Archives: Short Stories

The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 13

Hi folks, sorry for not posting yesterday!

There goes the commitment to posting every day!

In my defence, I was so full of cold that I could barely string a sentence together.

Anyway, here’s the penultimate episode of Sweetangel!


Dirtlings of all shapes and sizes,

Matching their name with dirt covered faces,

Laboured slowly by flickering light.

Each man, woman and child wore chains,

And worried lodeshells from their rocky beds,

Spurred on by the threat of the whip’s bite.


Turtle spotted Frog right away,

On a lower level with ten urchins,

And a guard from whose belt hung a key.

Dhrudj and his men were packing shells,

Into crates that bore ellingfant motifs,

To smuggle out as Hashmiri tea.


Poulter slipped down to the low ground,

And began sneaking up behind the guard,

With Turtle to help calm the children.

Longthorn crept to the older slaves,

Hoping that once freed they would join the fight,

But he was seen by Dhrudj’s brethren.


Two men came down upon Longthorn,

And he fought them hard with fist and razor,

But three more jailors came to their aid.

He felled two before they stopped him,

But the rest beat Longthorn with their cudgels,

And Dhrudj threatened him with a curved sword.


“Who are you?” the thug demanded,

“I spy a tattoo of the Pope’s Navy,”

“But you’re a long way from God my friend.”

“I lost my faith and left my post,”

“After Greywater Bay,” murmured Longthorn,

“But I’m not afraid to face my end.”


“Brothers, I know this man,” said Dhrudj,

“I captured him along with his crewmen,”

“When I sailed as a cannon for hire.”

“How and why did you find our mine?”

“Are there others who would threaten my work?”

Dhrudj used his scimitar to enquire.


The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 12

Bit more!

Holiday going well so far, except for an unpleasant sore throat and cold, which is hardly an aid to writing.

Still, at least I don’t have to work- Walking Dead and meatballs it is.


Longthorn stifled a gasp of shock,

For within was the Hashmiri called Dhrudj,

A villain he knew from the Navy.

Dhrudj had once been a privateer,

Famed for the harsh treatment of his crewmen,

And for a total lack of mercy.


Longthorn’s frigate had been boarded,

During the Battle of Greywater Bay,

And Dhrudj took him as his prisoner.

The Hashmiri had been most cruel,

His prison fetid and his whip busy,

And Longthorn swore vengeance on the cur.


Dhrudj and his ally walked away,

Down a trapdoor that led to hidden depths,

So Poulter and Longthorn crept behind.

Turtle followed close behind them,

Staying silent and determined to help,

But scared of what evil they might find.


Under the warehouse were tunnels,

A maze of shambling, haphazard mineshafts,

Like the throat of an earthen dragon.

Here and there they met a sentry,

But Poulter did his best work in the dark,

Slipping through the shadows like satin.


Time became harder to measure,

As they slashed their way through the torch-lit mine,

Hiding when rail-carts came groaning past.

Finally they heard pickaxes,

And the chilling whisper of rustling chains,

Echoing from a chamber quite vast.



The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 11

Honestly almost done now!

Don’t forget that you can wang your email address into the box on the right hand side bar to get an email update on each new post!


Poulter would brook no more softness,

So he set to the matter of finding,

Striking out through the foggy city.

Their only clue was Cross Alley,

An ill reputed street in the old town,

A dangerous place, far from pretty.


The old town was all built on mines,

The source of Saltpetre’s electrum shells,

Under land that once was under sea.

Not all of the mines were legal,

Hidden earthworks under houses and streets,

Unsafe tunnels littered with debris.


Not many Dirtlings would work them,

So it was easier just to use slaves,

Which are easily snatched from the streets.

Nobody misses the lost ones,

Nobody cares if the tunnels collapse,

And the business of business repeats.


Cross Alley looked empty of life,

But for a lone man smoking a cigar,

So Poulter and Longthorn followed him.

Quietly they stepped through shadows,

Until the man entered an old warehouse,

Where he met with a stranger most grim.