SOME NOTES ON

HARRY HARRISON'S DEATHWORLD 1

After two forays into classic fantasy, I set out for the stars in the first of Harry Harrison's Deathworld trilogy. Described on the back cover as "A coldly thrilling piece of science fiction" (The Spectator) and "Hard to put down" (New Scientist), we embark on a deadly adventure.

On the planet Cassylia we are introduced to Jason dinAlt, an interplanetary gambler of some reputation. Such is his 'fame' that he resorts to changing his name every time he moves to a different planet. Jason is not a cheat, per se, but he does have an 'edge': he has mild psychic, or psi, talent, which manifests as telekinetic ability, which he can use to manipulate dice on the craps table.

He is approached by Kerk Pyrrus a man who, at Jason's first glance, looks like a "retired wrestler". Kerk has a proposition: take a bankroll of 27 million and turn it into 3000 million. Anything in excess of that, Jason can keep. It's a challenge Jason can't turn down.

The game is played and Jason uses his psi power to control the dice. His winnings steadily accumulate. Of course, the house doesn't like to lose and have a cheat of their own. They switch out the dice but Jason suspects something is afoot. Inspecting the new dice, he realises five of the faces are normal, while the sixth is painted with an iron-based compound, making it susceptible to magnetic fields, allowing the house to skew the dice rolls. Jason exposes the cheat and wins big: 3000 million for Kerk, plus almost 16 million for himself.

The house can't take that loss and chase Jason and Kerk, intending to get their money back. In an escape planned with almost military precision, involving car-swaps and a diplomatic incident, the pair manage to get off-planet in safety.

Kerk describes Pyrrus, with its 2.0G gravity, vicious weather, volcanic activity, twin satellites causing massive tidal fluctuations but the most stirring description is of the flora and fauna:

"Armour-plated, poisonous, claw-tipped and fang-mouthed. That describes everything that walks, flaps or just sits and grows."

Deathworld 1, Harry Harrison

This description has stayed with me in the (over 30) years since I first read the book.

Jason convinces Kerk to take him to Pyrrus, certain that he can beat the challenges of the world. En route to Pyrrus, Jason meets Meta, the pilot, and herself a ferocious warrior. He sees the joy on Kerk and Meta's faces as they open the crates bought with the money Jason won: weapons of every description, needed to fight for survival on Pyrrus.

When the ship arrives on Pyrrus, Jason and all of the crew are sealed in  metallic tubes. This is to protect them from the hazards that have evolved on the planet in the time they have been away. Consider that for a moment: evolution on Pyrrus is in fast-forward, so much so that those plants and animals the crew knew before they left have been out-evolved by more lethal species. All the crew are given reorientation courses to acquaint themselves with the new lifeforms.

Jason, however, has to start at the beginning. First, he is given muscle-building drugs and a series of injections to boost his immunity. Then the training begins. Jason is subjected to the same six-year training regime that native Pyrrans are given. As an adult, he can learn more quickly than a child but it still takes months before he is allowed out of the adaptation clinic. He learns about the native life forms in a series of progressively more dangerous environments. In the first, a facsimile of a plant might generate a nettle-like sting. The same plant in later classes might render Jason unconscious or cause searing pain. The training also covers the Pyrran technology, including the automated medikit and the ever-present forearm-mounted gun, with it's automatic draw mechanism. All in the name of survival.

Throughout it all, Jason is plagued by nightmares of fear and hatred, though the impact is minimised by a cocktail of prescribed drugs.

When he is finally finished with his training and allowed to leave the adaptation clinic, Jason is assigned a bodyguard. To add insult to injury, his protection takes the form of Grif, an eight-year old Pyrran boy, who is faster with a gun than Jason.

Jason's curiosity is piqued. Why are all lifeforms so hostile to humans? He convinces Kerk to let him investigate the planet's history. Assisted by Meta, a young woman who is also a space pilot, he begins work in the Investigations and Research department. Pyrrus has a technical library, fully automated but geared towards maintenance of Pyrran technology. In the basement, however, is a cache of historical documents. Amongst the decaying, rat-chewed books is a sealed log box, dating to the arrival of the first settlers, 300 years ago.

The log is from the Stellar Transport Pollux Victory, a ship which brought 55000 colonists to Pyrrus. It's a hard truth for Meta to bear: the population of Pyrrus is now 30000. After reading the log, Jason comes to a conclusion. Something has turned the animals and plants against humankind and Jason intends to find that something.

An attack on the Pyrran city leads to a number of deaths. Kerk is incandescent with rage and confines Jason to the adaptation clinic, to be deported off-planet when the ship returns. Jason has two weeks to find a solution.

He talks with Poli, old and severely crippled, the librarian and Jason learns of the 'grubbers' and a man called Krannon. Tracking down Krannon adds another piece to the puzzle: 'grubbers' are barbarians, humans who live outside the city. Jason hitches a ride with Krannon on his next meeting with the grubbers. He starts a false firefight with a non-existent creature and uses the confusion to bolt from Krannon. His goal is to contact and befriend the grubbers.

Jason is captured by a grubber, Naxa, and is astonished to see him using a high-tech communicator. He is taken to see Rhes and is further astonished to see that the grubbers have tamed and trained one of the native Pyrran animals to use as a riding beast. He meets Rhes and cures the man's life-threatening illness using the medikit. Jason learns a lot from Rhes.

There is a fragile trading relationship between the grubbers and the city-Pyrrans, whom the wilderness-Pyrrans refer to as 'junkmen'. The grubbers trade farmed food for technological items from the junkmen. Weapons and medicines are on the forbidden list. There are no records of what caused the split between the city and the wilderness.

Naxa is a 'talker'. He has a talent for communicating with the native animals. Jason realises that Naxa has a psi talent and experiments with his own power. He reaches the conclusion that the Pyrran animals, and probably the plants as well, are sensitive to psi radiation. As they approach the city, Jason feels hatred and fear directed at the city.

Naxa and Rhes aid Jason's return to the city and he tells Kerk that psi-radiation is being directed at the city. He convinces the Pyrran leader to let him build a psi-detector, to track back to the source of the hatred. Meta pilots the space ship through Pyrrus' atmosphere, while Jason scans with his psi-detector. Eventually the signal is tracked to a small chain of islands. Jason reports back to Kerk who resolves to destroy the source of the threat once and for all: with an atomic bomb.

An assault team of Pyrrans attacks the cave. Twenty-five men are lost fighting against hordes of beasts. The 'leader beings', huge plant-like lifeforms, are located in a cave. The last surviving Pyrran commando triggers the bomb.

The plan has not worked. The animals near the city renew their attack, the most savage it has ever been. Enraged that the raid has failed, Kerk attacks Jason, blaming him for the dire situation. Jason flees and steals one of the ship's lifeboats. He plummets into the jungle.

It seems all is lost as Jason staggers through the forest, enduring his injuries from the crash landing and a bout of pneumonia. Attacked by a horde of animals, he fights until he is out of ammunition. At the last minute, he is rescued by grubbers.

Eight days later, Jason wakes to find that Rhes has saved him using junkmen's medicine. Rhes had killed Krannon for the man's medikit, an action that would surely bring war between the grubbers and the junkmen. Under pressure to come up with a plan that would avoid a war, Jason's train of thought is derailed when an earthquake warning arrives. It seems the psi talents of the grubbers are not limited to animals: a man called Hananas can detect incoming tremors.

As they flee the quake, Jason notices something. The animals' natural instincts are forgotten as predator and prey flee together. Putting two and two together, Jason concocts a plan.

Mustering the grubbers' talkers, those who have a psi talent with the animals, on one side of the city to launch a ferocious attack. As the attack mounts, Jason leads a team and captures the Pyrrans' space ship. There follows a tense negotiation. Jason says he will destroy the ship, the Pyrrans' only link to the greater galaxy. Without it, the city Pyrrans will be unable to resupply their weapons and equipment. They will be fighting a losing war against the rest of the planet.

Jason explains his reasoning and the history of Pyrrus. Every life form on the planet is psychic, to a greater or lesser degree. Psionic species were genetically selected as survivors. They compete naturally but cooperate when danger threatens. The first human settlers were deemed a threat and the planet fought back. The psi powers triggered rapid mutations, leading to more savage animals. The settlers upgraded their weapons for protection. The whole cycle repeated over 300 years.

A demonstration is arranged. Naxa, the talker, captures a stingwing. Brucco, the city-Pyrran in charge of the adaptation clinic, reaches out and pets the creature, which does not see him as a threat.

Jason's plan, then, is to buy a spaceship of his own, recruit some Pyrran volunteers and go into the business of exploring new planets.

The story ends with Rhes and Kerk shaking hands in a spirit of cooperation in the future.

What have I learned?

Some mechanism of Faster Than Light (FTL) travel exists in the Deathworld series. This is not the almost-instant 'hyperspace' in the Star Wars sense. In Deathworld, such travel might take weeks to reach other planets but it is certainly faster than conventional rockets or even the speed of light itself.

The concept of psionic powers - telepathy, telekinesis, danger senses and so on - is widely used in science fiction and paranormal tales. The 'Force' powers used in Star Wars movies are hugely powerful. Impressive on screen, yes, but could the human mind alone generate such effects, regardless of the user's 'midichlorian' count?

In the Deathworld stories, however, psi is in its infancy. Using his mild telekinetic power at the gaming table drains Jason and leaves him soaked in sweat. Psi also has a side effect: it leaves Jason susceptible to mental attacks, nightmares and severe headaches. Perhaps most interestingly, psi also works better in groups. An entire planet wages war against the human inhabitants. A group of grubber 'talkers' team up to stage an animal attack on the Pyrran city.

Does this concept of groups working together ring any bells? In Swords Against Deviltry, described earlier, Fafhrd's mother, Mor, and lover, Mara, work in a coven of snow witches to magnify their power.

SOME NOTES ON

JACK VANCE'S

THE DYING EARTH

As mentioned in my previous post, I am leaving behind Nehwon (for the time being, at least) and am venturing, not to a different planet, but to the Earth in the far, far future: Jack Vance's The Dying Earth.

Note: I seem to have gone overboard with this post. TL;DR - read The Dying Earth. You'll be amazed.

Untold millennia have passed. Science has vanished and magic has returned to the world. New races of humankind have evolved, alongside new species of beasts and plants.

The ancient Sun has turned red and soars across a dark blue sky. Society has dwindled. Where once there were billions of people, now there are few, separated by vast distances, living in small enclaves, often isolated and insular, with bizarre customs and traditions. The cities, countries and even continents of old are now dust, replaced by Ascolais, Almery, The Land of the Falling Wall, Ampridatvir, Kaiin and Cil, to name a few.

We are introduced to an array of colourful characters - wizards, witches, demons and princes - with equally colourful names: Turjan of Miir, Pandelume, Mazirian the Magician, Liane the Wayfarer, Chun the Unavoidable, Blikdak the Demon. As for the beasts, well, we can list the tiny Twk-men, erbs, Deodands, grue and pelgrane. Some plants are semi-sentient, indeed, one plant in Mazirian's garden can speak, after a fashion.

And if the lands, characters, beasts and plants are vividly described, the magic is more vibrant still. We note, of the 100 or so spells left to the knowledge of man, incantations such as Phandaal's Gyrator Spell, Phandaal's Critique of the Chill, Felojun's Second Hypnotic Spell, the Excellent Prismatic Spray, The Charm of Untiring Nourishment and the Omnipotent Sphere. Magical items have similar wondrous names: the Expansible Egg, the Scintillant Dagger and the Live Boots are just some of them.

The stories in this book are concerned with the acquisition of knowledge and power. While many of the characters are already powerful, and some may be centuries old, kept young by magic, they all want more.

Turjan of Miir desires to make a perfect, vat-grown creature. His previous experiments have failed, so he uses the spell Call of the Violent Cloud to journey to the world of Embelyon to meet with Pandelume, a great wizard. At Pandelume's request, Turjan performs a task - essentially the theft of a potent magical item - and is taught the correct spells and techniques. With this new knowledge, he creates T'sain, the 'twin sister' of T'sais, one of Pandelume's creations. T'sais is flawed, however, and cannot see beauty in any way: everything is hateful to her.

Things do not go Turjan's way, however. When we next meet him, he has been captured by Mazirian the Magician, and is being held in a miniature maze, chased by a rat. Mazirian craves knowledge, too: who is the strange woman who seems to be spying on him? He questions Turjan who tries to trade capturing the woman for his freedom. Mazirian refuses and chases the woman himself, with Live Boots and a selection of spells. The woman is T'sain who, protected by magic herself, leads Mazirian on a wild chase, eventually and narrowly defeating him in a grove of vampire-weed. The chase has left her at death's door. With the last of her strength, T'sain frees Turjan and dies doing so. But Turjan has the knowledge now, and vows to recreate T'sain anew.

T'sais has her own death-defying adventures in search of 'beauty'. Pandelume gifts her with jewels, enchants her rapier, and a rune so she has some protection, and she travels from Embelyon to Earth. There she encounters Liane the Wayfarer, leaves him for dead, travels across the Modavna Moor and is set upon by ruffians. She, with her enchanted rapier, fights free of them, and flees. At last, she reaches a cottage and is given sanctuary by a man in a black hood. Etarr is his name and he tells his story about how his face was stolen by a witch and replaced with a hideous visage. He intends to retrieve his face from the witch, Javanne. At a hideous ritual on the Black Sabbath, Etarr and T'sais capture Javanne but she cannot return his face, it having been gifted to a demon which has been destroyed in the ritual. Only Pandelume and an ancient god of justice can restore it. The three travel to this god and are judged. T'sais is innocent and is granted the ability to see beauty. Etarr is also innocent and is given his face. Javanne, guilty of wickedness, is transformed and given Etarr's demon-face.

Liane the Wayfarer is given his own story, so we must assume he survived his encounter with T'sais. Liane is boastful, big-headed and full of his own self-importance. This braggadocio increases because he has found a ring which causes him to become invisible. He then journeys to visit Lith, the golden witch, with the intent to become her lover. Lith resists his advances and charges him with a quest: if he is to love her, he must retrieve half of a tapestry from Chun the Unavoidable. He journeys to the city of Kaiin and finds an inn, where he shows off his magical ring and questions some local sorcerers regarding Chun. The sorcerers blanch and go quiet. Liane reckons himself more cunning than these wizards and, equipped with his wits and magic ring, he sets off to find the tapestry. On the way he finds several bodies, each with their eyes gouged out. Liane explores Chun's lair and finds the tapestry, which he steals. Chun is behind him, wearing a cloak of eyeballs sewn with silk. Terrified, Liane flees, hounded by Chun. Thinking himself smarter than Chun, Liane hides with his magical ring. But Chun the Unavoidable cannot be hidden from in this way and Liane is found. The story closes with Chun visiting Lith. He gives her two golden threads for her tapestry, in trade for Liane's golden eyes.

Ulan Dhor is given a quest by Prince Kandive the Golden: travel across the forgotten ocean to the city of Ampridatvir and recover the lost tablets of Rogol Domendonfors, which are said to contain the secrets of lost magicks. Ulan Dhor sails across the Melantine Gulf, after three weeks, and encounters a strange fishing boat. The crew believe him to be a Raider because of his brightly coloured clothes but Ulan Dhor convinces them he is just a traveller. They lead him to the harbour of Ampridatvir where Ulan Dhor finds a civilisation which has two factions - those dressed in green and those in grey - each believing they are the only ones and that the other factions are ghosts to be avoided. He befriends a girl whom he calls Elai. Ulan Dhor captures, and learns how to fly, an aircar and uses this to penetrate the temples of Pansiu and Cazdal, thus stealing each half of the tablet of Rogol Domendonfors. They fly to the Tower of Fate and reassemble the two halves, revealing the words of Rogol Domendonfors. This brings the sleeping god back to life after over 5000 years. He sees the quarrels and riots between the factions and, in a fit of madness, proceeds to tear down and rebuild Ampridatvir. He punishes those who have ignored his teachings and plans for Ulan Dhor and Elai to found a new race. Ulan Dhor skewers the brain with his sword and kills the mad god. In the aircar, Ulan Dhor and Elai fly back to Kaiin.

In the last story, Guyal of Sfere has been born with some defect: an insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. His father says that Guyal's questions can only be answered by the Curator of the Museum of Man. Guyal embarks on a quest to find the Museum and find the answers he desires. He is protected by the Extensible Egg, the Scintillant Dagger and his father's blessing, which promises safety if he stays on the trail. His first encounter is in a strange village, where the hetman desires Guyal's horse. Which is understandable as these villagers ride oasts, hulking, deformed, humans as horses. The villagers give chase but Guyal evades them. The mountains of Fer Aquila are the next obstacle but, because he stays to the blessed trail, he finds his way through to the almost deserted village of Carchasel. There he meets a girl and her flute-playing uncle. Guyal, an accomplished flautist himself, enters into a contest, of sorts. The music goes from merry to madness and Guyal flees the hall. On the other side of the mountains, he first encounters a ghost, then meets the Saponids, the inhabitants of the town of Saponce. Unfortunately for Guyal, he breaks one of their obscure laws and is given three punishments: to promise he would never again break the laws; that he would judge the upcoming beauty contest; and that the third punishment would be revealed after the contest. The girls of the village are beautiful but are trying very hard not to look so. They are dirty, unkempt and dressed in rags. Guyal chooses the daughter of the Castellan who had arrested him for the crime. The third punishment is then revealed: to travel with the girl, Shierl, to the Museum of Man as an execution or a sacrifice. They walk into the depths of the Museum, seeing wondrous artifacts from the many ages of Earth. At the end, they encounter a huge face, seemingly pushing through the wall. It will not permit them to enter while Guyal has the Scintillant Dagger bringing light and it attacks, with tendrils exuded from its tongue. Guyal and Shierl are saved by an old man, Kerlin the Curator, wielding a powerful magical rod. After some time, Kerlin tells the story of Blikdak, the demon face. With cleverness, and a search of the vast Museum of Man, Guyal, Shierl and Kerlin defeat the demon (no spoilers, here). Sadly, the exertion kills the old man but not before he has told Guyal to look for the index in his chambers. With this he may be able to find the knowledge he seeks. We are left with Guyal and Shierl wondering "What shall we do?"

So, what have I learnt?

Vance is a master of descriptive prose. The way he describes the sky above Embelyon in Turjan of Miir:

"Most strange, however, was the sky, a mesh of vast ripples and cross-ripples, and these refracted a thousand rays of coloured light, rays which in mid-air wove wondrous lace, rainbow nets, in all the jewel hues."

-- From Turjan of Miir by Jack Vance

Many other such passages appear throughout the book. I wish I was that good!

Magic in the Dying Earth is a force to be reckoned with. A number of encounters end peacefully due to the mere threat of being ensorcelled. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am a roleplayer. In such games, there is usually the concept of a 'saving throw' to ward off magical effects. No such save exists in the Dying Earth. If you are on the receiving end of The Excellent Prismatic Spray, you can expect to be blasted by dozens of multicoloured laser beams, with little hope of surviving. However, runes, items and countermagicks can negate these effects but these are most jealously guarded and even harder to find than the spells themselves.

Magic is colourful in name and devastating in effect. Phandaal's Gyrator spell, for instance, lifts the affected target up in the air, to any height and at any speed. It is used by Mazirian to destroy a Deodand by making the creature spin so fast that the centrifugal force tears it limb from limb. No saving throw.

Magicians are men and women of huge ego. Witness the number of spells named after their creators, for instance. This ego drives them to compete against each other for the recognition of their peers, a classic case of 'oneupmanship'.

For my next post, I'll be leaving Earth entirely, and not by using the Call of the Violent Cloud. My next adventure will be to the far future, science fiction setting of Harry Harrison: Deathworld 1.

SOME NOTES ON

FRITZ LEIBER'S

SWORDS AGAINST DEVILTRY

As I said in an earlier FB post, I intend to read more this year and I'd start with the 'classics'. I begin with the stories of Fafhrd and the Mouser, by Fritz Leiber. This is not a book review, just some notes on the happenings in these tales, written in the hope that it might attract new readers to these excellent stories, and some of what I have learnt from them.

We travel to the world of Nehwon. The characters of Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, and their wizardly patrons Ningauble of the Seven Eyes and Sheelba of the Eyeless Face, were created by Harry Otto Fischer. Fritz Leiber then wrote most of the duo's actual adventures.

In Swords Against Deviltry, we have three stories.

The Snow Women introduces us to Fafhrd (pronounced faf-erd) and his barbarous clan in Cold Corner. As it says in the opening paragraph "the women of the Snow Clan were waging a cold war against the men." They do this with powerful enchantments to ensure their men do not wander, that they remain faithful and, should any step out of line, inflict a nose-dripping cold, the Great Cough or Winter Fever. Where magic was unsuitable, the women would snowball their men and they sometimes froze their snowballs. This was not a laughing matter.

Fafhrd finds himself caught in a triangle of women: his mother, Mor; his lover, and mother-to-be of his child, Mara; and Vlana, an actress with a travelling theatre troupe. Fafhrd longs for adventure and the excitement of 'civilisation' and believes Vlana to be the key to his escape from Cold Corner.

After much double-dealing with Vlana's manager, love-making and squabbles with the womenfolk of his clan, Fafhrd, ski-jumps the Trollstep Canyon (assisted by fireworks from the actors troupe). He avoids the icy magicks of Mor, Mara and the other snow women, slays five men in his pursuit of Vlana, and wins the heart of the actress.

The second story in the book, The Unholy Grail, tells the adventure of Mouse, a wizard's pupil. Mouse returns home after a quest, to find his master's house in ruin and the hedge-wizard Glavas Rho, slain. Mouse suspects Duke Janarrl, the local "lord paramount", a man who hates all magic but "white more than black". To add to Mouse's misery he believes that Ivrian, his first love and the daughter of the Duke, was involved in the murder of his master.

Mouse vows revenge.

After an altercation with the Duke and his men, Mouse hides in the forest and begins working magic against Janarrl. The Duke is afflicted by pains which leave him bed-ridden. Ivrian, in desperation, rides to see Mouse but is followed by the Duke and his men. They capture Mouse and destroy the poppet-image of Janarrl which Mouse was using as a link to direct his magic against the Duke. Things look bleak for Mouse but he is not defeated yet.

Strapped to the rack in the torture chamber, Mouse uses the pain to focus his next spell. Ivrian helps by keeping her attention fixed on Mouse and holding her father's arm. This is another link, sending the magic from Mouse, through Ivrian and to the Duke. As the spell reaches its climax in a howling storm, the Duke "crumpled in defeat and death."

The third story is the classic, Nebula award-winning Ill Met in Lankhmar, where Fafhrd and Mouse (who has now renamed himself the Gray Mouser) finally meet in the greatest city in all of Nehwon.

The two rogues plan to rob two thieves who themselves have just robbed a local gem merchant. By chance, Fafhrd and the Mouser have concocted the same plan and the same location for their ambush. After a brief scuffle, the two face each other over the fallen bodies of the two thieves. They realise there is a connection between them and, indeed, they have seen each other in the past.

Together, they celebrate and meet their girls, Vlana and Ivrian. Over much wine and boastful bragging, the heroes promise to assault the Thieves' House, home of the powerful Guild which oversees all thievery in Lankhmar city and beyond.

Disguised as beggars (the Beggars Guild is allied with the Thieves Guild) the two penetrate Thieves' House, there witnessing some strange sorcery involving magical nooses and are eventually caught by Krovas, the master of the Lankhmar Guild. Mouser flatters Krovas but the sorcerer, Hristomilo, sees through his flattery and the two are unmasked. A daring escape ensues, with the heroes leaping from rooftop to rooftop across the city, to reach the Mouser's home.

They find the place in darkness and disarray. Their girls have been murdered, by strangulation it seems, and a swarm of rats have begun devouring the bodies. In grief and rage, Fafhrd and the Mouser slay many rats then burn down the building, making a funeral pyre for their first loves.

Their rage overtakes them and they attack Thieves' House, armed with sword, dagger and burning oil. The sorcerer defends the House but is slain when Fafhrd throws Vlana's dagger into his eye; Mouser kills the wizard's familiar.

With the death of the wizard, the heroes' rage leaves them and they flee the burning Thieves' House. Their grief is too much to handle and the memories of their lives with their first loves weigh too heavily. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser leave Lankhmar the city of "beloved, unfaceable ghosts".

So, what have I learnt?

Emotion is a powerful motivator for the heroes. Fafhrd's curiosity about "civilisation", coupled with desire for Vlana, pulls him away from his homeland. The Mouser's desire for revenge against the killer of his wizardly teacher drives him down a path of life-threatening black magic. Besotted by their first loves, and not a little wine, the heroes undertake the most audacious raid on the Thieves' House. This proves to be a mistake, as the blackest of magicks kills their lovers. Desire for vengeance takes them back to Thieves' House and a murderous rampage.

But when the dust settles and the smoke clears, there is nothing left but sadness.

I'm a long-time player and GM of roleplaying games, nerdy I know, but one thing I note is that magic in Nehwon is time-consuming, expensive (witness the costly glassware and alembics used in Hristomilo's magic) and as risky to the spellcaster as it is to the target. The Mouser suffers torture to wreak his revenge on Janarrl. It also works best in groups: the Snow Women wield great power in their cabals and covens.

I enjoyed these stories immensely, and can't wait to see what happens to our heroes next. But wait I must, as I turn my attention to another great writer of SciFi and Fantasy: Jack Vance.

Mystery in the Rain

Another little exercise which could be built on. Suggestions welcome.

Colin

===

Iris sat down on the narrow ledge that passed as the bus shelter's bench. Not that there was much bench - it was a beam that would make an Olympic gymnast cautious - and even less shelter from the rain, bouncing like marbles from the shelter's metal roof. All but one of the toughened-glass windows were smashed through and the one that remained was a spider-web of cracked glass. She turned up the collar of her soaking rain coat and cursed the rain, her bitch boss for making her work late and the joker who had pranged her BMW, forcing her to wait for the night bus.

A hot bath and chilled white wine waited for her at home. Perhaps some relaxing music and scented candles, too. Iris could almost smell the jasmine, feel the warm water against her skin, hear the music lulling her to sleep. Her eyelids fluttered ...

She remembered that supposedly romantic weekend in London. The shows, the restaurants, the shopping, the mind-blowing sex. The final, humiliating dumping that still hurt after all these years.

The pistol-cracks of high heels on concrete flagstones interrupted her waking dream. Fragments of that last scene at King's Cross station scattered through her mind like windblown leaves.

Iris squinted up into luminous violet eyes. The woman's head was haloed by the yellow streetlight and Iris couldn't see her face, just those eyes.

"He wasn't worth it, was he?" the stranger asked. She took a seat next to Iris.

Before she could stop herself, Iris replied: "He was married to his job. His schedule and mine would never match up."

"Stop making excuses for him. You knew he was a bastard the moment you met him. Do you even know what his job was?"

Iris looked at her inquisitor. The woman's lustrous brunette hair was perfectly styled. Not a smudge on her lipstick, her mascara nor her eye shadow. Her black leather coat was dry. And her perfume was exotic, without being overpowering. How had she gotten here without getting soaked to the skin? Iris wondered.

"He said he was in sales," Iris said. "But ..."

"... he never said what he was selling," the woman finished Iris's sentence for her.

"He sold me a lie," Iris murmured.

"And you weren't the only one." The woman offered Iris a pink Post-It note with six names on it: hers was at the top. "It seems you were the lucky one."

"Who are these women?" Iris wanted to know. "And what do you mean, lucky?"

"You didn't give him what he really wanted. The others, he took for every penny and even more." The woman stood, towering over Iris, who shrank back, cowed by her sheer presence. "It falls to you to fix the many things he has broken."

"Why me?"

"You're the only one with an ounce of sanity remaining." The woman gazed into Iris's eyes.

The hiss of air-brakes, the smell of diesel and the rumble of a heavy engine disturbed this strange tableau.

"Here, love," said a man's voice. "Are you waiting for this one? It's the last of the night."

Iris, jolted back to her senses, looked up at the bus driver and around the shelter. The woman had vanished; only the faintest trace of her perfume remained.

Iris boarded the bus and looked back over her shoulder at the now-empty shelter. "Did you see another woman at the stop?" she asked.

"No, love. Just you," replied the driver as he sorted out Iris's change. "Long day?" he asked as he handed over the money. "You look done in."

"Yeah. Long day," Iris agreed. Long and weird, she thought.

She took a seat as the bus pulled away and looked vainly in all directions for the mysterious woman. I must have been half asleep, she concluded as she settled back in her seat.

Iris fumbled to find her phone. The next level of her word game was waiting; she had had six 'please come back' text reminders during the day. As she pulled out her phone, a small piece of pink paper landed in her lap.

There were six names on that paper and hers was at the top of the list.

Circuses are weird ...

I've been away for quite some time. Life gets in the way. You know how it is :-)

Anyway, here's another little practise piece from the excellent Writer's Toolbox, by Jamie Cat Callan.

===

After only two months, Emma decided to become an exotic dancer. The employment opportunities were vastly superior, for a start. The chances of her getting a spot in the Ballet Rambert, the English National or the Bolshoi were slim-to-non-existent. So she quit the ballet classes and enrolled at a gym. She knew the moves, she just needed to get toned.

"Why don't you try a circus?" suggested Ralph, her personal trainer. "I don't want you to demean yourself by becoming a glorified stripper, sweet."

Emma grunted, "'Cos I fucking hate clowns," as she struggled through the fifteenth 'rep' on her quads. Only five more to go.

Ralph watched as the perspiration beaded on Emma's brow, soaking through her headband and dampening her short blonde hair. The sweat seeped into her lime green leotard. He could see why the guys, and, it was rumoured, a couple of the girls, liked her.

Emma finished her twentieth 'rep' and collapsed back onto the bench. "Fuck, that hurt," she gasped.

Ralph wished she wouldn't swear so much. It marred her otherwise angelic demeanour. "Go again?" he asked.

"No way," Emma replied. "I've done enough for one night."

Sucking on a plum lollipop, her go-to flavour now that she had (mostly) kicked the cigarettes, Emma left the gym into a riot of colour, music, laughter and blaring horns. A ten-foot tall bloke bent down and handed her a bright orange leaflet. "Rizzo's Circus," proclaimed the flyer, "The Greatest Show On Earth." Times and dates were stamped in the corner, thankfully obscuring the clown's face. The first performance was in an hour.

She looked back up at the ten-foot guy on stilts. "Coming?" he asked.

It was probably just the strain of her exercise session, Emma reasoned, but her legs were wooden and her mind fogged with exhaustion, as she joined the crowd and followed the circus parade through town to the big top.

===

Colin

Ravenmar's Luck Runs Out

Ravenmar scanned the rapidly darkening sky. The Moon was not yet risen and tatters of grey clouds scudded overhead, driven by a biting Easterly wind. He gathered his heavy, woollen cloak around him and followed the track by the river. His destination was the village of Red Crest, just beyond the hill. With luck, he would make it before the gate closed for the night.

As he approached the bridge, he slowed. You could never be too careful around here as trolls were known to sneak down from the hills and use human structures for shelter. Trolls, while not necessarily evil, were spiteful and malicious creatures, given to tricking unwary travellers with their riddles and wicked magicks. Ravenmar loosened his sword in its scabbard, a precautionary measure, and stepped onto the crumbling stone of the bridge.

"Halt, who goes there?" came the squeaky voice, in heavily-accented Common Speech. A shadow hopped over the bridge's wall and resolved slowly into the short, stooped figure of a troll. It was around three feet tall, of scrawny build, but with a large, mis-shapen head, unevenly pointed ears, one of which looked like it had been bitten in two, and almond-shaped black eyes. Its skin was covered in greyish scales and it was dressed in a loincloth. Ravenmar took in all of this in an instant. His attention was occupied by the short spear which the troll held, aimed squarely at his chest.

"A weary traveller, bound for the village beyond the hill," Ravenmar replied.

"You lie!" spat the troll. "That village is in troll-country. Your kind are not welcome there."

Ravenmar spread his arms wide and looked around. "Since when has this been troll-country? The Earl gave you territories in the hills a decade ago."

"He gave us cold, damp caves, ruins of shacks and worked-out mines!" What followed was what Ravenmar judged to be a string of expletives in troll-tongue. "He tricked us, he did. One day soon, he will pay."

This was not typical trollish bluster, however. Something in the little beggar's stream of invective struck a chord in Ravenmar. "What do you mean, the Earl will pay?" His hand went to his sword hilt.

The troll brandished his spear and gutsily advanced a couple of paces. "Halt!" he screeched. "Keep your hands away from your weapon!" He emitted a shrill whistle.

Ravenmar felt a chill, like icy fingers, run down his spine. He was by no means a wizard but even he could sense when magick was at work. The concealing glamour, which had hidden a dozen trolls, was cancelled and Ravenmar found himself surrounded by wicked spear points.

He might be no wizard, and he was certainly no warrior: he could not fight a dozen armed trolls, not even this diminutive rabble. He raised his hands and the trolls searched him, relieving him of his sword, dagger, coins and food. They bound his hands behind his back and, at spear-point, marched him to the village.

Crazy Cat Lady

I'm back after a short break. This came to me late one night, just after the cat woke me up!

Why do they call me the Crazy Cat Lady? I'm not crazy. If you want crazy, I can introduce you to Lili!

Okay, I do have upwards of a dozen cats in my home. Or their home. Sometimes it seems I'm lodging with them, not the other way round. And let me be clear: they are just lodgers here. I don't own them. They come and go as they please and they don't stay forever. One morning I might wake up with ten cats or twelve or sometimes only three. Of course, Nature has been known to take Her course and a litter of the little darlings suddenly appears.

So, yes. I like cats. Love them to bits, really, even when they leave bits of mice or birds all over the living room floor. But does that make me crazy? I think not.

They speak to me, you see. Every purr, meow, hiss. Every ear-twitch or tail-flick, I can understand. Each disdainful look through slit-pupilled eyes, each lascivious roll-over for a tummy tickle, means something and I know what they are saying.

Before you think I'm mad, just remember that you were young once and couldn't pronounce a single word, let alone string together a sentence. You made your feelings known by crying, gurgling, vomitting or pooing. You made grasping gestures with chubby fingers, struggled to crawl when you wanted something just out of reach and cried more when you couldn't move. Now you take language and movement for granted to get what you want.

Cats have their own language and I understand it. I can't quite read catspeak yet, but I'm working on it. It's something to do with paw prints and how their claws make marks. What they're scratching also means something. The door, obviously, means they want out, or food, if it's a cupboard door. The curtains mean they want to climb. And if they shred the carpet, it means they need the litter tray and, more to the point, why hasn't the litter tray been cleaned? I know these things.

Now I'm sitting in the middle of the garden, surrounded by cats, watching intently as they prowl around, sun themselves, walk along the fence, or sit and wash, looking like furry pretzels. I wish I was that flexible. Some simply watch the world go by with that infinite patience that makes them look like they're planning world domination.

School kids walk past the garden, laughing and joking when they see the "crazy cat lady". Let them laugh. I don't care.

Until one of the little thugs throws a pebble at one of my darlings. Then I get crazy. As the grey and black feline jumps down from the fence, the pebble soaring over its head, I spring into action. I leap from the lawn, hissing, yowling and screaming at the little brat. He and his friends blanche at my fury. My words aren't clear to them, but to the cats it's perfect sense: "Get out of here you little bastards!"

I can feel the perfect "cat-ness" of the moment. I am transformed, not into a cuddly, soft, furry moggy, but into the fierce warrior lioness of ancient times. I roar, bare my claws and let the light gleam from my fangs. The kids flee, calling me names as they run. Their insults patter off my fur like raindrops; sticks and stones and all that. I watch until they have run out of sight but I can still smell them, and their fear, on the breeze.

My darlings come to me. I comfort them, tell them the nasty humans have gone, that they have nothing to fear. They cuddle up against my belly or climb along my back. Their purrs comfort me after that unseemly outburst. I will protect them.

Am I crazy? Perhaps. Am I a cat? Most certainly. Am I a lady? Only when the mood takes me. My name is Bast, warrior and protector through the Ages.