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Newsletter eighty eight
Oct. 11th, 2013 12:29 pmNo dead bodies on the lawn today, thank goodness. See here for the grizzly details). Today is a lovely, bright if bitterly cold day and we’re off to the rugby. I have spare socks and a blanket, in case of Arctic conditions.
News
Books are like buses – you go ages without one and then a whole stampede of them comes along. So, hot on the heels of Lessons for Suspicious Minds, I’ve got another historical mystery tale (short story this time and with a distinct touch of the paranormal) coming out in the anthology Undeath and the Detective, from Elm Books. More news once I have it, but there’s an appetite whetter below.
(Oh, and I’m just about to sign a contract for another just post WWI gay romantic short story. Will post a bit of that next time!)
Secrets is set on board the frigate Hecuba, in the time of the Napoleonic wars. The appearance of a sea monster has heralded a series of alarming events, not least the revelation that two of the ship’s crew have been seeing ghosts. Things are about to get even worse...
The captain’s question was interrupted by the arrival of the lieutenant of marines, with two of his men in tow. “Yes, Henman?”
If everyone who’d heard Thompson’s story of the admiral had turned pale, then Henman’s face out-ashened them all.
“Could you come with us to the hold, sir? Now. It’s important.”
“I will.” Hopkins passed a hand over his brow. “Mr. Douglas, can you make sure Thompson gets a hot meal inside him? Ask my steward to rouse out the last of the chicken broth. That’ll settle him down for a reasonable night’s sleep.”
The looks on the faces of the rest of the midshipmen indicated Thompson might be the only one of them in that happy position. What if this White Admiral, whoever he was, might want to have a word in season with them?
“Mr. Paget?” Hopkins motioned for his first officer to join him as they followed the marines along the deck and down the nearest ladder. “What is it I’m being taken to see?” he asked, once they were out of earshot of the crew.
“A dead man. The surgeon’s with him, but he’s beyond even Mr. Cowan’s care. Here.” Henman pointed, as they reached the hold. Two marines were standing watch, holding a lantern, while Cowan bent over a twisted body.
“Who is it?” Hopkins asked.
“Ponting,” Cowan said, easing himself up off his haunches. “The side of his head’s been stoved in. With this, I suspect.” He pointed to a blood smeared belaying pin, which Paget—gingerly—picked up and held at arm’s length.
“When might this have happened?” the captain continued, eyeing the wooden pin with distaste.
“Sometime during the last couple of hours, I’d say. Perhaps when we were all busy looking at the beast.” The surgeon wiped his hands on a towel.
“Not all of us. Two at least would have been here. But who’d have noticed who wasn’t present when all eyes were on the monster?” Paget looked down at the body. Ponting had joined them at Portsmouth and had proved not a bad sailor, nor an unpopular man. “Why?”
“I can’t divine that.” Cowan smiled, ruefully. “But if he could be moved into a better light he might tell me more.”
News
Books are like buses – you go ages without one and then a whole stampede of them comes along. So, hot on the heels of Lessons for Suspicious Minds, I’ve got another historical mystery tale (short story this time and with a distinct touch of the paranormal) coming out in the anthology Undeath and the Detective, from Elm Books. More news once I have it, but there’s an appetite whetter below.
(Oh, and I’m just about to sign a contract for another just post WWI gay romantic short story. Will post a bit of that next time!)
Secrets is set on board the frigate Hecuba, in the time of the Napoleonic wars. The appearance of a sea monster has heralded a series of alarming events, not least the revelation that two of the ship’s crew have been seeing ghosts. Things are about to get even worse...
The captain’s question was interrupted by the arrival of the lieutenant of marines, with two of his men in tow. “Yes, Henman?”
If everyone who’d heard Thompson’s story of the admiral had turned pale, then Henman’s face out-ashened them all.
“Could you come with us to the hold, sir? Now. It’s important.”
“I will.” Hopkins passed a hand over his brow. “Mr. Douglas, can you make sure Thompson gets a hot meal inside him? Ask my steward to rouse out the last of the chicken broth. That’ll settle him down for a reasonable night’s sleep.”
The looks on the faces of the rest of the midshipmen indicated Thompson might be the only one of them in that happy position. What if this White Admiral, whoever he was, might want to have a word in season with them?
“Mr. Paget?” Hopkins motioned for his first officer to join him as they followed the marines along the deck and down the nearest ladder. “What is it I’m being taken to see?” he asked, once they were out of earshot of the crew.
“A dead man. The surgeon’s with him, but he’s beyond even Mr. Cowan’s care. Here.” Henman pointed, as they reached the hold. Two marines were standing watch, holding a lantern, while Cowan bent over a twisted body.
“Who is it?” Hopkins asked.
“Ponting,” Cowan said, easing himself up off his haunches. “The side of his head’s been stoved in. With this, I suspect.” He pointed to a blood smeared belaying pin, which Paget—gingerly—picked up and held at arm’s length.
“When might this have happened?” the captain continued, eyeing the wooden pin with distaste.
“Sometime during the last couple of hours, I’d say. Perhaps when we were all busy looking at the beast.” The surgeon wiped his hands on a towel.
“Not all of us. Two at least would have been here. But who’d have noticed who wasn’t present when all eyes were on the monster?” Paget looked down at the body. Ponting had joined them at Portsmouth and had proved not a bad sailor, nor an unpopular man. “Why?”
“I can’t divine that.” Cowan smiled, ruefully. “But if he could be moved into a better light he might tell me more.”
