Roland Clarke's Blog, page 27
April 27, 2019
#WRiTECLUBDFW – WRiTE CLUB 2019
Although I’m struggling through
the Blogging from A to Z tail end/aftermath, I’m about to follow WRiTE CLUB 2019.
Just what is WRiTE Club? In short, it “started
off as a modest competition loosely derived from the movie FIGHT CLUB, and from there it has
grown into a writing community sensation…”
Here’s the link for all the details: https://www.dlhammons.com/p/write-club-2019.html
Monday April 29th is
the start of the competition and hard work/thought for us reader-followers:
[image error]WRiTE CLUB Calendar
“Over the course of the next eight weeks, we’ll hold daily bouts (M-F) right here on this blog – randomly pitting the anonymous 500-word writing samples against each other. The winners of these bouts advance into elimination rounds, and then playoffs, quarter-finals, and then ultimately a face-off between two finalists to determine a single champion.”
There were a record-breaking 189 WRiTE Club entries from 137 writers!
They received writing samples from writers around the globe that
represent 40+ different genres and sub-genres. The twenty clever and avid slush
pile readers have narrowed the entries down to the 30 contestants for the daily
bouts.
Now it’s our turn. Anyone who
visits the WRiTE Club blog during the contest can vote for
the sample that resonates with them the most – leaving a critique to help
writers hone their craft.
Plus, the readers can win too – if we vote. If you check out all the cool prizes at https://www.dlhammons.com/p/write-club-2019.html you will find all the rules, prizes and links.
So, if you are tempted to read and vote for some great pieces of short writing, visit WRiTE CLUB 2019 from Monday April 2019. You might even pick the WRITE CLUB Champion or be a reader/voter winner.
[image error]
X for Xanthippe – Azure Spark. Part 24
[Don’t miss the Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
XANTHIPPE – Wednesday Mid-morning
Xylitol, xerostomia, x-rays, xerosis? I’m confused by the
medical jargon. Wiley’s unconscious, and his skin is yellow and dry. Xanthic xerosis?
“Doctor, without the medical jargon, how is our
colleague?”
He glances at his watch. It’s an hour since we brought Wiley
into the A&E at Ysbyty Gwynedd, Bangor – and another squad car took Vivian,
restrained, to Porthmadog.
“He is unconscious but breathing. All his vital signs
are acceptable. The x-rays show nothing is fractured. I cannot detect the
supposed toxin – yet. There are more tests I need to run.”
I try to breathe steadily. Hope Wiley’s okay. He has to be.
“So, his pallor? His skin. What’s that from?” asks
Kama.
“Xerosis or abnormal dryness can occur in the eyes – xerophthalmia
– on the skin – xeroderma – and in the mouth – xerostomia. Of these, he
exhibits the latter two. So, we will test for asialism, ichthyosis and other causes.
Also-“
“Keep us updated via our PCSO,” I say, smiling as
the same female officer who helped before.
Protection for one of our own? In a coma? But not with a
gaff. An unknown toxin? Is that what’s in the canisters? A biological or chemical
weapon?
Shivers set off my tattoos.
A for Abnormal and Avenger. B for Breathing and Biological. C
for Coma and Chemical. D for Dryness and Death. V for Victim and Vigilante. I
for Intent and Identify.
BAD? DIVA?
Vivian or Pia? We need answers.
WEDNESDAY – Midday
“ Njörðr Hämnaren is moored at Liverpool Marina?”
Uthyr answers on speakerphone in Ffion’s office.
“Yes, within a short walk of the city. But we are ready
to stop them unloading.”
“If the canisters are biological or chemical
hazards,” says Ffion. “The Swedes can release them from the boat –
into the air or the harbour. I’ve alerted NaCTSO, but we need more
evidence.”
The National Counter Terrorism Security Office will rely on
us to keep them informed so they can co-ordinate the appropriate units. But we
are acting on suspicions. My gut feelings.
“Has your rogue officer said anything helpful?” asks
Uthyr.
“She’s evasive and shrewd. Playing with us. But she’ll
talk.”
“I pray it’s in time to stop whatever the Swedes have schemed.”
“It will be, Uthyr. You know my dynamic-duo and rate
them suitable for your unit.”
I wonder who leaked that. Have they discussed our future?
Ffion rings off and motions for us to follow to an interview
suite – our only one with a two-way mirror. CPS approved.
“Suggested questions? I’ve tried the vigilante angle
and DC Utkin wanting to dispense her own justice.”
Utkin. Xander. That triggered her reactions.
“Ask what drove her brother Xander to commit arson. And
what divine law guides her.”
Ffion motions to the viewing room as she steps into the main
interview suite along with the police sergeant who was inside guarding the
door.
Vivian is sitting with the defence lawyer she has requested.
Ffion switches the recorder on.
The lawyer plays his hand. “My client will only answer
questions that relate to her arrest.”
“The attempted murder of two officers. The canisters on
the yacht. Why she’s put another officer in hospital. So – everything.”
“Circumstantial associations,” says Vivian.
“Evidence massaged by two officers that resent me and my colleagues.”
“Officers that arrested your brother Xander for arson.
Valid? Or tampered evidence?”
Vivian stares hard at the mirror. Eyes burning into ours.
Accusing.
” I know this room and that ridiculous mirror. They’re
listening – your pet officers who arrested him. Yes, he deserved to be put away
for his crimes. But they drove him over the edge.”
Ffion opens a file. Xander’s case?
“By ‘they’ you mean his ex-wife Dinah Quinlan and her
partner Aerona Ogilvy? What did they do to pervert the law?”
Vivienne hesitates. Her lawyer shakes his head, then
whispers to her. Does he suspect what she might admit? Vivian glares at him, at
Ffion, at us. Anger triggered.
“The Lord’s Law. 1 Corinthians 6:9 – ‘Or do
you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be
deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who
have sex with men’. This is a Christian country and I respect that.”
“So, your fellow officers become legitimate targets – even if they attend chapel like Sparkle. Or Wiley Yates who is as heterosexual as you.”
Vivian shakes her head. “He agrees with your dike pets and does nothing to correct their delusion. Unlike my friends. Their belief is firm.”
Ffion pauses and flicks through the file. Page by
page. Vivian shuffles and sweats.
“Who is next? Me, another Christian who believes in her officers? This vendetta won’t end with two or three dead colleagues. What’s in the canisters, DC Utkin? Or are you as immoral as your brother? A criminal and not one of my officers?”
Fists on the table, Vivian shakes her head.
“And if I help, what do I get? I only did this to
correct what our system failed to do – protect people. Without the police
presence, vigilantes are dangerous. I can stop that. With me involved, they will
help us.”
“Help us do what? Do we need the containers? Do we want
them?”
“Xanthippe, they called me – confrontational. The
Swedes thought I wasn’t to be trusted. I challenged their aims too much. But I
know the best way to deal with misfits not them. This was my chance.”
“Now I’m offering you the chance to stop this – earn
respect.”
My mobile rings. The PCSO at the hospital.
“DS Yates is recovering. The doctor says there was no
venom. Just a heavy sleeping draught. When he is well enough to talk, I’ll get Wiley
to call.”
A bluff. Vivian is the fraud spinning a yarn.
R for Respect and Revenge. Y for Yacht and Yarn. A for
Abnormal and Avenge. D for Death and Duplicity.
YARD. A railway goods yard?
I message Ffion. “Wiley okay. Say he died. Not her intention. So will break her.”
Ffion sits back, shakes her head and cries.
“Wiley. Why him? Didn’t he love you enough?”
Vivian claws her head, body shuddering.
Another red herring.
C for Casualties and Cons. K for Kisses and Kudos. O for Opportunists and Objectives.
DOCKYARD. My tattoos convulse me.
Knees buckling. Mind churning letters and clues.
Kama’s arms around me. “Cariad. Not again?”
[image error]
Xanthippe, wife of Socrates, from Guillaume Rouillé ‘s Promptuarii Iconum Insigniorum https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xanthippe
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath
charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
William Congreve –
The Mourning Bride
April 26, 2019
W for Whiplash – Azure Spark. Part 23
[Don’t miss the
Music treat at
the end.
This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
WHIPLASH – Wednesday
Dawn
Wounds washed by waves, we lie waiting. Bodies wrapped around each other in what remains of our splinter-lacerated wet-suits. The wind carries the sound of an outboard motor approaching.
A boat draws near to the rock
island in Aberdaron Bay. Seabird residents watch our rescuers – the two detectives
investigating our deaths.
“Thank God,” says
Wiley in English as he rushes forward. “We were on the Llŷn when control
alerted us.”
“Some locals reported
glimpsing bodies out here on Ynys Gwylan-bach.” Vivian stares at us, eyes
wide. The rips and gashes? “Actually, the two guys that found your wrecked
boat. Helpful.”
I wriggle from Kama’s
embrace. Wiley lifts me and Vivian assists.
“If you can walk, we’ll
get you to the boat. Then we’ll return for you, Kama.”
I stagger. Feign weakness but
drag myself upright. Wary, but there’s a witness. Padrig watches from the boat
and hoists me as I struggle aboard.
“Welcome back. I feared
my lessons had been wasted when we found your boat.”
While Wiley and Vivian retrace
their steps to Kama, Padrig continues in Welsh.
“They show concern, but I’d
watch out. They’ve been asking strange questions.”
Subtle tingling. A for Alert.
W for Warning.
“Like what?”
“For one, how we found the boat and where? That was okay until today. They asked about this rock island – Ynys Gwylan-bach. Why here so far from the wreckage? Currents should have carried you and the wood from the hull in the same direction.”
“We swam towards the
bay.”
He nods as our detective
allies return. A for Allies. W for Weasel.
“We need to get those
wounds treated,” says Wiley. “Splinter slashes might get
infected.”
Once aboard, Vivian sits
beside Wiley, knees touching as Padrig heads to Aberdaron.
“We have your belongings
from the B&B in our squad car,” she says. “We went to Penrhos
yesterday – in case you had both returned there.”
I shiver, apprehensive but
not from the cooler air. E for Evidence.
Ashore, Padrig says, “I’ll be in the bar if you
need me, genethod. Dywed yn dda am
dy gyfaill, am dy elyn dywed ddim.”
Do our English colleagues understand? ‘Speak well of your friend; of your enemy say nothing.’ It doesn’t
matter. He verifies the tremors – our quarry is near.
In the National Trust car park, Wiley opens the white Ford
Focus’s tailgate, and nods at two suitcases with stickers promoting Patagonia.
“Apologies.” He
palms his forehead. “We should have collected more suitable gear at your
home. But nobody knows the codes –”
“–for our weird security
doors,” says Kama. Not exactly true as Ffion does have them. “I’m
okay with these colours – for a few hours.”
We change in the pub’s
washroom. Wearing pastels instead of black is an acceptable price if we expose
the vigilante. I repeat Padrig’s warning on the island to Kama – in Tamil. Public
toilets have ears.
Outside, Wiley leads us back
to the car park. “DI Baines wanted us to get you checked by a doctor. So
were going to Tremadog – as it’s near the station.”
But with minimal facilities. Why are no paramedics here? No A&E arrangements? Ffion knows our injuries are superficial. But who cancelled routine medical response?
O for Orders. M for
Misdirection.
Wiley hands Vivian the keys
to the Focus, then climbs into the backseat beside Kama.
Are we being separated? I’m motioned
to the front passenger seat by an unsteady Wiley.
“All this messing around in
boats is exhausting.”
Vivian laughs and fastens her
seatbelt. Then drives off along the B4413 towards Pwllheli.
“How long were you
swimming before you reached the island? All night?”
Suspicious of our story. Both
of them or just Vivian?
S for Suspect and Swimming.
I smile back. “Most of
Tuesday night. We tried to land but there were rocks and cliffs. Hard to find anywhere
at night.”
“Ynys Gwylan-bach was
the first place we saw where we could land. By then it was light,” says
Kama. “We slept for hours. Until you found us.”
“Keeping each other warm
seems – strangely sensible.”
Our secret relationship is
illicit in her eyes. AMOURS or ARMS?
Time this right. Wrangle it
out. Wary.
“Basic survival. Our
wetsuits were useless in the cold air.”
Silence. Vivian seems
satisfied. Wiley is dozing.
Sweat on her forehead. She’s
thinking. Plotting? Remembering?
The case that convicted her brother for arson?
“Have you seen your brother
recently?”
She grits her teeth. Blinks
but stares at the road. “He took me to the races at Chepstow on a recent day-off.
Backed a few winners. He’s taking me to Ffos Las for Ladies Day later this
month.”
Intentional evasion. She’s
talking about her brother Quincy the goading polo player.
“And Xander?”
“Deservedly locked up –
unlike the women that put him there.”
Her fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, turning white. Hate. Kama and me? Xander’s ex-wife and her queer partner? All of us?
“He set fire to the stables
and poisoned their horses. Unprovoked and the jury found him guilty.”
“And ignored what drove him
to breaking the law. You and your partner were the arresting officers. You
ignored the provocation. Failed to report all the facts. Scorned divine law. I
can’t forget, but enough said – for now.”
Impassive but sweating.
So, divine law makes me guilty. I’ve been a sinner for years – in chapel eyes. Even if I attend – when crime allows. Guilty. Vigilantes against Gay Pride? Unreal and yet too possible.
West of Mynytho, Vivian
throws a left onto the smaller B4415. We’re thrown to off-balance as she weaves
to straighten up down the lane between two stone walls.
Wiley is sound asleep. Trees
close in.
“Where are we
going?”
“Bangor – the A&E.
Or aren’t you really injured?” She smirks as she accelerates. “You
two are such fakes – except for your disgusting perversion.”
I try to grab the steering wheel,
but she just wrenches it to the side again, scraping the stone wall.
“This time, I’ll dispose
of you properly – and Wiley.”
A belt whips around her neck and I wrest the wheel from her, steering us onto the rain-soft verge where the wall ends.
“Never let an officer
sit behind you with a whip for a belt. Wisdom 101.”
I blow a kiss at my colleague
as I cuff Vivian, then drag her onto my side of the squad car.
“What did you give
Wiley? A sleeping draught?”
Another sick laugh. “Nothing so inept. Diluted weever fish toxin sweetened with xylitol – no known antidote. But he knew the risks of not punishing criminals. Death.”
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.
Why? Pric pwdin.”
“I don’t have to say
anything. Not to you two dikes. To our DI, Ffion Baines – perhaps. Then, I will
mention everything that I will rely on – if this ever gets to court. If anyone
survives to witness this.”
A warped version of our
police caution. Do we need to warn her officially? Yes.
Kama does as she secures Vivian
inside the squad car.
X for Xylitol and Xenial. A
for Amours, Arms and Alert. N for Nervous and Names. D for Directions and
Deception. E for Envenom and Embittered. R for Retaliation and Revenge.
XANDER. How is he connected
to murder? Is he the real threat?
[image error]
Photo:Flickr: rogdavies – Used on
https://www.buzzfeed.com/mlew15/15-gorgeous-welsh-proverbs-by-which-to-live-your-l-h0se
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride
April 25, 2019
V for Vendetta – Azure Spark. Part 22
[Don’t miss the
Music treat at
the end.
This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
VENDETTA – Tuesday 1 p.m.
Vague visions vex me as they
vanish. Memories return as Kama kisses me.
“You fainted, cariad. You need more time to
recover.”
She’s kneeling on the grass
with my head in her lap. She caresses my face.
“No. We haven’t got time. I fear what Lagens väktare means.” I look up at Ffion and Uthyr, their brows creased. “I need to go online. On my sister Gwawr’s computer.”
We sprint to the house and I
sign to my deaf sister.
Upstairs in her room, the
four of us squeeze behind Gwawr as she types Lagens väktare into
Google Translate.
“Guardians of the Law”
“Above the law.
Vigilantes. That’s their motivation. And my hyper-active tattoos are screaming
Arms.”
“Explosives?” asks
Ffion. “Like they used on your boat? Or guns?”
“The canisters were not
tall enough for long weapons,” says Kama. “But disassembled ones,
handguns, or components would be a viable guess.”
Uthyr waves me to the
doorway. I trust my sister, but guessing she can lip read, Uthyr asks, “Should
we talk outside?”
“Gwawr’s my trusted
researcher – and my late tad knew
that – as does Ffion. She knows more than mam-“
“-About you and Kama as well?” His smile eases my racing pulse. “Yes, I suspected when I arrived. You make a great couple and my unit would validate that.”
As they look over at us, we call
the others over and suggest grabbing tea or coffee and sitting outside.
Drinking as we sit on the
wooden bench overlooking the farm, I attempt to relax. This is almost home –
this working farm. The sound of sheep. The glistening water where Kama and I
swam before not making love. Better to dive in again to banish the nightmare.
Utkin. Xander Utkin.
“Ffion, does Vivian’s
personnel file show any relationship to Xander Utkin, the guy Kama and I put
away for arson, earlier this year?”
Our DI closes her eyes. A
long pause when I wonder if this thread is coincidence.
“Vivian admitted Xander
was her brother when she applied to join CID, three months ago. However, she
was estranged from him and said he deserved to be locked up.”
Connected. Disapproval.
“Any sign that she feels
that we are too soft on crime?”
“None. Like all of us
she sympathizes with the victims. Works tirelessly to resolve cases. I suspect
that’s one of the reasons that Wiley-“
“-Obsesses about
her,” says Kama. “Those two are inseparable. Perhaps another
team.”
Perhaps vigilantes. Or are
they virtuous?
“Their follow-up on your
deaths,” says Ffion, “has been exacting and sensitive.”
V for Vigilantes or Virtuous.
E for Exacting and Explosives.
A mobile phone rings. Uthyr’s.
“Varley.” He listens,
one hand rubbing his neck. “On the move? Which direction?” He nods then
glances at his watch. “I’m forty minutes away at least. Follow them and
keep me informed.” He snaps his phone closed.
“ Njörðr Hämnaren has cast off?” I ask. “Heading where?”
“East. Possibly towards
Liverpool so outside the NWP’s operational area. But not my Marine Unit’s. If necessary,
I’ll contact our colleagues at Merseyside Police. We’ll continue monitoring the
transponder signals. Ffion, your team must find the vermin that think they are
above the law.”
M for Merseyside and Monitor.
Uthyr leaves us strategizing
beside the llyn.
“If we’re to draw them
out,” says Kama. “Sparkle and I are the prime bait and-“
“-Your usual jeopardy
approach,” says Ffion. “Last time nearly got you both killed.”
“Nearly is not stopping
me. Fainting was just a memory recall device – that worked.”
Like my tingling tattoos.
W for Weapons. A for Arms. E
for Explosives. S for Strategy.
V for Vendetta. Ours.
WAVES. Staggering ashore
having survived the watery nightmare. Where?
“Sparkle and I must
return to Aberdaron Bay and drown again.”
[image error]
Aberdaron Beach – © Copyright Eirian Evans and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence .
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath
charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
William Congreve –
The Mourning Bride
April 24, 2019
U for Undermine – Azure Spark. Part 21
[
Music treat at
the end.
This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
UNDERMINE – Tuesday Midday
Unarmed, unaware and useless. My decisions. Why come here?
Unsound understanding of my tattoos.
Kama’s tongue traces the heart where only she goes. Licks
her way inside. Inviting me inside her.
I’ve betrayed her. Making love is impossible now. Even if my
brain wasn’t scrambled.
“You’re distracted, cariad. Why? Your grandparents’
disapproval? They don’t know. Adjoining rooms don’t mean we’re lovers – even if
we are.”
Peaceful sounds. Sheep. A tractor.
But nothing is normal now.
“My grandparents suspect – but don’t want to know. But
I’m doubting myself. Stupidly blaming my tattoos–”
” -which have always led to the right conclusion.”
Shake my head. Crush her pillows.
“Only when I unscramble their weirdness.”
Each tattoo is a watershed moment in my life – becoming a
goth, my first girlfriend, that first heartbreak. Culminating in our secret
hearts. But upheavals – always.
Passion postponed, I dress in black – jeans, T-shirt and Doc
Martens. Focus on positives. Ignore the pounding in my head.
Undetected. We can still thwart the Swedes and their NWP
informer.
Outside, an ultramarine Land Rover Discovery draws up. We go
downstairs and greet Uthyr Varley.
“Glad you got the coded message, sir.”
“Uthyr, please. Especially as this is unofficial – and
you two are presumed dead. ‘Unacceptable fatalities’, the Chief Constable
stated to the media.”
“Best if Sparkle and I remain dead until we’ve
outwitted the suspects. Undercover and unseen beyond here. How much has the
Marine unit uncovered so far?”
Without the involvement of the North West Police Underwater
Search and Marine Unit, I know that NWP is in an unwinnable situation.
We sit on the wooden bench outside, overlooking a view I
will always love. Mountains speckled with sheep.
“Forensics identified the explosive used from the
wreckage recovered by Messrs. Thomas and Pugh as untagged Semtex – used
primarily in blasting.”
“Traceable?” I suspect not, even if the Chief
Constable is alerted.
“No resources, I’m afraid.
We’re tracking the cargo you raised and tagged. The four containers are still
on the yacht Njörðr Hämnaren in a
marina between Llandudno and Conwy. No attempt has been made to unload them.
What do you suspect is in them?”
Our dilemma. My unease. “Unsure at present.”
A white Peugeot 308 pulls into the farmyard and parks by the
new farmhouse built for my grandparents and mother.
Uthyr looks at his watch. “Ffion Baines on time as
usual.”
Our DI points down to the
llyn – the lake that gives the farm its name: Tyn-y-llyn. The lake where I
learnt to swim – and we still do.
“Coffee, tea and gossip can wait. Today it’s urgent
that we unmask whoever betrayed my officers. Ugly prejudice taken to
unacceptable lengths. But why?”
“Money,” says Uthyr. “usually the ulterior
motive.”
M for Money. P for Prejudice. Unlikely. We are missing the
reason.
“Anyone behaving unexpectedly?” asks Kama.
“The team must be devastated – or should be.”
“When officers die, everyone pulls together. United –
as we are in Porthmadog. Wiley Yates and Vivian Utkin volunteered to
investigate your murders. I gave them access to some – but not all – of your
files.”
Who do we trust? Wiley knows our secret and understands.
Vivian is an unknown.
U for Understands and Unknown.
Her surname Utkin is familiar. From where? Another case? A
chill. My stomach seethes. Like my mind. Shredded, ever since the explosion.
“Pia Pilkvist said something in Swedish before
attempting to kill us. Kama?”
“It sounded like ‘larger victory’ as if they had
accomplices elsewhere acting underhand–”
“–like in other police forces,” says Uthyr.
Silence. Even the sheep are unvoiced.
“Or it was another attempt to undermine us – sow
doubt.” I shake my head. “But it makes no sense killing us
then.”
K for Kill. V for Victory and Volunteers. A for Accomplices
and Anxious. T for Traitor and Threats.
KVAT means nothing. My tattoos are failing us.
“We have grounds to arrest the Pilkvists,” says Ffion, tensing
her shoulders. “I’m desperate as they intended to kill you both. But I can’t
until we’ve uncovered their informer and other accomplices.”
Our safety requires uncertainty. Remaining hidden. Blood
from chewing my lips. Gritted teeth instead. Not inactive if we want to lure
them out. Think. Untangle my mess.
“Thwarted.” Uthyr clasps his hands behind his head. “I’ve
asked HMRC if they have grounds to seize the canisters, but they were inside UK
waters when raised. Nothing to point conclusively to their overseas origin. Too
circumstantial. But we’re primed to respond.”
“And if they contain drugs or worse?” My skull
vibrates. Just tight. Weak. “Time was imperative, they said. Why?”
T for Time. V for Victims.
VAKT.
Head spinning. Brain swamped. As my knees fail, I remember.
“Väktare. Pia said Lagens väktare.”
Falling. Where’s Kama?
[image error]Snowdonia
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath
charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
William Congreve –
The Mourning Bride
April 23, 2019
T for Treachery – Azure Spark. Part 20
[
Music treat at
the end.
This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
TREACHERY – Tuesday 1 AM
Tossed. Tumbling through turbulent water toward treacherous
rocks. Thunder in my head. Eyes seared by the explosion. Nothing, not even
stars.
Dead. That was their intent. Arms around me, tugging me. Kama towing me.
“Don’t thrash.” A shout penetrates the storm that
tramples my mind. “I can see. I’ll get us ashore.”
“Where? A cove? I remember only rocks and cliffs.”
“There has to be one nearby. I glimpsed Bardsey Island
from the yacht.”
Doubt. Before we sailed to the dive site. Then cliffs. Cold
and tired.
“Relax, cariad.
We’re a team – survivors.”
“If you can see, I’ll swim behind. I can hear – sense you ahead. Swimming will keep me warm – alert. Please, thozhi.“
Kama fastens a tether strap around my wrist. “I’ll
attach the other end to my ankle. Safety 101.”
Tremble and smile. Warmth. Her ankle with a rose tattoo that
matches mine. Our eternal love.
We swim together. Trust.
A sound. Waves slapping on a clinker-hull. A voice – robust.
Welsh.
“There. Alive and swimming.” Guto Thomas, and he shouts at us. “Genethod, we heard the explosion – muffled but definite. What happened?”
“Rescue us and we’ll tell,” Kama says. “But
officially we are dead. In reality, wounded. Sparkle was blinded – still
is.”
Arms pull us aboard. A second voice says, “Back to Port
Meudwy then.”
“Padrig. We must vanish,” I say. Smiling in the total
darkness.
“Your new secret is safe with me,” he says.
“Just as your earlier ones were – cousin. Us Pughs are a smart
family.”
Even if I feared his kinship, he’s true. Not every Pugh is
as prejudiced as my thaid, my
grandfather Hywel Pugh.
Plan. Move ahead of the Swedish smugglers – and the traitor
in NWP. Lure them out.
In front of the fire in Guto and Padrig’s cottage, we eat
bowls of Cawl – lamb and vegetable stew. Warmth, and with my eyesight
returning, we devise tactics.
“First, messages to our DI, Ffion Baines and to
Inspector Uthyr Varley to activate tracking of our concealed transponders.”
Kama writes the coded message. “Officially, we have to be missing or
dead.”
“We can retrieve some of the wrecked boat,” says
Guto. “Evidence – your people will know what sort of bomb.”
“Forensics will come.” Kama anticipates what I
suspect. “Then some detectives – perhaps even the one that betrayed
us.”
“Kama and I can’t stay here. We have to get to
Tyn-y-llyn.”
“Ivor Pugh’s farm,” Padrig says. “I’ve been
there a few years ago. I’ll take you. Covert?”
We all laugh.
“My family are used to my weird ways. So, if we turn up
at the Pugh farm hidden in some trailer – no surprise.”
N for Nightmare and Nemesis. K for Killed and Kinship. P for Pugh and Protection. U for Unseen and Uncle. I for Ivor and Intent. C for Covert and Code.
UNPICK. Unscramble the tangled threads hiding our traitor.
When we make sense of Pia’s parting words.
[image error]
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath
charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
William Congreve –
The Mourning Bride
April 22, 2019
S for Sabotage – Azure Spark. Part 19
[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
SABOTAGE – Monday Midnight
Stars shining on the sea should settle our nerves.
Impossible now we are sure the scheming stinks.
“How will we find these containers you say was swept
overboard during the storm?”
Peder hands Rashmi an electronic tracker.
“Switch this on and our cargo will be transmitting a
signal. Simply follow that. When you find the cargo attach the items to the rapid
deployment lift bags. Once inflated they will bring the cargo to the surface
for retrieval. Straightforward.”
Mind racing. Hesitate from asking what the salvage is. My
senses say don’t.
“How many containers? You’ve given us eight small bags.”
“Four to search for. Two lift bags per canister.”
Pia strides over, tapping her watch. “You better leave
now.”
At the stern, we climb back down to our boat, already loaded
with the scuba tanks and lifting devices.
We cast off and raise the sails. Our craft slices apart the
sheen on the water from the moon and stars. Perfect weather.
Sudden dread as spasms seize me.
P for Panic but also Precautions. Slow breathes.
The mini-sonar directs us over the area where the cargo
should be. We lower the sea anchor and release the rapid deployment lift bags –
weighted to sink steadily on a long hawser.
A last scrupulous check of each other’s equipment, then we
drop backwards over opposite sides into the serene darkness. The beams of our
head-lamps stab into the depths.
The strengthening beeps guide our cautious descent.
When we reach the bags, we lower them. Deeper, past jagged
rocks. Seaweed. Curious fish.
Containers – canisters designed for underwater recovery. Not
just for the deck of a Swedish ship in the storm. Not swept overboard but
jettisoned.
I sign Rashmi to strap two balloons to the first container
as I adjust their regulator pressure gauges for the correct depth. Then we scrutinize
the containers. No signifying marks. Nothing to divulge the contents. But
designed for lifting straps.
However, there is a suitable slit where I insert our own
tracker – a signal we can follow. Security 101.
We open the valves on the two scuba cylinders that inflate
the bags. Swim clear as the bags lift and carry the container towards the
surface.
Same procedure with the second canister – and second
transponder. Two more balloons. Then the final two canisters.
A for Ascent.
Almost over. Tension not disappearing. Breathe slowly. Don’t
waste precious air.
Our ascent takes longer as we need a stage decompression. Longer
climb than our descent and time working on the seabed. Time enough for the
waves to have picked up above.
The beginning of a squall.
No sign of the rapid deployment lift bags.
P for Panic as my stomach churns.
But the Njörðr
Hämnaren has sailed closer. They’ve already winched the cargo aboard.
Relief and Apprehension.
We take off our tanks to simplify our return journey.
Tattoos hammer T for Timing.
“Too easy,” I say to Rashmi. “Be prepared for
anything.”
Like the semi-automatic shots that spray the sea. R for
Revenge.
Pia hails us. “Time to stay where you are, detectives. Yes, we know who you are and thank the North Wales Police for their assistance. Lagens väktare. May you swim in peace.”
I dive at Kama as I spy the carelessly stowed spare sail and
scream.
TRAP. The boat is ripped apart.
[image error]https://www.oceandefenders.org/news-and-media/ghost-gear-galore.html
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride
April 20, 2019
R for Rogue – Azure Spark. Part 18
[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
ROGUE – Monday Afternoon
Regatta races are never routine. Padrig’s factors are in
play as he leads us rank and file racers. We were warned. That includes the
risk awaiting us on the Swedish yacht. Ffion tried to alert us, but thrills win
every time.
Evading rivals, we jibe too violently. Lose ground – and the
wind.
Patience. Rationalize. But we like to win – whatever the
odds.
As I steer us back into the breeze, my mind dual-tracks.
Sailing and strategy. Both risky but only one roils my stomach.
Rashmi shifts her weight as my next jibe is precise.
We’re no longer last.
Will Peder and Pia Pilkvist expect better? Reject us for shit
boat-handling? Fail us – with the case wide open?
Unlikely. They implied time was tight. But They know
something.
A boat closes on us. The next turn needs to be tight. No
room for error.
Setup perfect. Jibe gentle. Danger passed.
Smiles. For now.
Mistakes have been made. We know we have a renegade copper. A
police officer with a price. Our heads?
No suspects before we left Porthmadog. None now we are on
our own.
We cut inside another boat on the next turn. Gain another
place.
Sailing might become a serious pastime. Rashmi’s beaming’s
face underlines that – if we can abandon swimming.
Never.
I glance at my watch. Not long left
Raucous cries ring from the shore. Local fans and tourists.
Drowning out the roars from crews exhorting their partners for a final push.
Our interaction is
mental. Written on our faces and in our pounding blood. We are a team.
Unstoppable.
Except in a regatta. Trailing in mid-pack – also-rans.
Padrig and his racing partner win again.
“Do we congratulate them?” I ask. But Peder and
Pia Pilkvist are waving us over to the night-black luxury sailing yacht that
looms offshore.
We lower our sails as we draw alongside. Peder motions to
the stern which rears over us. He throws us a line, and we secure our Aberdaron
boat.
A metal ladder hangs off the yacht. We climb up, past the
blood red name
“Welcome aboard the Njörðr
Hämnaren,” says Pia, simpering like a snake. “She can out-sail most yachts
in her class – when we choose to compete. Not today though.”
The couple lead us to the cockpit which I recognise as
highly automated. A necessity with a minimal crew.
“Did you sail her here alone?” I ask, wondering if
we are expected to help with the yacht.
“All the way,” says Pia. “With all the
technology installed, especially the computer-controlled electric winches
controlling the sails, it was leisurely.”
State-of-the-art navigation equipment from what I can tell.
Someone has money from somewhere. Illegal goods?
“All we lack,” says Peder, “is a
submersible.” He laughs. “Human divers are preferable – especially at
night and close to the rocks.”
So, a night dive. No witnesses. What does that mean? Has the
rogue cop set us up? Rocks are treacherous too.
Cold fingers crawl up my spine. T for Treachery.
“Our money. The risk – deep diving at night close to the
shore.” My lowered voice is not fake concern. Every tattoo screams. “Five
thousand pounds at least.”
Am I provoking a fight? Or testing their commitment? Our
worth?
“Acceptable.” Without hesitation. “But first, we move
the Njörðr Hämnaren around the coast.”
Pia’s mask slips. Warning light. “While you two check the equipment we acquired
for you. Best scuba gear available.”
An attachment on the sonar depth indicator catches my eye. Like
a vehicle tracker. My glance shifts to an out-of-place garden gnome. On a
yacht? An electronic component smuggled into Wales?
But the gnome is staged. For us.
Peter taps his watch.
“Time to run those safety checks in the aft cabin. Go
below and it’s the one nearest the stern. We will tell you when we’ve reached
the dive site.”
As we head into the plush space below, Rashmi says, “Every
sense says get off this ride. Our cover is blown. But we are reduced to one choice.
Dive.”
I squeeze her hand as we reach the smallest cabin and inside
find the scuba gear.
Brand-new with labels still attached. Staging? Sizes are
right. Air tanks are full. We run through all the checks Varley taught us.
“These gloves, boots and hood fit snugly. But we use
our own special wetsuits – for luck,” says Rashmi. “And certainty.”
S for Safety and Security. T for Treacherous and Tanks. E
for Electronics. P for Price.
STEP. Forward or into the unknown?
[image error]
Photos by Peter Ainsworth – Aberdaron Sailing Club
http://www.hwylio-llyn.co.uk/home.htm
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath
charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
William Congreve –
The Mourning Bride
April 19, 2019
Q for Quake – Azure Spark. Part 17
[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
QUAKE – Sunday Evening
Quiet meals in quaint country restaurants can sap resolve.
Not tonight when we all have questions. Like what are the sea jewels? Not
drugs.
Peder and Pia Pilkvist collected us as arranged, taking us
to a French bistro well above our normal budget. Somewhere we aren’t known.
We are encouraged to choose anything – and the wine flows
freely.
“Did you eat Latin food in Patagonia? Or Welsh?”
“Welsh with an Argentinian twist.” I smile and
add, “seafood became our favourite as it was fresh from the sea at Puerto Madryn.”
“Perfect, I recommend Quenelles de Homard.” Pia explains.
“The lobster is local, maybe from off the Aberdaron coast.”
“I prefer Caille en Escabeche,” says Peder.
“With the quail, I’m partial to the blend of Latin and French – fusion is an
art form. Spare no expense when you order. We can afford this luxury.”
And the yacht. GEE is not an overtly rich company. No high
value electrical or engineering items. Certainly not garden gnomes.
“I’ll have the Escabeche,” says Rashmi.
I choose the quenelles, but my mind is tapping my bracer. Q
for Q-ships. Not what they seem. A disguise to hide weaponry. Like Quenelles de
brochet and pike bones.
“Great choices require the right wines, “says Peder
who then talks with the sommelier in passable French.
We aren’t meant to understand. But policing tourist areas
has advantages. But nothing triggers alarms – yet.
If G is for Garden Gnomes, is W for Weapons? H for Herrings
and more bones?
“Before the wine leaves us unfit to race tomorrow, what
do you need me and Sioned for? As divers or sailors?”
Pia dips her head to her husband. We’re not meant to see as
he is asking the sommelier for a bottle of vintage rosé Champagne.
“Divers primarily,” says Pia. “Your
competitive reputation is impressive. But you will need your boat.”
Our doctored qualifications were straightforward for NWP to
upload on the Internet. Our Q-ship.
“After we race tomorrow? No sooner I hope.”
Although our participation is not vital. But I falter as if dismayed.
“Race, but then we need you. We will bring our
yacht,” says Peder. “Then we’ll take you to the dive site.”
Late afternoon or later? Warning qualms kick in.
“Before the regatta ends?” Rashmi plunges deeper. “Or later when people disperse? A night dive will cost you more.”
Pia smiles and I shiver.
“After your race, join us on our yacht. No need to
spoil this quiet meal with details.”
N for Night – W for no Witnesses. And for Warnings.
They suspect us. No more quizzing them tonight. Maybe not
even on their yacht – their Q-ship. Or is that the freighter? The ship that is
meant to be in Sweden.
Or is it? Another loose end. But we’re alone as money rules.
I attempt to quell my fears with food. By quenching a thirst
for information that alcohol only stimulates.
Keeps them chatting. They’re digging too. Why? Do they know
we’re police? Queer and a threat? Quislings.
We are being interrogated with a smile. About Patagonia.
About diving competitions.
“How long have you two been together – diving? Amazing,
your families are both from the Llŷn.”
Pia pushes – gently. A for Attitude and Alarm.
“Fate – except our families left together, so it was
inevitable we were friends at school. And on the swimming team together.”
Rashmi is inventive, but Pia’s face indicates the story is
disbelieved. Why? Who are they? More than smugglers.
S for Sail, Swim and Smugglers.
I shiver. Quake as my fears build. No coincidence.
I for Inside Information and Interrogation. R for Renegade –
the cop that ratted on us.
Who?
RAIS – raison d’être. Why betray us? Prejudice or high-value
goods? Or both?
Or RANG – ranged weapons?
In too deep without backup. The jeopardy thrills again. Quivering
and riled. Rats.
[image error]Lobster Quenelles – https://dianescookbooks.wordpress.com/2018/12/13/lobster-quenelles/
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath
charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
William Congreve –
The Mourning Bride
April 18, 2019
P for Prejudice – Azure Spark. Part 16
[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
PREJUDICE – Sunday Early Morning
Police protection is deemed too pricey for our pay grade. Detective Inspectors might justify paying. Someone’s counting the police pennies again. And we’re not police for this practice day. We’re on our own as Sioned Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma – divers.
No bikes. A nondescript rental Vauxhall Astra parked outside
a cheap B&B in Penrhos.
When I reported to Ffion that my investigation into the
arson-robbery would have to wait, she agreed, “The assaults are our
priority. Progress that case first and prove our strategy best.”
“Finding the right clothes is a challenge. Black or
black.” We laugh. “I’m not dressing in pink.”
“Pink is pretty. But maybe not you. Just add a few spots
of acceptable colour. A perfect performance requires sacrifices – all round.
From disgruntled gift shop owner to officers undercover.”
Words we are acting on.
The padlocked path to Port Meudwy is open. We drive down to
where fishermen are unloading their catches of lobsters and crabs. They pack
the crustaceans into containers on pallets to be delivered by vans around the
region.
Guto approaches us and points to a freshly painted clinker-built
boat on a trailer.
“Your practice starts with pushing that trailer into
the sea – if you know how.”
“By tractor.” Kama gestures at an ancient salt
encrusted machine. “I’ll drive and Sioned will hitch us up.”
Guto nods then turns to the watching fishermen.
“Told you guys these genethod were smart. Now to see if they can handle an Aberdaron
boat.”
The genethod –
lasses – is said with praise. Relax.
“My uncle Pugh could never abide women in boats,”
says one man who resembles my uncle, Ivor Pugh. “But he’s dead now.”
My uncle, Ivor Pugh, is alive and runs the family farm. Is this a distant Pugh relation? Is my cover blown? Or have we disguised ourselves enough? At least, Pugh politics have kept us apart from most of my family.
My attention shifts to my allotted task.
With the boat afloat, I secure her with the painter as ‘Rashmi’
parks the tractor and trailer under Guto’s direction.
My Pugh relation and Guto board another boat. He shouts
across as Rashmi and I push off.
“Padrig is the man to prove yourself to. I build while
he perfects the handling. Partners like you two.”
Like us. Unlikely. Guto only knows parts of our secret – the
professional aspect.
Guto and Padrig row out some yards then hoist their sails.
We do likewise and head south following the coastline of the Llŷn Peninsula.
Choppy waves and an erratic breeze test us. Gusts and becalming
lulls to prove our worth. I probe Rashmi’s face as our teamwork makes up for
lack of sailing time. This is a new phase – a giant leap from playing in
dinghies for fun.
“You need to learn how to right one of our Aberdaron
boats,” says Padrig. “Not hard but different. Do I need to show you
how to capsize?”
We demonstrate that skill. Sit on the same side and let the
boom out too far.
The water is our second home. Even when we are told to swim under the capsized craft before following the correct procedure to recover our previous position.
“Glad we wore our wetsuits underneath now.” I grin
at Rashmi.
“Your colourful top and slacks will never dry in this
weather.”
Weak sun and cold air. Discomfort is acceptable. Would Sioned worry about appearance as a pro-athlete?
“We need to polish up if photographers appear.”
She smiles in agreement as Guto points north and mouths,
“Aberdaron“.
The wind picks up – but a headwind. We tack and tack until
the manoeuvre becomes routine. Precision.
“Impressive, but racing is never so precise,” says
Padrig. “Beware other boats performing moves to fool you. Weather and sea
factors Will keep you alert.”
“Like diving,” says Rashmi. “We’ve learned to
prepare. Performance ploys.”
Even more so as police. Alert keeps us ahead of the
offenders – if we can only identify them.
We approach Aberdaron beach. Guto indicates where the water is
shallowest and sandier.
“Pull her ashore over there. Then we can wander up to
the pub. Final pointers over a pint – if you genethod drink.”
“We do. Always.”
Even on-duty – where necessary. But this time I’ll resist
ordering my unusual favourite.
We pull the two boats ashore and wander at a purposeful pace
up to the same pub where I began my investigation.
My stomach sinks when I see the same barman. Will he
recognize me despite the garish outfit and streak-dyed hair?
Guto steps forward. “These are our new arrivals – Sioned
Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma. They’re competing in the regatta, tomorrow. A round
of your best Llŷn pale ale – four pints of Houdini.”
The barman studies me.
My heart flips. Recognition.
A wink and a nod.
“On the house, Guto.” He smiles. “Sioned, Rashmi,
how far have you come? Not many visitors race here. Except the rare brave ones.
Most tourists just watch.”
Glance around. Check the watching faces – holidaymakers.
Locals. Listening. Gossip spreads fast.
“South America,” I reply, praying my Welsh lilt is
buried under my pseudo-Spanish accent. “Patagonia. But we were born on the
Llŷn near Pwllheli.”
“That makes you locals almost,” says Padrig.
“Learn any Welsh before you left?” “
Breathe. Was our preparation too hasty? Does he suspect?
“If they went to Chubut Province in Argentina, they
must know some,” says another voice. “Patagonia has a large Welsh
community and the main colony is there.”
Recognising the voice, I say, “That’s why our families went
there. Swimming took us to Puerto Madryn on the Golfo Nuevo, which is formed by
the Península Valdés and the Punta Ninfas.” I pause my tourist talk to add for
the Welsh speakers, “Mae’n wych bod yn
gartref.”
The locals all raise their pints.
Our tame journalist, Kristina picks up on the tourist confusion. “These ladies say it’s wonderful to be home. But Puerto Madryn has strong ties to here. It is twinned with Nefyn, just 13 miles away on the north coast of the Llŷn Peninsula. Excuse me as I need to interview these professional athletes. Make sure that you are here tomorrow, when they are competing on the first day of the Aberdaron Regatta.”
As people drift away, Kristina shakes hands with us.
“I’m Kristina Yoxall. We spoke on the phone. Please can
we talk more – I’ll write a great story.” She holds up a camera. “And
get a photo. Love those patterned tops. They must be traditional.”
She chats and helps us develop our personas further as our
party finds a table outside overlooking the beach and sea.
Holidaymakers are gathering in the village. Not crowds like
Llandudno or Porthmadog but those drawn by the simpler pastimes like sand
castles, playing in the sea, and the regatta.
The interview probes and provides colour to our profiles –
culminating in key questions.
“Can our wanderers challenge tomorrow?” asks Kristina.
“Are they contenders?”
Guto and Padrig shrug.
But my relative says, “Perhaps. As I’ve said there are factors – including local advantage. They have skills and guts. Maybe one day.”
“And you are a favourite, Padrig. As in past years,”
says Guto.
We all laugh, and I slap Padrig on the back.
Recognition. My heart beats faster.
The Swedish woman is watching us. Pretending to peer out to
sea.
Precisely as planned. Bait taken.
Kristina follows my gaze. Takes out her mobile. Glances at
the screen.
“Pric pwdin. Idiot
colleague. I need to hurry. Can we do the photo by the boats, then I must leave
you.”
We stride down to the beach and pose with our boats. Group
photo, then us the two pretenders.
We part, Kristina to her pretend assignment, Guto and Padrig
to Porth Meudwy.
“ Genethod,
Padrig and I will go ahead. We have work to do – boats to paint. Follow when
you’re ready. Practice as much as you need to along the coast. And master that
boat – with skills not force. She’s another geneth.“
Our builder is as quick as our journalist. Our secret is
safe.
We prepare to launch, but I play for time.
“Do we need provisions, Rashmi? Or will our B&B in
Penrhos provide everything?”
“Only basics. Anyway, I need a better face cleanser for
this climate. And we need diving supplies – but they can wait. We’ve no
competitions for a fortnight.”
“Maybe we can help each other.”
We turn. The Swedish couple smile at us.
“That would be kind,” I say. “You’re
local?”
The woman laughs. Potent, poisonous, and the trigger for my
tattoos.
L for Lies and L for Lure.
“Not exactly. But we know the Llŷn Peninsula. We’ve
been here awhile. And our yacht is moored at Llandudno.”
The man steps forward. 6’3″. Blond sun-scored hair.
Tanned. Athletic and muscular. Like a panther.
“We have a small job for divers that pays well –
especially the way you to handle that boat.”
Curb enthusiasm. But reel them in.
I let Rashmi continue as planned. “Interesting. We’re open to
persuasion. But we have questions –”
“– As do we.” He hands us both GEE business cards
– Peder & Pia Pilkvist. “Can we meet for a quiet meal? Pick you up at
6 p.m at your place. Our treat.”
Presumptive means desperate. Time must be tightening. What
is the cargo?
My tattoos twist in pain. But only D for Drugs and that
feels wrong.
“If there’s money on offer,” says Rashmi. “Sioned and I have
expenses. So, yes – if you’re buying.”
“Always,” replies Pia. “One initial question.
Wales or Argentina? Where are your loyalties?”
Where is this going? My heart, pounds nerves jangle. A test of what? Not rugby.
“We dive for ourselves – for the country that rewards us best. Patagonia yesterday. Maybe Wales tomorrow. I have only one loyalty – my dive partner. Rashmi.”
The Swedes study us, then whisper to each other in Swedish –
something about ‘älskande‘. Lovers.
Us or them? What do they know about us? Has the office prejudice seeped out
from a jealous colleague?
U for Unwary and Unexpected. Q for Queer and Questions. E
for Evasion and Evaluation.
QUELL. The fire for my lover? Or the fear building?
[image error]
Puerto Madryn, Chubut, Argentina –
Banfield
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
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And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride
