365 Days of writing, 2026 – Beyond the second novel

History and how to integrate it

Weaving Reality into Fiction: Should You Use Real History and Figures in Your Epic Book Series?

If you are currently staring at a blinking cursor, mapping out the architecture of an endless series of novels, you aren’t alone. Writing a multi-book saga is a monumental undertaking. You have to sustain character arcs, invent subplots that don’t feel like filler, and—most importantly—build a world that feels lived-in and real.

One of the most powerful tools in a long-form author’s arsenal is the integration of actual history, real-world locations, historical figures, and authentic organisations.

When working on an endless series, is it a good idea to anchor your fiction in factual reality? The short answer is: Yes, absolutely. But like any powerful narrative tool, it requires a delicate touch. Let’s explore why blending fact with fiction works so well, the pitfalls to avoid, and how to do it effectively to hook your readers for the long haul.


Why Real-World History Adds Authenticity to Long Series

When readers commit to a sprawling book series (think of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire or Bernard Cornwell’s The Saxon Stories), they are looking for immersion. They want to escape, but they also want the world to obey internal logic and historical weight. Here is why injecting real history helps:

1. It Provides a Built-In Foundation

Inventing a sociopolitical system, economic structure, and cultural norms from scratch for a massive universe is exhausting. By drawing inspiration from—or directly utilising—actual historical periods, you save mental bandwidth. Real history gives you tried-and-true templates for warfare, political intrigue, religious conflicts, and technological limitations.

2. It Instantly Grounds the Reader

If your characters walk down a muddy, cobblestone street in a fictionalised version of 17th-century London, mention a real tavern that existed at the time, or interact with a lesser-known historical diplomat, the world immediately snaps into focus. Real-world anchors allow readers to visualise the scene faster because they have cognitive shortcuts to draw from.

3. It Adds Gravitas and Stakes

Real history is messy, brutal, and unpredictable. When fictional characters collide with real historical events (like a devastating plague, a sudden coup, or the eruption of a volcano), the stakes instantly skyrocket. Readers know that in real life, not everyone survives, which adds genuine peril to your endless series.


How to Use Real Elements Without Turning Your Novel into a Textbook

The biggest danger of using real history, places, and people in fiction is infodumping. You’ve spent hours down a Wikipedia rabbit hole researching the 14th-century wool trade, and now you want to make sure your reader knows it.

Don’t.

Here are four golden rules for balancing fact and fiction in a long-running series:

Rule 1: Use Real Places as a Canvas, Not a Blueprint

Whether you are writing urban fantasy, historical fiction, or sci-fi set on Earth, treat real locations as mood boards. If you are setting scenes in an actual cathedral or a specific street, focus on sensory details—the chill of the stone, the smell of coal smoke, the echo of footsteps—rather than giving a geographical lecture.

Rule 2: Bend Historical Figures to Fit Your Narrative Arc

When introducing real individuals, remember that you are writing a story, not a biography. If a real-world general needs to arrive a week early to fit your plot’s pacing, or if a monarch needs to display a personality trait that drives your protagonist crazy, take creative liberties. Just make sure the core essence of the historical figure remains recognisable if they are well-known.

Rule 3: Leverage Real Organizations for Conflict

Secret societies, trade guilds, religious orders, and military units that actually existed (or closely mirror historical ones) add instant legitimacy to your world. When your characters go up against a bureaucracy modelled after the Roman Senate or a merchant guild modelled after the Hanseatic League, the conflict feels sophisticated and institutional, rather than cartoonish.

Rule 4: Leave Room for the Unknown

History is full of gaps, lost artifacts, and unsolved mysteries. This is a fiction writer’s playground. Take a real historical anomaly—the Voynich manuscript, the disappearance of the Princes in the Tower, or Roanoke Colony—and build your fictional mythology into the historical blind spots.


The Secret Weapon for Endless Series: Continuity

If you are writing a long series, continuity is your greatest challenge. One of the hidden benefits of using real history, geography, and organisations is that history doesn’t change.

If you invent a purely fictional political system across ten books, you run the risk of contradicting yourself regarding laws, geography, or cultural customs. But if you tether your world to real-world historical constraints (e.g., how fast a horse can travel in the winter of 1240, or the actual political friction between the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor), reality does half of the world-building heavy lifting for you. You have a built-in encyclopedia that your readers might already be familiar with!


Final Verdict: Strike the Balance

Blending actual history, real individuals, and authentic organisations into an endless series of novels is a masterclass in world-building. It rewards curious readers, grounds fantastical or sprawling plots, and lends an undeniable weight of authenticity to your pages.

Just remember: You are writing a story, not a history lesson. Use the facts as stepping stones to spark your imagination, not as chains that restrict your creativity. When history and imagination collide on the page, that’s where the real magic happens.


Are you currently working on a long book series? Do you prefer total invention or historical grounding? Let us know your thoughts and writing struggles in the comments below!

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Melbourne, Australia

Discover Melbourne’s Hidden Gems: Top 5 Tourist Attractions That Are Peaceful and Unique

Melbourne is renowned for its vibrant arts scene, bustling laneways, and iconic landmarks. However, beyond the well-trodden paths lie lesser-known attractions that offer a tranquil, culturally rich, and often underappreciated experience. If you’re seeking a slower, more intimate journey through the city’s history, art, and natural beauty, here are five top attractions that are rarely crowded but packed with distinctive charm.


1. Shrine of Remembrance: A Historic Sanctuary with Breathtaking Views

Tucked away in a serene parkland setting on the edge of the city, the Shrine of Remembrance stands as a majestic tribute to Australian service members. The neoclassical architecture is awe-inspiring, and the 360-degree views from the terrace—especially at dusk—are unforgettable. While not as flashy as Federation Square or Luna Park, the shrine attracts fewer crowds, especially outside of Anzac Day (April 25). Its quiet ambience makes it perfect for reflection, photography, or simply soaking in Melbourne’s skyline.

Why it’s unique: Open 24/7 and free to enter, it blends architectural grandeur with historical significance. The building’s underground war memorial and gardens are particularly poignant.


2. Museum of Chinese Australian History: A Window into a Rich Cultural Legacy

Step into the vibrant history of Melbourne’s Chinese community at the Museum of Chinese Australian History, housed in a former tram depot in the bustling district of Docklands. This small museum offers interactive exhibits on the contributions of Chinese Australians to the city’s development, from the 19th-century gold rush to modern multiculturalism. The building itself is a work of art, adorned with colourful mosaics and sculptural installations.

Why it’s unique: The museum’s focus on a specific cultural narrative is rare in mainstream Melbourne. Its blend of art, history, and community stories makes it a must-visit for curious travellers.


3. Burnley Park and Gardens: A Hidden Green Escape

Just minutes from the CBD in the suburb of Carlton, Burnley Park is a tranquil oasis with a mix of natural beauty and cultural flair. Home to the historic Burnley Cricket Ground and a lush landscape of gardens, it’s a favourite among locals for picnics and strolls. The park’s lesser-known status means it’s rarely bustled with tourists, offering a peaceful retreat.

Why it’s unique: The park combines recreational spaces with a quirky cricket history—the Burnley Cricket Club, established in 1852, is the oldest surviving cricket club in Victoria. Springtime brings spectacular displays of wisteria and wildflowers.


4. Royal Exhibition Building & Royal Botanic Gardens (Off-Peak Hours)

While the Royal Botanic Gardens can get busy on weekends, visiting during weekdays or early mornings ensures a quieter, more immersive experience. Adjacent to the Royal Exhibition Building, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the area is an architectural and horticultural marvel. The building’s grand Victorian design and the gardens’ curated collections—including the iconic Coachwood Tree—make for a captivating stop.

Why it’s unique: This combination of history and natural beauty is unmatched. The building’s iconic dome and the gardens’ serene paths create a timeless atmosphere, especially enchanting during autumn.


5. Koorie Heritage Trust: A Deep Dive into Indigenous Culture

The Koorie Heritage Trust in the heart of Melbourne is a cultural powerhouse dedicated to preserving and sharing the stories of Australia’s First Nations people. Through art, artifacts, and guided workshops, visitors gain insight into Yarning (storytelling), traditional crafts, and the enduring connection to Country.

Why it’s unique: Small and intentionally quiet, the trust focuses on meaningful, educational experiences. Bookings are recommended, as spaces are limited, but this ensures a personalised and respectful visit.


Why These Spots Thrive in Quietness

These attractions stand out because they cater to niche interests and require a bit of effort to discover—a perfect fit for travellers who prefer depth over crowds. Whether you’re captivated by history, culture, or nature, Melbourne’s hidden gems offer a fresh perspective on this dynamic city.


Final Thoughts: Embrace Melbourne’s Understated Magic

Melbourne’s charm isn’t just in its famous laneways and coffee. By straying from the typical itineraries, you’ll uncover a side of the city that’s reflective, artistic, and deeply human. Whether you’re tracing your roots, enjoying a peaceful garden, or honouring a cultural past, these attractions promise a memorable trip without the hassle. Pack your curiosity—and a camera—and let Melbourne surprise you.

Pro Tip: For the most peaceful experience, visit these spots on weekdays or during the cooler months (May–August). Plus, check out event calendars for exclusive workshops or seasonal openings!

What’s your favourite hidden corner of Melbourne? Share your discoveries in the comments below!

In a word: Blue

Of course, we all know this word is a colour, or colour depending on where you live.  You know, blue sky, deep blue sea, blonde hair, blue eyes.

Very descriptive.

But it can also mean you are down in the dumps, a rather strange, for some, expression that means you are sad or unhappy.

For others, to have a blue means to have a fight with someone

And oddly, and I know this from first-hand experience, a red-haired person will be called bluey, or, less pleasing, either carrot top or blood nut.  I used to ignore those people who used those expressions, except for my father-in-law.

You can do something until you are blue in the face, which means doing it without result until exhaustion; another way of saying you’re wasting your time.

And if something comes out of the blue, it’s usually entirely unexpected.  For me, that’s always a bill I wasn’t expecting; for someone else, an inheritance.

And in some parts of the world, blue is used as a synonym for a conservative political party; for instance, the Liberal Party in Australia and the Democrats in the United States

Blue should not be confused with the word blew, which is the past tense of blow, which is wind causing an air current or blowing air through pursed lips.

That doesn’t mean that if something blew up it was just a giant air mass exploding because it can’t.  If a bomb blew up, it means it detonated.

And if that sounds complicated:

What if something blew my mind?  Does that mean my head exploded?  No, it just means it’s incomprehensible, whether good or bad.

Or

What if I blew a fortune on a three-legged horse?  We all throw good money after bad, but you can quickly lose a fortune, or lose it.

It’s the same thing with opportunities; for instance, he had a chance and blew it.  Yes, obviously something better came along; no, or he just ignored a sterling opportunity.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

lovecoverfinal1

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Hobart, Australia

Discover Hobart’s Hidden Gems: Top 5 Tourist Attractions That Aren’t Crowded but Still Captivating

Hobart, Tasmania’s capital, is best known for its vibrant arts scene, stunning natural landscapes, and iconic attractions like Salamanca Place and MONA. But for travellers craving a quieter, more introspective experience—yet still rich in culture and charm—Hobart offers a treasure trove of lesser-known spots. These hidden gems are often overlooked by crowds but brim with unique stories, history, and beauty. Here are five must-visit attractions that will give you a fresh perspective on this coastal city.


1. Battery Point: A Glimpse into Hobart’s Colonial Heart

Tucked on the northern shore of the Derwent River, Battery Point is a charming historic suburb that feels more like a sleepy local neighbourhood than a tourist hotspot. Here, you’ll find well-preserved Federation-era homes (late 1800s) now converted into cozy cafes, galleries, and boutique shops. Stroll through the cobblestone streets, admire the convict-built wharves, and enjoy waterfront views of the bustling Salamanca Wharf.

Why It’s Special: Battery Point is a vibrant, community-focused area where history and modernity blend seamlessly. Its peaceful atmosphere and local vibe make it perfect for a leisurely afternoon.
Pro Tip: Visit on a weekday for a more relaxed experience, and don’t miss Battery Point’s famous Sunday markets for fresh produce and handmade crafts.


2. Mawson’s Hut Replica at Kingston

A few kilometres east of Hobart, the Mawson’s Hut Replica at Kingston offers a fascinating slice of Antarctic history. Built by Sir Douglas Mawson, an Australian explorer of Antarctica, this replica of his original 1911 hut now serves as a museum showcasing his daring expeditions to the frozen continent. The original hut is still preserved in Commonwealth Bay, while this one houses artifacts and interactive exhibits.

Why It’s Special: This is Tasmania’s unique contribution to polar exploration. While small in scale, the museum is packed with gripping stories and rare artifacts, making it a niche but powerful experience.
Pro Tip: Combine your visit with a scenic walk around Kingston Bay, where you can spot penguins and enjoy views of the Storm Bay.


3. Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG)

Nestled in the heart of Hobart, TMAG is a cultural hub that often flies under the radar. Its eclectic mix of exhibitions ranges from Aboriginal art and natural history to Victorian scientific instruments and contemporary Tasmanian art. The building itself—a former courthouse with a dramatic red-brick façade—is a masterpiece.

Why It’s Special: TMAG offers depth and diversity without the crowds. Its rotating exhibitions ensure there’s always something new to discover, whether you’re a history buff or an art lover.
Pro Tip: Check the calendar for special events and exhibitions, such as their popular Dark Mofo winter festivals.


4. Hobart Rivulet: A River of Stories and Art

Once an industrial channel, the Hobart Rivulet has been transformed into a vibrant urban space. The revitalised area now features interactive art installations, public sculptures, and walkways that trace the river’s path through the city. It’s a great place to reflect on Hobart’s past while appreciating its creative present.

Why It’s Special: The Rivulet is a living museum of art and history. From the quirky Sculpture by the Rivulet collection to historic convict-era buildings like the old Hobart Gaol, there’s plenty to explore.
Pro Tip: Visit at sunset for a magical view of the river, or join a guided walk to delve into its industrial and Indigenous heritage.


5. Cascades Female Factory: A Haunting Chapter of Convict History

In South Hobart, the Cascades Female Factory stands as a poignant reminder of Tasmania’s convict past. This UNESCO World Heritage Site once housed nearly 12,000 women transported to Tasmania. Today, it’s a museum that tells their stories through interactive displays, preserved buildings, and audio-visual guides.

Why It’s Special: Unlike the bustling convict sites at Port Arthur (which is further out), the Cascades Female Factory offers a more intimate and reflective experience. Its focus on the experiences of Indigenous and convict women is deeply moving and educational.
Pro Tip: Take a guided tour to uncover lesser-known stories and get a personal connection to this significant site.


Why These Places Are Perfect for the Discerning Traveller

These attractions stand out not only for their historical and cultural value but also for their ability to offer a peaceful, off-the-beaten-path experience. They’re ideal for travellers who want to avoid the usual tourist throngs while still connecting with Tasmania’s rich heritage and creativity.

How to Visit:

  • Plan your trip during weekdays or shoulder seasons (spring/fall) for the fewest crowds.
  • Use Hobart’s bike paths or rent a car for easy access to nearby spots like Kingston and South Hobart.
  • Pack a picnic and linger longer at these less-visited sites—they’re perfect for slowing down and savouring the moment.

Final Thoughts
Hobart is more than its famous landmarks—it’s a city of hidden stories waiting to be uncovered. Whether you’re exploring the stately homes of Battery Point or reflecting on the resilience of convict women at Cascades, these attractions offer a deeper, more personal connection to Tasmania. So next time you’re in Hobart, trade the well-trodden path for these quiet, captivating gems and discover why the best experiences sometimes lie in the unexpected.

Have you visited any of these hidden spots in Hobart? Share your favourite underrated destination in the comments below! 🌿📷

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 Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines 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 had been 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 get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.

I even 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 a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a 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 me, 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 that 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 Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaines 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 realised 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 realised 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 decided 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 studying 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 realised 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; she might have been 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 who recently moved into the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognised 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 wanted 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 me.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough that 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, rather than tell 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, that 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: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, 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 Blaines 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 and 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 2015-2026

Sunday In New York

365 Days of writing, 2026 – Beyond the second novel

History and how to integrate it

Weaving Reality into Fiction: Should You Use Real History and Figures in Your Epic Book Series?

If you are currently staring at a blinking cursor, mapping out the architecture of an endless series of novels, you aren’t alone. Writing a multi-book saga is a monumental undertaking. You have to sustain character arcs, invent subplots that don’t feel like filler, and—most importantly—build a world that feels lived-in and real.

One of the most powerful tools in a long-form author’s arsenal is the integration of actual history, real-world locations, historical figures, and authentic organisations.

When working on an endless series, is it a good idea to anchor your fiction in factual reality? The short answer is: Yes, absolutely. But like any powerful narrative tool, it requires a delicate touch. Let’s explore why blending fact with fiction works so well, the pitfalls to avoid, and how to do it effectively to hook your readers for the long haul.


Why Real-World History Adds Authenticity to Long Series

When readers commit to a sprawling book series (think of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire or Bernard Cornwell’s The Saxon Stories), they are looking for immersion. They want to escape, but they also want the world to obey internal logic and historical weight. Here is why injecting real history helps:

1. It Provides a Built-In Foundation

Inventing a sociopolitical system, economic structure, and cultural norms from scratch for a massive universe is exhausting. By drawing inspiration from—or directly utilising—actual historical periods, you save mental bandwidth. Real history gives you tried-and-true templates for warfare, political intrigue, religious conflicts, and technological limitations.

2. It Instantly Grounds the Reader

If your characters walk down a muddy, cobblestone street in a fictionalised version of 17th-century London, mention a real tavern that existed at the time, or interact with a lesser-known historical diplomat, the world immediately snaps into focus. Real-world anchors allow readers to visualise the scene faster because they have cognitive shortcuts to draw from.

3. It Adds Gravitas and Stakes

Real history is messy, brutal, and unpredictable. When fictional characters collide with real historical events (like a devastating plague, a sudden coup, or the eruption of a volcano), the stakes instantly skyrocket. Readers know that in real life, not everyone survives, which adds genuine peril to your endless series.


How to Use Real Elements Without Turning Your Novel into a Textbook

The biggest danger of using real history, places, and people in fiction is infodumping. You’ve spent hours down a Wikipedia rabbit hole researching the 14th-century wool trade, and now you want to make sure your reader knows it.

Don’t.

Here are four golden rules for balancing fact and fiction in a long-running series:

Rule 1: Use Real Places as a Canvas, Not a Blueprint

Whether you are writing urban fantasy, historical fiction, or sci-fi set on Earth, treat real locations as mood boards. If you are setting scenes in an actual cathedral or a specific street, focus on sensory details—the chill of the stone, the smell of coal smoke, the echo of footsteps—rather than giving a geographical lecture.

Rule 2: Bend Historical Figures to Fit Your Narrative Arc

When introducing real individuals, remember that you are writing a story, not a biography. If a real-world general needs to arrive a week early to fit your plot’s pacing, or if a monarch needs to display a personality trait that drives your protagonist crazy, take creative liberties. Just make sure the core essence of the historical figure remains recognisable if they are well-known.

Rule 3: Leverage Real Organizations for Conflict

Secret societies, trade guilds, religious orders, and military units that actually existed (or closely mirror historical ones) add instant legitimacy to your world. When your characters go up against a bureaucracy modelled after the Roman Senate or a merchant guild modelled after the Hanseatic League, the conflict feels sophisticated and institutional, rather than cartoonish.

Rule 4: Leave Room for the Unknown

History is full of gaps, lost artifacts, and unsolved mysteries. This is a fiction writer’s playground. Take a real historical anomaly—the Voynich manuscript, the disappearance of the Princes in the Tower, or Roanoke Colony—and build your fictional mythology into the historical blind spots.


The Secret Weapon for Endless Series: Continuity

If you are writing a long series, continuity is your greatest challenge. One of the hidden benefits of using real history, geography, and organisations is that history doesn’t change.

If you invent a purely fictional political system across ten books, you run the risk of contradicting yourself regarding laws, geography, or cultural customs. But if you tether your world to real-world historical constraints (e.g., how fast a horse can travel in the winter of 1240, or the actual political friction between the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor), reality does half of the world-building heavy lifting for you. You have a built-in encyclopedia that your readers might already be familiar with!


Final Verdict: Strike the Balance

Blending actual history, real individuals, and authentic organisations into an endless series of novels is a masterclass in world-building. It rewards curious readers, grounds fantastical or sprawling plots, and lends an undeniable weight of authenticity to your pages.

Just remember: You are writing a story, not a history lesson. Use the facts as stepping stones to spark your imagination, not as chains that restrict your creativity. When history and imagination collide on the page, that’s where the real magic happens.


Are you currently working on a long book series? Do you prefer total invention or historical grounding? Let us know your thoughts and writing struggles in the comments below!

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 23

I’m back home, and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritising.

But here we are, a few minutes opened up, and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

An unlikely ally?

 

The bar in the hotel was tucked away in a small area behind the dining room, or perhaps it was part of the dining room; I wasn’t quite sure.  Indoor shrubs were blocking the view from the front entrance, so we could feel safe enough, and less strenuous to watch the continuous comings and goings of the hotel’s guests and their friends.

For a small hotel, it was quite busy.

We were lucky it was not yet dinner time, so the restaurant was still being set up for the evening dinner service.  I had a look at one of the menus, and the Shepherd’s Pie looked good.  It was mostly hearty British staples like Bangers and Mash and Toad in the Hole.  I guess by calling sausages by their real name, sausages, no one really wanted them.

Three drinks down and looking for the restroom, it ended up being an exploration of the passage that led to a rear door, one that could be used by guests, but was mostly used by smoking staff.  When I went outside, there were two housekeepers and a concierge boy talking about the couple in 506.  I hope Jan and I were not labelled an ‘interesting couple’.

“Let’s go outside and make some calls.”  She finished her drink and slid off the barstool.  

I joined her, and we went out the back entrance, along an alley to the next main street, then along the busy road to an underground station.  There were two other hotels I noticed along the way, so we would not be making it easy for them if they could track us.

I called Nobbin first using the card he left under the name Wilson, leaving the phone on speaker.

“Yes.”  There was no ring on the other end of the line.

“Wilson?”

“Yes.  Who is this?”

“Sam Jackson.  You said to call you if anything happened.  I have managed to track down an address for O’Connell.  I went there and found two women, one named Josephine, who was definitely not a resident or his friend as she claimed.  Then I met another, whose name I can’t remember, but I suspect she’s not who she said she was, nor a friend.”

“Were they looking for the USB?”

“I don’t know.  One was on the floor when I arrived, and I assumed she had been rendered unconscious by someone else.  I roused her, but she had nothing conclusive to say.  I think she was one of your operatives.”

Silence, then, “Why would you say that?”

“I followed her out onto the street.”

More silence, then, “She was asked to search the flat.”

“For what?”

“Anything that would be useful in telling us what he was doing.”

“I’m sure I told you that Severin was after a USB, so I thoroughly searched O’Connell’s flat and didn’t find it, or anything else.”

“Neither did she, which is unfortunate, but not unexpected.  O’Connell must have been worried about the information he’d uncovered, enough to not be carrying it with him.”

“Well, I don’t think it was his primary residence.  Still too many price tags on the furniture.  He had somewhere else to go, and that might be where the USB is.  I’m surprised you don’t seem to know very much about him or what he was doing given he was one of your operatives.  Unless, of course, he went off-book.”

“I assure you that isn’t the case, and O’Connell’s activities were on a need to know basis.  All I can say is that he was using a Journalist cover, investigating cyber currency being used to purchase weapons.  We were scheduled to meet for a report on his progress late afternoon on the day he was killed.  Are you sure there was no one else near the alley where he was killed?”

“It was empty except for Severin and Maury.

“And you.”

“Are you implying that I took it?”

“No, but there’s a compelling case that might fit you in the frame.  Do you know who the other woman was in O’Connell’s flat?”

“No.  Like I said, she gave me a name, but I don’t think it was real.  She claimed to be his neighbor, but so did Josephine, so it’s likely she wasn’t.  Other than that, she could be anyone.  If he had another place, you might want to try and find out where it was.  I’m going to take up the search tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure there was nothing to point you in that direction lying around in the flat?”

“The man was a neatness freak.  I doubt it.  And now he’s dead.  The only possibility I can see is that he found out what Severin and Maury are about to do, and by now they will be far more desperate to find it.  We need to get to it first, so perhaps if you have some analysts looking for something to do, see if they can find that second residence.  I’m sure you can get a hold of any CCTV there is.  You might be able to find him that way.  If you do and you get an address, let me know and I’ll go straight there.”

“Yes, of course.  Keep in touch.”

The line went dead.

“Interesting man,” Jan said, “but not a trustworthy one.  You listen to the modulation of his voice.  That’s a man who wouldn’t know the truth even if he fell over it.  And if he does find that address, you will not be the first person he calls.”

I shrugged.  “Probably not.  As for Nobbin, isn’t that the very nature of our business, to tell endless lies in order to get to the truth?”

“Remind me, one day, to tell you about pathological liars.”

© Charles Heath 2019-2020

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 79

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

Finding the treasure, or something else

It was time to go.

She had stayed with me the whole time, and made sure I’d seen her phone the whole time.  I was sure it was deliberate, and there would be repercussions at the end of this exercise, success or not.

She made no mention of it the whole time too, but it was stewing behind her eyes, and I could feel it.  It was a trait of my mother’s when dealing with my father, whom she never really trusted, and not without reason.  He had let her down, us down, more times than I could remember.

We had just enough light to find our way to the base of the cliff.  The weather forecast was for a cloudy night and the prospect of rain around midnight, when I was hoping we’d either found what we were looking for, or it was a bust.

The wind had picked up after we left the cave and was gusting intermittently by the time we were in position, so between the darkness and the wind, the climb was going to be ‘tricky’.

Boggs said he was up for the challenge.  I was not so sure. 

It was not far upwards to the ledge, but by the time he started, the moon had gone behind the cloud cover, the wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped dramatically.  A minute later, he had disappeared into the darkness, leaving only a trailing rope behind that I was loosely holding.

The wind overtook the noise of him ascending, and the hammering of pitons into the rock crevices, so it felt like we were alone on the beach.  Nadia was standing about 10 feet away looking upwards.

Was she tracking Boggs progress, or waiting for something else?

The moon shed little light on our position, in between passing clouds, not enough to work solely by it. We had torches, and intermittently I could see approximately where Boggs was, and it seemed to me he had been at the same spot for at least ten minutes.

Had he reached an impasse?

We had no means of communication, I wasn’t going to call out to him, nor, I was sure, would he call out to me.  At least, only if it was necessary.

Then, I felt a slight tug on the rope, the sign her had made it to the ledge.  If he had not found it, the plan was we would leave, and go back to square one.

I went over to Nadia.  “We’re up, you’re next.”

“I’d rather stay on the ground.  I don’t need to be scaling rocks.”

“We agreed, we’d all go up.”

“Are you sure this is not about you having trust issues.”

“No.  It’s time, unless you know something I don’t.”

“Like?”

“You tell me if there are any surprises waiting for us up there?”  It was as close as I was going to get saying that she had betrayed us, and, knowing what was waiting, didn’t want to be there to face our disappointment.

“When have I had time to arrange anything.  You’ve been with me the whole time.”

I had, though it was not for that purpose, but not an unreasonable assumption on her part given the circumstances.

I shook my head.  I think deep down I was expecting some sort of development, even though I had hoped that she would be as good as her word.  It also annoyed me that she was making it so I was put in a position where the only assumption she could make was that I didn’t trust her.

It was like being painted into a corner.

And it was clever on her part because she left the onus on me, absolving herself of any blame, whether on not she was telling the truth or not.

I was the bad person.

“As you wish,” I said.  “Go home, there’s no need for you to stay.  It’s probably the last place you should be when everything goes pear shaped.”

“I’m happy to be the last line of defence.”

“When the shit hits the fan, Vince isn’t going to care whether you share the same surname or not.  Best you’re not here at all.”

“Are you expecting him?”

“We’re trespassing on Cossatino land.  If he finds out…  Best if you were not here, seriously.”

“You do realise what he’ll do if he does find you.”

It was a statement, not a question, and yes, I did.  And I’d kept Boggs waiting long enough.  “I’ll let you know what we find.”

Enough sparring, I turned and headed back to the base of the cliff. 

Scaling the cliff was not that hard, Boggs had said to keep a tight hold on the rope and used the pitons he’d places strategically as footsteps on a ladder.

When I reached the ledge, Boggs was waiting and pulled me up the last of the climb onto the narrow alleyway between rocks.

“Took your time,” he muttered.

“Nadia is having reservations about joining us.”

“Sending the lambs to the slaughter, eh.”

I’d expected that reaction, and I could see how he’d reach such a conclusion.

“She is not a climber.”

“Neither are you, but…”

“I don’t think it matters which side she’s on, in the end.  We’re not here by invitation, especially if Vince turns up.  Let’s get on with it before we get cold feet.”

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Actually, I do.  You asked me along for the ride, and I let you down.”

I’d thought about it, and it seemed to me everyone, one way or another, had let him down.  If I put myself in his shoes, I’d be terribly disappointed.

“You’re here now, that says a lot.  But, enough talk, let’s see where this goes.”

I looked up and could just see the overhang, an almost flat slab of rock almost suspended in mid-air.  If it fell, we might be crushed, on it would land on or crumble, over the outer wall, which in itself looked to be part of the original wall split away.

What was once most likely a ledge, was now was tunnel.  The ledge would have been much wider, before the fall, and in this current form, narrower than it used to be.  If there was a chest or two to take away, it wouldn’t be wide enough.

I followed behind, the small torch beam picking out the sharp edges and avoiding jutting pieces of rock, making progress slow.

Ahead I could see Boggs had stopped, and was examining the wall.  When I joined him, he was standing in front of wood panelling.  A closer inspection showed it to be a door.

“That’s a good sign,” he said.  He rapped on the door and it sounded dull, like it was hollow.

To one side there was a rusty handle and a large lock, equally rusty.  I picked up a rock and with one hit, it snapped of and clattered on the ground.

I then pounded on one of the wooden panels and it disintegrated.  It had rotted over time, how much time was moot, and didn’t take much to bash an opening wide enough to fit through.

The air coming out was quite pungent, if not foul.

“Not exactly a welcome.”

“It smells of death.”

Boggs gave me a look that might have translated to ‘keep your opinion to yourself please’.

“Well soon find out.”  After selling the torch light as far in as he could, and not seeing any immediate danger, stepped over the threshold.

“Beware of any possible boobytraps.”  I’d seen too many films with similar situations, and if there was treasure in this cavern, the pirate would not let it be taken without a fight.

“Seriously, Sam.”  He turned a put his light on me. “That’s just a myth perpetuated by Hollywood.”

“Just saying, be careful.”

I saw him shrug, and turn back.  Perhaps as a nod to my warning, he reached out, checking for trip wires, as I ailed my torch at his feet, and saw what looked to be a rope strung six inches above the ground.  It looked as rotting as the door timber.

“On the ground,” I said.

He moved his light to join mine, saw the rope, and traced it from the floor, upwards to the roof.  If he had tripped over it, might it bring the roof down, or part of it?

He stepped back, kicked through it, and it disintegrated into dust.  Nothing happened.  It had to be the rope had rotted and couldn’t be used to spring the trap. 

“So far, so good.”

A flimsy rope wasn’t going to stop him.

“Just be careful.”

We used both torches to light both sides of the cave, and the roof, just in case.  The torch light did not reach the end, so it was slow progress.

Twenty paces later, we came to a larger cavern, and a quick look around showed parts of it had been man made.  A shiver went through me, and I thought that might be a ghost passing through me.

“You feel that?” I asked Boggs, now several steps in front of me.

“It’s just cold Sam.”

“I reckon there’s a body down here, somewhere.”

Suddenly his torch stopped, near the floor, adjacent to what looked like a ledge.  The corner of the cavern.  There were torn rags scattered. 

I joined him and added the light from my torch, widening the display.

The involuntary gasp was mine.  A skull, still attached to the skeleton, partially covered by cloth sitting in the corner, as if that was his final resting place.

“I was not expecting that,” Boggs said, the slightest of cracks in his voice.

I shuddered. 

I moved my torchlight along the wall, and found two more skeletons, both lying down on the ground in front of the ledge, as if they had been dragged there.  It wasn’t hard to deduce how at least one died, a sword appeared to be through the middle of the torso.

“Pirates who didn’t like their share of the treasure,” he said.

“Or raiders, who weren’t expecting guards?”

All three looked as though they were from the 17th and 18th centuries, and had not been disturbed for a long, long time.

A view of the cavern showed nothing else, except for what looked like beds made of straw on the ledges, and several chests that were in better condition than the door to the cave.  There was more clothing and other supplies, like pewter mugs and plates, and pottery bottles, some of which had liquid in them.

We didn’t say much, there wasn’t much to say. 

Except the obvious, we were the first visitors in a long, long time.

There was a passage off to one side, not visible from the entry point to the cavern, and now that we had established there was no treasure, headed towards it.

Boggs shine his torch in the entrance, and it appeared longer than the beam travelled.  The sides of this cavern were damp, and I could hear a slow dripping sound in the distance.

If my orientation was right, we would not be going,  further into the cliff, but running parallel with the shoreline.

“Ready?”  Boggs asked. 

There was no mistaking that hint of fear in his voice but whether he didn’t feel safe, or perhaps because of what we might find, like more dead pirates, I was feeling equally apprehensive.

‘As I’ll ever be.”

He took a few tentative steps, checking the walls as he went.  I followed.

It was damp underfoot, and several times I stepped in a small puddle.  We were surrounded by the aroma of salty water and a mouldy dank smell of dampness.

The next cavern was just beyond the initial torch beam, but slowly came into view as we approached it.  This cave showed signs of being dug out, and the cavern definitely so.  This was not a natural part of the cave system.

This cavern was slightly larger than the last one, had just one ledge which had three chests set out equidistant on it.  It was the first sight our torches displayed.

Was this the treasure?

Boggs headed straight towards them.  I was a little more circumspect, and slowly ran my torch around the rest of the room, until I found another body.

This one was definitely not as old as the other three.  In fact, my guess, it was either Ormiston, or, dare I consider it possible, Boggs senior.

By this time Boggs had opened the first chest and muttered, “nothing”, letting it slam down quite loudly and making me jump.

“Hey,” I said, “There’s another body here, but it’s not a pirate.”

He swung around and pointed his torch on the body, and gasped.  “No.  It can’t be.” 

He went over and knelt beside the body.  The clothes were still intact, and although damp and grimy, were still recognisable.

I saw him check the pockets first of the coat, then the pants, finding what looked like a wallet.  He carefully opened it, then fell backwards, surprise or disbelief.

“Is it.”

He held up the wallet.  “My father.  How did he get here?”

“No treasure in the chest?”

“Empty.  If it was there, it’s long gone.”

So, Boggs senior had known where the treasure was, as he had said, just before he disappeared.  Had he led the others here, and they had incapacitated him, then left him to die?

I checked the other two chests, the second nit holing treasure, but another body, jammed into the space, in slightly better condition than Boggs, but there was no mistaking the cracks in the skull.

It was another man, and if I was to make a guess, it would be Ormiston.  Had Boggs and Ormiston joined forces, or had they turned up at the same time and attacked each other.

“I think that the body in this chest is Ormiston,” I said, closing the lid to the chest.  “It would be interesting to know if they ran into each other, and whether they had found the empty chests too.”

Boggs hadn’t moved.  I could see him struggling with the fact he had found his father, and the location of the treasure, where it had once rested. 

The fact Ormiston had head injuries suggested the treasure was here, and someone had removed it.

Cossatino?

But, the question was, how did they get here if they didn’t come in via the door we’d broken down.  There was another cave leading off this cavern, but it looked as though it led into the hill, rather than head towards the shoreline.

I was heading towards that entrance when I heard a scream cut short, coming from the direction we had just entered the cavern.

Nadia?  Had she changed her mind, followed us, and found the pirates?

© Charles Heath 2020-2022