Brok3n Engines

Up There: Voyage 7—the Bayou -Brok3n Engines

2.19MB ∙ EPUB file

This story is scheduled for publication on Brok3n Engines Creations Sunday, 1-Nov-2026. I will be giving it a final proof and edit Saturday, 31-Oct, so comments will be most helpful if they reach me on or before 31-Oct. You may comment directly on this post or by direct messages to me.

Comments on this Beta post will not appear on the eventual Brok3n Engines Creations post.

I hope the story stands on its own, but you may find it easier to follow if you read Voyage 6—The Marsh, first.

Many thanks for your help!

Up There: Voyage 7—The Bayou - Previous chapters

Voyage 7—The Bayou

The sisters had come through again. Having Anita convince Fred that he had been unfair to Jack—that worked! Fred had, after all, been unfair. And it didn’t diminish Fred. (John, now 12 years old, was a little proud of this use of the word “diminish.”) John particularly liked this bit of dialog:

“Jack led two people to me in secret?” Fred asked, alarmed.

“No,” said Anita. “I don’t think that’s exactly right. Seph and Angie are parts of Jack’s spirit. Wherever he is, they are. It’s the same as saying that wherever you go, your spirit goes.”

Jack gave her a hard look, and nodded. “True enough. But my spirit don’t show itself to other people.”

It showed that Fred, despite saying ”don’t” when the correct word was “doesn’t”, was capable of subtlety. (“Subtlety” was another word John liked.)

And they had given him a good start for a new story, without boxing him in.

Jack came alone. He still didn’t know where he stood with Fred, and didn’t want to spook him with too many strangers.

“Jack,” Fred said. “Thanks for coming.”

“Fred,” Jack replied. “Good to see you again.”

“I have a favor to ask—a big one,” Fred said. “But before I get to that, I owe you an apology.”

Jack looked puzzled at this, although he thought he understood where Fred was going.

“Your young friend Anita visited me.”

Surprised, Jack said “Anita was here?”

With the usual popping sounds, Angie and Seph appeared on Jack’s shoulders. “We told her how to come here,” Angie said.

“But it was her idea,” said Seph.

“I’ll bet you didn’t exactly discourage her, did you?” Jack thought in their direction.

“So, its true you didn’t know she came to me?” Fred said.

“It’s true.”

“Or her father?”

“I’m certain Rodriguez would have forbidden her if she had told him of this intention.”

“She has grit as well as brains, that one. Reminds me of another kid who came to me alone years ago. A fatherless boy who lost his Dad to the bottle.”

Jack was uncomfortable. He knew exactly which boy Fred meant. Trying to change the subject he asked, “Why do you live here alone, Fred? Are there no other Marsh-wiggles in America?”

“There are,” Fred replied. “Well, not Marsh-wiggles exactly, but water people who ain’t human, the way I ain’t.”

“Any of them friends of yours?”

“Well, Jack, maybe you ain’t noticed, but I ain’t a real friendly type. I like to be by my lonesome.”

Jack laughed. “Well, Fred, now that you mention it… Maybe I have noticed, a little.”

“You was always a solitary kid yourself, Jack. Why I’m a bit perplexed to see you with so many friends around now.”

“Me, too. If I’m honest, Fred. I found a map in the attic of my grandfather’s old house. I met these new friends on the voyage.”

“Oh, we’ve always been around,” Angie said.

“Maybe a good thing,” Fred said. “Marsh-wiggles is natural loners. Humans not so much.”

“And these other non-human water people?” Jack asked. “Any of them friends of yours?”

“Nope. They don’ like me, Jack.”

“Who are they?”

“Some call ‘em Frog-people. They live in swamps and creeks and bayous. Family of ‘em in trouble in a place called Blue Bayou. They say they been there hundreds of years.”

“Huh,” said Seph. “They don’t like you, Mr Congeniality? Why is that, I wonder?”

“They don’t like you?” Jack asked. “Why?”

“Well, Jack, they a tight little family. Not so little, truly. They maybe fifty of them, all brothers and sisters and aunts and cousins. Little frog people, about so high.” He held his hand four feet above the ground. “I’m different—not family. I’m big and scary, like a human. Years gone by, humans hunted them. They don’t forget.”

Angie looked appalled.

“What kind of trouble are they in?”

“Human trouble.”

“Not being hunted again!” said Jack.

“No. Worse than that in a way. Being driven out of their home. Survived hunting, they did. They won’t get past this.”

“Who’s driving them out?”

“Developers. People with money wanna drain their Bayou and build something there. Shopping center, apartment blocks, a golf course—I don’ know. Doubt they even know theyselves—just know they can sell it for a bunch.”

“Who owns Blue Bayou?”

“I don’t know that, either. Not the frog-people. No more than I own this bit of marsh.”

“How can I help?”

“You can go there and look into it. It’s a human problem—maybe you can do something about it.”

“Yeah! Of course!” said Seph, with an ear-piercing rebel yell. “To the battle!”

Jack looked at her in annoyance. “Well, you know Fred, the only thing that beats money is money, and I don’t have a lot of that. I’ll do my best. Where is it? Can you guide me there?”

“Gulf Coast, Louisiana. You can sail there in the Devil.”

That evening Jack sat at the kitchen table with the Rodriguez family. He had told them of Fred’s asking him for help.

“What does he need help with?” Felipe asked.

Jack explained about the Blue Bayou frog-people.

Linda asked, “Fred didn’t know who owns the Bayou?”

“Fred is a wiggle who lives alone in a shed in the Awcomin Marsh. He doesn’t know that kind of stuff.”

“And he doesn’t know what these developers plan?” she continued.

“No.”

“We can find out. There will be public records, and we can do a title search to find out who owns the property.”

“Mi madre es abogada, Jack,” Anita said.

“Your mother is an avocado?” said Jack, nonplussed.

Seph and Angie laughed.

“¡Abogada!” laughed Linda. “It means lawyer.”

“La mejor abogada in Buenos Aires,” Felipe interjected.

“Best lawyer in Buenos Aires,” Anita translated with pride. “It’s true, Jack!”

“Also, I have a connection to Louisiana, Jack,” Linda continued. I graduated from the University of Buenos Aires, then with a doctorate from Tulane—that’s in New Orleans.”

John remembered that when he introduced Linda in “Rounding the Horn,” he had said she spoke only a little English. That wasn’t consistent with her having studied in New Orleans. Oops!

Well, perhaps it was OK. These stories were told mostly from Jack’s point of view. Perhaps when he first met her, Jack thought Linda didn’t speak English well. Now he knows she graduated from a law school in New Orleans!

“I noticed another significant word, Linda,” Jack said. “You said ‘we’ can do a title search. Are you volunteering?”

“Of course,” Linda replied. Anita and Felipe chimed in eagerly.

Felipe observed “The Devil will be crowded with the four of us and Fred.”

“I don’t think we’ll see much of Fred on the Devil.” said Jack. “Fred has his own way of moving through water.”

Worried that there was no time to lose, Jack and the Rodriquez family determined to set sail the next day.

That morning, Jack went to Fred in the march and told him of their plans.

“Something I’d like you to take on the Devil for me,” said Fred. From his shed he retrieved a belt and a long leather sheath with a handle sticking out one end.

“Fred, is that a sword?” Jack asked.

“A lightweight saber,” said Fred. “Yes, a sword.”

“Wicked cool!” said Seph, appearing with a pop on Jack’s left shoulder. Angie popped on to the right, frowning, but sayig nothing.

“You know how to use that thing?”

“I did once. Been many years.”

“You really think we might need it?”

“Sure hope not,” Fred grimaced. “Better have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

“Roger that,” said Jack.

“If you need me, hang a red cloth from the starboard gunwale.”

Blue Bayou was located near a small Gulf Coast town of that name, a little east of New Orleans. Jack tied up the Sea Devil to a public mooring in the little harbor. Linda went ashore to do what she could at the courthouse and to call a lawyer friend in New Orleans.

Jack hung a red flag from the starboard gunwale. Several hours later Fred climbed on board an hour.

Anita said, “Mr Paxford, Ananta has something to say.”

Ananta’s head rose from the harbor. She looked at Anita and said, “Do I have to?”

“Yes, Ananta. It’s important.”

“Mr Paxford,” she said, “I was wrong come to your home in the Marsh without an invitation.”

Her eyes shifted to Anita, who nodded.

“And I was wrong to try to attack you. And I want to help you save the frog-people.” She breathed out.

“Can’t say fairer than that,” Fred answered. “Can I count on you not to eat anyone, or lose your temper with the frog-people, or with anyone who wants to hurt them?”

Ananta looked puzzled at that, “I thought we were going to fight the people who want to hurt them?”

“We are,” Jack said. “But if we hurt anyone, we’ll get the frog-people in trouble. We have to fight with words and laws.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Yeah,” said Jack. “It’ll be a learning experience for all of us.”

Fred said, “One thing you all gotta understand. They don’t like me, and they feared of humans. They have reason. We help ‘em, if we can, because we feel better in ourselves so. They ain’t gonna trust us or thank us. Win or lose, we get nothing.”

Jack nodded. Ananta gave a long, slow blink to show understanding. “Comprendido,” said Felipe. “Linda is a lawyer, She understands doing her best for a difficult client.”

“Where’s my saber, Jack?”

Jack retrieved it from the cabin, and Fred belted it on.

Fred said, “I’ll walk with you to the Bayou and introduce you to Nana-Lis.”

As they walked through town, Linda joined them, looking like a real lawyer in business dress and carrying a briefcase.

“We arrived just on time,” she said. “Jason Lord is moving into the Bayou today with a team and a swamp excavator.”

“Jason Lord?” Felipe asked.

“He’s the current owner of record. Bought the land just months ago.”

“Can we do anything?” Jack asked.

“Already have,” Linda said. “I explained the situation to my friend in New Orleans. She rushed it to a judge and got a TRO.”

“Translation, Linda,” said Felipe.

“Temporary restraining order,” she said. “It’s a legal order that forbids them to proceed. I have it here in my case.”

“Does that mean we won?” Jack asked.

“No. It’s a small, temporary victory. It means that we convinced a judge that we might possibly win someday, and that the excavation could do irreversible damage to the frog-people if it proceeds.. And it’s only for a day or two—that’s what ‘temporary’ means.”

“But that’s huge!” Jack cried. “I take your point. It’s not victory. But it means someone who matters thinks we have a chance.”

Seph raised a fist in salute. Angie just smiled.

“Yes. We will have our day in court.”

When they reached the Bayou, Fred called, “Nana-Lis, are you here?”

A small frog-like person rose from the Bayou. She said, “Fred Paxton! And four humans! That’s all I need to make my day perfect!”

Fred waved toward the humans, saying, “Friends, Nana-Lis is the Granny of the frog-people here. She in charge here, if anyone be.”

Nana-Lis saluted Fred ironically. “Why are you here? Why does the devil send you to me on this cursed day?”

“Word reached me. Man name of Jason Lord want to drive y’all out of this Bayou?”

“Il est là!” Nan-Lis, pointing up the Bayou. While she plunged into the water, Fred led the humans upstream to where she had pointed. On the bank there stood a small crowd of the frog-people, shouting what sounded like French curses at a team of humans on a dirt road that passed near the Bayou, with some heavy equipment.

Linda spoke to Nana-Lis. “Is one of the those gentlemen Jason Lord?”

“Ain’t no gentlemen,” Nana-Lis said, “but that is the one who you speak of,” and pointed at a small rat-like man.

Linda stepped up to him. “Mr Jason Lord. I will ask you and your team to vacate this property.” She handed a document to him. “That is a court order forbidding your presence here. You are trespassing.”

“Like Hell!” he said, intense. “I own this land.”

“Your ownership has been called into question.”

“Who questions it?” he shouted. “These vermin?” he gestured at the frog-people.

Fred, anticipating trouble, stepped to Linda’s side.

Lord continued, “They’re animals. We destroy them, and there’s no dispute.”

Silently, Jack called to Seph and Angie. They popped into existence on Fred’s shoulder.

“Ananta,” Jack called. “Show yourself to Mr Lord.”

Ananta’s giant head rose from the Bayou and stared directly into Lord’s eyes.

“Merde!” he called and pulled a pistol from a shoulder holster.

At that there was a loud metallic SHING! as Fred, with inhuman speed, drew his saber.

His saber tip a millimeter from Lord’s throat, Fred hissed, “You will lower that gun, or I’ll put this blade through your throat faster than you can aim your pop-gun. You drew on me. I got the right to kill you.”

Lord tried bravado. “Do it and you’ll hang for murder. Your blade is at my throat—no judge will admit a plea of self-defense.”

“You kin look up from Hell and tell you self that. You dead already.”

Lord’s hand faltered. Quicker than thought, the flat of Fred’s saber slapped the gun into the Bayou.

“Could you have stopped that bullet?” Jack silently asked Seph and Angie.

“Of course,” Seph said. “Probably,” said Angie.

Lord shouted to his team. “Pack up! We’re done here for the day.” Looking daggers at Linda, Fred, and Nana-Lis, “I’ll be back. You think you won. This isn’t over yet.”

Lord and his men left, the frog-people jeering at them.

Nana-Lis did not jeer. She said, “He’s right, you know. This ain’t noways over.”

“Thank you!” John told Alice and Stephanie at the end of the summer. “That was a really good way of bringing Fred and Jack back together.”

“That was Steph’s idea,” Alice said. “Where are they now?”

“They’re in Louisiana, in a place called Blue Bayou,” John answered.

“Isn’t that a song?” Alice asked.

“Yeah,” said John. “I stole the name for our story.”

“Did they solve Fred’s problem, whatever it was?” Steph asked.

John started pacing nervously. “Not completely,” he said. “They have a legal problem. I don’t know anything about law. But I know it’s slow. If there need to be trials and stuff, it could take months or years to solve.”

“That’s a big change!” Alice said. “Before this it has just been travels and fighting.”

“Yeah,” said John. “It would have been easier to just leave out the legal fight, to have a simple fight that Jack and Fred and Seph and Angie and the Rodriguez’s could win. But that wouldn’t be right. If there was a fight and people got hurt, the frog-people would in the end be worse off.”

“The frog-people?” Steph said. “Is that like Marsh-wiggles?”

“Not exactly. You’ll see,” John said. “So here it is. I’ve landed our characters in a pickle, and I’m relying on you two to get them out of it.”

Steph grimaced at him, and put her hand to her chest. “We are honored, sir!”

Alice and John laughed at her.

“Well, you know, Steph,” John said, “if you two weren’t so good at this, I wouldn’t expect so much of you.”

John was a little embarrassed after saying this. Was it too much? But the sisters didn’t seem embarrassed. He hoped they wouldn’t try to compliment him in turn.

They seemed to understand the assignment.

“We’ll do our best,” said Alice, solemnly.

Fred had told the humans that the frog-people wouldn’t thank them. He was right. Nan-Lis never thanked any of the humans. Fred had also told them the frog-people wouldn’t trust humans. In this he was mostly right. Nana-Lis didn’t trust men.

Nana-Lis had been impressed when Linda walked up to Jason Lord and told him to get off her property. And she had made him do it, too! Fred helped, but it was Linda who made that connard fuck off. Fred said so hisself.

What’s more, Nana-Lis knew that the fight wasn’t over. She needed help—she needed Linda’s help.

Linda and Nana-Lis had long conversations, walking by the Bayou. Nana-Lis told Linda how the frog-people had lived there for hundreds of years. Everyone in the town knew they were there—they would sometimes buy and sell to them.

Linda told Nana-Lis about complicated legal things like the doctrine of laches and adverse possession and squatter’s rights. Linda said these things might mean that the frog-people were the real owners of the Bayou. Nana-Lis was smart, and Linda was good at explaining.

Linda promised to fight for the frog-people for as long as it took.

There was an old house on the property. The frog-people had no use for it, and it was in bad repair. But Felipe thought he could make it livable, if the frog-people helped him. They did, and Felipe, Anita, and Linda moved in.

Ananta lived in the Bayou.

As a scientist, Felipe was fascinated by the frog-people. He was happy to stay and learn from them while Linda did her legal magic. Nana-Lis made friends with Linda, Anita, and Ananta. She tolerated Felipe for Linda’s sake.

Nana-Lis still didn’t like Fred or Jack. She made it clear they were not welcome at the Bayou.

“We should leave, Fred,” Jack said one day. “We’re not needed here, and I’m bored.”

“Me, too,” said Angie. “Me three,” said Seph.

“Where to?” Fred asked. “Back home to Rye?”

“I’m thinking of sailing to Snake Island again,” Jack said. “I could bring Melusine word of her daughter. ‘Course you can go back to the Awcomin Marsh if you want. You don’t need the Sea Devil to take you there.”

“You’re right, Jack,” said Fred. “But—maybe I’m gone crazy in my old age—I kind of have an urge to go adventuring with you. Interested in another hand for your voyage?”

Afterword

The cover image is a phase portrait of :

This represents Fred holding the point of his sword to Lord’s throat.

A phase portrait is a visualization of a complex function introduced by Elias Wegert in Visual Complex Functions: An Introduction with Phase Portraits.

Previous chapters

Blue Bayou, Linda Ronstadt and the Muppets

The Siren of Lake Louise

Brok3n Engines — Thu, 01 Oct 2026 16:02:36 GMT

The Siren of Lake Louise - Brok3n Engines

Siren Of Lake Louise, The - Brok3n Engines

1.78MB ∙ EPUB file

The Siren Of Lake Louise - Brok3n Engines

271KB ∙ PDF file

The Siren of Lake Louise

Epigraph

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Only a very wicked or conceited man,
About to sink somewhere in mid-Atlantic,
Could think Poseidon’s frown was meant for him in person,
But it is only human to believe
The little lady of the glacier lake has fallen
In love with the rare bather whom she drowns.
--“Bucolics. IV Lakes,” WH Auden

The Siren of Lake Louise

I was a wallflower at the Chateau NISH Dance, when I saw this gorgeous blonde bearing down on me.

At the New Improved Sadie Hawkins Dance, anyone could ask anyone to dance. A girl could ask a boy, a girl could ask a girl, a boy could ask a boy. A boy could even ask a girl. You could say “No,” of course. But it was expected, if you showed up at the NISH, that you were open to a dance with any sort of person.

If this blonde asked me for a dance, “No” wasn’t on the cards.

She stepped up to me and took my hand. “Lou,” she said.

“No,” I said disappointed. “Wrong number. I’m not Lou.”

“I know,” she laughed. “I’m Lou. Will you dance with me, Not Lou?”

“Oh, Hell, yeah!“ I said. “Ah, pardon me,” I blushed. “That just slipped out.”

The music started. Laughing again, she took my other hand and led me out on the floor. It was a schottische. Anyone can schottische, but you can’t carry on a conversation.

After, she said, “Thank you for the dance, Not Lou.”

“Happy to be ‘Not Lou’ for you all night, but my name is Phoenix.”

She made a little bow and said, “Nice to meet you, Phoenix.”

“And your name is—let me guess—Lou?” I said.

“Louise, actually. Lou for short.”

“Are you also staying here?”

“Here” was the Chateau Lake Louise, a grand old hotel on the east shore of Lake Louise in Banff National Park. I was there for the summer. Bloody expensive it was, two thousand a night, but my folks have money to burn.

“No, I’m a local. I live here in Lake Louise.”

Besides being the name of the lake, Lake Louise is the name of the nearby small town.

We danced two more dances, then left the NISH to get a meal. By the end of the evening, I was already gone, gone, gone… completely in love. How she felt I didn’t know. I’ve always been lousy at figuring that out. We parted with a handshake, but on the plus side, we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet for lunch the next day.

Well, you can guess what happened next. Oldest story in the world—we fell in love. At least, I fell deeper in love with her. She had to know it. She was no fool, and she was good at reading people. I was sure she knew what my puppy-dog eyes meant.

I still didn’t know how she felt about me. Dances aside, we never got past that parting handshake. And she had never taken me to her home.

This pleasantly doubtful situation continued until the middle of August.

“I have to go back to school in two weeks,” I told her.

Was I imagining things, or did that light a little fire in her eyes?

“Where is school?” she asked.

“Toronto.”

She took my hand and said, “I don’t want you to go!”

“Whoa!” I thought. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You could visit me.”

“What, in Toronto?”

“Why not?”

“I can’t leave here.”

“Why not? Is it money?” I said. “Because if that’s the only problem…”

“No, not that. Phoenix, can I show you something?”

“Sure.”

“Follow me. It’s a bit of a hike.”

She set off on the Lakeshore Trail. It runs southwest along the lakeshore five km before turning east to go up into the hills. Louise didn’t turn east at the end of the trail, though. She kept on along the Lake. The going was rougher off the trail, but not bad. After another half a kilometer, there was a small wooden dock.

“What do you think of my home, Phoenix?”

I looked all around, thinking there must be a cottage on the mountainside nearby. Or did she live on a boat that docked here? But there was nothing.

“Where?” I said intelligently.

“Phoenix, do you remember when I said I live here in Lake Louise?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered. “You meant the town, no?”

“I knew you would think that,” she answered. “So that was a little dishonest of me.”

“But you can’t possibly live in the Lake, not literally.”

“A human could not.”

“Oh, come on, Louise!” I said, helplessly.

“Let me show you,” she said.

She took off her jacket, shirt, and slacks. She stood before me in a light bathing suit. I gasped. August though it was, it was not bathing suit weather here in the mountains.

Then to my shock, she ran out on the dock and dived off the end into the Lake. Lake Louise is glacier-fed. The temperature of the water never rises more than a degree or two above freezing. Occasional hardy souls might take a dip in the Lake for a dare, but no one goes for a swim.

Looking entirely at ease, she swam back to float there with her elbows on the end of the dock. I walked out, then stretched out, belly on the dock, so that I was looking right into her eyes.

“You see, Phoenix. I am not like you. I truly live in the Lake. In fact, I am the Lake. I can no more visit you in Toronto than I can transport the Lake to Toronto.”

“But,” I puzzled, “that’s not quite true. You can walk into town. You can come to the Chateau and dance!”

“Yes, but I can still feel the Lake from the Chateau.”

“But, it’s only a matter of degree, right,” I said, eager. “Why, if you can eat lunch with me two km away from the Lake, why can’t you eat lunch with me in Toronto, 3,000 km away from the Lake? It can’t just be having water near, because Lake Ontario is right there!”

“Ontario has its own siren. He will not sustain me.”

“Can you not take sustenance from me, instead?” I asked. “I am not a lake, but I’m mostly water.”

“Only if you bind yourself to me.”

“How do I do that?”

“Oh, Phoenix,” she answered. “You’ve read the fairy tales. It’s a kiss—always a kiss.”

I kissed her lips.

I have never been so cold in my life. My body’s warmth was drawn out through that kiss. A wave of drowsiness swept over me as my brain shut down. My heart stopped beating. My last conscious feeling was her taking my shoulders in her hands, drawing me into the Lake.

Phoenix, you wondered if I was in love with you. I was, sweetheart, as deeply in love with you as you were with me.

I was here thousands of years before First Nations peoples walked into the Rocky Mountains. They called me Lake of the Little Fishes. Over the years I took many of their most beautiful boys and girls into my embrace.

I loved every one of them.

Phoenix, I am so sorry about the handshakes. It was as hard for me as it was for you. But you know now how it works for me. I get one kiss, and that is the end.

And the courtship is sweet—so sweet.

Afterword

This story was inspired by these lines from WH Auden’s Bucolics.

Only a very wicked or conceited man,
About to sink somewhere in mid-Atlantic,
Could think Poseidon’s frown was meant for him in person,
But it is only human to believe
The little lady of the glacier lake has fallen
In love with the rare bather whom she drowns.
--“Bucolics. IV Lakes,” WH Auden

The words “glacier lake” will always remind me of one of the world’s most beautiful lakes, Lake Louise in Canada’s Banff National Park.

The cover is a cycle graph of the elementary abelian group E₂₇. Aside from the identity element, E₂₇ has only elements of order 3, thus 13 subgroups of order 3. In a cycle graph each of these looks like a pair of dancers connected to the identity in the center. I designated one of these pairs as Louise and Phoenix—they are the pair of larger vertexes in the lower left. The colors are a phase portrait of f(z).

…where louise and phoenix are the centers of the corresponding vertexes.

Thanks to , , , and for helpful comments.

Stand By Me, cover by Stephen Wilson Jr

★★★★☆ Dead Beat, by Leigh Bardugo

Brok3n Engines — Wed, 30 Sep 2026 21:04:04 GMT

Dead Beat

Leigh Bardugo

More of the same

Dead Beat is the third and final novel in Leigh Bardugo‘s Ninth House trilogy. I loved the first novel, Ninth House. Here is how I described the premise of the series in my review of that book.

The title, Ninth House, is a reference to the Yale secret societies. There are a bunch of these -- Wikipedia lists 18. In the Yale of Ninth House, there are eight large and powerful such societies. All of these are real, in the sense that in each case, a secret society of that name actually exists at Yale. Alex belongs to a ninth house, Lethe, that doesn’t exist in the real Yale (or at least it doesn’t have a Wikipedia page). Each of the eight major houses in Ninth House specializes in some form of sorcery, which they use to advance their interests. For instance, Skull and Bones specializes in predicting the future by reading the entrails of victims -- they use this to predict the future movements of markets and to direct investments. The eight houses are wealthy and powerful. (The final sentence is true also of the corresponding real Yale secret societies.)

I loved Ninth House because, although it is fantasy, it felt very real. Bardugo is herself a Yale graduate and was a member of Wolf’s Head, one of the ancient eight. Most of the action of the three novels takes place in New Haven (the city in which Yale University is located) and at Yale.

The hero of the series is Galaxy (Alex) Stern, who grew up in Los Angeles (as did Bardugo herself). Alex is a tough woman who barely survived a difficult childhood in poverty.. She has the ability to see ghosts. For this reason she was recruited to Yale and Lethe House as a scholarship student. It’s all very Dickensian -- the poor kid who rises to the elite, but without ever losing her fight.

I was a little disappointed in the second novel, Hell Bent and in this final one, Dead Beat. It feels to me as if Alex’s rough edges, the things that made her compelling, have been sanded flat in novels two and three. Furthermore, there is a tad too much Yale-ology in Dead Beat. I love it that Bardugo‘s real familiarity with Yale makes the university and city feel real. But too much of Dead Beat felt like a thinly disguised guidebook to the artistic eccentricities of the university.

Bardugo is a compelling fantasy writer, and even sub-par Bardugo is pretty good. I enjoyed Dead Beat. If you’ve read Ninth House and Hell Bent, you will want to read this.

Dead Beat on Amazon

Goodreads reviwe

New Beta Readers section

Brok3n Engines — Wed, 30 Sep 2026 00:43:29 GMT

New Experimental Beta readers section

I have just added a new newsletter to my stack, named Beta Readers. Those signed up for it will receive an early draft of each story, about a month prior to publication, and are invited to comment on it.

New subscribers are not subscribed to this newsletter by default. If you want it, you will need to edit your notifications (“Manage subscription” in the context menu) to add it. Currently active beta reads here.

https://www.brok3nengines.com/s/beta-readers-2

Eleven Candles

Brok3n Engines — Fri, 25 Sep 2026 14:02:38 GMT

Eleven Candles—Brok3n Engines

Eleven Candles - Brok3n Engines

330KB ∙ PDF file

Eleven Candles - Brok3n Engines

1.88MB ∙ EPUB file

Eleven Candles

It was Jill’s fifth birthday. Mom and Dad gave her birthday presents. There was a party—her friends ate cake and played games. It was a good day.

That night, before bed, they brought her another present.

“This is from your grandfather,” Jill’s mother told her.

“Opa already gave me a present!” Jill said.

“No, Jill,” her mother said. “This is from your other grandfather.”

“Opa is my only grandfather,” Jill said. Jill was fond of Opa. She didn’t like to think he might have competition.

“You are right,” said Dad. “Opa is my father.”

“I had a father, too,” Mom added. “If he were here, he would be your Grandfather Calloway.”

“Where is he?”

“He is gone,” Mom said. “He died when you were a very little girl. But he left you some birthday gifts. This is one of them.”

It was a small metal box. A candle was stuck to the top. It was a little candle, the kind for birthday cakes. Except this one was pure black. Jill had never seen a black birthday candle. There was a knob on the side of the box. It had a circle of numbers around it.

Jill was not like most five-year-old birthday girls. She knew so many numbers already! She could count to twenty. She could write the numbers from one to ten. The numbers on the box went from 1 to 10, then continued 11, 12, …, 20. Right away she knew that must be how to write the rest of the numbers from eleven to twenty.

The knob had a little pointer. It could point to one of the twenty numbers.

Jill’s mother explained, “Inside the box are candles like this one on the top. It’s a puzzle. Your grandfather wanted you to guess how many candles are in the box. If you turn the knob to that number, the box will open. You can take the candles, and you can keep the box as a place to store secret treasures. No one will be able to open it without knowing the number of candles Grandfather Calloway put in it.”

Ooo… that was intriguing. Jill didn’t really care about the candles, but her own secret treasure box!

Jill shook the box a little. “Not too hard!” her father said. “Don’t break the candles.” Still, she could hear a lot of little things rattling around in the box.

“How am I supposed to guess?” Jill asked.

Her mother said, “Well, there are some clues. This is not the first box of candles your Grandfather left for you.

“When you were one, you got a box with two candles.

“When you were two, you got a box with three candles.

“When you were three, you got a box with five candles.

“And now you are five, and you have a box, and we don’t know how many candles are in it.”

“What happened when I was four?” Jill asked.

“You didn’t get one that year.”

Jill was not happy about that. “Did he make a mistake?”

“We don’t think so,” Mom answered.

Jill noticed that the number of candles in the box was always more than the number of the birthday. This one must have at least six, then. She turned the knob to six and tried to open the box. She couldn’t.

She tried seven. That didn’t work, either. Eight didn’t work. Nine didn’t work. Ten didn’t work. Was she doing it right? Maybe there was a trick, even if you got the number right.

Then she turned the knob to eleven. It went “Click.” The box opened. Inside it lay eleven black birthday candles.

Jill couldn’t stop thinking about Grandfather Calloway’s presents. Why did she get eleven candles on her fifth birthday?

And what about the years before that? Why wasn’t there a Grandfather Calloway present on her fourth birthday? She thought Mom and Dad were right, that it wasn’t a mistake. She noticed that, whenever she got a box of candles, the number of candles in the box was always the next birthday that she got a Grandfather Calloway present. On her third birthday, she got five candles. And then the next year, birthday 4, no present, and the year after that, birthday five, she got a Grandfather Calloway present.

She asked Mom and Dad, “Do you know if Grandfather Calloway left a present for my next birthday?” They did not. Grandfather Calloway had left the presents with someone called a lawyer, who never told anyone until a week before Jill’s birthday.

A week before her sixth birthday, she asked her parents if she could talk to the lawyer man.

“It’s a woman,” Mom answered. “Her name is Ms Raza.”

“Well, can I talk to her?” Jill asked.

“I don’t see why not.”

Mom called a number on the phone, then went through one of those things where you had to pick a number according to what you wanted. Finally, a human answered, but it still wasn’t Ms Raza.

“May I speak to Ms Raza?” Mom asked the voice.

“Who should I say is calling?” the voice asked.

“My name is Helen Calloway Garcia. I am calling on behalf of my daughter Gillian Garcia.”

“Elaine Raza,” said a new voice. “How may I help you, Mrs Garcia?”

“My daughter Gillian would like to speak to you.” Mom answered.

“How can I help you, Gillian?” said Elaine Raza.

Gillian felt a little frightened. She hadn’t known how complicated it would be to talk to this lawyer person.

“Is there a present this year?” she asked, shyly. “From Grandfather Calloway, I mean?”

“I’m sorry,” said Ms Raza. “There will be no gift from your Grandfather Calloway this year.”

That was what Jill had expected. She asked Ms Raza, “Will the next one be on my eleventh birthday?”

“Oh! You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” Ms Raza said. “I can’t answer that. Mr Calloway charged us to keep the gift birthdays secret.

“Anything else, Jill?” Mom asked her. Jill shook her head.

“Thank you, Ms Raza,” Mom said. “I apologize for bothering you.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Your father Sean Calloway was a good friend, and I am happy to help his family. If you and Gillian have any more questions, call me. My direct number is 212-555-1212.”

That was really interesting, Jill thought. She felt good when Ms Raza had called her a “sharp one.” (Mom said that “sharp” meant “smart.”) But also, it meant that Jill was probably right that the next present would be when she was eleven. Ms Raza said it was secret. Jill thought Ms Raza wasn’t good at keeping secrets.

When she started first grade in the fall, Jill was specially interested in everything having to do with numbers. Most of the other kids hated arithmetic and math. All the girls except Jill said that. They said they hated math as if hating math was something to be proud of. It was funny, because the girls were usually better at math than the boys.

Jill was good at math. She was good at everything in school, but she was especially good at math. And she liked it. It was hard to like math the way it was taught in school, but she found books.

Also, she talked to Ms Raza. Jill’s Mom was not sure she should really call Ms Raza. But Jill thought it would be rude not to. After all, Ms Raza had asked them to call. Jill remembered the number exactly. Mom was afraid that Ms Raza would be too busy to talk to Jill.

Mom wasn’t wrong. The first time they called Ms Raza was too busy to talk.

“Gillian, and Mrs Garcia!” she said. “I can’t talk now, but I will call you back.”

She did call back. She knew things about Grandfather Calloway that Mom didn’t know: things about his work, and what he had been interested in. She told them that Grandfather Calloway had been interested in something called Number Theory.

A theory of numbers? That sounded cool.

Mom left Jill to talk with Ms Raza by herself. After that Mom let Jill call Ms Raza whenever she wanted.

Jill liked talking with Ms Raza. Ms Raza really seemed to have fun talking with Jill. Also, Ms Raza made her feel important. Like, Ms Raza always called her “Gillian,” or sometimes “Miss Garcia.” She asked what Jill thought about things, and remembered what Jill answered.

When Jill was in third grade she learned about prime numbers. She read about something called the Sieve of Eratosthenes for finding prime numbers. She made a big one for herself and found all the primes from 1 to 200. She saw right away that Grandfather Calloway’s presents only came on prime number birthdays: 1, 2, 3, 5, and, if her guess was right, 11. (They said 1 was not a prime, but Jill thought that was wrong.) But it was not every prime. She was now 8 years old, and there had been no Grandfather Calloway present on her seventh birthday even though 7 is a prime.

On her eighth birthday, Ms Raza gave her a present. It was a special book of ten magazine articles called Mathematical Games by a man named Martin Gardiner.

Ms Raza sent a card with the book. On the card she wrote, “Martin Gardiner wrote almost 300 of these articles. I chose ten that I thought you would like, Gillian. I had them specially printed and bound into a little book.

“This is a present from me, Ms Raza. It is not from your Grandfather Calloway. Eight is not a Grandfather Calloway birthday.

—Elaine Raza”

The magazine articles were hard, very hard for an eight-year-old to understand. They were even hard for an eight-year-old as good at math as Jill secretly thought she was. (It was secret, because she didn’t want to brag. But she thought Ms Raza knew.) But Martin Gardiner was good at explaining. There were lots and lots of pictures.

It took Jill a month to work through the book. She had to call Ms Raza for help with some of them. She learned more math in that month than she had in her first eight years.

The evening of Jill’s eleventh birthday, Ms Raza came to the Garcia home. She was a small, dark-haired woman, older than Mom and Dad, with sparkling black eyes. They had never seen her before—even Jill, who had talked to her so many times, didn’t know what she looked like. Jill thought she was beautiful.

She carried Jill’s present. This one was bigger than Jill’s secret treasure box from her fifth birthday. The eleventh birthday present was the size of a shoebox. It had a USB plug on the top with a flash drive inserted. On the side there was a keypad, like on a phone. A small LED display read, “3 guesses remaining”

Ms Raza explained, “The box contains some number of USB flash drives. Each one is a gift for Gillian. The box will open if the correct number is typed in on the numeric keypad.

“But,” she warned, “You have only three tries. If you guess wrong three times, all the USB sticks inside will be erased.”

Mom and Dad thought this was important, so they asked Jill if it was OK if they got to try. “We’ve been thinking about the numbers for a long time, and we have worked out our guesses scientifically!” Dad said.

“As long as you let me have one guess,” Jill said. “I know the answer.” She was sure as sure could be.

Mom went first. She typed in 19. The box made a loud buzzing noise, and the LED display flashed. When it stopped flashing, it read, “2 guesses remaining” She flushed and sat down heavily.

Then Dad tried. His guess was 38. Another buzz, another flash. “1 guesses remaining” (Jill thought it was funny that it said “1 guesses.”) Dad looked angry and turned red.

Ms Raza spoke up, “Gillian?”

Jill typed 31. The box played a little tune. The display flashed and read “CORRECT!” It opened on a hinge at one end and revealed inside 31 USB flash drives, each plugged into a receptacle They were numbered from 1 to 31.

Ms Raza clapped her hands once. “Well done, Gillian.”

11: A Once-in-a-Century Writing Event

Afterword

Ordinarily I release stories on the first and sixteenth of every month. This one, however, is scheduled for 15-Sep-2026. That’s because I wrote it for the TiF event “11: A Once-in-a-Century Writing Event”, and TiF imposed the 25-Sep release date.

Top In Fiction

16 days ago · 57 likes · 16 comments · The TiF Team

This story is a prolog. I intend to follow it with a second story, named “Thirty-one.”

The cover depicts 2, 3, 5, 11, and 31 colored disks arranged in five concentric ellipses.

★★★★★ Iron Kissed, by Patricia Briggs

Brok3n Engines — Tue, 22 Sep 2026 19:00:58 GMT

Iron Kissed

Patricia Briggs

** spoiler alert **

Mercy tangles with the Fay

The first three novels in Patricia Briggs‘s Mercy Thompson series introduce the thee main races of preternatural creatures that inhabit the MercyVerse: Werewolves, Vampires, and Fay. This doesn’t exhaust the list. Mercy herself is something different: a Walker, a shapeshifter who can take the form of a coyote. However, Wolves, Vamps, and Fay are the large majority of weird peoples. There are enough of them that they each have internal politics.

Someone has been murdering the inhabitants of the Fay reservation. Marcy’s mentor Zee, himself Fay, brings Mercy to visit the reservation and sniff around in her coyote form. The Fay are not very scent-oriented, and he hopes that Mercy’s coyote nose will be able to pick up clues the Fay themselves have missed. This works, but it works too well. Mercy learns things that the Fay don’t want anyone to know. She does, however, identify the murderer.

The Fay killer was human and belonged to an organization called Citizens for a Bright Future, which turns out to be a sort of anti-Fay Ku Klux Klan. I say the killer was human, because he is killed soon after Mercy identifies him. The police finger Zee as their first suspect. They arrest and imprison him.

Mercy of course continues to investigate in order to save Zee, and her investigation leads her to Bright Future.

I’m not a big fan of Content Warnings, but subsequent events warrant one. Almost the final scene of the novel is a brutal rape of Mercy by one of the Bright Future members, This was a very hard scene to read, and hard to listen to. Briggs is not gentle in describing the rape. It ends with Mercy beating her rapist’s brains out with a crowbar. (Mercy endorses this as therapeutic.)

I felt, in a way, that the pain of this scene was what made it permissible. If you’re going to write a story in which rape is an essential part of the plot, it should hurt to read it. Skipping lightly over the rape would cheapen it. Also, I didn’t know this the first time I read Iron Kissed, but I now know that the trauma of the rape is going to stick with Mercy for the rest of her life. “Rape survivor” is a permanent part of Mercy’s character.

Since I’m doing spoilers, I will mention that the novel ends with Mercy’s more innocent romantic questions being resolved. She consents to the happy relationship (and eventually marriage) that will carry her through the rest of the series. Mercy gets her Happy Ever After. That’s the reader’s reward for enduring the rape scene.

We end Iron Kissed positioned for the rest of the series. Mercy now has a home. She has friends and enemies among the Wolves, Vampires, and Fay. She is still in danger from them, to the point where, when I first read Iron Kissed, I wondered how Briggs was going to have her survive. Of course, you know she is going to: she is the hero of a 14-novel series. But her position is precarious enough that I felt genuinely frightened for her the first time I read Iron Kissed.

Iron Kissed on Amazon

★★★☆☆ A Divided Duty, by Seanan McGuire

Brok3n Engines — Mon, 21 Sep 2026 18:57:08 GMT

A Divided Duty

Seanan McGuire

Saving Rayseline

Until now, Rayseline Torquill has been a fairly minor character in the McGuire's October Daye urban fantasy series. In novel 20 (as McGuire points out, the series is no longer a teenager!), A Divided Duty, Raysel moves to the center of the story. She is the center in the sense that her well-being is the main subject of the novel. She is, unfortunately, mostly a passive center. The action is mostly our hero Toby, Toby's husband Tybalt, and Raysel's mother Luna.

Following the events of Silver and Lead, which saw the birth and attempted kidnapping of Toby and Tybalt's daughter Miranda, Toby is living a fairly peaceful and secluded life in San Francisco with Tybalt and and the many young folks who have become part of the family over the years. Aside from Miranda, Raysel is the most recent such acquisition. In past years Raysel had the misfortune to come under the influence of Evening Winterrose, who is more-or-less the principal villain of the series. As a consequence Raysel was put in an enchanted sleep. In a dream she asked Toby to take her in as a ward when she was awakened. This happened a few months before the events of Sleep No More. That's how Raysel became a member of Taby's household. Toby is trying to protect her while she recuperates and rehabilitates from her past life of crime.

When A Divided Duty begins, they both feel it is going well. However, that opinion is not universal. Raysel's mother Luna, who has always resented Toby, wants her daughter back. She solves this problem in the most direct way: she kidnaps Raysel. (That is in the publisher's blurb, and if the publisher has already spoiled, I'm free to mention it in a review without labeling it a spoiler.) Toby and Tybalt charge off to rescue Raysel.

It's a good story, but not, alas, very well told. Everyone talks about everything, endlessly. Raysel has psychological trauma in her past, and so does Luna, and so, indeed, does Toby herself. In fact, many of the other characters are fairly traumatized, and they talk about it. A certain amount of that is useful and even helpful to illuminate the action. But there is balance in all things! Or there should be.

If you're an October Daye fan (and I am), you're going to want to read this, anyway. Sadly, it felt more like a project than a good time.

Release date 29-Sep-2026.

But by Degrees

As usual, this novel is accompanied by a novella. This one is called But by Degrees, and it is about Toby's squire Quentin, whom readers of the series have long known. Quentin was traumatized by the events of Sleep No More. He is still trying to come to terms with having been turned into a bigot and a jerk by Titania's illusion. Quentin needs therapy, and he gets it. This novella is ALL TALK.

Dullsville, man!

A Divided Duty on Amazon

Up There: Voyage 6—The Marsh

Brok3n Engines — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 16:03:42 GMT

Up There: Voyage 6—The Marsh - Brok3n Engines

Up There: Voyage 6—the Marsh - Brok3n Engines

1.86MB ∙ EPUB file

Up There: Voyage 6—the Marsh - Brok3n Engines

403KB ∙ PDF file

Up There: Voyage 6—The Marsh
Previous chapters

Voyage 6—The Marsh

“So,” thought John, “We’re visiting Jack’s home, here in Rye.”

It was harder for John, because he could remember just five summers of his life here. (This would be the sixth.) The sisters had lived most of their lives here. He went to the library and asked Mrs Carter and Mrs Bush if they had any books about Rye. There was very little in the library. They told him where to find the Rye Historical Society and Town Museum. There was even a Rye History Trolley Tour on the Fourth of July, so he went on that.

One of the stops on the trolley tour was Rye Harbor. John often rode his bike down to the harbor to sit and read. But the tour guide pointed out something John had not noticed: the marsh. A salt water channel crossed Ocean Boulevard from the harbor. It led to the thirty acre Awcomin Marsh.

With a story idea in mind, John went back to explore the marsh. It was not easy on foot. John asked his parents if they might explore the marsh in a canoe, and they spent a day together doing that.

The Sea Devil sailed into Rye Harbor. Jack tied up at his mooring near the harbor entrance. With his canoe He fetched a dinghy from the shore, just big enough for the four of them.

“My home is a ten minute walk,” Jack told the Rodriguez family.

It was a small cottage with three rooms: Jack’s bedroom, a kitchen area, and a spare bedroom. The four of them had been living in the Sea Devil for months, and Jack’s cottage seemed a palace.

From Jack’s cottage it was a short walk to the ocean and the stony beaches of Rye. There they met Ananta. They could swim there. Jack warned them that, even in the summer, the water was cold.

“Don’t stay in the water longer than an hour. If your lips turn blue, come out and warm up.”

“You’re joking!” Anita said.

“I am not,” Jack said.

He really was not. The water was so cold that it was difficult even to enter the ocean. Ananta warned Anita when her lips turned blue.

One morning Jack told Felipe, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Can we come, too?” asked Anita.

“Better not this time,” said Jack. “This man lives alone in the marsh. If all four of us visit him together, I’m afraid he will vanish. But I hope he won’t be spooked by just two of us, since he and I are old friends.”

Jack and Felipe walked to the harbor. They rowed Jack’s dinghy out to the Devil. Jack took a brown paper bag from one of the cabinets. He and Felipe took the dinghy to the edge of the harbor, where a channel flowed into the harbor through a culvert under the road. They carried the dinghy across the road.

A sign there announced that they were entering the Awcomin Marsh. Jack knew that salt water flowed from the harbor into the marsh when the tide rose, and from the marsh to the harbor when the tide ebbed. He had chosen to come at high tide. The channel, perhaps twenty feet wide, was quiet. The banks were firm, held in place by the saltgrass that grew on them.

Jack rowed deep into the intricate network of channels.

“Where are we going, Jack,” asked Felipe. “How do you know the way?”

“We’re going to my friend’s home. When I was a kid I explored the marsh in my canoe, and I came upon him. He was kind to me, and we became friends.”

“You friend lives in the marsh?”

“You’ll see.”

“Is that safe, or even legal?”

“There’s nothing dangerous in the marsh, and Fred’s been here forever. I don’t even know how long. I found him twenty years ago. Legal? Probably not. But no one wants to make trouble for him.”

They approached the edge of the marsh, and a small saltgrass meadow. There stood a small garden shed of the kind sold in hardware stores. In front of the shed sat a man in a folding beach chair.

He stood up, and they saw that he was tall and lanky—all arms and legs, he appeared. He wore plain black clothes and a broad-brimmed black hat.

“Fred!” called Jack.

“Jack,” he replied. “It’s been a while. I heared tell that the Devil has not been seen in the harbor more than a year. I feared the worst.”

“No cause,” Jack answered. “The Devil and I have been around the world. She’s back at her mooring now. I made a new friend or two. Fred Paxford, this is Señor Doctor Felipe Rodriguez, whose family I met in Argentina.”

“Doctor Rodriguez,” said Fred and shook his hand.

“Just call me Rodriguez,” answered Felipe.

“Fred,” said Jack, “I came here to ask your help on a small matter.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Our last landfall was in Ireland. I visited a liquor store there, and I asked the owner to give me a bottle of Irish whiskey that would be suitable as a gift for a person who appreciated the good stuff.” Jack took the brown paper bag he had brought out of the dinghy, pulled out a bottle, and handed it to Fred. “Would you be so kind as to sample it and tell me if it’s safe to drink?”

Fred looked dubiously at the bottle. He unfolded two more chairs and set them down next to his, then retrieved two glass jars from behind his own chair.

“I know you don’t partake, Jack. Señor Rodriguez, will you risk a glass?”

“Certainly,” answered Felipe. “In the interests of science!”

“For science,” said Fred, splashing a measure of whiskey into each of the two jars.

“¡Salud!” responded Felipe, taking a swallow from his glass.

Twenty minutes later, Jack asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“Nothing wrong with it that I can tell,” Fred answered. “Course, it only been a few minutes. Who knows? Perhaps, we turn into frogs tonight.”

“Tell you what,” Jack said. “I’ll leave the bottle for you to finish. You can let me know if it’s OK.”

Felipe’s eyes laughed at this exchange, but he kept his face solemn.

Fred answered, “I will do that thing for you… WHAT IS THAT?”

All three of them jumped, as Ananta’s head rose from the channel.

“Ananta,” said Jack. “You were not invited here.”

“Jack!” screeched Ananta. “That person is not human!”

Like lightning, she drove her head at Fred’s chest with the speed of a striking spear. Quicker than thought Seph and Angie appeared in front of Fred, tall and commanding. Ananta bounced off them as if they were steel. Fred was unharmed. Ananta sank back into the water, her nose bruised.

Fred spoke sternly to Jack. “No friend would lead that thing here. Leave me. You ain’t welcome here any more.”

“Fred…” said Jack.

But Fred closed the door of his shed behind him.

“You seem sad,” Felipe said to Jack, back in his home. “Is it because of Fred?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it’s true what Ananta said, that Fred is not human?”

“I’ve always known it,” Jack answered. “His hands and feet are like the feet of a frog—green and webbed. He can swim in the coldest of water.”

“It is sad to lose a friend,” Felipe answered. “Although I know that Ananta is older than you in years, she often seems child-like. It’s a problem, because she’s so big.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Jack answered.

“No harm done this time, though,” answered Felipe. “Did you protect him?”

“My friends did,” Jack said.

“Are they here?” Steph asked John. “Here in Rye?”

“Yes,” answered John. “I gave Jack a small home down near Rye Harbor. The Rodriguez family is there with him.”

“Did anything fun happen to them?” Alice asked.

“Not so much fun, as sad,” John said. “Jack had an argument with an old friend who lives in the marsh. Do you know the marsh?”

“The Awcomin Marsh, down by the harbor?” Alice answered. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. I didn’t think anyone lived there.”

“Well, in the story, Jack’s friend does. He’s a Marsh-wiggle.”

“What’s that?” Alice asked.

“Aha!” said Steph. “I know that. It’s a kind of person in Narnia. There’s one named Puddleglum in one of them.”

Alice made a face. “Puddleglum? What kind of name is that?”

“Well, Puddleglum is a very gloomy person,” said Steph. “I guess that’s why Lewis gave him such a gloomy name. Which book is he in, Jack?”

“The Silver Chair,” John said. “It’s the one where Eustace and Jill and Puddleglum rescue Prince Rillian from a witch.”

“Is that the fourth book?”

“Well,” said John, suddenly pedantic, “there are two ways of numbering the series. The Silver Chair is number four in publication order, but number six in internal chronology.”

Steph waved her hand as if to fan herself. “Whew!”

“You should read them,” John told Alice. “They’re really good!”

“So Jack had an argument with Puddleglum—”

“—Fred,” Jack interrupted. “The Marsh-wiggle in the story is named Fred Paxford.”

“Fred?” said Steph. “What kind of name is that for a Marsh-wiggle?”

“Fred Paxford was CS Lewis’s gardener, and is the person he based Puddleglum’s personality on. Since the Marsh-wiggle in the story is living among people, I thought he should have a more ordinary-sounding name than Puddleglum.”

“OK, that makes sense.”

“So,” asked Alice. “Is Puddleglum/Fred joining our company of adventurers?”

“Well, there’s a problem with that. Fred is angry with Jack and told him to stay away.”

“Maybe we can think of a way to reconcile them?” said Alice.

“That would be great, if you can make it believable without weakening Fred’s character.”

“Are you Mr Paxford?” the girl asked Fred.

“I be,” Fred answered. “Who might you be?”

“Me llamo Anita Rodriguez,” Anita said. “I’m sorry, I should speak English. I am Anita Rodriguez. You met my father two days ago.”

“Did Jack send you?” Fred asked.

“Jack doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Your father, then?”

“No one else knows I’m here.”

“How’d you find me?”

“You know that Jack is hechicero, ¿No?”

“I’m sorry, young lady. Don’t know that word.”

“He is a kind of a magic man. He has a friend who is a talking snake, and he has friends who are spirits. And he has a friend who lives alone in a marsh.”

“Don’t know nuthin about no spirit friends.”

“Their names are Seph and Angie. They’re invisible to most people.”

“Most people?”

“Jack can see them. I can see them a little, when they let me.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale to me. But it’s true that serpent who came here spoke, and Jack spoke back to it.”

“Seph and Angie were there, too. They stood before you when Ananta struck and protected you from her.”

“Jack led two people to me in secret?” Fred asked, alarmed.

Jack gave her a hard look, and nodded. “True enough. But my spirit don’t show itself to other people.”

“That’s why I say he is a magic man, a hechicero.”

“And that’s how you come here? These spirits led you here?”

“Yes. They want me to tell you that Jack didn’t want Ananta to come here. Jack is sad because you’re angry with him.”

“Well, it’s true. I was angry with him,” said Fred. “But if you tell me true, maybe I was unfair to Jack.”

“¡Sí, sí!” said Anita. “Jack didn’t know Ananta followed, and Jack's spirit friends protected you.”

“Ananta is the serpent?”

“Sí, Señor. She is my friend, too, but she doesn’t know I’m here. I talked to her about attacking you, and she is sorry. Even though she is so big, she is really still a little girl. A little girl snake. You smelled funny to her, and that scared her.”

“Well, you know, I’m kind of a fairy tale myself,” Fred said. “Those spirits, are they here?”

“Seph, Angie! ¿Están aquí?” Pop! Pop! Anita saw them appear. “Yes, they are here.”

“I don’t see ‘em…” Fred said, then “Ow!” when Angie kissed his cheek, and Seph tapped the tip of his nose. “That’s creepy.”

The next morning, Jack found an empty Irish whiskey bottle just inside his bedroom window. Inside the bottle was a note, reading, “No ill effects yet. Jack, please come by. Need your help with something.”

Afterword

The cover image is a phase portrait of f(z) :

A phase portrait is a visualization of a complex function introduced by Elias Wegert in Visual Complex Functions: An Introduction with Phase Portraits.

All chapters

You Got a Friend

★★★★☆ Rats, by Craig Schaefer

Brok3n Engines — Tue, 15 Sep 2026 20:49:40 GMT

Rats

Craig Schaefer

On a mission

Rats is the third book in Craig Schaefer‘s Castaways series. It is currently (15-Sep-2026) the last one, although Schaefer plans two more.

Rats differs from the first two books in that it is not really a magic school book. Very little of the action of Rats takes place at Saunders Academy, the magic school in and around which the first two novels take place. Book 2, Firebreak, ended with two of the Castaways getting abducted.. The Castaways are the group of misfit students (yeah, yeah, I know -- what a cliché!) on whom the series is focused. Dalton and Olivia were snatched by a giant criminal rat-man named Shaddock. Shaddock flew away with the captives on his spaceship, which is manned by his sister, a rat-woman named Riva, and her best friend Marcie.

Well, of course you know what has to happen next -- rescue mission. This is not the first time the series has ventured away from the Saunders Academy, but the main previous excursion was to our Earth, which is where one of the Castaways comes from. This time we head out into Schaefer‘s First Story multiverse. I have not read any other First Story books, but I didn’t have any trouble following. This multiverse is broadly like most other fantasy multiverses you may have run into. Near the end we start to hear about some wider themes, like who the main good guys and bad guys of the universe are.

You’ve got the picture, I think. It’s a fantasy space adventure with a bunch of plucky magical kids. Not really breaking new ground. But the kids are fun, and the stakes feel genuinely high. I enjoyed it. If you enjoyed the first two books (and I did), you’ll enjoy this one, too. And I will continue with the series when the next books are published.

Rats on Amazon

★★★★★ Flash Harry's Confession and Other Stories, by Brok3n Engines

Brok3n Engines — Mon, 14 Sep 2026 20:22:42 GMT

Flash Harry’s Confession and Other Stories

Brok3n Engines

This is my book -- I wrote it

Flash Harry's Confession and Other Stories, is my, Brok3n Engines', first published book of fiction. I have read numerous Goodreads reviews written by their own authors. Thus I assume that it is acceptable to review my own book. Also, I've been kinda bummed by having zero reviews, so I'm gonna fix that. And yes, of course I give my own book five stars! Why would I have published it if I didn't think it was great!

I began publishing fiction on substack in April, 2025 -- find me at brok3nengines.com. (All my stories can be read for free there. Click on "Brok3n Engines Creations" in the link bar at the top of the page, then "See All >" near the bottom of that page.) I usually publish two stories each month, on the first and sixteenth of the month. Very occasionally I publish a poem instead of a story, but I am a lousy poet, so I don't do that often.

This volume contains 22 stories and 2 poems. The first twelve chapters are the two poems and ten standalone stories, beginning with "Flash Harry's Confession," which is still my favorite of the stories I have written. These first 12 chapters are followed by a nine-chapter serialized time-travel novella, Futures. Futures is succeeded by the first three chapters of what will be be a 12-13 chapter serialized novella, Up There to be published in full in my next book. (That one is still in progress. I have written nine chapters and planned the next three.)

What are the stories like? Well, if they remind you of Roger Zelazny, then I will have accomplished my aim. Most of the stories are Fantasy or Science Fiction.

I think I am pretty good at characters. To me, mine seem vivid, and interesting (not always likeable) and have interiority. I am not always great at plot. I sometimes have a hard time producing anything like a compelling conflict.

Please read, and PLEASE REVIEW!

Flash Harry’s Confession and Other Stories on Amazon

★★★★★ Blood Bound, by Patricia Briggs, full-cast audiobook

Brok3n Engines — Thu, 10 Sep 2026 18:59:34 GMT

Blood Bound

Patricia Briggs

Full-cast audiobook

Mercy and the vamps

When I began reading Patricia Briggs‘s Mercy Thompson series I expected stories about magical creatures. They are that, but I eventually realized that the series is about power and politics. Not politics that aligns in any simple way with the real-world politics around us. Rather, it is more like the politics of Renaissance Italy, riven by lethal palace intrigues.

Although there are many types of magical creatures in the Mercyverse, three communities dominate numerically. These are Werewolves, Vampires, and the Fae. (There are also communities of Witches, and any number of one-offs like Mercy herself -- a Walker who can change into a coyote.) Each of these Big Three types lives in communities whose structure reflects their distinct biology and magic.

The first three novels in the series introduce Werewolves (Moon Called), Vampires (Blood Bound), and the Fae (Iron Kissed), in that order. Briggs does an extraordinarily good job of ramping up tension across these first novels. Mercy gets into trouble with werewolves in the first, then vampires in the second, then the Fae in the third. It feels like she’s wading deeper and deeper into trouble with more and more powerful folk with each novel. Mercy herself is small and physically weak compared to these other magical creatures. I remember feeling genuinely frightened on Mercy’s behalf by the end of Iron Kissed.

The way this all works out without Mercy getting crushed is that she herself becomes powerful enough to deal with these threats. She does it in an interesting way. Rather than beceoming magically powerful, Mercy gains power the way that real people do: by making friends and alliances.

In Blood Bound Mercy does some favors for the local Vampire seethe. Things get complicated, of course.

This 2024 audiobook (Blood Bound was first released in 2007—I first read it around 2011) is a full-cast edition. I have mixed feelings about full-cast audiobooks. When well done, they can be really good. This one, in my opinion, is not. (Some of the actors are not very good, and I really could have done without the sound effects.) Going forward I intend to stick to the single narrator editions narrated by Lorelei King.

Blood Bound on Amazon

★★★★☆ Caesar's Avenger, by Alex Gough

Brok3n Engines — Tue, 08 Sep 2026 20:31:09 GMT

Caesar’s Avenger

Alex Gough

** spoiler alert **

Collapse of a Republic and rise of an Empire

When I was a kid, my family used to read the account of the birth of Christ from the Gospel according to Luke, which begins as follows, "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed." In High School we read Shakespeare's Julius Caesar (or perhaps just extracts thereof). We also heard quotes from his Antony and Cleopatra. My point is only that, if there is any bit of ancient history that even people who profess to know nothing about history are likely to have some familiarity with, it is the dramatic period from Julius Caesar's assassination through the reign of Augustus.

This makes sense, of course. It was this period that saw the replacement of the Roman Republic with the Roman Empire. The events are not just an incredible story in themselves -- they are fundamental to the rise of European civilization (which even Gandhi admitted would be a good idea).

Alex Gough's Mark Antony series tells this story from behind the eyes of Mark Antony. Gough points out that Antony's point of view is surprisingly neglected for so prominent an actor in such a storied time.

Book 2 of the series, Caesar's General, ended with Caesar's assassination. Book 3, Caesar's Avenger recounts the complicated mess that followed. Caesar's death left a power vacuum, which everyone who was anyone in Rome tried to fill. It all got very complicated, but after most of the dust settled, the battle was between Caesar's assassins, who called themselves the Liberators, and those who had supported Caesar in life and rued his murder, who called themselves the Caesarians.

There were two principal Caesarians. The first, of course, was Antony. The second, who more or less came out of nowhere, was Caesar's great-nephew Octavian, whom Caesar adopted posthumously in his will and left his wealth to. Octavian was a sickly young man with no military or political experience. But he was clever and able. Indeed, he eventually took the name Augustus -- we still honor him in the eighth month of every year -- and became the first Emperor of Rome.

There is little doubt that Caesar chose well when he picked Octavian as his heir. If you look up rankings of Roman Emperors (these are as easy to find as rankings of US presidents), Augustus consistently ranks near the top, most often at number 1. This is not to say that Antony would have been a bad emperor, but he never got there.

Octavian and Antony managed to remain on the same side of the struggle for power as long as they had a common enemy -- the Liberators. Caesar's Avenger ends when the Liberators have been decisively defeated. The final book, Caesar's Nemesis will take us through the struggle between Antony and Octavian, and not incidentally Antony's alliance with Cleopatra. Since it's history, we know that Octavian will win and Antony and Cleopatra will die.

This was good. Recommended.

Caesar’s Avenger on Amazon

★★★☆☆ “Woe the Day,” by Seanan McGuire

Brok3n Engines — Sun, 06 Sep 2026 18:43:14 GMT

Woe the Day

Seanan McGuire

“Woe the Day” is Seanan McGuire’s September 2026 Patreon reward story. She introduces it as follows:

(Image: A very fluffy high white caliby Maine Coon looks at the camera with big green eyes. The wall behind her is yellow, with blue jellyfish tendrils hanging down.)
Tybalt is continuing his progress toward the man we know and love today, with a stop in Paris as he runs ahead of near-certain doom. He is not having a great time.
Hopefully all of us are.
More to come!

This story follows the August reward story “Your Piteous Heart” almost immediately. Tybalt is pretty beaten up, since he was just defeated in a claw-to-claw battle by his heir at the Court of Silvered Cats in London. Tybalt intended this to happen. He was previously King of Silvered Cats, a responsibility he wanted to pass on to his heir. The ceremony for royal passage among cats is a battle to the death, although the winner may offer clemency to the loser. That’s what happened in this case.

After beating the stuffing out of Tybalt, his heir, the new king, Corentin, allowed Tybalt to leave alive. He is still being pursued by Asier, who will kill him if he catches him. Thus McGuire’s remark that “He is not having a great time.”

Tybalt flees to the Court of Illuminated Cats in Paris. As an Englishman, Tybalt is not especially welcome, and as a deposed king he has no status. He therefore asks the Queen, Faustine, for permission to remain in Paris a week while he equips himself with clothing and supplies. She allows it, not with great grace, but that was what he expected.

There in Paris he meets some changelings who ask for his help. In his straightened circumstances there is not a lot he can offer, but he does what he can, hinting to Faustine that it may be to her benefit to treat them kindly.

The story ends with Tybalt setting out for Cambria, which is, I gather, just another name for Wales. Presumably that’s where we’ll see him next.

“Woe the Day” on Patreon

Seanan McGuire’s Patreon

★★★★★ Moon Called, by Patricia Briggs, narrated by Lorelei King

Brok3n Engines — Fri, 04 Sep 2026 20:24:34 GMT

Moon Called

Patricia Briggs, narrated by Lorelei King

I'd forgotten how good this is

I first read Patricia Briggs's Moon Called around 2011, I think. Since then I have read every available Mercy Thompson novel, as well as all the novels in the spin-off Alpha and Omega series. It was the first urban fantasy I ever read1, and it is still my favorite.

Thus, when I was looking for audiobooks to listen to while I walk and drive, I naturally thought of Mercy. This re-read of Moon Called surprised me in two ways. First, because Briggs has slowed down in recent years (and also, to be completely honest, because the later Mercy novels are not quite as gripping as the earlier ones), I had forgotten how GOOD Moon Called is, and how skillfully written.

The other thing that came as a surprise, although it shouldn't have, was seeing Mercy at the beginning of her journey. Mercy is an auto mechanic and also a shape-shifter -- she can take the form of a coyote. In a world that contains werewolves, vampires, and fay, a 30-pound coyote is not very impressive. In Moon Called Mercy appears small and weak.

As the series proceeds, however, she becomes more powerful. In the latest currently published installments of the series, she is one of the most powerful magical people in America. She becomes powerful in an interesting way, not so much by gaining magical powers (although there is some of that) as by making powerful friends. That is, she becomes powerful in the way that real people in the real world become powerful. Mercy has friends because when Mercy is your friend, she has your back. You can depend on her.

Although I knew this, it had been a long time since I had seen early Mercy, and she was a revelation to me all over again. The audiobook is narrated by Lorelei King, who does a good job with it.

Moon Called on Amazon

Mercy was my first urban fantasy unless you count Charles Stross‘s Laundry Files series which does, I think, meet the strict definition of urban fantasy, but has always felt more to me like science fiction.

★★★☆☆ Táin Bó Cuailnge, translated by Thomas Kinsella

Brok3n Engines — Thu, 03 Sep 2026 19:54:49 GMT

Táin Bó Cuailnge

translated by Thomas Kinsella

** spoiler alert **

Cúchulainn’s great fight

The Táin Bó Cuailnge is a classic of Irish folklore. It tells the story of an invasion by the Irish province Connacht, led by its Queen Medb and King Ailill into the province of Ulster, ruled by Conchobor, with the aim of stealing Ulster’s prize bull Donn Cuailnge, which Medb coverts because she wants to have a better bull than her husband Ailill. The warriors of Ulster are superior to those of the rest of Ireland, and indeed, the rest of the world. (In case you haven’t twigged yet, this is an Ulster story told by Ulstermen, without even the slightest pretense of objectivity.) The raid is feasible only because the men of Ulster suffer a curse called the pangs of Ulster that temporarily disables almost all of them.

One hero is left able to fight for Ulster: the 17-year-old boy Cúchulainn. He single-handedly holds off all the other armies of Ireland until the Ulstermen recover from the pangs. Most of The Táin recounts Cúchulainn’s fights against the Connacht fighters. He is always victorious and single-handedly destroys most of the thousands of Connacht fighters. Eventually the Ulstermen recover from their pangs and come out to fight off Connacht.

From a modern point of view the whole story is deeply, deeply stupid. That is partly because the Ulster bards who told the tale wanted Connacht to look stupid. But from the perspective of the twenty-first century the Ulstermen hardly come off better. Indeed, even the (probably) eighth century scribe who copied out what is now the Book of Leinster, wrote in a Latin endnote

I who have copied down this story, or more accurately fantasy, do not credit the details of the story, or fantasy. Some things in it are devilish lies, and some poetical figments; some seem possible and others not; some are for the enjoyment of idiots.

It becomes obvious if you think about it that the battle and slaughter are the point. These men want nothing more than a chance to die in battle. They may have a slightly preference for being victorious in battle, but if so, it is very slight. They want to fight famous battles and be remembered ever after. The Táin was written down in the 8th century but the story itself clearly dates to an even older oral tradition, before the fifth century. And here I am reading it in 2026. So, yeah, boys (and the occasional girl), you got your wish.

Translator Thomas Kinsella worked hard to assemble this story in coherent form from the several ancient manuscripts that tell pieces of it. I do not myself know anything about ancient Irish, so I can’t judge the translation per se. But it has all the hallmarks of careful work.

The Táin: From the Irish epic Táin Bó Cuailnge on Amazon

Fay and Sudden and Unholy

Brok3n Engines — Tue, 01 Sep 2026 16:03:30 GMT

Fay and Sudden and Unholy - Brok3n Engines

Fay And Sudden And Unholy - Brok3n Engines

249KB ∙ PDF file

Fay And Sudden And Unholy - Brok3n Engines

1.75MB ∙ EPUB file

Fay and Sudden and Unholy

Epigraph

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
— “The Wanderings of Oisin, Part 1”, by WB Yeats

Fay and Sudden and Unholy

Cold rain ran over Patrick’s face. The date lacked four days of the spring equinox. His threescore and ten years had already passed. He was an old blockhead to stand in the cold winter rain. Yet he had lived no easy life—he counted himself a hard man still.

There was … a thing … in the dark rain. He stood before a huge old willow. The rain poured through the willow into a solid shape. It took the form of a woman, slender, short-haired, clothed in blue. She glowed, like one of God’s own saints. Rain streamed from her in silver sparks.

“Woman! What are you!” he shouted.

“I am sister to the rain,
Fay and sudden and unholy,” a voice intoned.

“But what are you?” Patrick demanded again.

“You once named me ‘a demon thing.’”

“Woman, I did not,” Patrick answered. “I do not know you.”

“We have never before met, Adze-Head.”

The druids had been wont to mock him thus. “You are a druid?” he asked.

“I was old already when druids were a new thing,” she said.

“Tell me your name,” Patrick demanded.

“I am Niamh,” she answered.

“Niamh.” He had indeed heard that name. Who had said it? Then he remembered—that old heathen Oisín.

“Was it you who beguiled the old fool Oisín?”

“I was his wife, and he the father of my children.”

“He was a rake, and you his drab. Your union with Oisín was not sanctioned by Holy Church. You were sinners.”

“You are well-named, Adze-Head.”

“My name is Patrick, Thing.”

“I will not name you Patricius. My husband Oisín was a father. You have never been one.” She held out a jeweled casket. “I have preserved Oisín’s life with me in this casket. Shall I give you Oisín’s life and fatherhood?”

Patrick’s pride was stung by her words. And his curiosity was aroused. What devil’s trick could be in this box? Patrick shrugged.

Niamh opened it.

Looking into the open compartment, Patrick’s sense was swept away. He was young again and strong. He rode on a great white horse. He sat before the demon-woman, Niamh, held in her arms. The horse galloped over the sea, pacing the water as easily as if it were a grassy plain.

…

They came to a fair land named Tír na nÓg. It was inhabited by fay and elves. Patrick played his harp for a company of fay. They begged him to stop this music too sad to bear.

…

Patrick lay in Niamh’s naked arms, dizzy with love. She bore him three children, Oscar, Plor na mBan, and Finn.

They lived long years in Tír na nÓg. Together they loved and raised the children. As children will, theirs left. No word came back.

Patrick ached to know what their children became.

…

Asleep with Niamh, Patrick dreamed he stood in a moonlit meadow. A starling, weak from long miles of flight, alighted in the meadow. The starling brought memories of hunts with the Fianna, and the great men he had known. His own father Fionn Mac Cumaill was first among them.

He grieved for his old life with the Fian.

Knowing what he wanted, the great white horse came to him. Niamh, waking, grew pale as the whitest pearl.

“Niamh,” he called. “The longing is on me. I must see my old comrades once more.”

“They are no more, my love. If you go now I may never see you again.”

Patrick rode alone over the waves, leaving Niamh behind.

“Is there no more, Thing?” Patrick said to Niamh. “Oisín returned to Ireland. He was bent and old. I met him. He told me his story. I exhorted him to repent. He refused God. He burns in Hell now.”

“I can show you no more. This box is mine. It captured only that part of Oisín’s life he shared with me. He never returned after my white horse bore him away. I shared with you all I have of Oisín.”

“But what of our children—that is to say, your children?”

“I never heard more of them. You, Adze-Head, were the last to speak with Oisín.”

“I knew him a creeping old man, full of sleep, with little life left to live. Three hundred years had passed since he was born of Fionn Mac Cumaill and Sadhbh.”

“I gave you Oisín’s life, his three hundred years with me. He lived those years with me in Tír na nÓg, where all are young. Here in Ireland men become old.”

A weakness passed over Patrick. His vision and memory faded. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Was this grief at the passing of the children, or something more?

“I die!” he cried and fell at Niamh’s feet.

Afterword

This story began when I read the story of Oisín and Niamh as told by WB Yeats in his poem “The Wanderings of Oisín.” About the same time I happened to reread Dorothy Parker’s poem “Rainy Night,” (an old favorite), and I imagined Niamh singing its words as an incantation. I used two lines in the story

I am sister to the rain;

Fey and sudden and unholy,

…although I altered “fey” to “fay” to better fit the story.

The cover is a cycle graph of the cyclic group Z₆, meant here to stand for Niamh, Patrick, Oisín, Oscar, Plor na mBan, and Finn. The colors are based on a phase portrait of

Where niamh and patrick are the centers of the corresponding graph vertexes.

Haunted

After seeing this music video, it became impossible to imagine Niamh as anyone other than Sinead O’Conner. It is true that she is traditionally known as Niamh Cinn-Óir, Golden-haired Niamh. But she is Fay—surely her appearance is a glamour that she can change at will.

★★★★☆ Stalky & Co, by Rudyard Kipling

Brok3n Engines — Mon, 31 Aug 2026 12:20:02 GMT

Stalky & Co

Rudyard Kipling

Not entirely inaccurate stories of an English boarding school

There is a long tradition of stories and novels about English Public Schools. (Terminology: what the English traditionally called "public schools" are what we in the USA would call "private schools".) Stalky & Co. bears roughly the same relationship to this literature as Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey does to the English gothic fiction of her time. That is, it nods at that old tradition with some degree of affection even while making fun of it. Indeed, at least two such books, Eric, or Little by Little and St. Winifred's or The World of School are mentioned by name, with a sort of backhanded respect.

Stalky & Co. is based on Rudyard Kipling's experiences at the United Services College -- a private boarding school intended to feed students to the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, which is frequently mentioned by name in Stalky & Co.. That is, the United Services College was meant to prepare Britain's future military leaders. Stalky & Co. is thus unusual in English school novels in that school is intended to do something for the students -- to prepare them for a specific future.

The three main characters of Stalky & Co. are Stalky, M'Turk, and Beetle. (Their real names are probably mentioned somewhere, but they are known almost entirely by these nicknames in the book.) Stalky, as the title suggests, is the leader of this little group. Beetle is Rudyard Kipling himself -- not really even disguised -- he even refers to himself in the first person in the final chapter. Stalky, M'Turk, and Beetle are bad boys in the long literary tradition of children who misbehave but are not actually evil.

Stalky is a schemer who elaborately plans what we would now call cons, intended to get himself and the boys the things they want (only occasionally material goods) and punish those they see as their oppressors. The book is superficially anti-bullying. In one chapter, "The Moral Reformers", Stalky & Co capture and punish a group of bigger boys who are bullying a smaller boy. The moral lesson is fairly completed vacated, however, by Stalky & Co showing themselves to be bullies in their treatment of the bigger boys once the latter are in their power.

I have very mixed feelings about Stalky & Co.. On the one hand, I cannot deny Stalky & Co's moral turpitude, even according to my extraordinarily lax, indeed almost nonexistent standards. On the other hand Stalky & Co. is an immensely fun read. You might not find it so. Those aforementioned lax standards give me an advantage in this regard. If you are a Good Person, you should not expect to enjoy reading Stalky & Co.. But I did!

Stalky & Co on Amazon

★★★★☆ Coyote vs Acme, directed by David Green

Brok3n Engines — Sun, 30 Aug 2026 19:14:27 GMT

Coyote vs Acme

Directed by David Green

A big basket of Easter eggs

I begin by stating the obvious. The Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies shorts released by Warner Bros between 1930 and 1964 represent the acme (pun intended) of artistic achievement, the highest and best art that humanity has achieved to date. Surely we can all agree on that? We may differ as to which specific shorts are the best. In particular, I was never quite so taken by the Coyote vs Roadrunner shorts—they always seemed to me more like études, intended to help a creator flesh out some ideas, than full-fledged works. Still utterly brilliant.

The film Coyote vs Acme, which I saw on the Big Screen yesterday, began life as a short piece by Ian Frazier in The New Yorker, and subsequently published in his collection of stories Coyote V. Acme. It purports to be the “Opening statement of Mr Harold Schoff, attorney for Mr Coyote,” suing Acme for defective products. If you’d like to read it for free, search the web for “coyote vs acme texas bar journal,” and you will find a free PDF courtesy of Dallas Judge Jerry Buchmeyer, who obtained permission to reprint it.

Frazier’s piece is merely the idea that forms the basis of the movie. To make a movie of it the writers had to invent the story of the lawsuit. It is a basket of Easter eggs that old-time fans of the shorts can catch. The first that caught my eye is the name of the law firm hired by Coyote to sue Acme: Avery, Jones & Maltese. This is a reference to WB animators Tex Avery, Chuck Jones, and Michael Maltese, Coyote’s Attorney Kevin Avery is played by Will Forte. The film combines animations with live-action. Coyote is a cartoon, his lawyer Kevin Avery, played by actor Will Forte, is human. Most of the movie combines live action and animation. There are plenty of slapstick action pieces reminiscent of the original Looney Tunes shorts. I was not disappointed.

Coyote vs. Acme on IMDB

Trailer

★★★★☆ The Undead Fox of Deadwood Forest, by Aubrey Hartmann

Brok3n Engines — Fri, 28 Aug 2026 19:58:33 GMT

The Undead Fox of Deadwood Forest

Aubrey Hartmann

The story of a spirit

Clare is a fox. He has died and resides in Deadwood Forest. Notice how carefully I wrote that sentence to avoid implying that Clare is either dead or alive. He is, as the title of the novel implies, undead. He is an Usher. He meets dead souls that arrive at Deadwood Forest and knock on his door and helps them to their correct destination, one of the four realms of Pleasure, Progress, Peace, or Pain. (In a book for older readers Clare might have been called a psychopomp.)

Clare died very, very young, and the event that killed him left him missing parts of his body. He thinks of himself as a monster and wears a cloak and a monocle to hide his disfigurement. He loves mushrooms and maintains a large mushroom garden near his home. He has an issue with badgers, stemming from the events surrounding his death.

He is thus dismayed when a badger knocks on his door. He is even more dismayed when he can't discern which realm she belongs in.

This is very much a "I'm going to teach my readers some lessons" kind of book. That always puts me off, especially when the author is heavy-handed about it. Behind the moral lessons, however, it is rather a good story. It deserves the Newbery honor.

The Undead Fox of Deadwood Forest on Amazon

★★★★★ The Cairndale Orphan, by J.M. Miro

Brok3n Engines — Thu, 27 Aug 2026 19:51:56 GMT

The Cairndale Orphan

J.M. Miro

A dark London mystery

J.M. Miro‘s The Cairndale Orphan is the last of the seven stories that comprise the Amazon Original series Magic and Mystery. It is brilliant, easily the best of the seven. It is also listed by Goodreads as #2.5 in The Talents Trilogy, which is, I believe, more a trilogy in progress than a trilogy in actual fact, there being only two novels extant today, 27-Aug-2026. One presumes another is on the way. I have not read any of these novels but intend to now.

The story is told from the point of view of a man called Bromley. He is a detective in a dark, Dickensian London, a city that eats its children. (Not literally, s far as I know, but it wouldn’t surprise me.) A child, David Pye, comes to Bromley’s home and tells him of a monster loose in London.

The real strength of this story is the setting. Its dark London is brilliantly realized.

The Cairndale Orphan on Amazon