Burned buildings marked with bullets holes and shrapnel fragments show the evidence of a brutal battle that occurred in Borodyanka. Photograph: Matthew Hatcher/SOPA Images/REX/Shutterstock
What would my fictional Ukrainians do – Kalyna and Vasy Chayka, the heroines of Feathered Fire?
How can I be repetitive asking you to agree these guys are the best? Well, they are – especially as they all have concerns, fears, and insecurities. But they struggle on, so ticker-tape applause for all of them – plus toasts with the best brew available.
Purpose of IWSG: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something.
For more on the IWSG monthly post and links to other participants visit:
I feared my entry for this month’s WEP/IWSG Challenge would be too late as there were too many interruptions, not least diving down too many rabbit holes... and WordPress being a pain.
Anyway, a writer is never late, nor is he early. He posts precisely when he means to… as the deadline looms.
Having done two Challenge years of Sparkle and Kama tales and having written a romantic interlude for them in December, I felt it was time to give my Norse snow queen another overdue outing. The last one was in December 2019: https://rolandclarke.com/2019/12/11/wep-iwsg-december-challenge-footsteps/
As always, apologies if I’m slow to respond or slow to visit your posts.
Plus, ensure you visit all the other writers in this challenge via:
Gold medals are gifted through divine skills and love.
FREYJA’S TEARS
2022
Tuesday, February 8th
Constant clamour engulfs my ears. The din as Ægir’s dreaded daughters crash against the rocks, sending salt spray skyward.
Seagull squadrons screech and thieve my food as they assault me.
Not what I craved, yet my husband Njörðr expects me to enjoy my days at his Nóatún home beside the whale’s way, watching him play.
Sail-boarding, surfing, and today water skiing.
He insists I admire him showing off his talent. But he won’t teach me, even though as the snow-ski specialist I taught him my arts.
Why did I choose him? Cheated by Loki. Made to decide by selecting feet. Handsome limbs – yes. But not Baldr the Beautiful’s as I desired.
So now, Njörðr believes in this false fetish, saying, “See what this gorgeous god can do, and the skill’s all down to fantastic footwork.”
All I want is real romance. Poetic passion. Epic emotions.
Or escape to frozen-tear drifts. Time to be myself.
Time to leave him for the serene silence of my mountains. I must snow-dance again.
**
Skadi by Michael Jorvik
Thursday, February 10th
Silent-fall settles as I skill-slide into the rural resort near Thrutheimr, my alpine abode. The winter-blanket glistens under the silver-face, and I enter the central mead-hall.
Everyone is enthralled by the glowing screen showing the Beijing Winter Olympics. We all have our favourites in the final of the Women’s 10k cross-country, though all have learnt my arts.
But we cheer loudest whenever a Scandinavian competitor poles ahead of desperate rivals, and we toast the shield-maidens’ prowess.
A strong arm clasps my shoulder, and a seductive voice says, “We’ve bred them strong and swift in our lands. You’ve inspired them, Snow-Dancer, see.”
I smile then celebrate with my people as the Nordic countries sweep the podium, taking gold, silver, and bronze.
Then I turn my gaze on the handsome stranger.
He feels familiar even disguised, and I tease the truth.
“Wandering or seeking rings to break?”
He hands me a silver locket. “Will this do, Snow-Stepper? Or do you want something more precious? You’ve already won every gold medal.”
I laugh, louder than when Loki tussled with a goat then cheated me.
“All I desire is love. Is this heart-bait truly given? Or another trick?”
Music drifts across the celebrating crowd as he laughs and offers to remove his boots.
“I know about your foot-fetish. These aren’t my son Baldr’s, but my heart is bolder.”
“Do you seek to hide from me? That footwork was a falsity fabricated by the Mischief-Maker. It’s not the feet but what goes with them – and how you use them and where.”
Oðinn says, “I desire you forever by my side, Skaði, my goddess, giantess, huntress and snow-stealth specialist. Will you be one with me – my Snow Queen? If wished I will break the rings binding you to Njörðr.”
“And what of your other lovers?”
He covers an eye.
“I sacrificed one sight-light for my wisdom and presage. You will be foremost—”
“—and you tell all your conquests that.” I point to my face, then wink. “I’m not snow-blind. Frigg will view me as a threat… to marriage-purity. But I foresee another rival – Freyja, Njörðr’s daughter.”
Oðinn hesitates and I fear my truth-quest is doomed.
His grin captivates as the jukebox plays ‘All You Need Is Love’.
“Freyja shed tears of gold when I left to wander the Earth. Do we expect our shield-maidens to receive lesser rewards if I repent? Our match is fated, so we must commit to—”
“—to Infinity and beyond, heart-caller.”
614 words FCA
Apologies to those who know their Norse mythology and folklore, as I’ve taken a few liberties here. However, with so little from the ‘Viking era’ surviving, and much of it being oral in origin, I’m following in the bastardising bardic tradition.
For those who like rabbit holes, visit:
Throughout the mythology, Freya is associated with gold. When her husband leaves her to wander the Earth (more on him below), she cries tears of gold. Because of this story, “Freya’s tears” became a kenning, or poetic circumlocution, used to represent the word “gold” in Norse poetry. Freya’s golden necklace Brísingamen (“flaming necklace”) appears in connection with the goddess in several Eddic tales. According to Snorri Sturluson, the terms “flame” and “fire” are often connected with gold in poetry of the North “since it is red,” so it should not be assumed that Freya’s necklace was a thing of fire, but that it was simply made of her favorite metal.
Due to numerous similarities, scholars have frequently connected Freyja with the goddess Frigg. The connection with Frigg and question of possible earlier identification of Freyja with Frigg in the Proto-Germanic period (Frigg and Freyja origin hypothesis) remains a matter of scholarly discourse.[67] Regarding a Freyja-Frigg common origin hypothesis, scholar Stephan Grundy comments, “the problem of whether Frigg or Freyja may have been a single goddess originally is a difficult one, made more so by the scantiness of pre-Viking Age references to Germanic goddesses, and the diverse quality of the sources. The best that can be done is to survey the arguments for and against their identity, and to see how well each can be supported.”[68]
As for the Winter Olympics reference, that is based on real events. On February 10th at the Beijing Games, the 10k gold medallist was Therese Johaug (Norway), the silver medallist was Kerttu Niskanen (Finland), and the bronze medallist was Krista Pärmäkoski (Finland) – so, a Nordic clean sweep.
I feared my entry for this month’s WEP/IWSG Challenge would be too late, but then as I wrote this short piece, I realised I had to post today. The reason might become relevant on reading the last scene. As for the theme, I found a Welsh element to tie elements together for Sparkle and Kama.
This 2021 Year of the Art theme has provoked some interesting thoughts – and trips down rabbit holes.
Although this year’s posts are not another ongoing case for Sparkle Anwyl and Kama Pillai of the North Wales Police, I’ve attempted something else involving them. So, once more I’m going down the stand-alone path with my dynamic Welsh duo.
But this time, I’ve tried a change of genre – well, perhaps. Also, this is a response to my editor pointing out an oversight in my Fevered Fuse novel – the lack of personal growth.
As always, apologies if I’m slow to respond or slow to visit your posts.
Plus, ensure you visit all the other writers in this challenge via:
Uplifted by daffodils, two women affirm their love and pledge to fight for human rights.
MIRRORED PRIDE
2016
Saturday, 10th December
I stare at the unfamiliar reflection and wince. Pain comes with the job,but I can’t go out like this – not to celebrate.
Stupid. Some guys never give up easily – even cuffed.
Does it matter how I look? I purse my lips. Perhaps. I’m not vain, but tonight is special.
I reach for the makeup bag. Should I use some yellow concealer to hide my black eye? The icepack helped, but it’s still obvious. People might jump to the wrong conclusion. Abusive partner.
My fingers touch the slash on my cheek. Is a scar a turn off or a mark of courage?
Will Kama care? My whisper echoes round our bedroom.
“Of course not, cariad.” Kama replies in the doorway. I swivel and smile as she walks over, then kisses me softly. “You’re beautiful whatever happens.”
Then she sits down beside me at the vanity table.She traces the cut, then my nose. “At least, he didn’t break your mischievous feature.” She continues caressing my face.
The perfect excuse for my own daring exploration for hidden pleasure.
“Leave something for later. We need to get dressed up not down. After dinner antics are best.”
“Haven’t we always eaten first.” I slow my teasing hands, then add, “We never break the rules.”
“Except speeding on our bikes. That’s an unbroken addiction.”
Motorbikes brought us together nearly five years earlier – as did crime and our first case together.
I let our lips meet, and I enjoy the taste of minty cardamom. Long and lingering, and then I ask, “Do you ever regret the life we lead?”
“Never. I’m proud to be your partner. Both as a wife and a cop. You have doubts?”
“No longer, chellam. I admit my heart has wavered – doubt can be a mischievous trickster – was once. But we’ve proved ourselves as women, as lovers, and as crime busters.”
Kama clasps my hands. “Now we can be open with our pride, despite the risks.”
“Risk is our adrenaline and will be forever. And there are tests ahead, but we have each other. Still, I’m covering up these blemishes before we go out.”
“The table is booked for eight so I can pamper myself too. And then I’ve a present for us downstairs. Seasonal light for the cottage.”
A floral feast fills our front room. Dozens of displays of daffodils, not yellow but white blooms.
Kama beams with the flowers. “It may be eleven weeks until St David’s Day on March 1st, but why wait until our Welsh National Holiday?”
“Paperwhites – I love these daffodils. Perfect Christmas light bringers.”
“And I bought some bulbs to plant for the Spring as well. Plus, I added some which might flower on New Year’s Day. Those bring good fortune according to Chinese legend.”
“A bonus – even if having each other is our valuable destiny already.”
“I’ll echo that sentiment, cariad.”
***
We arrive on time at the Italian trattoria to celebrate and ‘Stand up for someone’s rights’ on a day when we are lucky to be in Wales.
When our cocktails arrive, I toast all those who fight for justice. “Not just on Human Rights Day but at every moment, chellam.”
“And together, we can take a stand for more humanity.”
On the wall behind, the face of Caravaggio’s Narcissus looks down through his pool of water at us and the vase of paperwhites on our table.
Post III in this year’s WEP/IWSG challenge and on the theme, the Year of the Art. Although this year’s posts are not another ongoing case for Sparkle Anwyl and Kama Pillai of the North Wales Police, I’ve attempted something else involving them.
So, once more I’m going down the stand-alone path with my dynamic Welsh duo.
As always, apologies if I’m slow to respond or slow to visit your posts.
Plus, ensure you visit all the other writers in this challenge via:
Kama and I shine torches across the runway invaded by the turbulent waters of Cardigan Bay. Three figures wave from the top of a stranded Land Rover, so the flood rescue coxswain steers towards them.
“Thank God, you found us before this flood rose higher. Our vehicle died on us—”
“Where were you going this late?”’
“Back to Llanbedr. We’d just repaired our plane in a hanger when the storm hit.”
The team makes room in the inflatable for the three men, but then, despite the storm, I hear distressed animal noises from a nearby barn.
“We need to investigate.”
One of the men shakes his head. “It’s just a stray dog. We tried helping it earlier, but it just growled at us, then slunk off.”
“We’re shivering,” says another rescued man. “We need to get home, please.”
The men don’t want our interference but I ignore their protests. Who are they? Were they repairing a plane? Access to the Snowdonia Flight School is not difficult.
But to them we’re their rescuers – not off-duty police.
Glancing at my partner, I swing my legs over the side. “We can do this. If we have to swim, we can. We’ve handled worst conditions.”
Kama whispers to the coxswain, before lowering herself into the flood waters.
She shouts back to the team as thunder echoes around us. “Sparkle’s correct. It’s our job to save any life. We’ll catch up later.”
We wade through the rising water towards the barn. The sounds are not just a dog.
“Was that a growl?” asks Kama. “Sounded more like a macaque.”
As we approach the barn door, the alarm calls increase.
“But here? You know—”
“—because my relatives in Tamil Nadu live near a troop. But they’re endangered macaques.”
We ease the door ajar and slip inside. Our torches shine on four piercing golden eyes in black faces surrounded by silver-grey manes – large canines bared
Caged.
A male lion-tailed macaque, showing its canines as a threat display. – Photo: Kalyanvarma
And other cages with exotic creatures.
The floor ripples. Rising water. And writhing snakes trying to escape drowning.
Plastic water bottles float. I shiver. Bottles with captive birds.
“We have to call this in. Those guys were smuggling illegal wildlife – by plane if they even had one. The National Wildlife Crime Unit won’t be open until the morning. RSPCA has a 24 hour hotline.”
My colleague reports our find to control, who reassure us that the RSPCA will be alerted.
“Can we at least get the creatures above the water?” I pick up two bottles and put them on a nearby shelf.
“ Are you leaving the snakes for the Indian charmer?” Kama nudges me.
I point to handles at the end of the plastic containers with the struggling serpents. “The scumbags took some precautions even if it wasn’t through concern for these poor guys.”
When we have moved every creature above the flood, we head outside into the storm.
“If our smugglers are in Llanbedr, we need to arrest them now—”
“I asked the coxswain to call uniform and ensure they watch their home, until we relieve them.”
Wading to firm ground is harder now. In places we have to swim – no challenge, even clothed.
However, the rain and sea water has made the fields boggy between access roads.
It’s only when we reach the road from Shell Island to Llanbedr that we can walk, then jog. Kama contacts uniform and updates them.
“A squad car will meet you at the rail crossing in five.”
The smugglers haven’t bolted, guessing the extensive flooding will divert attention – wrongly.
When the door opens, the leader looks beyond us at the uniform support.
“Shouldn’t they be fighting crime?”
“Smuggling wildlife is a crime.” Kama produces her warrant card. “We’re arresting you for offences under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora. Please read them their rights PC Anwyl.”
Friday, January 3rd
Emergency services continue to be stretched in the morning, and Porthmadog Heddlu are in demand. Our colleagues are exhausted, but the phones keep ringing. From serious crimes to breached seawalls and flooded front-rooms, people feel we should be resolving their problems. The situation is exacerbated with the main coastal railway line closed, and many key A roads impassable.
Perfect conditions for crime.
Someone is pinning a poster to the wall – a reminder of the flood of assignments we face.
And for Kama and me, our task has escalated. Crimes involving wildlife are generally not seen as “serious”, or are not thought of as “real crimes”.
But these smugglers have been identified. We want to see them prosecuted – not fined a few pounds and slapped on the wrists..
“We need stronger sentencing guidelines in Wales,” says DCI Ffion Baines. “That would result in more appropriate punishments for such horrible crimes. And more likely deter potential offenders. If you present your case, then I’ll back you with the CPS.”
But with no sentencing guidelines, the Crown Prosecution Service may find this case impossible to deal with effectively.
“Smuggling might be the stronger avenue. Evading customs. Contravening flying regulations, maybe. Lateral approach might throw up other crimes – crimes carrying a real sentence.”
“Time to send a clear message to the rest of the world that this part of the UK is doing its bit to address the devastating impact of the illegal wildlife trade.”
I point at The Great Wave poster. “Time to unleash our own tidal wave.”
The Great Wave off Kanagawa, by Katsushika Hokusai
908 words FCA
Although the initial inspiration for this flash was The Great Wave prompt, my mind was swept up with images of the storm surges that hit North Wales in December 2013 and January 2014. We were due to move into our new home there on March 1st (St David’s Day), so we were concerned as Harlech is on the coast,
When we arrived, there were still signs of the storms, although nothing akin to the damage done in the Great Storm of 1987, which scarred the landscape in the SE, around my family home. However, the Welsh storms left their mark – here’s how the BBC reported the storm on January 3rd 2014:
This year’s WEP/IWSG challenge theme, the Year of the Art, ties in to my novella for last year’s challenges, the six-part story called ‘Custody Chain’.
I was wary of attempting another ongoing case for Sparkle Anwyl and Kama Pillai of the North Wales Police, but I sensed many of you would expect something else involving them.
However, another Snowdon Shadows novella was too daunting – and a commitment too far. Although I managed to get there, I had to eke out the end of ‘Custody Chain’ sentence by sentence – sometimes one each day.
So, I’m going down the stand-alone path, although there will be a few links – beyond my dynamic duo.
Apologies, the word count is over the limit – but let’s move on.
If you wish, please comment, or suggest what links are ongoing.
Many thanks for reading.
As always, apologies if I’m slow to respond or slow to visit your posts.
Plus, ensure you visit all the other writers in this challenge via:
Surf crashes onto the beach, churning the sand and tossing seashells aside. Rollers rush the rocks bordering the bay.
Perfect for thrill-seeking surfers, but treacherous for casual swimmers. Deceptive currents.
Another challenge for Kama and me. Nothing deflects us from our dawn swim.
We race into the roiling sea, limbs driving us out until Morfa Bychan disappears.
Then we turn for shore and breakfast.
A familiar figure waits for us. A brunette in uniform, with sparkling eyes – and a worried expression.
PCSO Lleilu Dace, the police community support officer, who proved so invaluable on an art theft case the previous year.
She waves as we walk ashore.
“I knew you’d both be here, so wanted to catch you off-duty. Sorry for the intrusion—”
“—anytime. What’s the problem?” Kama’s tone is calm and encouraging.
I find myself reading Lleilu’s lips. The case had involved Tesni Szarka, a deaf painter.
“Don’t take this wrong. I’m not proper uniform and certainly not a detective—”
“But you’re part of the team with vital input. What’s happened? Sexism?”
“Too often – some of your colleagues expect me to make their tea, even when they are capable. No, it’s the paperwork. It has to stop.”
I share her frustration. Time sheets, surveys, assessments, as well as our regular case reports.
“We do depend on non-police staff to type up our Smartphone notes.” Kama shakes her head. “But only if we’re stretched and we shouldn’t expect PCSOs to do that. You have key support roles – and you’ve proved invaluable. You should talk to DCI Baines – she’d understand.”
Lleilu shakes her head. “It’s just my observation, not an official complaint. That would require triplicate form-filling. Paperwork will be the kiss of death for real policing. Anyway, I’m going for a swim.”
She slips out of her uniform, down to a swimsuit and a lithe body. Warmth spreads up to my face and I glance at Kama. Resist, her face says.
Lleilu plunges into the sea and begins to carve her way through the turbulent water.
Pounding. My chest. She’s disappeared. Undertow.
Kama and I dash in, diving underwater. Searching.
I find Lleilu fighting to surface. Fighting to breathe. Choking.
As I reach her, she collapses. Remain calm. Slow my racing heart.
I slip hands under her armpits, then kick to the surface, swimming parallel to the shore – out of the undertow.
Kama is beside us, guiding us back to the beach once we’re out of the undertow.
We lay Lleilu on the sand. Her pulse is weak. Not breathing. Kama presses her lips to another. I shiver. No. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Kiss of life.
Kama continues the methodical airway-breathing-circulation then chest compressions. Lleilu’s eyes flutter. No gasp for air.
My partner motions for me to take over. I press my mouth to Lleilu’s, pinching her nose – and praying.
She chokes up seawater, then forces a smile.
***
Sunday 25th January
Kama and I kiss, lips soft as tongues tease. Then we zip up our leathers over evening glad rags.
The front-door bell rings.
Lleilu – with a large package.
“Dydd Santes Dwynwen Hapus. I have a gift for you both – for saving me.”
She kisses us on both cheeks, then hands us the wrapped gift.
We undo the protective cloth, revealing a painting we will cherish.
“Tesni Szarka painted this replica. Dropped everything to finish it for—”
“St Dwynwen’s Day. Our own version of St Valentine’s Day – which we’re about to celebrate—”
“Join us – unless there’s someone—”
“Not yet, but he’s out there.”
I place the replica of Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss on our mantelpiece.
1077 wordsFCA
For more on the theme of art, check out the amazing WEP/IWSG Challenges Calendar for 2021 with designs by Olga Godim:
Winter must be here as we have settled snow here in Idaho, although later than a few places in the UK – well, they’ve had the first snow in Snowdonia days. Anyway, time to conclude my WEP/IWSG challenge novella, even though this challenge is not ‘official’.
Well, I had to conclude the case.
When Sparkle Anwyl and Kama Pillai began investigating the ‘Café Terrace’ theft, we didn’t know where their six-part story called ‘Custody Chain’would lead. However, Snowdon Shadows always throws up rabbit holes to test me. So, unsurprising, the villain of the case was shrouded in mystery.
But we have reached a conclusion, although it’s taken weeks of writing. NaNoWriMo 2020 was a related tale meant to rekindle the fire – or sparkle in the gloom. But that failed and since last month, I’ve had to eek out the end of ‘Custody Chain’ sentence by sentence – sometimes one each day.
But, as an inspirational postcard on my desk – from Writing.com – says:
A little progress each day
adds up to big results.
Despite everything, I finished, although the word count is over the limit – so, apologies. Anyway, let’s move on.
If you missed the first five parts of the story, or would like to refresh your memory, here are the links:
Please note there may be minor oversights/errors/omissions which editing of the final story into a novella will address. Writing new chapters has thrown up new clues to fathom.
Anyway, enjoy this final chapter, and if you wish, please comment, or suggest what happens next. Many thanks for reading.
Apologies if I’m slow to respond or slow to visit your posts.
Plus, ensure you visit all the other writers in this challenge via:
Tesni and Urien have left the Llanystumdwy barn’s safety, although PCSO Lleilu Dace is still with them and in touch with backup. We’ve ensured Tűzvirág had minimal contact with her brother, Barangó Fekete, and all attempts by her lawyers to have her sent back to Hungary failed.
Kama and I park our motorbikes in the dunes overlooking the shingle beach west of Criccieth. We’re far enough from the town for the area to seem deserted, bar a solitary woman with a dog.
Out in Cardigan Bay, a boat bobs on a sea anchor. A figure clutches a fishing rod at the stern.
I scan the boat with my binoculars. Suspicious?
“Shark fishing is dangerous, Sparkle. We knew the risk.”
“We were warned about Barangó Fekete’s long reach. It’s what we counted on – and on his greed.”
In a sheltered spot among the dunes, Urien and Lleilu are sitting on a rug with a picnic hamper – like holiday makers. Tesni has an easel with a canvas on it and is applying oil paint with a palette knife.
The distinctive bold Van Gogh strokes flow fast, although the image is Welsh – the boat in the bay. The blue and white waves have streaks of green and yellow, brightening the scene.
“The sea and fishermen. A tribute to his passion.” Tesni turns to explain, then signs. “In Vincent style. Not replica but Mediterranean colours. Changing as we are.”
“My daughter seems to be moving on. She insisted on coming here – and painting for herself. Is it safe? Are you the backup Lleilu mentioned?”
I need to reassure her, even if I’m uneasy. “We’ve someone watching this area – the backup is hidden. So, why this spot? It’s secluded and beautiful–”
“—Tesni received a postcard from her aunt Aranka.”
Urien produces a card of a Van Gogh seascape, with writing on the back in what must be Hungarian.
‘Most ugrik a majom a vízbe.’
“It says, ‘The monkey will now jump in the water’, meaning now we will see what happens.”
Tesni turns from her artwork and gestures at the card. “Seascape near Les Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Painted by Vincent in June 1888 – from the beach, as sand grains found in the paint layers. Done at a fishing village in the south of France.” She points with her palette knife at the boat. “Real fisherman. Not our watcher. Here as expected. Vincent say, ‘There is safety in the very heart of danger’.”
Kama nods towards the boat. “That fisherman appears unwelcome. I suspect Aranka knew what would happen. We’ll investigate.”
Another morning swim is welcome, so I peel off my leathers. Forewarned we’re both wearing our neoprene costumes, so tumble like tourists into the surf.
The plunge invigorates. Cool and inviting.
When the bottom drops away, I dive, arms streamlined like an arrow. Slice underwater in a smooth breaststroke with a strong dolphin kick. Surfacing, I switch to a crawl away from the beach. Kama keeps pace beside me.
My head dips under the surface after each breath and we carve through the waves. A normal swim except we are on duty.
As we draw parallel to the boat, the fisherman watches intently. Although dressed the part, his gear is freshwater not sea angling. He jerks his rod up, tugging his line, then drops all the tackle and grabs a gaff, which he brandishes.
“Stay away. This here catch is mine.” His Black Country accent has a foreign edge – and menace. “Leave us now, or else.”
We tread water as he prowls. A splash behind the boat alerts me. I duck dive – deep and towards the sound.
A figure in scuba gear is working their way around the boat, spear-gun in their hands. As the weapon is levelled at Kama, I grab the diver and wrench it free. The figure whirls as another one surfaces by Kama.
But she back flips and lashes at him with her right foot. Then she grabs him in a neck lock, as I fend off the first with the butt of the spear-gun. Resist the blood pounding urge to use the spear. An arm-hold works – until a gaff forces me to duck.
Outnumbered – even in our element.
A blue and yellow shape powers up. Backup. POLICE HEDDLU on the air-tube sides.
An officer leaps from the rigid inflatable boat at the gaff-wielding fisherman and disarms him.
Our colleagues from the North West Police Underwater Search & Marine Unit haul the divers on board.
“Your DCI Baines told Inspector Varley you might have company.” As Kama and I board, the senior officer unmasks the two divers, then smiles. “Well, these guys are known to us – for evading smuggling charges.”
Once we have read the trio of attackers their rights and charged them, Kama confronts the fake fisherman. “Who arranged for you to be here? And don’t claim you were just fishing.”
“Anonymous request to be here.”
“In English? What for?” His twitching face glancing at the beach answers. “So, a passenger – and in Hungarian. Correct?”
He nods and I turn to Kama and speak in Tamil. “The long shadow – Barangó Fekete’s reach. Guess the painting wasn’t enough on its own. Time to close the trap.”
**
As night enfolds the barn at Llanystumdwy, we wait with Tesni, Urien, and Lleilu for news on the ‘art theft’.
The kidnappers are in custody – keeping Tűzvirág company.
The phone rings and Kama answers. As expected, it’s her friend in Interpol, Krystian Skala who heads the unit handling ‘the theft’.
“Arrested…attempting to sell the replica as genuine. To whom?”
She allows Krystian to explain, then updates us – facing Tesni so she can read her lips.
“Seems Fekete sold Tesni’s painting as the real one. He approached a collector of stolen art with a convincing explanation of how he acquired it—”
“Mentioning Tesni or the theft?”
“He described the theft in detail – the fabricated details the Dutch police ‘leaked’ on Interpol’s suggestion. Fortunately he was too greedy to realise the collector was co-operating with our continental colleagues.”
I laugh. “”Guess Fekete believed he’d get more for the stolen painting,so he had to create a fake custody chain. Foolish. Even if he secures a reduced sentence, his credibility as a criminal mastermind is unmasked. But he will be watched so you are always safe..”
Tesni smiles, then signs, “One must work and dare if one really wants to live – as Vincent said.”
**
1093 wordsFCA
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One of my commentators gave me this link, which is brilliant: Doctor Who and Van Gogh:
As for other rabbit holes encountered while researching this chapter, I found several fascinating and invaluable articles, which helped me write this piece. I often say, when reality and fiction meet, sparks ignite the little grey cells.
Writing Wings 