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The Bal Maid of Condurrow – Chapter 9 Written by: Ray Stone

 

“It be a terrible time,” continued Findlay. “A day I’ll never…”

Her voice faded and her fingers clutched and wrestled with the stone tea beaker. It was as though a sudden rush of guilt had come over her. Her eyes glistened and darted all over the humble room on everything except me. I waited without uttering a word for I knew better than to rush her conscience when speaking of a child’s death.

“Your ma were right heartbroken and even climbed down mine but nay discovered the poor boy.”

Findlay lay her beaker on the uneven brick floor and put both hands to her weathered face. Never had I witnessed such distress flowing from what I fear was a deep guilt haunting her. Tears flowed and shoulders shook silently until her hands dropped and from her open mouth came a frighteningly loud pitiful wail – the same as I had heard on my first night at Condurrow House.

I leant forward and placed a hand on her arm. “Tell me more,” I said gently, for as the sad but dark truth started to emerge my eagerness to know all took a hold of me.

“I be guilty, sir. It was my fault but Silas – he told me not to tell your ma.”

She continued to sob but I was confused with such irritation that I confess my impatience got the better of me. With anger, she shook her head as though ridding herself of a great pain that lurked within.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nightmares, sir. I suffer nightmares that punish me every night.” She dabbed her red eyes with a large kerchief. “Silas Dench…” a deep redness coloured her cheeks as she looked away… “took to visiting me. Shameful to say I lodge in a tied cottage with nay rent as his mistress. On the day we talk of, your ma asked that I be vigilant and keep the lad safe but after she left Silas called and sent the boy away to Peabody and returned for our afternoon tryst.”

“And Peabody lost the boy in the mine?”

Findlay, her eyes closed as she started to sob again, jumped up with much drama from her chair and turned sharply on her heels, her skirt billowing about her, her arm outstretched toward the window.

“Nay, Peabody took the boy for walk on them moors but he was lost in mist, Peabody thought to the traveling tinkers.”

Her body shook with such emotion I did worry she would suffer from the vapours.

“Silas thought it better to tell your ma the boy was in th’ mine, dead, and not just lost,” she continued. “He said our silence would be rewarded and none of us spoke about the boy again. Only your poor ma suffered much. I fear the loss hastened her end, sir.”

I thought of the strange Bal Maiden ownership conditions attached to the property. Peabody needed to explain. And what of the boy? Was he still alive?

 

http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/bal-maid-great-condurrow   Read the whole serial to date and find out what happens in the last chapter – soon to be published.

Enda Osin – I’m back to the ‘Diary’

Yes, I’m back after missing my keys. I must say that without them it felt as though I had toothache.

from ‘The Bilderberg Diary.’

It was a restless and uninteresting night. I couldn’t sleep. Rain thrashed the windows as we sped through the countryside. There seemed to be a never ending montage of dark silent fields, rows of trees – and bridges and tunnels that either encouraged clattering wheels beneath me or rattling windows and blasts of air that burst my eardrums. As dawn broke the normal picture postcard slide show was both dismal and bleak. Even the tray brought by the steward laid with a full English breakfast failed to heighten my spirits.

Sirius 3 – Chapter 2 Written by: angela shaw

 

Masterson stood in an eery silence. Bret’s scream was cut off suddenly as the air lock deftly sucked closed behind him and he was now alone inside the crippled communications centre that was Sirias 3.

Masterson pressed the radio on his collar.

“Bret, come in!”

He waited, straining to hear. Blood pounded in his ears and he noticed how heavy his breathing had become. He had no idea what warranted Bret’s outburst, but he wasn’t the hysterical type. Neither of them were. It was against their DNA.

“Bret?”

He tried again. Nothing but silence.

“Bret, if you can hear me, I need you to release the airlock so that I can I can reenter.”

Masterson waited, but the vaulted door didn’t budge. He looked around.

The fire had obviously made it all the way here.

The standard issue aluminium walls were tarnished with soot; the fibreglass composite resisting the heat. It was an outdated design, but one Masterson was familiar with. Electronics panels had expanded and popped off the graphite fibre racking, exposing nests of wires.

It must have been hell for the survivors, racing for their lives through here to the travel module, hopeful for freedom. The heat from the fire would have been unbearable, chasing them down the corridors, consuming precious oxygen as it went. They had taken a chance and luckily it paid off.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that now they were taking a chance on Sirias 3.

Europa, the sixth largest moon to Jupiter, shone through the only window, casting a dim arc of light into the spherical environment. The satellite’s amber coloured hemisphere clouded and criss-crossed and Masterson could only just make out Moonbase located a few miles north of Phyll crater.

It looked much smaller than it did an hour or so ago when he last glanced out of Galileo’s small window. His gut squeezed and he hoped that this plan of theirs would work.

Just then, a familiar sucking noise came from behind him. The door to Sirias 3 was pushing inwards towards him. Masterson’s heart pounded again and he chided himself for the weakness.

A young man stepped through. A wide grin flashed across his face.

“Boy, are we glad to see you!”

“I could say the same,” Masterson laughed, relaxing. He shook the guy’s hand and felt the enthusiasm in his grasp.

A badge on his chest said Jager and his uniform, albeit outdated, said that he was a Commander like Masterson himself. He didn’t look a day over thirty, thought Masterson. But how could that be?

“Well, it’s good to lay eyes on someone new,” Jager laughed. “It’s been a couple of months since we’ve heard from anyone let alone had someone new onboard.”

Masterson studied Jager’s open expression. He had absolutely no idea.

“Mate, I don’t know what’s been going on but you’ve been out here on your own for a decade and silent until last week. What the hell has been going on?”




Follow this exciting new serial on http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/sirias-3

Latest review of Crate of Lies from RosieAmber

Crate of Lies is a complex mystery surrounding lost artefacts from the second world war and modern day arms smugglers. Both stories become interlinked by those greedy for money and power and those dedicated to fight for peace.

During the second world war many priceless pieces of art were stolen by the Nazi members, and this story follows the journey of The Amber Room, Baroque art given to Peter the Great by a Prussian King and la…ter lost by the Germans in 1945. Or was it? In 1952 a set of mysterious events took place in Broken Mountain, Sachsen- Anhalt, a pit was discovered with soldiers bodies.

Hienrich Liebermann is heavily involved with a very lucrative arms smuggling ring, but he also believes he can get possession of the long lost Amber Room and sell it back to the Russians. The thorn in his side is Harry Cohen, fine arts dealer on the outside, Mossad agent behind the façade.

The Americans have lost some serious rockets which they believe are on their way to the Middle East via a well organised smuggling pipeline. Harry and his team are brought in to work on stopping the rockets getting to their destination.

This is a very action packed storyline with a lot of characters to keep the reader on their toes. Everyone seems to have their own agenda, which leads to plenty of twists and turns and a trail of dead bodies. I struggled to keep up with the action at times and was glad of break points where Harry explained the details through dialogue to his assistant Raith Ravelle. Now I just need to decide who won? Who lost? And who double-crossed whom?

Happy to give this a 4*, I’ll post to Goodreads, Amazon US and Uk plus it will go out on my blog tomorrow.

Thanks

Rosie

http://rosieamber.wordpress.com/https...

 

Silver Sphere Written by: Anna Zhigareva

Preface

“Aye, that’s the one.”

The man was from Glasgow, there was no doubt about it. Emily edged closer and watched from her position behind a shelf of roughly stacked second-hand books. They smelled of old people, and she hated old people. She hated the smell of them and their old-old clothes and their old-old books.

“Will that be all then?” The friendly staff member at the counter flashed a smile at the old man from Glasgow, but Emily could see her lips clamp tightly as she forced her mouth to crease into the pink-lipsticked curve. Could she smell him too? Was she fighting the urge to turn away and throw up into the nearest bin?

Emily edged even closer to the counter until she was standing a mere half metre behind the broad grey-coated man. Even his coat stank. Emily resisted the urge to pull a face at the girl behind the counter and share that knowing stare that conveyed a struggle to stay calm despite such injury to the sensory system. No. That would attract too much attention.

Not daring to move any closer – not that she would have liked to anyway – Emily smoothly moved her arm out as if to check the time on her glittery green watch. As her slender fingers opened up, a tiny silver sphere rolled out and fell into the old man’s grey pocket. Perfect. No sound, no calamity.

The job done, Emily edged away from the stinky old man and the friendly girl behind the counter. But at this point the smell seemed to change direction and Emily realised all too late the man had begun to move in the direction of the door, a tattered blue book wrapped in his shaky hands.

 

“Sorry for the wait, sweetheart. What is it I can help you with?” Two bright blue eyes and the pink lipstick stared in her direction. Emily gulped.

She had just been spoken too. They had told her not to engage in conversation. If only she had moved swifter, all of this could have been avoided. But it was too late now. If she made a dash for it, at the least, the girl would think she was strange; at most, she would call the police on suspected robbery. Which Emily hadn’t attempted, and wasn’t going to. She hadn’t been sent here for that. What had she been sent here to do? Her mind hazed over momentarily and then her vision cleared. She was to go home to the west.

They hadn’t taught her how to deal with conversants. Instead, Emily flashed the girl a smile, shook her head in what she hoped was a valid social gesture, and skipped out of the store. Outside, she reached and rubbed the back of her neck. It came back sticky and wet. How long would it be before the sore spot healed?

Shrugging, Emily headed west, directing her gaze to the set of tall concrete buildings emerging out of the fading orange sunset.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Crate-Lies-Ray-......

 

http://www.amazon.com/Crate-Lies-Ray-Stone-eb…/…/ref=sr_1_1… FREE from tomorrow for 7 days. Get a copy and enjoy then tell me what you think with a few words review on Amazon. Thank you.

https://rosieamber.wordpress.com/…/the-mysterynovember-boo…/

Tomorrow is my day on Rosie Amber Mystery Tour. Look in and get to know me. Thank you for your support.

 

Crate of Lies – intelligent, multi-faceted – Flo Ginsburg

intelligent, multi-faceted, November 6, 2015



This review is from: Crate of Lies (Kindle Edition)
‘Crate of Lies’ is a thrilling, fascinating, intelligent, multi-faceted, multi-level, detailed yet fast-paced page-turner with many surprises from the first paragraph – no slow intro here! – to the end.

Yet, there is also room for some of the most beautiful phrasing and description, from the very start: ‘…as the dawning continued the snowflakes became larger, dancing wildly in a frenzied flurry from the overcast sky.’

Then there are the ‘ah ha!!’ moments – until you realize that you’ve jumped the gun and fell for his red herrings! Back to the reading board, wondering once again where all this will lead!

Mr. Stone knows recent history and global, local and political geography so personally, he brings reality and plausibility to his plot and story. A great read!

Edwin Malby – Bal Maid A-Knocking (cont) – Ray Stone

Edwin Malby, the tall and distinguished gentleman I had met on the train down to Condurrow from London, was a man who hid a generous heart and happy outlook on life, preferring to portray a more forceful and darker personality when dealing with business matters. And so it proved on the night I dined with him and his joyful wife Elsbeth. A happier couple I have never met before or since, I came to their home that night looking forward to a dinner of roast duck and murphys’ complimented with a fine red wine.

Indeed dinner proved to be filling and both Edwin and I sought comfort in the two large winged chairs either side of the open grate fire in the scullery after the meal.

“And now, master Jeddler,” said Mrs. Malby, what be your pleasure as you warm yourself?”

Edwin laughed. For a man who hardly smiled when dressed for business, his jocular loud laugh and wonderful disposition was indeed a joy to behold.  “We’ll have that bottle of port, Elsbeth. There is nothing better for settling a burst stomach full of your wonderful cooking my dear.”

And so it was that we enjoyed the strong fortifying properties of an excellent port together with a pipe of Virginia tobacco well into the night. By the glow of the large log fire in the hearth, Edwin Malby took some time reading my letter and the accompanying original letter sent to my aunt and dated two years before my pater died.

“This is a very interesting letter,” he at last exclaimed excitedly. Waving the letter at me he said. “This letter to your aunt from Mr. J. Ruskin is obviously of a romantic nature.” He bowed his head a little and faced the fire. The flames threw dancing light across the features of his face. “There is no reason to ponder that content of the man’s feelings for it is the latter part of the letter that is of much interest.”

I nodded and not wishing to dwell on so delicate a matter as my aunts once sensitive nature, I begged him continue.

He coughed and lit a fresh pinch of tobacco with a thin piece of twig that had dropped out of the fire. After sucking and puffing from one side of his mouth, the contents of the clay pipe bowl glowed red. Pungent white smoke curled from his lips and rose above us.

“It informs your aunt that she would shortly be in possession of the deeds to a diamond mine in Kimberly, South Africa. There are no other details here save the unfortunate news that Mr. Ruskin is contemplating his own demise through a continuing battle with malaria.” He lent forward. “Your aunt is afflicted with madness. I take it, Sir, you are her guardian and sole family?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Then, Arthur, may I be so bold as to suggest that we avail my assistant the service of your house and responsibility of overseeing your mine. It is important, I assure you, that without being a hindrance to your enquiry, you will need my help in determining what should be done once we have seen Mr. Crumley.”

With that settled, we both reclined into our chairs and thought on what should be done.

 

 

http://www.thestorymint.com/writers-pad/ray-stone/titles/bal-maid-knocking-cont/edwin-malby

Review of Crate of Lies – Suraya Dewing

Crate of Lies by Ray Stone

 

Crate of Lies is an espionage and suspense novel by Ray Stone. This is his fourth novel in the genre. The first chapter sets up the scene with a 1952 event which is beautifully crafted. The reader feels he or she is almost part of the scene with vivid descriptions of a snowstorm. The nub of the novel is in the truck’s freight – highly valuable icons stolen by the Nazis.

The novel then launches in 2016 in the Bering Strait. Something is definitely not right. The crew on the Valerie Nintz are very agitated as the Coastguard demands to inspect the Valerie Nintz, a trawler which is carrying some very interesting crates and is not in its reported location. When it off loads its illegal cargo it explodes and the sea swallows up all record of what it carried.

Then we meet Harry Cohen, London desk for the Mossad and a leading English dealer in fine arts and rare stones. This is Raithe Ravelle’s boss. He is part of an allied group masterminding a peace agreement in the Middle East. Authorities agree to complex deals but are afraid of broken promises. Nothing is as it seems and we soon discover that terrorist organisations have infiltrated legitimate government agencies. People who claim to be working towards an agreement between enemies are in fact, out to thwart the hero; Raithe’s efforts to get the Amber Room into the right hands and the peace negotiations resolved.

There are narrow escapes, as one would expect in a novel of this genre, and there are several frenetic chases across continents. An unexpected love interest that seems to throw the hero off course appears. Then she makes the ultimate sacrifice to save Raithe. He dusts himself off and resumes the chase across continents to ensure that the secret of the Amber Room does not get into the wrong hands.

Every narrow escape adds to the mounting head count until the hero and anti-hero meet and there is a final shoot out.

The story line is frenetic. There are moments of brilliance in this story and these are to be savoured and enjoyed.

 

 

Agents Crying – They can’t (cannot) find a word wrong.

©The publishing world is so full of grumpy literary agents it is hard to find one that will stop drinking coffee because they get involved in the plot you have created – that’s if they get past the first page. Writing is such a complex art because we are creating our story and characters in the first instance to please ourselves. However, when the story is finished it has to appeal to other readers as well. And while we are dealing with that we are also remembering all the rules of writing – and bending a few of them as we develop our personal skills. So how do we catch the agent’s eye? I have read several times that a lot of agents will read the MS first and if they like what they read they will then read the synopsis/plot. There is a good reason for this. They are not looking to read about the plot or the opening scene. They are reading to assess your writing skills in general even if you are describing a gate swinging in the breeze.

Imagine if you will you are at the cinema and you are watching Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Frenzy.’ I pick this movie because I was in the excited crowd of fans on the first day’s shoot. A helicopter flew along the Thames getting lower and lower until it flew under the Tower Bridge and hovered. The camera man slowly focused in on the small strip of shingle at the water’s edge – it was low tide – and panned sideways to reveal the nude body of a young, blonde woman. The camera then panned up to the South Bank where a politician was guffing on about something or other. Cut! That whole filmed scene was continuous.

Now imagine you are writing that scene. You are trying to put the colour, imagery, mystery and shock onto the first page so that the agent will read on. Close your eyes and go through each stage of the opening page and write each part as you go along. Now you have the scene established and read it out loud, (Agents do). Are there too many adjectives and verbs? Can you eliminate any and can you replace others.

From ‘The First Five Pages’ by Noah Lukeman. “In the dark, cold, restraining jail, Joe felt sad, angry and hurt.”

Get rid of dark and restraining and you are left with cold, a word that conveys all three descriptions about a jail. A jail is restraining anyway. With sad, angry and hurt pick the one you like most. Overdoing descriptive work by throwing in more adjectives and adverbs etc. is a red flag to the agent. There are always other words too that you can cut out altogether.

Writing a book is not about the word-count. Sentences should be concise. Each word should have a purpose to move the story along. That’s (That is – or is That’s okay?) Each word should be the right word. Each page should take as long as it takes to make it as perfect as can be.

The next time you use the Word Analysis Grid read the report on your work regardless whether your piece is on the grid or not. You are told, even if you are on the grid, how to improve that work. Next time, do not (Don’t) be satisfied with ‘on the grid.’ See if you can move the work more to the centre. Each time you do this you are adding more information to the sub-conscious and next time you will be that much better. Now – go and book a chapter.

If you would like to know more about publishing your work contact – Raymond@thestorymint.com