture, he said quite unequivocally there would be no changes and that life in the kingdom would continue as it had for hundreds of years.

I was proud to stand beside him that day, because I knew he had a kind heart.

But all of that changed subtly at first, until it was impossible to ignore it.  Morgana decided to assert herself.

The small flame and the embers flared.

I was in the King’s office, where he was sitting behind the large desk, completely clear of anything by the mace that proclaimed his authority.

Morgana was pacing impatiently.

When I walked in, she said, “You’re late.  When your king requests your presence, you will be here in time.”

“We’re family.  Time is irrelevant.”

“Not any more.  The king has finalised the reorganisation plan, and your role has been changed from Head of the King’s Guard to Parks and Gardens.  It also requires you to relinquish your current chambers and relocate to the east wing.  Effective immediately.”

I looked at Harold.  “You know the role of heading the King’s Guard is traditionally given to the second son.”

“That was when you were the son of the King.  You’re now my brother, and Morgana has reservations that you might kill me to become king yourself.  It makes sense.”

I laughed out loud at the thought.  I had no and never had any thoughts of killing him for his crown.  If anything, Morgana needed to separate us so that I wouldn’t try to influence him.

“Who’s taking my place?”

“The head of my personal guard,” she said. “He doesn’t have an axe to grind.”

No, but he was cruel and overbearing.  He just didn’t like Zavarians.  Why was I not surprised?

I looked at Harold, and he wouldn’t meet my eye.  “Is this what you’ll want, Harry?”

It elicited a sharp response.  “You will call your brother by his correct title.”

I turned slightly and glared at her.  “Let me be abundantly clear.  If you are asking for a pitch battle in the throne room, you’ll get it.  The King’s Guard are loyal to me.  Whatever dreams you might have in thinking that you can hijack this kingdom by manipulating my brother, think long and hard before you go down a road that you can’t turn back from.”

The smug look wavered for just a second before it returned with red spots of anger.  “You are no one in this kingdom.  You will do as your King commands.”

He raised his head, now aware this was spiralling.

“Joseph is by royal decree the Master at Arms and in charge of the King’s Guard.  It was proclaimed three hundred years ago, and we are not tampering with proclamations.  Nor will you reassign any of my family’s assigned roles or their accommodations.  Be content with being the Queen.  You have your role and position within the monarchy, as we all have.”

He stood and stretched as if to shed the shackles he believed were going to strangle him.  It was a subject we’d spoken of a week or so before.  I had told him then that I worried that Morgana might get overwhelmed if anything happened to the king and that he didn’t have to carry the burden alone.

I did not express my true thoughts about what Morgana might do if she assumed that he would not interfere with her plans.  From what I just heard, she had not consulted him first, and that might just tip the scales in our favour.

I say that not because i wanted a battle, but that I wanted the Harold I knew was there.  I had expected being overwhelmed himself might give her an opening, but perhaps I need not worry.

He looked at me.  “I appreciate your loyalty to me and this kingdom, Joseph.  There will be no pitch battles on the throne room.  Now or ever.  Perhaps in public you will defer to my title, in private with decorum.”

He turned to Morgana, who was barely containing her anger.  She had made her tilt too early, or perhaps when she believed the time was right.  Whatever she thought, she had completely misjudged him.  I might have wavered myself.

“You must never forget your place.  You are Queen, you have a title and responsibilities.  They do not include tossing my family aside.  If you want me to find roles for some of your family members, then we shall, but all requests must go through Elizabeth, who is the person in charge of the Palace people.  We do not under any circumstances put people in particular roles because of who they are or what they think they deserve.  And lastly, don’t ever use my name to push whatever agenda that suits your desires rather than the good of the kingdom.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”  It was said so quietly we both nearly missed it.

“You can go now, Joe.  They are being on time a little more.  Dad always gave you a little leeway, but I want more discipline in your manner and work.”

“As you wish, your royal highness.”  I kept the sarcasm out of my tone because he was right.  And it also conveyed respect, which had been somewhat lacking in all of us under the previous king.

“Now, go and alert your men to the fact that I’m bringing back the old rituals.  Instead of moping about, the Guard is going to be seen.  London has the Trooping of the Colour, parades, for their monarch and for the people to see that the monarchy is there for them.  I suggest you brush up on the exercises.  We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

A suggestion I had made, and believed it had gone through one ear and out the other.

“Excellent.”

Protocol demanded a bow and proper departure.  We had started overlooking these little things, and I missed it.

As I left, I wondered how he was going to deal with Morgana.  I would have liked to be a fly on the wall, but then what did it matter?  She had shown her hand, and it had failed.  And judging from the lost look she gave me, I had one less friend in the Palace.

…

The flames of the fire had subsided, but had not been extinguished.

We got through the funeral protocols with the appropriate amount of pageantry and celebration, the whole kingdom given a day to remember their old king and reflect on the new.

It was followed by a week-long tour of the whole kingdom so that Harold could meet the people. I had heard that Morgana detested the idea of mingling with the peasants, but this was ignored, and she had to play her part.

But it was clear she was still festering over me standing up to her and the dressing down by a totally different man to that she had married.

I was still coming to terms with the new Harold.

Eloise knew something had happened when I came back to our quarters.  I had tried to brush it off.

“Tell me,” was her first two words.  She knew me better than I knew myself.

“I threw down the gauntlet.  Harry let me slay the dragon in the room.”

“She did it.”

I gave my best effort at total surprise.  I often wondered just what sort of network she had in the Palace.

“She tried.  If it had been the old Harry, she would have seized the day.  He surprised me, and utterly shocked her, and rather on a more serious note, publicly rebuked her.

“You are the Master at Arms.  It’s your purview when there’s treachery afoot.”

“We all like to think that.”

I once thought that Palace security was within my purview, but others might think otherwise.  I didn’t know about the proclamation, and I was going to find out from the Palace historian.

“Don’t worry, it’ll take a lot more than bluster to get us out of here.  Besides were going to need the room.”

I had thought she had acquired a special glow about her, and from the lack of discussion about children i had thought she had given up.

“I figured something was afoot.  You have become even more beautiful than ever.”

“I am with child.  I was waiting, just to be sure.”

I hugged her tightly.

…

Two weeks later, after coming home from the new King’s first royal tour of the kingdom, a time-honoured tradition, the Palace Guard turned out to greet and escort him from the main gate to the Palace entrance.

As the Master at Arms, I would usually be the one who accompanies the elite group of Palace guards charged with the King’s protection when outside the Palace, but there had been a diplomatic problem that I was told needed my attention.

One of the neighbouring kingdoms had broken a long-standing rule of not hunting deer on their neighbours’ lands, not without formally requesting permission to do so.

The odd thing was that everyone, and especially these neighbours, always complied, and it was totally out of character.

Harold summoned me as told me to personally deal with the problem.  I protested, but he said my Sergeant could step up while I attended to the more important matters.  Almost as an aside, he said Morgana’s private guard was going home and would be accompanying them part of the way.

I thought about reminding him of protocols, but it seemed his mind was made up.  It might also have been a case of the changed relationship between him and Morgana after the episode in the throne room with Morgana.  He was the King, but she would not have accepted the rebuke.

Eloise was surprised when I told her of the change in plans, and though she didn’t say what she was thinking, I could guess.

Morgana.

I just shrugged.  My brother was the King, and I was his servant who must obey orders.

So,

The next day, the Royal party left to great fanfare, the new King on a mission of goodwill and the Queen looking very sullen. 

Later, I joined the Chancellor and, with far more men than was necessary, left for the other kingdom, by strange coincidence in totally the opposite direction.

Of course, with the Master and the King absent, the army was controlled by the Sergeant at Arms.  It was not a coincidence that the King had promoted him temporarily to command his personal guard.

It almost left the Palace guard and the castle, without leadership.  It did not.  Among the second tier of leaders, each responsible for twenty or so men, I had been secretly working on creating a new tier of leaders to draw from in the future.  In the meantime, they had orders to keep everyone close and not allow any groups of men to enter until the king or I returned.

We had not seen battle for a long time, as peace had reigned over the realm.  Or so it seemed.  A while back, a discontented villager from the Queen’s home kingdom had arrived in very poor shape with a harrowing tale.

I didn’t believe it.  Not at first, but I asked the scribe to take down his story from start to finish, asking questions, forgetting answers, the sort of answers a simple man could not invent.

He said quite simply that their King had become strange and had made life unbearable for the people.  They had suffered several famines in succeeding seasons and were forced to buy food from neighbouring kingdoms.  When the coffers emptied, taxes were imposed, and everyone gave what they could, and when it was not enough, he had his men take everything.

People were starving and dying.

Now, he said, they were waiting for our king to die and the new King to take his place.  Then Morgana would enact what he called the plan.

He did not know what that plan was.

At a guess, she was to take over, through Harold, and send what we have stored, wealth and food, back home.  I had interrupted that plan, so there had to be another plan.

I advised the Chancellor of parts of what I knew, enough to justify my departure before getting to the errant kingdom, where I suggested he would find they knew nothing of the allegations. 

I took most of the guard with me and took a parallel route to the king, where we would shadow on either flank.

Just in case.

…

I had hoped I was wrong. 

My imagination sometimes veered into mock battles and war-like scenarios, perhaps more out of a desire not just to be in charge of a whole army with nothing to do.

We had tournaments rotating through the Kingdoms each season, keeping the men sharp, with jousting, tests of strength, and archery.  The best of the best, the knights, took their skills to the field, and I had been in a few contests and come off second best more times than I cared to remember.

Those skills would be needed if anything happened, and at least our numbers were weighted on each of the possible fronts.

It took a day to catch up to the King’s procession.  We basically surrounded it and waited.

Four days passed with no sign of any trouble.  A rider returned with the news, it was as I had suspected, the neighbouring kingdoms had no idea what we were talking about.

I put everyone on high alert. 

We were waiting in the forest, not far from the town just visited.  As one of the larger towns, the festivities went on long into the night.  It was the closest point to the direct road to the Queen’s kingdom.

Everyone from the procession was still tired, and I doubted they would be alert to any trouble.  Perhaps that might be a tactic, because it was that time of day transitioning from dark to light.

The best time to attack.

One of the men from the Northern group came riding hard up to us.

A message.

Men on horseback.  Many men.

I told him to pass the word.  Before we had left the castle, I told the leaders the plan if we were attacked.  Stealthy, bold, and no survivors.  The King must never know.

Whilst the Royal procession slowly and obliviously wound along the narrow forest track, my men took care of a hundred ‘enemy soldiers’ from the Queen’s kingdom.

Her brother and the man who was in charge of her personal guard led the mission.  All of his men were slain, bar him, and he was brought before me.  He had not fared well in battle.

The plan was to kidnap the king and Queen and ransom them.  There was no intent to kill, nor to show their faces, so that he paid the ransom and everything went back to the way it was.

Foiled, there was no going back.  I personally executed him.  The men cleaned up, burying each of the bodies with military honour, despite my first command to just throw them into a chasm.

Then I went back to the castle, and having the Chancellor return, and work on a story that hopefully the King wouldn’t check.  The man who warned us had died and was buried in the graveyard.  I had worried about what I was going to do, especially if we had to keep the secret.

And…

On the day the king returned, there was much rejoicing and festivities to celebrate the start of a long and happy reign.

At the end, the King summoned me to his private chamber.  He could not have known about the deeds that had occurred.  My men, every single one of them, had been sworn to secrecy.

He looked tired.

“It was a success.  I had worried the people might not like me.”

‘What’s not to like, Harry?”

“They do not like Morgana.  To be honest, I have not seen so much hate for her.  She tries, but I don’t know, Joseph, ever since I became King, she has changed.”

“Perhaps this is who she has always been, and the fact that you both have had to take up the roles sooner than expected, and neither of you have had the time to settle into a routine.  We used to say when we were children how easy it would be, but I suspect it’s not easy at all.  You have all the people looking to you, you have the affairs of state, you have family duties, it all adds up.”

“We did, didn’t we?  Are you glad you were not born first?”

“I am where I’m supposed to be.  By your side.”

He sighed.  It did not seem to alleviate his mind.

“The Chancellor said the problem was a misunderstanding.”

“Such matters are, though at first it might seem serious.  These are people we have known and traded with for centuries.  It is good that it came to nothing.”

“Jacques tells me you locked down the castle.  Was that necessary?”

“I decided in your absence that I was going to run some battle plans to keep the men alert.  All this inactivity tends to make the men slack.”

“Are there any wars imminent.  I know you have spies in every kingdom.”

Not something he was supposed to be aware of, but necessary.  Long periods of peace could turn into war very quickly.  Which reminded me, my spy in the Queen’s kingdom had not reported recently, and I had to accept he had been discovered.

“None reported and none that I’m aware of.”

“Good.  Now, the Queen has requested that she return home briefly for a visit.  I am considering making it a state visit.  What do you think?”

“You command, I make it happen.”

He looked me up and down in a manner i had not seen before.  I was not sure it was admiration or utter horror.

“Perhaps the words, your Queen, sire, is a traitor, might be more appropriate.  You had to believe that I would find out what you did and why.”

“My job is to protect the King and the kingdom.  Sometimes it is better not to know the details, Sire.”

“Well, thankfully, you didn’t sulk.”

“It’s not in the job description, sire.”

“And you can stop calling me Sire, Joe.  Harry is more appropriate.  What do you recommend we do with her?”

“Nothing.  Once she realised that her brother was missing, she should get the message.  I would not recommend going to her kingdom on a state visit, given the circumstances.  You might agree to let her Hugo, but only with her own people.  If you do, she might not come back.”

“She was party to the plot?”

“I would not wish to comment, Harry.”

“Right.  Organise her visit.”  He stood.  “I’m going to bed, and hopefully tomorrow everything we be as it should be “

If only it were.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

And, the story:

Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?

Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave.  Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.

But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision.  She needed the opportunity to spread her wings.  It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.

She was in a rut.  Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.

It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper.  I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.

And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere.  Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication.  It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.

So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock.  We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.

It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one.  Starting the following Monday.

Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.

I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.

What surprised her was my reaction.  None.

I simply asked where who, and when.

A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.

A week.

It was all the time I had left with her.

I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.

She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.

Is that all you want to know?

I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.

There’s not much to ask, I said.  You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place,  and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.

Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would.  And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.

One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.

So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.

Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology.  It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you.  I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.

Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.

I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me,  you can make cabinets anywhere.

I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job.  It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.

Then the only question left was, what do we do now?

Go shopping for suitcases.  Bags to pack, and places to go.

Getting on the roller coaster is easy.  On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top.  It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.

What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.

Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.

There was no question of going with her to New York.  Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back.  After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends new life.

We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.

Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever.  I remember standing there, watching the taxi go.  It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.

So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.

Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.

People coming, people going.

Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was.  Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.

As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.

Perhaps it was.

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Coming soon.  Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

In a word: state

I think it’s stating the obvious, we are expressing something definitively and clearly.  I stated my case, but it was not good enough to save me from the hangman’s noose.

Or, they stated their case, but with an unforgiving government, it didn’t save them from being deported.

Or maybe not, maybe a state is a territory or nation under one government, though sometimes we might think that governance is not all that great

But it could also mean a subdivision within a single country, like the 52 states of the US, and the 5 states in Australia

And woe betide you if you become a state-less person, it means living in the international transit lounge for the rest of your life.

Or it might be how I feel at the time, you know, I’m not in a fit state of mind to be writing this post, or that I might be agitated, with someone else saying ‘he’s in a state’, or having said something quite odd, it might be said that my state of mind is clouded by grief.

If I was an important person, such as a king or prince, and had the unfortunate luck of dying, I could lie in state, though I could never understand why you’d want to hang around after you died.

 

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 31

A meeting with a nuclear scientist

…

Tara Benson was not my idea of a typical nuclear physicist, but then I always had been a bad judge of matching occupations to personnel.

I had read her biography and service record, mainly the one-paragraph summary, and it said she was one of the best in the world.

Criteria indeed for anyone on this ship apparently, though I didn’t regard myself as fitting into the category, someone must have thought I had the potential.

On the way down I had a few moments to contemplate her ordeal, not only being taken prisoner, but being transported back in the manner we had used, when it was a means I would not willingly use on myself.

It was why the first thought I had when I saw her was to apologise.

She was sitting in one of the special chairs that could analyse everything about you, what ailed you, what diseases you had, the state of your body.

When I had my first medical examination, they put me in an earlier model of that chair and it picked up the missing anatomical parts, the fact I once had several broken bones, that I was slightly anaemic, and the reason why I sometimes had bouts of indigestion.

They fixed all that, and a slight imperfection in my eyesight which I didn’t know about.

The doctor was looking at the monitor when I arrived.

“How is she?”

“Better than we expected. Other than being exposed to radiation for longer than prescribed, and which we can fix, she is in perfect health.”

“Mentally?”

“You can ask her yourself. I’m about to sign off on her going back to work, after a good night’s sleep.”

He spoke to her for a minute or so, then helped her up out of the chair.

“I assume you are the new captain,” she said when she saw me.

“Not by choice, but for the time being, yes.”

“I have a few questions, if I may?”

“Now?”

“If it’s possible”

There was a consultation room free, so I escorted her inside and closed the door. It was odd, I thought, that she sat behind the desk.

I also felt like she was making a mental assessment of me, perhaps thinking that I was not what she might have considered Captain material. To a certain extent, I may have once agreed with her, because everyone expected a captain to be much older and therefore wiser.

It was an analogy I’d heard before.

“Whose idea was it to transport me across to this vessel?”

I had expected that the means might be questionable, but in the moment, and considered along with the course of action I’d taken, it was the right decision.

“Mine. After discussion, of course, with the relevant experts. The risk was acceptable, proven by the fact you’re here now, and relatively unharmed.”

“It was a surprise, I’ll grant you that, and a first. From what I managed to overhear, the plutonium was sent down to their bunker to provide power to the facility, under the surface of the moon, and only accessible by the transporter. Given the risks, it also surprised me they were so committed to using it.”

“Since most of that crew were escaped convicts from the Mars mining prison, any means would be acceptable.”

“Prisoners, not aliens?”

“Yes. The ships were old personnel transports, and the big ship, where you were being held, an old freighter.”

“The Orion.”

I knew it well and surprised that I’d not recognised it. They had managed to disguise it well.

“A ship, I’m sure, you might be familiar with,” she added.

Perhaps my captain’s bland expression was not so bland.

“Ancient history,” I said, “from a time that I would rather leave in the past.”

There was a story, and not a pretty one, of a voyage not so long after commissioning, where systems failed and crew members died, all part of the experience in those early years in space. The quest for profits had outweighed the necessity for proper testing, and we had borne the brunt of the ‘test as you go’ mentality that had reigned before Space Command had taken over.

“You must tell me, one day.”

Her expression was one of curiosity and not one to be mistaken for anything else.

“Is there anything else?”

“If you are considering retrieving the plutonium, let me know and I’ll be happy to help. I suspect the people on Venus would like to see it sooner rather than later.”

“You know where this base is?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll let you know after I’ve spoken to the security people.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2023

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 47

What story does it inspire?

…

…

A table for two…

This was at a winery in Italy where, on the tour we took, we had lunch as part of the tour, after, of course, a tour of the winery.

It was a picturesque setting, and the food, and matching wines, were exquisite, and perhaps we may have had slightly more than we should have.

But, they did leave the wine behind…

However…

Inspirationally, we could base the story around a lunch or dinner, two people looking to get their relationship back on track, deciding to take time out alone to see if the part is still there.

How could it not in a setting like this?

It could be the setting for a chef, trying out his new menu, or working on a new menu, getting tourists to sample the courses and wines.

We’d have to make the chef a man, or woman, on the edge of disaster, and looking to recover from a disaster of some description – like a failed restaurant and the need for second chances…

Or…

A failing chateau, typified by the declining visitor number and warring family members, all of whom were left a share in the large but rapidly deteriorating mansion.

Should they renovate and turn it into a hotel with a 5 star restaurant, or should they sell to developers and see it bulldozed, or will one, secretly very wealthy, offer to buy them all out and preserve the ancestral home?

Anything is possible…

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York