cover pic for Bess

Libby's Luck is live

paperback UK here
Kindle IK here
paperback US here
Kindle US here

If you've read Daisy's Destiny there are some hints at what is going on back at Swanley Court, but nothing in Libby Freemantle's letters hint at the initial misunderstandings and frictions between the head preceptress and the newest trustee, replacing Mr Everard.  As the misunderstandings are ironed out, they work together both on the problems of the new girls from the harsh school in Oxford, and on problems caused by unsavoury elements in Lucius Belvoir's own home neighbourhood.

Bess and the Dragons 1

This is a story aimed at young teens, in which Walter Raleigh went in search of El Dorado and found .... dragon eggs.  It takes place in an alternate Merrie England, and opens in 1599 when eleven year old Bess Marlowe is encouraged by her guardian, Master Will Shakespeare, to see if she will be accepted into the School of Wyrm Lore and Draxterelry. 
Naturally, England's enemy, Spain, is not happy that England might have a strategic advantage, and Bess and her friends must face danger as well as learning how to be Draxtereleers. 
This is a work in progress and I'm posting it to make myself get my finger out to complete it. 

Chapter 1

The large, red-brick country house was just a few hundred paces from the gatehouse where the hopeful candidates were gathering. All they had to do to take up a place at the school was to walk up the drive.

The huge, lavender-coloured dragon blocking their way was the only obstacle.  Bess knew, because Master Shakespeare had told her, that the lavender dragons were Lorewyrms, reckoned the cleverest of all dragons.

“How can they expect us to go past a dragon before we’re trained to deal with them?” demanded a big, heavy-set boy.  He was plainly a prosperous merchant’s son, with good woollen broadcloth clothing, and embroidered bands.

“It’s not fair. I’m not staying.  I never thought it would be like this,” the aristocratic girl in a brocade farthingale whined.

She was not the only one to think that way; quite half the hopeful candidates for the School of Wyrm Lore and Draxterelry retreated, though one boy was driven back by his father, who had brought him himself in his heavy covered travelling waggon.

Bess sighed.  She had not intended to stand out, or make a spectacle of herself; being the illegitimate daughter of a playwright who had died in dubious circumstances was not something that made one seek public notice, but if none of the other idiots were going to manage to do it, one of them must show the way.

She turned to the boy who had been shooed back by his father, an expensive looking youth, and smiled; and smiled too at the tatterdemalian girl with bare feet. The faces of both were expressive and intelligent; their background did not matter.

“Come with me,” she said, holding out her hands.

“Yes, look you, I will, right willingly,” the ragged girl took her hand.  Several of the better dressed youngsters shuddered, and one of the rich-looking girls shrieked.

“Be careful, you might get plague from the Welsh doxy!”

“Doxy?  She’s a little girl like us, thou, rudesby,” said Bess, deliberately using the familiar form of speech.  “And art too busy shrieking for me to wish to ask you.”  Master Will Shakespeare, her patron, had warned her that in the school there would be no favour for the wealthy, for the favour of the dragons counted more than material wealth, or she might not have dared.

“Why do you ask me?” the boy asked her haughtily, looking down his nose.

“Because though your courage is hiding, you look to be a companion worth having, if you will accept aid to find it,” said Bess.

Long moments he hesitated, and Bess wondered if he would prove too proud to accept the hand of friendship from someone of lower estate than himself.  He wavered, but put his hand forward.

Together, with Bess leading, they started up the drive.

“Is… is this what we are supposed to do?” asked the boy.

“It’s the only way to get to the school, and someone has to show the way,” said Bess.  “A lorewyrm is hardly going to be there to eat the candidates, but to test them.”

“I did not like to be presumptuous,” said the Welsh girl.  “We have always honoured dragons in Wales.  I may not look much, but my family claims descent from Uther Pendragon.  On the wrong side of the blanket.  My name is Tangwystl Goch.”

“I’m born on the wrong side of the blanket myself,” said Bess. “I’m Bess Marlowe.  Our other friend, I fancy, is more regular in his ancestors.”

“My father is Lord Edward de Bercy,” said the boy, “and I’m his second son, Diccon, and he wants me to be a Ruby Knight; but I am not of martial turn.  I … if I was lucky enough to bond, I would rather bond with a lorewyrm,” he added in a rush.

“We should concentrate on our lessons first, I fancy,” said Bess.  “Greetings, great one.  We wish to go to the school,” she said as they approached the big amethyst dragon. She dropped a deep curtsey.  Tangwystl copied her, though not as elegantly, and Diccon bowed.

The deep violet eyes regarded them, thoughtfully, and for the first time they experienced the heavy, pressing feeling of dragon thoughts in their heads.

“Greetings, young ones.  You are here to study dragons, and to hope to be matched with one as you mature.  You have at least shown some courage, as all Draxelteers require, which is especially sought by Ruby dragons, the Warwyrms. Amethyst dragons seek wisdom; black Diamond dragons,[1] or Spellwyrms seek intellect and talent. The Beryl dragons, the Speedwyrms wish for those who can take quick decisions. Topaz dragon, falsely called Common Wyrms seek those who nurture. It is my task to observe you, that you are placed in the correct House in the school to study towards your aims. It is not fixed nor unchanging,” she – they could feel she was a she – reassured them.

“Will we be barred from learning magic if we choose any but the Diamond House?” asked Bess.

A huffing noise issued from the nose of the Amethyst Wyrm.  Bess realised it was laughter.

“All will be taught magic,” said the Wyrm.  “How well you take to it determines much.  You thirst for knowledge, as does Diccon.  The way of the LoreWyrm is hardest, for you must understand all the ways.”

“I am not afraid of hard work,” said Bess.

“If that is the way, so be it,” said Tangwystl.

“I want to learn, more than anything else,” said Diccon.

“Then you will be placed in a House appropriately.  Pass, scholars,”  and the mind voice was withdrawn, and the massive head lifted from the path for them to pass underneath it.

 “That was … amazing,” said Diccon.

“Incredible,” agreed Bess.

“All I had imagined and more,” breathed Tangwstyl.  “Which house do you suppose we shall be in?  I hope we are together.”

“I … I had the feeling that our own choices might count for something,” said Bess.  “We did all secretly hope for Amethyst, did we not?”

“I certainly did,” said Diccon.

“And I,” said Tangwystl.

They came to the door of the school, and Bess looked at the other two, shrugged, and turned the handle.  It opened silently, and the three almost fell over in shock when a noise of cheering broke out. 

The older youths of previous years were sat at long tables; five tables, and on the dais, adults, presumably the professors who would teach them.  With a shock, Bess realised that they all, men and women alike, wore galligaskins, much decorated and many of them in soft leather. Over them they wore mannish doublets and jerkins, some of the men bowing to fashion with the peasecod shape, some plainer.  The women at least wore their breeches wider, so they might almost pass as a knee-length skirt.

The central figure, an elderly gentleman, came forward, and made a slight bow. Unlike the rest of the staff, he wore a formal robe, and a scholar’s hat rather than the flat cap most of the rest wore, with or without decoration.

“Congratulations to our first arrivals this year,” he said.  He had an accent of the low countries and Bess gasped; this must be the near-legendary  Master Piet Van Huys, and he must be the companion of the Lorewyrm who waited without!  She could have kicked herself for not realising sooner, for only Skyshadow could be an adult of such size, since Lorewyrms never stopped growing, and Skyshadow had been bonded before, perhaps many times, choosing to rebond with a shipwrecked Flemish merchant, Master, or Mynheer, Van Huys.  The tale was one told by minstrels, up and down the land, and how Master Van Huys had met Raleigh on his second voyage to the island of the eggs, and he and Skyshadow had agreed to return with him to England rather than to give knowledge of Draxterelry to the hated foreign rulers of the Spanish Netherlands. 

Van Huys smiled benignly on Bess and her companions.

“I see that you have heard of me, of Piet Van Huys,” he said.

Bess and Tangwystl curtseyed hastily, and Diccon bowed.

“Your honour’s fame has spread the length of England.  And Wales,” Diccon added hastily.

Van Huys beamed.

“Ah, the joys of notoriety,” he murmured.  “I believe a few more are coming; let us welcome them, and then when all are safely gathered in, we may assign you to your houses.  Pray take a seat on the edge of the dais and await the newcomers.”

The three youngsters did as they were bid, feeling very much under the eye of the established scholars on their separate tables, one each around a square, and one in the middle.  The carven backs of each chair was set with a painted plaque, picturing a dragon in the colour of the House of each table. The central table was Amethyst; the furthest was Beryl; the nearest, Black.  On each side were Ruby and Topaz.   And the students at each table wore doublets in the colours of their own House over their own galligaskins, and loose scholar’s gowns over them. Those who wore flat caps rather than just the usual simple linen cap also had them in the house colours.  One could not tell who was wealthy and who was poor, even as Master Shakespeare had said.  Bess squeezed Tangwystl’s hand, and the young Welsh girl squeezed back to indicate that she had understood.  It was interesting to notice, however, that there were a few older ones whose hats had a jewelled pin in them, and some did not.

“The ones with jewels in their hats are bonded to dragons,” whispered Bess to her companions.

It showed how few succeeded in bonding; there was only one youth on the amythest table with a jewel in his hat, though there were a few more at each of the other tables. Interestingly too, the side tables of Ruby and Topaz scholars were the largest, with more scholars. 

And then the next scholar was coming in, and Master Van Huys waited for the two following and then made his welcome speech again. The first boy was the big, heavy-set lad with expensive clothes, and a cheerful countenance who had wondered how they were to deal with a dragon before they were trained; he gave a rueful smile at the three, acknowledging that they had shown the way as he introduced himself as Lancelyn Webber.  He was followed by a boy who was dressed according to the fashions of the gentry, but with neatly darned sleeves at the elbow, named John Seymour, and a girl who could not keep the wonder from her face as she looked around, one Jane Evrard.  Over the next half hour, six more made their way in, including the girl with the farthingale who had been rude to Tangwystl, who stared in horror at girls in galligaskins, and complacently tweaked at her own skirts. Bess heard Tangwystl suppress a snigger.  She would soon learn.

And then Piet Van Huys made a curious gesture and the big double doors closed. Bess gasped as she seemed to feel a rushing feeling in her head.  Tangwystl held her ears, Diccon put his hand to his head, as did another boy who had introduced himself as Aloysius Cobb.  There were a few nods from those on the black table of the diamond students.

“That is all,” Van Huys said.  “No-one else has found their courage and it is too late for them this year.” He looked down at the dozen children sitting on the edge of the dais. “And now, I will place you into your houses, according to the findings of Skyshadow, who has spoken with all of you.  Rise, and when your name is called, take a seat at the table you are sent to.” They stood, obediently.

---

[1] This was a time before the ‘brilliant cut’ made diamonds into sparkling jewels acting like prisms; most were cut to be square stones and appeared black. 

Don't piss off a writer

Sid Smith, on whom derision's poured

Because, I fear, he is a fraud

Back in March he promised then

To make me panels for a pen

To give my cats a place to play

Safe, where they cannot go astray.

Such panels he had made before

Well-wrought, they were, without a flaw

But by the ending of July

I fear with my cash he did fly.

Sid is, I fear, a rotten scunner

And with my money did a runner.

'Quality Hutches and Runs' he makes

Alas, it seems he is a fake

His reputation can get slighter

Because he has pissed off a writer.