Jan Karlsson (@jangoeswriting) · DIRTY

Jan Karlsson

@jangoeswriting

Watty Award winner 2021, 6x shortlisted. Ambys Award winner 2025, 2024 & 2x 2023. 4x ONC Award shortlisted. Writer (🤔). (⛔️No DM’s⛔️. I’m too damned old to be verifying my damned age!)

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Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· 27d

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Divine’ Alt: ‘Gods’ #WiPSnips

“Face it, mate, this omnibus thing is going to happen. Best get on board while you still can.” Gleeman leaned back against the hearse.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do since she woke me up.” They, of course, had very different ideas of what ‘getting on board’ meant. “Why are you so eager to join this … business?”

“Ah, well. See, I’ve been a very naughty boy, I have.” He rubbed his nose, from the top of his lip up to the tip. It took a while. “I reckon it’s about time I got out of the whole ripping people off business and go legit. I like my fingers and knees the way they are. Besides, it should be a laugh, right? And we’ll be doing Laandan a service. Them black cab companies? They don’t come cheap. Two Big Coins to get from one place to another? More if traffic’s bad? Nah, mate. It’s about time the little people got themselves a cheap way of getting around. Mark my words, mate, this here …”

“My hearse.” Sepesh said it automatically, almost as though he were trying to convince himself.

“… is going to be a gold mine.” Gleeman folded his arms, then tilted his head. “Not a real gold mine, the dwarves’d have a fit, but a money maker. Well, not a real money maker, ‘cos the government don’t take kindly to that, trust me, but a profit machine. Well, maybe not a profit machine. I heard the mages tried that and they were still turfing out people preaching the one and only true word of various gods for months, but …”

“I get the idea.” It seemed like Gleeman could have gone on for some time.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· 28d

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Next’ #WiPSnips

Gleeman Jak, of course, strolled down the centre of the thin street, perpetually half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, looking around as though he were taking an afternoon stroll through a park where the biggest threat happened to be that one child that aimed their feet at you as you passed by the swings. He tipped his distended hat further onto the back of his head, drew in a deep breath and only mostly nearly choked from the stench.

“Just admit it! We’re lost. Lost in the worst hive of scum and villainy in the entirety of the city.” Sepesh checked his current shadow, calculated the distance to the next, and scurried across, his cloak flapping against his heels. “How is it possible to get lost on a road that runs in an uninterrupted circle?”

“We ain’t lost, Seppy. We’re immersing ourselves in the atmosphere.” Gleeman stopped his sauntering to look at Sepesh. “Look around you.”

Still wearing his uniform, including the imp-driven ticket machine and coin dispenser, Gleeman turned in a circle, holding out his arms as though he were showing Sepesh the most beautiful piece of scenery Sepesh could ever hope to see, instead of a mud spattered, so thin that Sepesh could touch both sides if he spread his arms out, with nooks, crannies, alleys and inexplicable holes in places there really shouldn’t be holes, street in the Stumbles. This was the kind of place that the word ‘denizens’ was designed to describe the kind of people that lived here.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· 29d

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Acquire’ Added: ‘d’ #WiPSnips

Interval Grouseworth was a heavy. He knew he was a heavy. He also knew he was, in fact, quite heavy. He had his current employment down to that exact fact. He was big, he was ugly, though some might, if they were clinically, if not totally, blind, consider him an acquired taste, and he had the distinction of being able to suffer getting hit by heavy objects against his skull and not feeling all that many ill-effects from it, though he preferred not getting hit in the head, obviously.

He wasn’t stupid. Then again, he couldn’t, if people were being fair, be considered intelligent, either. Below average, you could say. Possibly a little below that. What he was was canny. He knew when he was onto a good thing, he knew when he was probably going to regret being onto anything. Right now, he had a fair idea that the news he had to give would probably not be in the ‘good thing’ category, but, being of the kind of intelligence that didn’t quite reach the levels of ‘perhaps I should make a swift career change?’, accompanied by ‘with, possibly, a change of scenery’, he still knocked on the door to give his boss the news anyway.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 16

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Rush’ #WiPSnips

In the office of Mindy Beaufountain, Sepesh and Gleeman watched as she turned the Big Coin, their only takings of the night, round and around in her fingers. After dropping off the very drunk gentleman, they had continued their circuits of Oblong Street for several more seven of the clocks and, eventually, one or two three of the clocks, one fourteen of the clock and something that sounded like the bells of the clock tower had had enough and decided to give up the whole enterprise. She didn’t look happy, in fact, Mindy looked deep in concentration, or, possibly, constipation. She placed the Big Coin down on the desk surface and frowned.

“We got a passenger!” She squealed so suddenly that both Sepesh and Gleeman got stuck in the door as they tried to rush out. “We got a passenger!”

With Mindy doing something that could be considered dancing, if the person considering it had only seen someone dangling at the foot of a noose and thought that the epitome of footwork, Sepesh and Gleeman eased themselves from the door and watched in horror. It seemed, though they could both be woefully misinformed, that Ms Beaufountain was, indeed, happy.

Neither of them liked it. It just seemed wrong.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 15

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Coach’ Extra: ‘-es’ #WiPSnips

As the doors to the Hall opened before her, timed to perfection by yet more servants, males this time, because the men did so open doors so well, she strode out to the portico and then to the gravel of the drive, where she found a number of worker types, all standing awaiting her presence, to bask in her glory and to wonder, pointlessly, whether they were due for a sacking or a raise. Vast numbers of cabs, carriages and coaches trailed back along a driveway that rivalled the great Headward-Footward road. Exiting the portico, she looked around and did her Brutish best to not appear absolutely furious.

“Dithers? Where are the steps? One cannot address the troops at their level.” The ancient and thoroughly loyal butler shuffled across to her, kicking gravel with his perfectly shined shoes and gave her a formal bow. “Oh, do get on with it, man.”

“Well, m’lady, there was an unfortunate incident with the steps, m’lady, involving an unplucked grouse, the ladle maid and a churn of butter, m’lady.” He achingly took his time to try to grip his hands behind his back, fully aware that the arthritis made him unable to grip anything, and Avery sighed. “We’ve got the carpenter working on repairs, m’lady, if you’re willing to wait a moment or two. And we’re also waiting for the coroner, m’lady.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 14

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Stage’ Alt: ‘Section’ #WiPSnips

She raised her hands in triumph and awaited the cheers as the gates opened to reveal the omnibus in all its glory. When that didn’t happen Mindy maintained her grin, glancing toward the whistling, jigging Crimbly beside her, but he was well into the eighth verse of the national anthem and it was getting into the really stirring section about gutting the Beedaych ‘scum’ who were, at the moment, tentative allies, so it felt a little inappropriate. She chanced a glance behind her, where the gates looked as though someone was kicking them, testing the chances of breaking them open.

“Look, I know the keys were here somewhere.” The hissed whisper sounded like Sepesh. “Are you sure you left them on the cab seat?”

“Yeah! Look, they probably just fell down into the footwell. Look, I’ll …” The voice of Gleeman did not hiss in a whisper, but it did mumble, probably due to his ubiquitous cigarette. “… no. Wait. They were in my pocket. It’s just instinct, I see something, I nick it. Sorry.”

“The Stumbles Omnibus Depot company! Star vehicle! Number 57 omnibus!” Mindy shouted that a little louder, and more harshly, than before, and she heard muttered cursing, scratching at a lock, keys getting dropped, more cursing, more scratching and then, finally, a click and Mindy managed to stop herself from shrieking. “Behold!”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 13

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Almost’ #WiPSnips

“So, that’s it, then. I’ll just be off and try to find a catacomb or something. Rent a space with a nice mausoleum to look out on.” Sepesh turned to clamber aboard his hearse, making it perfectly clear that it was his hearse. Bought and paid for. “It’s been lovely, but … urk.”

This was the kind of ‘urk’ uttered by the kind of people that lacked the foresight to not wear silk cloaks, with high, pointed collars, fastened by a chain that can throttle them extremely well when a very determined woman has grabbed on to it to stop someone from getting away from them before they had managed to persuade them to engage in some mad scheme that would almost certainly get them killed, robbed, injured and possibly other horrible things, not necessarily in that order or separately. It was a very specific ‘urk’ and Sepesh found himself flat on his back looking up to the eyes of a woman who was, quite clearly, as mad as a bag rabid ringworms who couldn’t find an appropriate bottom to infest.

“Of course, there are some wrinkles in the idea, but I think it’s safe to say it has legs. Good profit margin, no competition, as such, large market. If it goes well enough, we could expand. A whole fleet of busses. Transport for everyone.” The woman crouched down in thought, her bustle giving her something soft to rest on.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 12

I posted part of this snip before, but I think I need to show the full bit. It’s probably my most Terry Pratchett-like GDIT moments and I totally wrote it on purpose. 😁

“Listen, it’s a matter of getting to know your customers, right?” Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Gleeman took a seething breath through his many and varied teeth, and waved the soggy end toward Sepesh. “Who will be our likely customers, Seppy?”

“Idiots?” Sepesh thought about that for a second. “Idiots who don’t like walking?”

“Well, yeah, but no.” Once again, Gleeman waved around him. “People, Seppy. People! The people of the Stumbles. People who know there’s safety in numbers. People who know better than to walk through the Stumbles at night but ain’t got no other option. Look, walking around, along Oblong Street, takes a good hour from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’, if you consider ‘A’ and ‘B’ being antipodal. Going through the Stumbles, as dangerous as that may be … is, as dangerous as that very much is, knocks that down to fifteen minutes, tops. Well, ten minutes, seeing as most people run. Not that that usually helps.”

“Alright, but I don’t see what being against certain breeds of dogs with access to curling irons has to do with anything.” There was a point, among the ‘As’ and ‘Bs’ that Sepesh considered he may have missed. “But there aren’t any people around. Not the kind that would use the omnibus. At least, not for getting somewhere other than the place where they’re going to mug someone.”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 12

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Extra’ #WiPSnips

“But I’m a vampire.” His shoulders slumped. “People don’t want to be driven around by a vampire.”

“In Laandan?” Gleeman hooted a laugh. “Where you been? We got ‘em all here, mate. Vampires, werewolves, boogeymen, and women, banshees, but they pay extra for accommodations on account of the soundproofing required. There’s even a wereferret. Runs the old Droll Organist up Lowstile way. Used to be called the Troll Organist, but people worried about losing their hearts and lungs. But vampires? Loads of ‘em. Most of ‘em are accountants. Proper bloodsuckers they are.”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 11

From: ‘Revna’s Conspiracy’ Prompt: ‘Attack’ #WiPSnips

For her part, Revna looked down upon the camp and counted the number of people moving. In Jarkvig, a near dozen had died at her hands and Sha-Hadid, with another few falling to Hordrir and the warriors in the shield wall when Bòr had finally moved forward instead of retreating. Revna could see no more than that number down in the camp. The bandits’ ill-fated scavenging attempt had reduced them to half their number.

“See?” Bòr pointed his spear down toward the camp and Revna almost groaned. “It will be an easy victory. We need only attack in force. Catch them by surprise. Rognir and I will enter there. Sha-Hadid circle around to the other side. Merdiva and Hordrir to the left. You will remain with your guard, cat, while …”

“I will not.” Revna turned onto her back, shuffling down, away from the top of the ridge.

“You will go with …” Bòr began to stand, about to storm toward Revna, but Sha-Hadid placed a hand on his arm.

“I will not enter a fight unarmed. You can try and make me, but whoever tries will die and you will have fewer warriors to make this foolish attack.” She waved a disinterested hand behind her. “They are nought but children, thinking they could find food and gold in a dead town. I will not fight them even should I have weapons. Which means you must either leave me alone with the Séanch, which you cannot do because you fear I will escape, or leave Hordrir here to guard me, lessening your number, or put aside this idiot’s endeavour and continue on in your true task, to reach Aardleggr and find your sister.”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 10

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Substitute’ Alt: ‘Instead of’ #WiPSnips

“Do not touch my baby.” Sepesh stepped forward, causing Avery, for once in her life, to step back. “No-one touches my baby.”

“Beaufountain!” Mindy’s old nemesis waved the riding crop at Sepesh. “Tell it to stop. Sit! Down, boy! Stay!”

“It’s alright, Avery. Look, it’s not a haulage carriage.” Mindy caught Avery, reassuringly, by the shoulders, leading her away from the newly frightening Sepesh. “It’s an omnibus. See? It’s not breaking any contract. I’m not starting a competing business at all. It’s a completely new business.”

“A new business?” It seemed clear that Avery had been caught completely by surprise, which shouldn’t give Mindy a thrill of satisfaction, but certainly did so. “What kind of business?”

“It’s like …” Mindy thought how best to describe it, tapping her lips with a finger. “… it’s like a cab, but for multiple passengers. The lower class of passengers for whom cabs are far too expensive. But, instead of taking people anywhere, it follows a route, picking up and dropping people off where needed. Understand? It’s not in competition with your business.”

“Like a cab?” Avery’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 9

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Keep’ #WiPSnips

“Avery.” Mindy rose from her chair, brushing down her skirts, checking her bustle, and trying to move the feather in her hat away from her eyes so it didn’t look as though she were about to burst into tears. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Don’t be polite and welcoming to me, you insufferable little middle class … urchin.” Avery waved her riding crop toward the curtains. “I know exactly what you’re up to and I will not allow it! The law will not allow it! Daddy will not allow it! You are forbidden from starting a haulage business in direct competition to mine!”

“But I’m not starting a haulage business.” Mindy shrugged. She smiled, even though it blackened her very soul to even appear happy to see Avery Bleakly.

But Avery wasn’t listening. Instead, she circled Mindy and the three chairs, using the kind of sneer that Avery only ever used on special occasions to really make people feel as though she despised them more than anything that had ever existed in the world. She curled her nose in disgust at Gleeman and Sepesh, continuing to circle and forcing Mindy to turn to keep her in sight.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 8

From: ‘Revna’s Conspiracy’ Prompt: ‘Humid’ Alt: ‘Hot’ #WiPSnips

There was no war to fight here. No resentment at a possible future yet to be decided. And then, in the night, the screams. The fires. The warriors rising from their sleep and charging out into the town. More screams. Fighting, Kartida had urged Merdiva to join them, her first battle, a chance to earn her braid and her paint, but everything had confused her. She had tried to identify the enemy, lost her war axe and had screamed in terror as the thing had risen up before her without a shout, without a battle cry, but a hiss and a strike from a broad, long sword that would have rent Merdiva’s arm from her body had she not fallen.

Then she had crawled, hand falling upon a stand of firewood, clasping the haft of the hand axe useful only for chopping wood. Her throat dry from the hot, burning air, her knees scraping against the ground, and a gap beneath the house. A clutching hand tugging at her booted feet and an instinctive chop. She had cowered. Clutched her knees to her chest. Sobbed. Pleaded with the silent gods until the sounds of fighting came to an end and here she remained, a twitching hand her only company as the night drew on and the town burned around her.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 7

From: ‘Revna’s Conspiracy’ Prompt: ‘Quarter’ #WiPSnips

She examined the stalls in the market first, looking for weaponry previously owned. Either an old warrior had retired to fish or farm, or a widow had sold the armaments for food. Perhaps a warrior had gambled their precious weapons away. It mattered little. A good eye could catch a fine weapon once wielded by another, and no matter her shame, Merdiva had a good eye.

As expected of a child of a chief, Merdiva had grown up with weaponry, around fighting and training. From the moment she, and her siblings could walk without falling, they had training weapons thrust into the hands, all under the hawk-like gaze of Drekrir, the one-eyed, many scarred, armsmaster. Drekrir showed no favour to his young charges, nor gave any quarter. You fought, or you got hurt and pain was as much a tutor as Drekrir himself. She could fight, she could fight well, but, when the moment had come, she had failed her teacher, failed her mother, her sister and herself.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 6

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Stadium’ Stretchiest of stretchy stretches: ‘Field’ #WiPSnips

Still, Simpy had proven useful in one thing, at least, and if she ever needed someone to chew logs into firewood, Avery could always use those teeth, with or without Simpy attached. Avery tossed the crossbow into the back of the carriage, jumped up and hammered on the wall hard enough to let Weathers know that the horses should already be at a gallop, and sat back on the seat, thinking deep and cruel thoughts.

“I’ll just walk, then, what?” Simpy called after the carriage, probably pumping her arms ready to start moving. “Jolly good. You are a card, Aviary! Quite the prankster. You know, it would be jolly nice if someone showed me the way back, dontchaknow!”

The witless chattering of Simpy Suckerton dwindled into the distance as the carriage barrelled across the field, leaving heavy wheel tracks in the crop of potatoes that were really the farmer’s only source of revenue. Avery wondered how fast she could get back to Laandan, how many horses and footmen she would lose along the way and whether she could put them down as a necessary wear and tear expense for her tax declaration.

Mindy Beaufountain was about to find out you didn’t cross a Bleakly twice! Well, no more than three times. Four times and, really, it would be the Bleakly’s own fault and they deserved everything they got. But, in this instance, twice was the number that would not be crossed.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 5

From: ‘Revna’s Conspiracy’ Prompt: ‘Bench’ #WiPSnips

“You have a humour to you, cat.” Hordrir moved to one bench, lifting up a mail shirt and looking back at her, putting it down again. “And a confidence. Is it well-founded, though, I must ask?”

“Pray to your gods you never have to find out.” She caught his eye as he held another mail shirt against her chest and Revna looked down at it. “This one will do. I like them tight.”

Hordrir snorted, rolling up the shirt and dropping it into Revna’s hands before moving toward the padded underarmour. That, at least, was easier to find something she could wear. The ties allowing her to fasten the pieces as loose or tight as she needed. He moved, then, to the helmets and paused, frowning at her ears.

“No helm, then.” He moved again, looking over his shoulder. “How do you protect your head?”

“By not getting hit.” As Hordrir reached the shields, Revna shook her head. “No shield, it only slows me down. There, the buckler.”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 4

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Round’ #WiPSnips

“What?” Very slowly, Avery snapped the crossbow back into position, but held off cranking the string back and loading it. For the moment.

“What ‘what’, what?” Simpy’s shoulders rolled as she wobbled ceaselessly.

“About Milly-Molly.” She grounded the crossbow and began slowly cranking. “What, exactly, is she doing?”

“Well!” Simpy’s arms flailed, because she could rarely speak without looking as though she had no control over her own body. She thrust her hands into her pockets, but it didn’t help. “Seems the gel has cottoned on to this idea of something and so forth, doing something or other and having a good go at this and that. Blasted if one knows what the details are, but, from what one’s heard, it involves shuttling bits and bobs around the Old Smog. Or something. Bit oiky, if you ask me. Flinty Moscroft thinks the old gel has finally lost the round shiny things in the bag. What!”

“Really?” Avery rolled all that nonsense around until she forced it to make sense.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 3

This is probably a scammer, or a bot, or a scammerbot, but I’m taking it as a win. 😅

ScamBot praise: “ The Terry Pratchett vibes are absolutely immaculate here; your sharp, witty narrative voice paired with that brilliantly executed, footnotes-and-all style made this a pure joy to read. Balmy Bymeadow’s interactions with an innocent, lollipop-chewing Death and her red safety scissors perfectly balances dark humor with genuine, grounding warmth. Since Myld noted that his father got the first-floor window measurements completely wrong, did Balmy accidentally design the very architectural flaw that Council Doddering used to stage his fatal fall?”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 3

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Out’ #WiPSnips

“Gents! Fellas! Pals! Obviously there has been, whatchacall, a slight misunderstanding ‘ere.” He held up his hands, as far away from doors, drawers and hammers as his elongated limbs could carry them. “I was just … testing the security of the tables. That’s my job, see. Hired by the city, I am, to make sure all illegal gambling is on the up-and-up. And your fine establishment passed with flying colours. I’ve got a gold-starred certificate here somewhere.”

He patted his jacket, performatively, holding up a finger at the extremely large, aggressive looking shapes emerging from the fog.

“No-one nicks money from Growler’s Gamblin’ and Goose Pâté Emporium, pointy!” One of the shapes tossed a hammer in the air and made a dramatic ‘oops’ as he fumbled it, catching it at the last moment. “Growler says we got’a make an example of yah.”

“Wait! Wait! Look!” Gleeman fumbled, himself, with the bag of winnings in his pocket, waggling it in the air. “Bygones, eh? Growler gets his money back, you all get to get yourselves inside out of this fog and no-one has to accidentally have their hands held down for a hammer to fall on them. Whaddaya say?”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 2

Just wrote this. I love writing militant bureaucracy, but this is insane. 😅 #AmWriting #WritingCommunity #Discworld inspired. 💙📚

Mindy Beaufountain was having the most awful day of her life, or something very close to it. The day she lost her mother? Quite, quite awful, and she would never forgive the Authentic Beedaych Baguette store for that. The day her father died? Simply awfully awful beyond any description. She’d had words, personal words, with the Guild of Ye Olde Cobblers, Shoemakers and Lacemakers(2) about that, too. Finding out her father had performed perhaps the single greatest corporate downfall in Laandan history by dint of being far too generous, kind and financially incompetent? That had been so awful that she would have cried for days in her luxurious bedroom, if the creditors hadn’t been so keen and turfed her out at their earliest opportunity. But this? This was evilly awful. This was demonically awful. This was boring beyond belief.

“Next!” The starched woman at the desk shrieked, seeming to envelop not only her chair, but most of the desk itself, save for the little flip board with numbers on it. “We haven’t got all day, you know!”

The flip board read number ‘six’, in both letters and the number, and Mindy looked at her ticket, which read ‘forty-two’, in both letters and numbers, and then looked around at the empty seating around her. She had already been at the Office of Permits, Licensing (vehicular), and Lawn Ornaments since they had opened. She had been the first, and only, person to enter the office. She had sat here for hours and, quite frankly, she was getting to the point where she was on the verge of sighing irritably. Much more of this and she may well cross over that verge and walk along the main road of irritably tutting.

Hours. Literally hours, and the flip board had only reached six. Did people pre-take a number for a day, sometime in the future, where they may, or may not, decide that they might bother to come down and register some vehicle, or fill out a permit, or simply sit here becoming increasingly irritable? Did they do that? Because she

Just like that. As though she could see the ire building inside Mindy and wanted to make a written record of it for future generations who may want to know how, exactly, a volcanic eruption had occurred in such a geologically stable area. If you didn’t count the mudslides, but Laandaners usually referred to those as robust flooding. Mindy had about enough. She jumped up, but her inherent Brutish politeness made her feel slightly embarrassed about that and sat down again. Then she remembered her gentrified upbringing, realised it was practically expected of her to be rude to the lower classes and stood up again. She still felt embarrassed about it, but she did it in a determinedly imperious way.

“Now, see here. I have been here hours now. There aren’t any other people here. It’s about time you dealt with me and then we can both stop feeling slightly awkward and wishing the other person would leave so we can breathe a little.” Mindy leaned both hands on the desk until the woman stared at them long enough to make Mindy distressingly uncomfortable. She stood upright. “I just want to make an enquiry as to what permits an omnibus company requires.”

“Are you number six?” The woman showed a disturbing lack of ability to blink.

“What? No. Look, I am not a number! I am …” The unblinking stare had started to make Mindy’s eyes water. “… I’m … I … forty-two. I’m number forty-two.”

“I see.” The woman wrote something down, unnecessarily, then looked behind Mindy. “Next!”

This was getting neither of them anywhere and, in a fit of pique and rebelliousness that she should really have gone through ten years previously, possibly twelve years, Mindy grabbed the flip board and began determinedly flipping it. Some of the numbers she flipped two or three at a time, just to hammer home how rebellious she was being. When she reached the end of the numbers, she stared at the flip board. She looked at the woman, then back at the flip board, before turning it to face the woman, very slowly

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 2

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Knock’ #WiPSnips

She couldn’t live like this. She couldn’t possibly live in anything smaller than a mid-sized, four story townhouse in, if she had to force herself, in Aprilfest. Lawyers lived there! Lawyers! But she had no choice, because her father had insisted on paying decent wages and care about his workers and have the finest, most efficient, clean, safe and speedy haulage business the country had ever seen. Profit was something other people had to consider and, though they considered it pretty important, they could get Mindy’s father to quite get his head around it. A knock at the door had Mindy struggling to climb up onto one of her trunks to make space to open it.

“Sorry to bother you, Miss, but he’s awake and he’s refusing to take the money you told me to give him. And I did offer all of it, Miss, on account of you being a lady and everything and he did save my bacon.” Gleeman held out his hand and he did, indeed, still have the five Big Coins she had asked him to pay Sepesh for carrying her … home. Here. “He says he’s off, by the way.”

Mindy wasn’t about to let that pass. She was a Beaufountain, and Beaufountains always paid their debts. Well, not always, obviously, but at least her father had tried to pay his debts. Badly. It wasn’t really his fault, though. He had aimed too high. Made himself too big. Expected perfection in a business that just expected deliveries on time and mostly unbroken. If she had had her way, things would have been different. Smaller. Easier to manage. Cheaper. In fact, if she had run the business, she would have scaled everything back to the bare bones.

Scrambling out of the door, she stormed across to the vampire, who hissed and curled his cloak about him by preservative instinct until he realised she wasn’t about to stake him.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jul 1

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Scarf’ #WiPSnips

At the gates to the sprawling business premises, wafting a whip in the face of a top-hatted gentleman that had the sheer gall to think he had the right of way on the pavement, she dismounted with a jump and began dragging the horse through the gates, handing the reins to some servant who passed by her periphery, and began to tug her gloves from her fingers.

“I’m a carpenter.” The impertinent peasant actually spoke. To her! “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Stable the beast, water it and curry it.” She slapped her gloves into one palm, continuing her striding, because she’d be damned if a mouthy oik was going to slow her stride. “Then get off my grounds. You’re fired.”

She unfastened the scarf from under her chin and allowed her stern-coiffed hair to feel the rush of the wind that tried steadfastly to avoid her, her leather boots, made from the finest hides of animals protected by law, clicking heels upon the cobbles of the courtyard. Her quilted jacket flurried around her arms as she moved at pace toward the man surrounded by other men, stood around a foldable table, the kind of men that she dutifully ignored out of principle. She ignored just about everybody that worked with their hands out of principle, and that principle was that they were so far beneath her that someone could dig through thousands of miles of the world, out the other side and would still have to fall a significant number of miles through space to see how far beneath her they were, by telescope.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 30

From: ‘Revna’s Conspiracy’ Prompt: ‘Tournament’ #WiPSnips

“Hold, Hordrir! You had your chance, weakling snot.” Another man gripped Hordrir’s shoulder, tugging him back. “I will test my mettle against this beast.”

“She is no beast and you will show respect for an honourable victor, Igvir.” Merdiva had stood further back. Now she moved closer, eyes held against Revna’s. “She is Revna Astadottir. Revna Twice-born.”

The warrior, Igvir, paused as he moved to unseat Hordrir, looking to the chiefling. Others watched him. Revna, preferring not to suffer the indignity of looking embarrassed, turned her head to see Bòr at the steering oar. He said nothing, watching the events with cold deliberation. A movement caused Revna to turn her attention back to find Hordrir had lost his seat, Igvir taking it in his stead.

“Twice-born? One life not enough, Revna Astadottir?” He clapped his big hands together, rubbing them. “Come! You will not find Igvir Stone-heart so easy a victory!”

He was and Revna rapped his knuckles against the crate with even greater speed, accepting his mollified arm of defeat with grace. After that, it turned into a tournament, of sorts, with the other warriors wrestling each other to gain the chance to face the current champion. It mattered not whether man wrestled man, or woman. All set to passing up the frame, Merdiva passing among them to declare winners and losers, but she did not join in.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 29

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ’Water’ #WiPSnips

“Are you, mayhap, a lady of the night?” The man, tall, thin, wearing a frighteningly tall top hat, carrying what looked like an apothecary bag, gleamed a toothy grin at her.

“I, sir, am a lady regardless of the time of day!” She splashed the stuff she hoped was water at him, but he seemed decidedly unmoved by the provocation. “Be off with you, sir, before I smite you with my skill at fisticuffing!”

“Oh, I think not, my dear.” He stepped further toward her, knife rising. “I think …”

Where the horses and carriage came from was something Mindy’s drunken mind could not begin to comprehend, but they slammed into the man, trampled him, ran over him with four large wheels and dragged him for several feet before the carriage skidded to a stop.

“Oh, bugger!” A voice called down from the driver’s seat. “Not another one!”

Mindy may well have made comment about that, but she was too busy throwing up and, for an encore, passing out. As previously mentioned, it was not one of her best days.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 28

From: ‘Omnibus or Bust’ Prompt: ‘Sensational’ #WiPSnips

There are those that would call such a fog a ‘pea souper’, but such a term could not do this fog justice, and it was, by some way, far too inedible for such a name. The term ‘miasma’ could even be used, but the citizens of Laandan would almost certainly get confused and ask who, in fact, has their mother, or why she’s having difficulty breathing.

It was the kind of fog that spree killers would use to inexplicably run from one murder scene to another, unseen, at a speed that really wasn’t quite possible. The fog would help with that, if the killer didn’t accidentally run into a wall in his, or her, rush to complete some incomprehensible desire to extinguish the lives of young women that he’d, or she’d, got in their heads. This kind of fog had an ambience of shifting terrors, of eldritch creatures slithering out of the fetid liquids, that may include some slight percentage of water, of the River Schmudd in search of victims, or, possibly, a good curry.

It was a thick fog. A lingering fog. It was the kind of fog that Laandaners had seen quite a lot and knew that the best way to deal with it was to stay inside the nearest pub, suffer the inevitable bar brawl over who had said what about whose mother, or, for the more brutal fights, who had eaten all the pork scratchings. It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the kind of fog that someone could normally hear someone singing musical hall tunes, the occasional burp, one or two hiccups and giggling. No-one giggled in fog. That was just creepy. And, in Laandan, any kind of singing that wasn’t nothing short of sensational barely got a ripple of attention at the best of times. Plenty of rotten fruit, but not attention.

“My old man’s a scrap man, he wears a scrap man’s hat, but when he’s with a seamstress, he drops it to the mat!” A figure, now, stumbled through a gap in the fog. “If he could take his trousers off, he’d earn himself a laugh, ‘cos it’s too cold this Laandan night and his todger’s at half staff!”

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 27

Current status of my Discworld inspired series: I just started writing ‘Omnibus or Bust’ today. I may write a wee bit too much.😬

Covers for my Discworld inspired series and ticks with current status.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 27

From: ‘Treason and Plot’ Prompt: ‘Root’ Alt: ‘Beetroot’ #WiPSnips

“Pomfrey!” Phibber rapped on the wall of the carriage without his usual calm demeanour. “What is the hold up?”

“It’s the, wossname, Sir Phibber. Adoring masses, sir.” The hatch opened and Pomfrey leaned down to look inside. He looked practically obscene without his tall driver’s hat. And he was balding. “Come to cheer the king, I believe, sir.”

“Cheer the king?” Phibber peered out of the doorway. “But most of these people were rioting against the current method of governance not an hour ago.”

“Ah, sir. Never let it be said the great people of Laandan can’t give our great king a good welcome, sir. Even if they do want to relieve him of his head, sir. It’s only polite. Patriotic.”

Phibber stood up and leaned fully out of the door. The lines of crowds were a score deep around the lines of King’s Guards that now lined the route to the Palace. From here, Phibber could literally see the steps the king would soon shamble up, where, usually, he would be met by several members of the government, Cabinet members, senior civil servants and the odd nutter who had managed to slip out from the lines to discuss important duties on beetroots. It happened every year.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 26

From: ‘Treason and Plot’ Prompt: ‘Fox’ #WiPSnips

“There you go, ma’am.” The carriage moved. “Sorry it took so long, ma’am, on account of me bleeding heavily. Give him … oh.”

Pomfrey collapsed again, eyes rolling up into his head, but he had lifted the carriage enough for Murple to release her foot and, as Ridehappy made a disappointed look toward what he had hoped was a dead person, Murple kicked him in the knee with the kind of crack that would have made any witnesses wince in sympathy. There were no witnesses. Except for a fox that had padded up to see what all the fuss was about, realised it wasn’t anyone trying to stop him stealing chickens and then trotted away, without giving the slightest sense of concern about Carver Ridehappy’s knees.

Ridehappy stumbled backward, hopping, clutching his knee and howling, and Murple took the opportunity to stand. She swayed, reaching into her pocket for her lead knuckles, slipping them onto her fingers and curling them into a fist. She steadied herself and brandished her walking stick like a club.

“Nah, then, Spoons. Let’s try that again, eh?” She spat to the side and offered Ridehappy the kind of grin most folks in Laandan would have scurried away from as fast as possible.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 25

From: ‘Treason and Plot’ Prompt: ‘Pyramid’ Alt: a stretchy ‘Temple’ #WiPSnips

1. It’s probably best, at this point, to shine some light on these assumptions. First, Nygel is, indeed, human. Archaeologists, long into the future will one day find his bones, make exhaustive and expensive tests and find that, though there will be questions as to the authenticity of the bones, will be found to be, largely, human. At the very edge of the definition, but it’s the results that count and they are falsifiable. Secondly, he did, in fact, have parents, though they were so intensely horrified at what they had brought onto the world that they never spoke to each other again, denied ever having any sexual experience ever and forgot to leave Nygel on the steps of a temple. Thankfully, Nygel was found by a family of magically intelligent rats, raised and eventually abandoned by them because even they had trouble dealing with his knees. All of these doubts about his origins are largely made to evoke sympathy for a man for whom sympathy gave up on him years ago and just didn’t have the time to put the effort in. Which is a pity because, though an inveterate thief, not the most intelligent of people and prone to getting himself in positions where people had to beat him up on principle, Nygel is rather sweet. He does stink, though. Sadly.

Jan Karlsson@jangoeswriting· Jun 24

From: ‘Infernia Salt’s Magpie Hospital’ Prompt: ‘Finale’ Minus and ‘e’. #WiPSnips

Much to her annoyance, no-one continued to not appear and come quietly. Or noisily. The house remained silent and bereft of anyone handing themselves in to police custody. Moving from the hallway, threateningly wafting the feathers toward one door and then the other, Infernia made her way into the living room and found nothing out of the ordinary. Nor in the sitting room, though it could probably do with a tidy and she would have to have words with Vironika about that. Crumbs on the floor only invited rats and they were usually terrible houseguests.

Likewise, the kitchen was empty, though it did look as though someone had made themselves a sandwich, or three, considering the bread had been left out, almost all gone, the margarine sat open with a knife plunged into it, and someone had used all the ham and cheese, which was just selfish. There were two empty beer bottles, too. Her expensive beer that she had been saving for the final of the international song contest, which was always worth a good night’s entertainment and shouting at the screen when the local singers got no points at the end.

Which, downstairs, only left the dining room and Infernia cautiously made her way to the doorway, readied herself, and leapt inside brandishing the feathers and making anything that moved want to rush to the nearest toilet and spend the rest of their days in close communion with the toilet bowl. Except there was no-one there to curse. Not to mention all the evidence boards had had everything upon them ripped down and taken, it seemed. She stood up straight, the glamour falling away.

“Huh.” It was about the only thing she could think to say, so she said it again. “Huh.”