Darkened Daughter Extract – Rickets Den

You did not got to the Purple Pig to drink. You went there for whores and information.

Before the new King’s reign Molly’s tavern had been one of the most successful in Dondara. Now it was nothing more than a crooked sign and a few worm eaten tables crammed into the darkness.

“Are you sure we’ve got the right place?” Mole kept close as his Captain hurried down the city streets towards Rickets Den. Behind them the stone houses of the wealthy seemed to glow softly in the moonlight, oil lamps dotted along the cobbled streets to ward off the shadows.  Rickets Den on the other hand was a mass of shadows, curling and twisting around the wooden buildings which tumbled into one another and disappeared into the depths of the old mining pits. Mole wasn’t a brave man. He was really quite timid by all accounts with a thin reedy voice and a thick, short stature that left many confusing him with a child. Danny found him useful for sneaking into tight spaces but it took some encouragement to get Mole to agree.

“Just stay behind me and keep you voice down,” Danny warned. “We’ll be fine.”

Mole nodded and picked up his pace, determined not to be left behind. If he’d dared he would have caught hold of the tails of Danny’s coat, but he doubted the pirate would appreciate it so he kept his hands where they were. Quickly the cobbled street ran out and instead they were picking their way across mud slick boarding. Mole tried to swallow the bad feeling bubbling up in his throat as he heard his footsteps echoing beneath him. When he was much younger he’d asked his father how deep the old mining pits in Dondara were,

“Deep,” his father said, and left it at that.

Danny led them further into the wooden city, dropping them further into it’s depths ladder by ladder until Mole lost count in the gloom and found himself stood outside a lopsided shack with no windows. Rickets Den was a feat of engineering. It had started when the poor began building their homes near the edges of the open mine, steadily moving closer and closer until their houses jutted out over the edge. It continued that way until eventually half the city seemed to hang in the air above the endless pit, each building pinned in place by timbers, completely interconnected. Mole wondered what would happen if just one beam snapped. Perhaps the whole thing would crumble.

“Stay alert,” Danny warned, fist raised above the door closest. “This may not go as smoothly as I hope.”

Turning away from Mole Danny rapped on the door three times and then retracted his hand quickly, his fingers wrapping around the handle of his sword as he waited for a response. For a long moment there was nothing but silence and the creak of wood as the whole place heaved and sighed around them.

“No one home?” suggested Mole.

“So it would seem.” 

“So we can leave then?”

Danny shook his head and took three steps back, something of a luxury since most of the streets in Rickets Den were barely wide enough to walk down.

“Here,” he said, shrugging off his coat and handing it to Mole. “I need you to hold this.” 

Save Yourself [Contains Swearing]

“You didn’t even try to save me!” Amanda gasped, hands clutching her knee-caps as if she’s afraid they may fall off onto the seed-weed strewn floorboards of the cabin at any moment.

“You were fine,” Griffin drawled. He keeps his eyes fixed on the mechanisms of his gun, polish rag dropped in his laps as he tries to find whatever’s jamming. Before she walked in he’s been swearing twelve shades of blue and threatening to feed Jarred to the dogs. Who Jarred was she hadn’t got a clue.

“You left me to drown!” she snapped, voice stronger now she wasn’t spitting up salt-water.

“You were performing what looked like a pretty effective butterfly manoeuvre to me.”

“I was flailing!”

“And wonderfully so!” grinned Griffin.

“Why didn’t you do something?” she demanded. “I could have died and then it would have been on you!”

Griffin shrugged.

“I could have tried to save you I suppose. However, I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Offend me? How the fuck would you saving me from drowning offend me?” she screeched.

Griffin shrugged again.

“Feminist sensibilities,” he answer, grinning as he located the problem with his firearm. “Gottcha you little bastard.”

“What has politics got to do with any of this?” Amanda scowled. “Are you telling me that I’m cold, wet and probably developing some form of bronchial iciness because you didn’t want to appear like a misogynists?”

“Exactly.”

“I was drowning Griffin!”

“Yes, you did mention that already.”

“Drowning!”

Griffin place one finger in his ear and wiggled it around.

“I didn’t want you to think that I thought a woman couldn’t save herself, and look! You even proved that a woman could save herself without male assistance!”

“Griffin.” She stepped closer, closing the space so that she was stood over him and his stupid gun. “I’m going to fucking well kill you one of these days.”

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[Credit for the image and prompt to: http://rajasinsight.com/2014/08/09/inspiration-call-creative-talents-unleashed-69/]

Lindsey; Three Blocks Down From West Avenue (Contains swearing)

“Did you hear about that Lindsey chick three blocks down from West Avenue?”

Jack snorted and threw his elbow into Edward’s ribs.

“Course I know about that Lindsey chick. Lindsey Legs Eleven.”

“Legs eleven?” Edward said. “You been going to bingo with your Gran again. Dude! What did I tell you about old people!”

“You ain’t said nothin’ about old people.” said Jack. “You were saying about Legs Eleven.”

“You know that sounds kinda weird.”

“How so?”

“Eleven, like eleven years old.”

“Ah gross man! What do you take me for?”

“A virgin mostly.” Edward grinned.

“Fuck you. Just tell me what happened with Lindsey.”

“Oh her? She died. Fell though the floorboards or something. Nasty. Scared the downstairs neighbour half to death according to Foz.”

“You know Foz is a liar right?”

“Course Foz is a liar. You think I don’t know that. But sometimes even Foz tells the truth.”

“So Lindsey’s dead.”

“Yer dead.”

“Fuck.”

“I know. Who you goin’ to bang now?”

visdare

November, Novels and Physio

I’m starting a month of routines.

I need to write at least 1600 words each day to finish Nanowrimo and complete my novel The Lady Winters, I need to complete a series of exercises each evening to increase the strength in my legs since currently there is none, and I really need to get back to learning French and Latin.

On the Physio side I at least know now why I get pain in my knees on a fairly regular basis. My knee cap is not sitting where it should be and the lack of muscle in my thighs isn’t helping matter. So it’s bum, tum and thigh work out for me on a daily basis. Fun, fun. (I am not a sport enthusiast. I like indoors. You don’t get rain.)

Anyway, on the writing front which is probably the bit you lot are interest in, it is November again which means Nanowrimo! Genuine whoo!

(I am a writing enthusiast. I blooming love it!)

As I have mentioned in a previous post, this year I’m going to try and write 50,000 fresh words for my novel The Lady Winters. Last year I got 17000 done for it and then lost momentum and the document was doomed to gather dust in the forgotten recesses of my laptop’s save folder.

But not more!

I’ve already beaten my target for today! Look:

carol-forresterThe question that now stands is will I get time to hit my target tomorrow. I’ve got to visit family, pick up my boyfriend and go to my cousin’s twenty-first.

I might just get started with tomorrow’s word-count today.   

Transfixed

“Just told his attention.” Tom said. “Don’t let it stay back to us.”

Those had been the instructions, passed over with the six inch heels and the crimson dress.

“Isn’t this-” I held the fabric between thumb and forefinger, thinking that even that pinch-full covered too large of a proportion. “Isn’t this all a little clichéd?”

Tom shrugged, collar turned up and fedora pulled low over his brow.

“Maybe” he said. “But that ain’t the point; the point is that I don’t want that geezer looking our way. Not while me and the boys are sorting the business.”

My lips curled and pursed.

“I—”

“I don’t want to hear it doll.” snapped Tom. “I told ya what I want doin’. Now get to it. You gotta keep that boy transfixed!”

Continue reading “Transfixed”