Fiction Friday - 30 November 2007

Tags: fiction Fiction Friday

This Week's Theme: What throws your characters off their game? For example, if she’s a shameless flirt, what makes her awkward and shy?

NaNoWriMo 2007 is finished. But the story is not. I have 50,000 words, but only one third of a story. To be continued? Definitely...

Maria is a strong woman, mentally, emotionally and physically. But what throws her off her game is her feelings for Gideon, and her guilt about the part she played in an incident that still haunts him. So she doubts her own abilities, she views any failure as letting Gideon down, which makes her unworthy of him in her eyes... This scene takes place in the aftermath of an attack on the Watch's headquarters in the Vatican.

"What the hell?" He pressed his hand against it again. "Access denied." He grunted, and his nostrils flared slightly. "Fuck access, let me in ya piece of shit..." He hammered his fist against the door. "Open up!" The door swung open, and Maria let him get in. "What's with the attitude of the door lock? 'Access denied' my ass." Maria closed the door behind him and sighed. "Mancini's orders. All locks have been changed, only human personnel can unlock them now." She sighed and tugged at the gauntlets covering her arms. She pulled them off and threw them on to a desk, followed by the elbow pads. She stared at them, then hurled them at the wall. "Two hours! Two lousy hours I'm in charge, and the whole thing just collapses!" She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't do this Al. I've failed. Mancini, the Pope, the Watch. Gideon..." She started to unhook the Kevlar body suit, releasing the individual sections and letting them fall to the floor. "I mean look at me. I'm not a leader. I'm barely even a scientist. Just a bloody librarian, that's all. I shouldn't be wandering around in, in armour, fighting demons - I just... I've let everyone down."

Al wandered over to her and put an arm around her shoulder. "Hey, c'mon. All this? Who could've predicted this, huh? We did exactly what we would have done, regardless of who was in charge. You think Gideon would have done anything different if he'd been here?" She shook her head. "I guess not..."

"Exactly. Look, when Gideon comes back, I'm sure he's going to be glad that someone who knew what they were doing was in charge during this. You did good toots. You know that. We know that. So will Gideon." She managed a weak smile, and began picking up the pieces of body armour, shoving them roughly into a small survival pack. "We're going to have to leave soon. They're going to announce the Pope's death."

"Seriously? What’ll they say?"

"Alzheimer's probably. Suddenly, possibly in his sleep. It'll be tomorrow morning anyway. But we..." she pointed to Al, then at herself. Al took the meaning. We meaning the non-humans. "We had best not be here until after the Conclave. So we're being sent out to one of the regional bases." She wrinkled her brow slightly, as a thought occurred. "Dammit. I’m going to have to bring the Golems with me. They've never been outside before. I'm not sure how they'll react to it. This is far sooner than I thought I'd take them out. Want to help me pack them? I know Bronze has taken a shine to you."

"He’s got poor taste..." Maria hefted the pack onto her back. She turned to Al. "Gideon will know where to find us, won’t he?" Al smiled. A demonic attack, the murder of the Pope, and most of Maria's conversation had been about Gideon. "I'm sure Gideon will find us. He wouldn't want to lose you, I know that." Maria flushed slightly, and turned away from Al. "Or any of us - we’re all important to the team. That’s why he’s such a good leader..."

"True, but that's not what I meant. He wouldn't want to lose you, specifically. I've seen the way he looks at you Maria. And I've seen the way you look at him. Christ, I think the only people in this place who haven't are you and him!" He drew up beside her and dropped his voice to a whisper. "And I know that the Vatican isn't exactly romantic, but I hear Rome has its attractions. Might I suggest lunch at some point."

Maria could feel her cheeks burning, but couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face. She dropped her head slightly, and some loose hair fell across her cheeks, hiding the blush. "That wouldn't work, I don’t eat. Not like that..."

"Go for a drink then. He's a man. You're... well you were human once, you ought to know how all that works."

She looked up at him. "I don't drink either... And I am not entertaining this silly notion of yours any longer Al. There is nothing going on between Gideon and myself."

"Clearly, which would appear to be the problem!"

"I'm too old for him. Too old... and other things." She walked away from him, and bit her lip. Too different. She was one blood drop away from damnation. She was eternal night. And he was a man. A human. It would never work. It could never work. So why even try? She had a thousand reasons why she should push him out of her mind. She had rehearsed them in her mind often enough, in the silence of her room. They worked together. He was her superior. He would age and be gone, and have to suffer her presence, eternal, unchanging. If she knew what it was like to be with him, could she face up to this eternal non-life without him? Better to live without ever knowing. And of course the guilt. All that he had suffered. A situation she had led him to. Of all her sins, Maria doubted she could ever forgive herself that one. He was her friend, her commander, her colleague. Nothing more. That was reality. That was duty. Whatever she might want is immaterial, this is the way things have to be. A glance over her shoulder. "Well? Are you coming?"

Al watched her walk away, her shoulders slumped. He had heard her sigh. Humans. Go figure. And for all her protestations, Maria was still nearer to human than she was to what Al represented - she was human in his book. Human enough to deserve some happiness. Both of them. Human life was too short for excuses and rationalisations. Just take the moment and do what you want. You have the luxury of that choice. And you’ll never come back, so take the chances for happiness while you still have them. Al was no Cupid - that little fucker was too fat for a start - but he liked them. They were his friends. He wanted to see them happy.

He smiled at her. "Sure toots. Right with you."

Fiction Friday - 23 November 2007

Tags: fiction Fiction Friday

This Week's Theme: Reveal something about your character by telling about one of their Thanksgivings – it can be present, past, or even backstory (if your setting doesn’t include Thanksgiving, make it a similar family-oriented holiday.

I'm going to use this somewhere in the novel, I'm just not sure where yet! Gideon's past tends to get revealed through his nightmares, so perhaps it will form part of a dream sequence.

He shuffled forward in the queue, watching the men ahead of him. All of them quiet, respectful, grateful even. A glimmer of hope in their eyes, perhaps even gratitude. Gratitude? What for. The stench of alcohol, grime and despair clung to them, and it didn’t matter how well they scrubbed themselves in the showers of the shelter.

The man in front held out a tray, and a lady in an apron carefully placed a few plates on it. One small plate with a bread roll and some butter. The main plate had turkey, stuffing, yams and potatoes on it. A third plate had small slice of pie and a scoop of ice cream. She smiled warmly as she did so, and the man mumbled appreciative words. He was dressed in slightly baggy clothes, the best fit they could find for him from the donations they had gathered. They were clean, they were warm, but Gideon knew they would probably be the only change of clothes this guy would have for a year. The man shuffled away, and the girl shouted "Happy Thanksgiving" after him.

Gideon just shook his head and placed the tray down on the counter for the girl. She smiled at him, but he just glared at her through bloodshot eyes. Her smile faded as she looked at the gaunt unshaven face. She quickly scanned his arm and looked back at his face. Trackmarks. She knew better than to try to be anything other than efficient with this sort. Best left to the counsellors to try to reach him. She passed him the food, and Gideon wandered off.

Fuckin' Yank holiday he thought. I've got nothing to give thanks for.

He found an empty table, no easy task tonight. St Martin's Shelter was always well frequented, especially on Thanksgiving. The homeless knew they could get a good meal, a warm bath, a bed for the night, and a change of clothes. They could feel like they belonged. But Gideon had a reputation amongst the homeless. He was dangerous. He was mad. Whatever the rumours, most people knew he was ex-army and usually strung out on something, so they steered clear. Almost by tacit agreement, people had kept one table clear at the back, just so Gideon wouldn’t be forced to sit with them.

Priests and volunteers were milling round the room, talking to the homeless, praying together. "What are you thankful for?" "I'm thankful for good people like you who look out for people like us." People like us. Gideon hated the thought. I'm not like you. You people were just unlucky, that’s all. Had a breakdown, couldn't cope with the stress, wife left you, lost everything. That's circumstance, that can be helped, that can be changed. Gideon couldn't change. He had gone face to face with the Devil and survived. He had seen the future and you know what, it can't be changed - we're all going to Hell. Every night he saw it, every night he could smell the flames, hear the screams. Unless he killed the thoughts. Just a little needle, and the dreams went away, just like that. Along with the rest of you life. He accepted it though. Trade a life for some peace of mind. Not that it was a life beforehand.

Some of these men were too ashamed to go home to families, families that probably missed them. Gideon didn't have that guilt hanging over him - there, that was something to give thanks for. No family, nobody looking for him, nobody to give a damn about, or give a damn about him. He glanced around the room, to see who was watching. Nobody. He reached down to his socks, and pulled out a small bottle he had hidden in there. A wee dram, that was something to be thankful for too. He knocked it back quickly - it was cheap, burning his throat, but it hit the mark. His father would be ashamed of him for drinking something so poor, but that was no difference to all the other disappointments, so who gave a shit?

He tucked into the food, his first hot meal in weeks, and continued to scan the room. There. That fucking priest. Big guy, short beard, it was the same one he had seen at the last shelter he stopped at. And the one before. And he had seen him on 4th Street a few days before, he could swear. And he was staring at Gideon. Again. Gideon had thought at first that this guy just had the monopoly on helping the homeless, but no, the guy was always looking at Gideon. Not just looking, it was watching. Gideon was being observed by this fucker. And Gideon didn’t like it.

He stood up, the chair shooting away behind him, and the room turned and stared at him. He glared at the priest, waving a fork at him, shouting. "I'm on to you, you fat fuck! I'd better no see you again or you're claimed!" He spat on the ground and stormed out. The priest watched him leave, slamming the door behind him, before walking over to the counters where the food was being served. He passed by one of the girls handing out the food, and paused.

"He knows he's being watched. Even in the state he's in. I think it's time we brought him in. Tell the men I'm going to make contact. Tonight. Make sure I have back up."

"Yes, your Eminence."

Missed Connection...

Tags: WriteStuff NaNoWriMo blog carnival The Long Watch

The story so far...Gideon has just arrived in Scotland and been picked up from the airport by a limousine with diplomatic plates registered to the Vatican. As the car drives out of sight, another limousine arrives outside the airport...

“Hello? Hello?” McKenzie shouted into the handset, but the call was over. He thumped the roof of the car, and the expletive was lost in the roar of an engine from another plane taking off. He folded up the phone and placed it into his breast pocket. At the entrance to the airport, another man in a dark suit was arguing with an armed police officer. Foolish, except the officer looked scared. The shouting man waived his arms around frantically as his face became redder and redder. Eventually he gave up and stormed towards McKenzie, leaving the officer looking shaken.

"Feel better?"

"Fuck feeling better. They lost him! They fucking lost him." The shouting man began to kick the tyres of the car. McKenzie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He placed one to his lips before offering the pack to his colleague. The shouting man glanced at it, then waived his hand. "I’ve quit."

"That’s why you’re such a crabbit bastard." He lit the cigarette and inhaled, before blowing the smoke into the air above him. "You should take it back up. Might relax you." Another drag. "The planes and the radar are making it impossible to get a call through to the Vatican. I've left a message for Mancini, but.. well, I got some wee Italian lassie on switchboard, and I'm not sure she understood."

"Who knew Gideon was coming here?" Shouting man had slumped against the side of the car awkwardly. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

McKenzie looked off towards the road past the airport. "No one. Only Mancini and the team here. What did the DPO have to say about it?"

"They met Gideon at the gate, brought him through, and there was a black limo outside, with the flags and a diplomatic licence plate. Gideon got in, completely calm, and it drove off."

"Did they get the number?"

"They didn't think to. I've told him to pull it off the CCTV." The shouting man pointed to one of the numerous cameras that covered the entrance to the airport. McKenzie nodded, and they stood in silence for a while. "Fuck it. Hand it over." McKenzie snorted a laugh, and passed the cigarettes over. His colleague lit one and took one long draw. "Ooh I have missed this..."

"Your pal's coming." McKenzie pointed over to the terminal. The diplomatic protection officer that had spent a good five minutes being shouted at, scuttled out of the building. He approached nervously. "We've got the licence details. It was..." He pulled out a scrap of paper, then glanced at the car. "Oh." He handed the paper over to McKenzie who read it, looked at the licence plate of their own car, then back to the scrap of paper. Without saying a word, he passed the paper to his colleague. "Fuck! They fucking faked our licence! The bastards!" He screwed up the paper into a ball and threw it on to the ground. McKenzie dismissed the protection officer, and got in the car. Someone knew Gideon was coming. They knew when he would arrive. They even knew what car would be collecting him. And they had got there first. Mancini was not going to like this.

Once again a-begging...

Tags: WriteStuff NaNoWriMo Excerpt Contest vote for me shameless begging

Karen over at The WriteStuff has reminded everyone to send their regular readers over to the site to vote in the NaNoWriMo Excerpt Contest.

So get over there, vote often and vote early. And if you're feeling really generous, you might even vote for me!

The story so far...

Tags: WriteStuff NaNoWriMo blog carnival

We're a little over mid-way through NaNoWriMo, and I'm a little under mid-way - but I'll be catching up over the weekend. Here's another short excerpt from the story that I'm submitting both for the NaNoWriMo Excerpt Carnival and for the NaNoWriMo Excerpt Contest, both hosted on The Write Stuff.

The story so far...Gideon Strangechild is the field commander of a clandestine group operating within the Vatican. Whilst investigating a surge in paranormal activity in San Francisco on Hallowe'en, Gideon's lieutenants, Al and Lex, discover the bodies of five teenagers, surrounded by occult paraphenalia. The support team sent with Al and Lex are attacked and killed by the same entity that killed the teenagers.

Despite the severity of the situation, and the loss of an entire field unit, Gideon is ordered to leave the Vatican by his superior, Cardinal Mancini. Gideon's father, a notorious arms dealer, has uncovered something in Iraq, something connected with Gideon's past, and the dreams that continue to plague him. Mancini sends Gideon home to confront his father, leaving his team to deal with the attack on their own...

"Well this is hardly an ideal situation! Shouldn't we be concentrating on this... this thing that got out?" Lex was pacing back and forth. And he was flapping. Al didn't need to see his wings to know they were fluttering away. He was like a puffed up pigeon when he got agitated. A whiney, puffed up pigeon.

"In the grand scheme of things, Gideon's familial connections are not a high priority, not when something that powerful is acting with impunity and..." Al's hand shot out, pressing against Lex's chest. He came to a sudden halt, and his voice died away. Al's eyes narrowed. "Not helping. And really, really annoying." He brushed past Lex and strode over to Mancini's desk. The Cardinal's gaze turned from Lex, who looked on the verge of exploding, to Al. "Thank you Al. Now, as I was saying..." Al sat on the edge of the Cardinal's desk, and crossed his legs. He smiled at the Cardinal, and leaned forward. "Forgive my colleague, he is easily agitated. However, pretty boy does have a point. We've got a big bad something on the loose, and you've just sent our numero uno off to play happy families in the Highlands with an arms dealer. So excuse me for not getting the connection. This could wait until we get our own situation under control, couldn't it?"

Mancini stared at Al, who returned the gaze. They sat for a moment, in silence, glaring at each other. Al was the first to break eye contact, and looked down at the desk. "Ah." He slowly got off the desk, and stood up. "Sorry about that."

Mancini gave a slight smile, but without any humour behind it. "Thank you." He stood up and turned towards the window, to look out across the City. "Do you feel that Maria is somehow unequal to the task of leading this investigation? Hmmm?" He turned towards them. "Or perhaps that you two can't cope on your own?" Al and Lex looked at each other. It was a good tactic, avoid answering the question and instead play on insecurities, And it might work. On humans. Al cocked his head towards the Cardinal. Lex simply rolled his eyes.

"Ah, don't give me that - you know we got no problems with Maria, with acting on our own. We just don't get why Gideon's out on his own when he should be here - we know he wants to be here, he wants answers about what happened."

"I have no doubt that he does, and he’ll get them. From you, and from Maria."

The door to the room swung open and Maria entered without knocking. "I just saw Gideon leaving the..." She stopped when she saw Al and Lex in the room too. "My apologies." She bowed slightly towards the Cardinal. "I hadn't realised you were in a meeting."

"Sit down Maria, and you Lex - on a chair Al, not my desk this time if you please." Mancini returned to his own seat and lowered himself into it. "Well, this saves me giving you all orders individually. Gideon has been called to other duties, temporarily. A situation has developed and Gideon is best placed to assess and deal with this situation."

"A situation is developing here too - Gideon should be here! I..." She corrected herself. "We need him here." The Cardinal raised an eyebrow, and looked at Maria. It was rare for Maria to question his decisions, let alone come out and disagree with them. Lex looked astonished - he was used to Al's wilful disobedience, but never Maria. She, like him, understood the structure, the hierarchy. Order. Duty. Just like Gideon. Al sat back and smiled. Good girl.

"Maria, while Gideon is absent I am placing you in command of the Watch. You are to head the investigation into the attack in San Francisco. You two..." he glanced over Maria's shoulder. "Will answer directly to Maria." He returned his attention to Maria. "And you will answer directly to me, am I understood?" They nodded.

"Eminence, where is Gideon going? What if I need to contact him about the investigation?"

"I will contact him on your behalf. Gideon is having to go dark for a while, for his own safety and for the benefit of the mission. His exact location is not relevant, all that matters is..."

"He’s gone to Scotland." Al interrupted the Cardinal. He stood up and walked over to the desk. "Ooh, big secret. I know, pretty boy knows, why not just let Maria know?" He squatted down beside Maria and looked up at her. "Gid’s been sent to talk to his daddy - he’s been up to some naughty shit in the sandbox, and the Cardinal wants to know what toys he has." He turned to the Cardinal and smiled. "Ain’t that right?"

Mancini sighed. "All right, fine, but this goes no further. Understood?" He waited long enough for them to give their assent, then continued. "Calvin Strangechild has, despite the best efforts of the UK government, the US government, the UN weapon's inspectors and our own efforts, managed to send another Mil-Int Systems Recon team into Iraq. And unlike last time it isn't weapons' grade material we are concerned about. This is an archaeological team. They are digging for something, and they may already have removed it. So, Gideon has gone to find out what his father has discovered, and neutralise it, if it should pose a threat."

"As much as I dislike antiquaries plundering, I really don't see why this concerns us, and why Gideon was sent." Maria edged forward on her chair. "The last time was a favour to our source in the UN. If Major Strangechild is tomb raiding, then we should leave it up to the locals."

"He's digging in El-Sadiq."

Maria's eyes narrowed. That place still haunted Gideon. She could hear him sometimes, in the night, reliving the experience in his dreams. When the terror passed, and Gideon calmed down, she wanted to comfort him, tell him she was sorry. El-Sadiq haunted Gideon because of what happened to him there. It haunted Maria too. She was responsible for his being sent there. She identified the location. She passed on the orders. Yes, but who gave you those orders Maria? Who set you on the path to finding El-Sadiq? Mancini. And does he feel guilty? Maria's eyes darkened, the blackness of the pupils seeping into the deep brown iris, then the whites of the eyes. She dug her nails into the arm of the chair.

Remembrance Sunday - 11 November

Tags: Remembrance Sunday Armistice Day Royal British Legion poppy armed forces The Glorious Dead lest we forget

For two minutes each year
I ask you to pause
And think of me

I lie on a foreign shore
In pristine grave, or unknown field
And buried at home

My death, unrecorded in battles past
Reported last week, as I fight today
Inscribed on memorials to battles yet to come

Cut down in my prime
I stand with my brothers
Young and old alike

I stand, bearing the scars of battles fought
Scars of limbs and the mind
As much a ghost as those who fell

And for two minutes each year
I ask you to pause
And think of me

For two minutes I ask
That you remain silent
As I shall forever be

And remember, remember me
Who am not here
And those like me, who remain

I ask you to remember
For two minutes each year
What price was paid for those two minutes

A price greater than the coins
You hastily spent
For a scarlet flower

The rest of the year is yours
Years I cannot have
Where I am forgotten by all

Except those like me
Who can never forget
Who will never forget

"The Glorious Dead" are remembered
But what of "The Glorious Survivors"
Are we to be forgot?

For two minutes each year
I ask you to remember
My brothers, past, present and future

But for the rest of the year
All that we ask
Is that you do not forget

The Meme of Four...

I've been tagged with a meme, the first one on my writing blog though. And it would be rude not to respond, so thank you Jodi for the tag!

4 jobs I have had:

1. Filling station attendant
   
2. Bartender
   
3. Security guard for the Fun Loving Criminals (one night only, ask me about it sometime!)
   
4. Document monkey (my current job!)

4 movies I love to watch over and over

1. The Empire Strikes Back
   
2. Grosse Point Blank
   
3. The Green Mile
   
4. West Side Story

4 place I have lived

1. Paisley - Scotland
   
2. Chapel Hill - North Carolina
   
3. Ealing - London
   
4. Isleworth - Middlesex

4 TV shows I enjoy watching

1. 24
   
2. Heroes
   
3. Lost
   
4. Doctor Who

4 Places I have been

1. New Orleans
   
2. Yellowstone National Park
   
3. Paris
   
4. Dublin

4 Websites I visit daily

1. Write Stuff
   
2. BBC News
   
3. Statcounter
   
4. B3ta

4 Favourite Foods

1. Bacon
   
2. Steak
   
3. Chocolate...
   
4. Cashew nuts

4 Places I would rather be

1. Jackson, Wyoming
   
2. San Francisco, California
   
3. The Southern Hemisphere (it's summer!)
   
4. With friends and family

4 blogs I tag

1. The Ethical Palaeontologist
   
2. Doctor Norf
   
3. Issy's Mum
   
4. Son of Schism Schasm

The Writer's Guild of America strike explained in under 4 minutes

Tags: Writers Guild of America strike

Fiction Friday - 09 November 2007

Tags: fiction Fiction Friday

This Week's Theme: Your character met their love in a unique way. How?

Just about managed to squeeze my NaNoWriMo story into this week's Fiction Friday!

“Captain Strangechild?”

Gideon paused, the razor in mid-stroke on his throat. “Who needs to know?” He finished the stroke and plunged the razor into the bowl, swirling it around in the cool water to dislodge the shavings and soap scum. Satisfied it was clean, or clean enough, he continued.

“Captain, I have a message for you.”

“Then put it on the table, I’ll read it when I’m done.”

“You’ll read it now Captain.” The voice had been soft and sweet, but now had an edge to it, the confident tone of someone with years of experience of being listened to, and followed. Gideon looked over his shoulder in the mirror, to see who this impertinent girl was. Anyone up to the rank of Captain, or outwith his service branch, and he was well within his rights to chew them out for speaking to him like that. Any higher, and it was time to snap to attention and be a good little soldier. He couldn’t see anyone. He spun round and there she was, as bold as brass, standing just outside the tent, illuminated only by the lamps inside the tent. He spotted the rank instantly - only a private, and not even British. Some jumped up Yank private thought she could talk to him like that?

“And just who the hell...” The words died away as he caught sight of the person, not the uniform. It was the eyes that stopped him speaking. In the half-light they looked almost black, but they glistened as if lit from within, rather than simply reflecting the light. The eyes caught the words in his throat, but it was the smile that made the anger melt away. Her lips, half-closed, and the edges her mouth curled up more on one side than the other, or perhaps it was the angle she held her head, cocked on one side, looking coy.

She was young, mid-twenties at most, but held herself like someone older. He could tell that unlike a lot of other female soldiers she didn’t crop her hair short - it was long, but pinned back from her face. Baggy camo did nothing for any woman’s figure, but Gideon could tell that she had a very slight frame. Tall and lithe, she made desert camo look sexier than it had any right to be. He realised he was staring now, and her smile became broader. She looked away briefly, long enough for Gideon to shut his mouth and regain composure. He grabbed a towel from beside the bowl of water, and cleared the remaining spots of shaving foam from his face as he approached the private.

“My apologies, Private...?”

Her eyes darted upwards to meet his. “Lancet. Private Lancet. Sir.” She snapped to attention, and saluted, holding on to the salute while waiting for Gideon to return it. He did, casually, and she dropped the salute with a wink. She reached into a side pocket and withdrew an envelope. “Your orders.”

“Thank you private.” He held out his hand to receive the envelope. The private remained where she was, just outside the tent. Gideon looked at her, puzzled. “Aren’t you going to give me my orders?”

She hesitated, then smiled. “Aren’t you going to invite me in sir?”

“Please, come in.”

She stepped forward and handed the envelope to him. Then she turned and started to leave.

“Wait, aren’t you staying?”

“My orders were to deliver the envelope to you sir.”

“What if you need to take back a reply?”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. “There can be only one response to those orders sir.” Then she left.

As she disappeared into the night, Gideon noticed the canvas walls of the tent begin to shimmer, then fade. Darkness bled into everything. In the distance he noticed two figures stood, side by side. One was the young private. The other was older, a man. Heavy set. Despite the distance, he could hear their voices.

“Did you speak with him Maria?”

“Yes your Eminence.”

“And you delivered the orders?”

“Of course.”

“What are your impressions of him?”

“Strong. Quick - he spotted me sooner than most would, even without training. He’s Catholic, so you’d like him...”

The older man snorted a laugh. “It helps.”

“Cute too.”

“Cute? Not your usual criteria Maria...”

“True. If he survives, you may want to keep him in mind for future missions.”

“Perhaps. If he survives....”

The figures faded, leaving Gideon alone, surrounded by the void. He looked down at his right hand. The orders. He slid his finger under the seal to open it. The envelope shimmered before his eyes, like the tent had done before it vanished, but instead of disappearing, it changed. Instead of an envelope, Gideon held a snake, a cobra. It hissed and lunged for his face...

The Long Watch

Tags: NaNoWriMo WriteStuff Blog Carnival The Long Watch

If you've been following my blog, you'll know that I'm taking part in NaNoWriMo. I'm also a contributor to a writing site called Write Stuff (they are the guys who provide the Fiction Friday prompts). They are running a Blog Carnival, and throughout November it is extracts from the participant's NaNoWriMo novels.

Now, the idea is to submit your favourite bit of writing from during the week, however the first Carnival, tomorrow, comes after only two days of writing. So, as my initial foray into the Carnival, I thought I would share with you the very opening of my NaNoWriMo story The Long Watch. It's rough, and it will desperately require editing in December/January. But I hope you like it.

San Francisco, October 31st 2007 - 23:01 PDT

Bryan looked up from the book and smiled. Everyone was holding hands, staring intently at him, hanging on his every word. He allowed a smile to creep across one side of his face, briefly, before regaining composure. His eyes swept across the faces of his friends, no, his acolytes. Ian and his girlfriend Carla, Steph and of course, the delectable Suzie.

“Happy Hallowe’en everyone - ready for some treats?” They all nodded, and Suzie let out a nervous giggle. Bryan winked at her. “Just remember, we do this right we all get what we’ve always wished for.” Bryan licked his lips as his eyes wandered to her breasts. Suzie blushed, but didn’t look away. What a tease thought Bryan.

He cleared his throat and peered at the open page before him. In the half-light cast by the candles he could barely make out the words. But it was all in fun, so what did it matter if he got some of the words wrong? It wasn’t as if any of this was real...

“By Azoth and Astotle, we summon thee, oh Dark Lord of Aeons past. Come ye destroyer of worlds, avatar of the Black Pharoah, we beseech thee...”

Vatican City, November 1st 2007 - 07:01 CET

A weak morning sun shone on the rooftops of the Eternal City, but failed to lift the autumnal chill. In the narrow streets of Rome, the morning mist clung low to the ground, lazily drifting with nowhere to go. Above the mist the golden dome of St Peter’s, at the heart of the Vatican City, glinted in the dawnlight.

Even at this early hour the corridors and courtyards of the microstate were bustling with activity, as clergy and laity prepared for the celebration of All Saint’s Day. In St Peter’s Square, faithful locals and pilgrims gathered, waiting for the Pope to appear and deliver a blessing on the crowd. A small number of tourists, aware of the significance of the day, had already positioned themselves at strategic vantage points for the best photographs. With some hours to go they amused themselves in nearby gift shops, or taking pictures with the colourfully garbed Swiss Guards, the Vatican’s private army.

Within the walls of the Papal palace, the Secretariat of the Holy See prepared for the days itinerary. As well as the Mass for All the Saints, final preparations were in place for a mass on the Feast of All Souls the following day. The Vatican Library and the Press Office were conducting final interviews and press releases on the publication of papers concerning the ever popular Knights Templar. The Pope was to receive three Ambassadors throughout the day, and the Secretariat had a final round of negotiations with the Italian government concerning security for visiting diplomats between the Vatican and Rome’s airport. The business of the Catholic Church continued much as it had done for hundreds of years...

But some business was of more recent vintage. Cardinal Mancini stood gazing out the window of his office, across the square and towards the wider city beyond, lost in private thoughts. Arms folded, head bowed, he looked the model of piety, a man of God engrossed in prayer. But prayer was not on his mind this morning.

At the opposite end of the room a heavy oak door slowly creaked open. At the noise the Cardinal snapped his head up, but did not turn around. The young woman standing in the doorway was dressed in a plain black dress, her dark hair tied back in a simple pony tail. She held a bundle of papers close to her chest, some in folders, others loose, freshly printed.

As she entered the room she took a circuitous route to the desk near the window, staying close to the edges of the room. When she was within a few feet of the desk, she stopped and waited, hesitantly.

Mancini remained still the whole time, casting his eye over the people below. The sheep, as he referred to them. Little lambs, weak and easily fooled. Maria disliked the analogy. She was never certain whether Mancini meant that the people were fooled by the Church or by other powers. Probably both.

“Do you think that any of those people down there...” The Cardinal gestured out towards the city without turning. “That any of them have the faintest idea of what could happen? What we do for them?”

Maria bit her lip, and weighed up whether or not the Cardinal was expecting an answer from her. As the seconds passed, she watched the pale light from the window encroach upon the darkened room. It spread across the desk, spilling on to the floor, relentlessly moving towards her feet. She shuffled backwards a few steps then spoke. “No your Eminence. I imagine they are wholly ignorant of our... duties.”

“Good. Good. All is as it should be. God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world, as they say.” Mancini chuckled, amused by the irony, given the circumstances of his position. He turned around and saw Maria take another step back from the desk. Sudden realisation spread across his face. “My apologies Maria, I wasn’t thinking.” Returning to the window he drew the thick velvet drapes across the window, banishing the dawn and returning the room to a gloomy darkness. A dusty green banker’s lamp on the panelled desk provided the only light in the room. Maria quickly walked towards the desk and placed the papers down. Mancini sat down at his desk and opened the top drawer to his left. He picked up a green leather case inside, flipped it open and took out a small set of steel-rimmed reading glasses. A sign of the times he told himself. There was a time when he could distinguish between peoples faces at two hundred metres, without any aids. Now he needed glasses just to make out the morning paper. As he rubbed the lenses with a cloth he nodded towards the papers Maria had placed on the desk.

“The latest reports?” She nodded. “And all is quiet?” She nodded again.

“Wonderful.” He perched the glasses on the bridge of his nose and gathered the papers up. “Thank God for Long Days and quiet nights...” He quickly scanned the pages, each containing no more than a paragraph, each headed with the name of a city. Wellington - all quiet. Sydney - all quiet. Tokyo - all quiet. There was a relief - the local field operatives appeared to have the Pacific under control. Nothing had awoken this year...

NaNoWriMo Word Count

First day in, and despite my grand plans I did not start writing until just before 9pm this evening. Still, I have at least achieved and exceeded my word count for today! Only 29 more days to go...