Transcript
[0:04] Welcome everybody to such an exciting evening. We are going to hear from the finalists in our Oxford Pushkin Children's Book Fantasy Prize tonight. But before we get to that point, We are going to introduce everybody in the room, including our virtual participants, because I wanted to run this like an Inklings meeting. So what Tolkien and Lewis and their friends used to do, they would dine and then they would go to C.S. Lewis's rooms in Magdalen and sit together and share what they had written. So that's why we're in this kind of venue, because we're going to hear what wonderful stories have been written for this competition.
But I'm going to go around the room and introduce everybody. So most important guests this evening of course are our finalists. Yes, please do give them a round of applause. So we have, I'm afraid I'm also the cameraman today, so excuse me while I just do it like that.
We have sitting on the sofa our lovely trio of Grace Kaveney.
[1:27] Yes, Penn Holland and Reba, what's your surname? Katton.
Reba Katton, thank you. And joining us on my laptop is Amy Bryant, we'd like to wave Amy, who is probably, it's like terribly early in the morning because she's in New Zealand.
And then we got Meg, is it Gartner? Gartner? Gartner, who is joining us from America, am I right?
[1:56] Yeah, she's nodding. Yes. So everybody is here, which is fantastic.
I'm Julia Golding. I am an author, but I also run this center, the Oxford Centre for Fantasy.
And next to me is, will you introduce yourself? I'm Christabel. I work for David Hime Associates. So I work with Julia.
That's an agency. agency. And I really enjoyed reading all of these. I thought the quality was exceptional.
And then at the end of the sofa, we have... Yeah, I'm Daniel. I'm an editor at Pushkin Children's Books. And we've given our names to this prize along with the Oxford Centre for Fantasy. So yeah.
And then sitting over there, we have Amelia, who might have to get up and wave at the people.
Yeah, I'm a writer, I'm a novelist, but many, many years ago I used to work with Julia at Oxfam.
I'm also a photographer. Yeah, I loved reading the excerpts and the full final novels, it was a real treat.
So thank you so much.
And Emilia is also a trustee of the Oxford Centre for Fantasy.
And standing behind her is Nigel, who is another of our trustees, do you want to wave to Meg and Amy?
[3:15] Yeah. And then now the order breaks down. So going around the room we have Ari who lives here. He's one of our very, he was the very first member of the new Inklings idea in this house at number five Northmoor Road. And Joyce who is our admin. And now we have the very important special plus ones for our finalists. I won't get you to introduce you by name.
And then downstairs, from downstairs, they've come upstairs, Diana and Andrew who live in the house.
And not last but no, we've also got Mark, I almost forgot you.
Mark is our reader tonight, he's a great voice artist.
And then we have Alice, who is another literary agent from Felicity Bryan, is it Associates?
Which is an Oxford-based literary agency. So, we're doing pretty well on the old literary front here. So, I'm going to start this evening just as, oh, one last person on the screen there is Brian who does all our social media, his team do our social media, so very important.
And is there somebody else on the screen?
[4:37] Oh, that's us. I haven't got my glasses on. So when C.S. Lewis brought people into his room, it was a very simple thing they did each evening, which was they would say, has anybody got anything to read?
And tonight, we do know that people have something to read.
So we're going to go through this by alphabetical order. So Amy, that means your piece is going to be up first. So we're going to start with an extract from The Lion and the Mage, which is a splendid adventure in which Ezran, who has been taken off the streets as an orphan and trained to believe that he himself is fated to save the world. This is until he he meets Kala, who is a healer and lives with the rebels.
So it's like a classic fantasy. In this extract, Calla's life takes a sudden bad turn.
Calla's Heart and Home
[5:43] I really do enjoy getting to know the characters that you've written, and if I can announce any of your characters, Hermione instead of Hermione or whatever, I do apologize.
So this is an extract from Chapter 4. When twilight crept in, Calla's heart was as full as her stomach.
She sat on the ladder to the loft while her mother fed Tal extra bowls of steaming lamb stew, and her brothers quizzed him on his training till his eyes glowed with pride.
She missed her father's presence at the table, but three years ago he'd died in the fields and visiting home had never felt the same.
Perhaps it's time for bed, my Calla, her mother said, probably noticing her faraway eyes.
You can share my room and the boys can take the loft.
Calla sighed and nodded. Time and distance had flowed between her and her old life, like the stream under the low dirt bridge.
She knew every knot in the house's walls by heart, every creak in the floorboards.
Too much had changed, she changed too much for it to ever truly be home again.
[6:47] A scream rent the stillness of the twilight, piercing Calla's heart.
"'Arcturus!' she cried, leaping to her feet. More screams followed, people this time. Calla bolted from the house in her bare feet, followed by Tal and her brothers.
Soldiers fought in the street with Rav's men, soldiers wearing scarlet cloaks of Aldebaran.
Arcturus reared in the middle of them, while Abbie struggled to hold his rope.
Calla ran to help, but a spear flew from nowhere, piercing Abbie's chest.
Calla bit back a cry as he crumpled to the ground.
Enemies swarmed around Arcturus, trying to grab his rope as it whipped through the air.
Arcturus tore into a man with his hooves, soon crushing him underfoot.
He kicked another in the ribs, and Calla heard his scream and the sickening crunch. "'Calla!
Get back here!' Tal yelled from somewhere behind her. Another man yelped as Arcturus turned on him.
Bolted for the forest, sealing his certain death. Arcturus thundered after him.
[7:47] Kala looked back at the silhouette of her family's house, seeing Tull with Ralf's men fighting outside. They seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Her mother would be safe.
She checked that no one followed her, then sprinted across the dirt bridge toward the forest.
Tree trunks loomed like giant pillars as she pursued Arcturus inside, almost tripping over the broken body of the man who'd foolishly run. His gruesome remains twisted her insides, but she stumbled on. Crashing sounds came through the sparse undergrowth up ahead.
Arcturus screamed once more, a cry of rage, and Kalla felt a stab of fear.
She hurried towards him, then gave a cry herself. Two thick chains were wrapped around his neck, binding him between two trees, then disappearing into the dirt. Arcturus thrashed and raged, as if he could tear the giant trunks up by their roots. Kala ran to him, fearing he might hurt himself. Arcturus, calm! He snorted breath, hot with fury, frothing at the mouth, but stilled enough at her voice for her to approach. No one seemed to be around, but the cruelty of the trap made Kala's blood boil. The chains had already gouged into his flesh. She tugged and tried to loosen them. Sending healing into Arcturus's wounds. Easy, Arcturus. These won't hold you long. Reinforcements would arrive soon. She only needed to keep him calm.
[9:14] No doubt Tal's eagle eyes had been watching her every move.
[9:18] Be careful. He's dangerous." Kala spun to face the calm voice. A boy sat astride a chestnut horse, watching her from not five paces away. She straightened her shoulders, pretending he hadn't startled her. Not to me. The boy looked too young to be part of the attackers, only a year or so older than her, and he carried no weapon. But the assured way he sat on his horse said he was exactly where he wanted to be. The boy flashed her a grin. How can you be sure?
He had black hair and olive skin, and his eyes flicked between her and Arcturus, as if trying to decide who interested him more.
He's my friend, Kala said, meeting his gaze.
[10:01] So you know whose horse this is? the boy asked, suddenly intense on her alone. him.
Do you?" Kaller replied. Something flickered deep in his eyes, in his dark eyes.
Someone who'd be very annoyed at having it taken. Arcturus thrashed once more, reinforcing his wounds even as Kaller tried to heal him.
She didn't trust the boy a thread, but until Kattal arrived, she hadn't a chance of removing the chains.
Perhaps if she played ignorant.
Help me, we can get these off!
The boy looked uncomfortable for a split second, and that's when Calla noticed the velvety black cloak clasped about him and the gleaming bronze circlet on his brow.
She stared at the chains. You did this.
The boy shifted in the saddle. You. You're him.
You've heard of me?
I've heard of rats that were better than you. He flashed another grin.
That's a good one. Although, his voice sobered for the first time, as did his eyes, I've known some very fine rats.
The sound of shouts made them both glance back towards the village.
"'She's in the forest!' yelled an unfamiliar voice.
Something cold and hard wrapped around Calla's wrist. She looked down to see a thinner chain snaking around it.
Her heart gave a thud of horror, and she tried to pull away, but the chain tightened instead.
"'Let me go!' she warned glaring at the boy.
[11:26] "'The horse is more legendary than you, but the queen doesn't seem to think so.', Calla's heart picked up a faster rhythm.
Him. Rav's men should have been here by now.
They're after me." He grinned and nodded. How do you like feeling so important?
Kala pulled back, Rav's dream ring softly glowing in her hand.
You should let me go. His smile disappeared.
I can't do that.
Of course you can, you just- Another chain broke out of the ground near the tree roots, just as Tal burst through the trees.
He drew his sword and rushed at the boy, but a chain wrapped around his chest.
Tal cried out as it tightened around him.
It pinned his arm to his side, snaking around him and forcing his hand open until his sword fell to the ground.
[12:12] Enemy soldiers strode through the trees, led by a thin-shouldered man with a black pointed beard.
[12:19] "'Kill him, Ezran,' the man said. "'He's part of Rav's guard.', He raised a dagger to Tal's neck, as if to do it himself.
"'Leave him,' the boy commanded. And to Kalla's surprise, the man listened.
The boy studied her a moment, then Arcturus, then Tal.
He gave a nod, as if something about the three of them pleased him.
"'Bring them all,' he said, turning his horse away.
"'You heard, Lord Altai,' the man snapped, and the scarlet-cloaked soldiers hurried to obey.
Recognition flooded Tal's face at the name the man had used.
His eyes met Kala's, the horror in them echoing what she already knew.
Ezran Altai, the mage's apprentice.
[13:01] Thank you. Very good. So, Amy, would you like to tell us a little bit of how you came to write this story?
Yeah. It came one day while I was listening to a song and I heard one line of the song and just the whole plot kind of sprung into my head.
A lot of that moment was, it was all the climax that came into my head right then and then very quickly the rest of the story followed all building to that point and that's the quickest I've ever had a book idea come together. Thank you and so the Aspren's got this magic of being able to make time change which was going to help with that piece. Do you want to So tell us a little bit about Kala and her gift.
[13:55] Yes, so Kala's a healer. So she can heal people and sense their pain that's going around. And most healers need to touch somebody to heal them, but Kala doesn't need to.
And she keeps that secret for a lot of the book. And her gift is kind of the opposite of Ezran's, because his is a lot about controlling and bringing death and her side of things is more just life-giving and helping people.
Thank you very much. Thank you, Amy.
Excellent. So right, I'm going to ask Pippa now to just introduce Grace's story.
It's a spooky story set in Manchester. In this extract from earlier in the story, Heather has been standing at the tram stop her little sister disappears, quite literally disappears, as you will see.
[14:53] How's your Manchester accent? Not great, as you're about to discover.
Apologies, Magpulians. Lily!
Heather searches for her missing sister at the tram stop.
[15:04] Heather looked up and down the platform, but she couldn't see any sign of her sister anywhere. Where was she?
Why had she abandoned her stuff? Then the message on the overhead board saying the tram was one minute away changed to approaching, and a yellow tram came into view down the road.
It slid along the rails until it came to an abrupt, squeaking stop at the platform.
The doors opened with a hiss. People got off, and people got on.
"'Lily!' Heather shouted, wiping rain away from her eyes and struggling to see over the heads of the shuffling crowd.
"'Lily, the tram's here!' But Lily was still nowhere to be found.
After a minute or so, the tram's doors hissed closed again, and it pulled away from the platform, continuing its journey onwards towards St Peter's Square.
[15:49] Curious, Heather pulled out her phone and called Lily's number.
It didn't even ring, but instead went straight to voicemail.
Was she on the phone? Who the hell would she be on the phone to, when the time was so pressing?
Heather tried calling her two more times, but the result was the same.
She checked the time.
It was eight minutes past seven. That left them less than five minutes to get Lily on the train.
More frustrated than ever, Heather fired off an angry text to her sister.
Where the hell are you? We've missed the tram now.
No sooner had she turned the phone screen off than it pinged back a message.
Message undelivered. Undelivered?
[16:25] What did that mean? That usually only happened when you didn't have a good phone signal.
Heather was at full bars, and she very much doubted that Lily wouldn't be able to get any signal in the city centre.
She looked around the now almost deserted platform helplessly.
Across the square, she glimpsed the violinist through the rain, still sheltering under the doorway.
His gaze slid quickly away when they made eye contact, and he went on trying to put his violin back into its battered case. she got the impression he'd been watching her.
An unnerving thought occurred to her suddenly. What if Lily hadn't just sauntered off?
What if someone had taken her? Almost as soon as the idea came to Heather, she dismissed it as ridiculous. Lily was thirteen, not three. She was smart enough not to wander off with some stranger, and it wasn't as if somebody could have abducted her by force from a crowded city centre platform. Heather ducked under the tram stop's perspex roof to get out of the rain, dragging Lily's belongings with her, and tried to think. Again, she dialed Lily's number. Again, she got the voicemail message. She hadn't really expected anything else.
[17:32] She checked the time. It was 7.15 now, and unless the train was running late, and it would be, sods Laura and all that, Lily had definitely missed it. Heather considered for a moment whether her sister had decided not to wait for her and had instead just hopped on a tram in in the direction of Piccadilly train station.
[17:50] But no, that wasn't possible. The only tram that Lily could have got on in the time she'd been at the platform was the one that Heather had seen arrive and leave.
Lily definitely hadn't gotten on to that. She thought briefly, desperately about calling her mother for help, but no.
Ma was working a shift on the A&E floor of the hospital.
She wouldn't be able to answer her phone.
Heather would have to find Lily on her own. Just then, a tram pulled up on the other side of the platform, letting its passengers spill out through the doors.
That gave her a spark of an idea. Somebody loitering on the platform might have seen what direction her sister went in.
Much as Heather didn't enjoy speaking to strangers, she'd have to ask around.
"'Excuse me, excuse me, have you seen my sister? She's thirteen, dark brown hair.
She was wearing a rah-rah skirt and a red hairband.
No?
Thanks anyway. Excuse me, have you seen my sister?' Lily got nopes, shrugs, shakes of heads, sympathetic looks, indifferent glances.
What she didn't get was any news as to her sister's whereabouts.
When she finally slumped down on one of the platform benches, the rain had long stopped, and it was twenty past seven already. She was forced to accept that the people who were on the platform now had probably not been there when her sister disappeared.
[19:05] For God's sake, Lily! She punched furiously into her phone.
It's your bloody train you've missed.
No one can explain to Ma why she needs to buy you another ticket." She hit send and waited.
Ping. Message undelivered.
Heather stared down at those two little words on her phone, and it finally hit her that Lily was gone. Not waiting around the corner, jabbering into her phone, or wandered off to look at the clothes shops in the Arndale Centre.
She was gone. Vanished.
[19:34] Heather felt the sob begin in her stomach, work its way up through her heart and lungs, crawl up her throat, and then finally burst from her mouth in an undignified moment of abject misery. Tears prickled in her eyes, and the sobs kept coming, and her whole body was shaking, and she could see people on the platform turning around to look at her, but she didn't care.
It didn't matter. What mattered was that she had lost Lily. She had lost her sister, and she still didn't even understand how it could possibly have happened.
Somewhere between her desperate run back to the restaurant and her frantic return to the platform, something had happened to her sister. Possibly something dreadful, and it was all Heather's fault. She should have been with her. She should have been watching her. She should have...
At that precise moment, Heather's phone began vibrating in her pocket, and blaring its jarring ringtone. She scrambled to pick it up, a wave of release coursing through her.
Her. Lily! But then she looked at the caller ID, and saw that it was not Lily, it was her mother.
Heather's mouth was suddenly drier than sandpaper.
She would have to tell her mother what had happened, and the moment she did, all of this would become undeniably real. They would have to contact the police, they'd have to put up missing posters, make desperate appeals for information on the ten o'clock news.
[20:52] She let the phone continue to ring for a few seconds, each one feeling longer than the last.
Then she steeled herself and accepted the call. I love...
Ma was in the car again. Heather could hear her starting the ignition.
I'm just leaving the hospital now.
They didn't need me for long. Anyway, I was wondering if you've got anything to eat in town, or whether you wanted tea at home.
I'm thinking of doing a spag bol.
Ma, Heather's voice was small.
Her mother went on talking, probably not even hearing her. That's what I fancy, but if you want something else, I think we've got some leftover enchiladas in the fridge.
Ma, Heather said again, loudly. louder and more clearly this time. There's something I've got. She felt her voice crack.
I've lost her, Ma. A dull clunk. Her mother was probably changing gears. Lost who, Heather?
Heather felt tears trickle down her face. I've lost Lily. There was silence on the other end of the line. Heather braced herself for her mother's panic, her mother's tears, her mother's blame. She expected each and all of those things. She did not, however, anticipate her mother's next words.
Who's Lily?
[22:01] So, Grace, what made you write this story? Are you from Manchester?
I am. I really love fantasy, obviously, but I really love urban fantasy and, you know, the kind of the place where fantasy bumps up against the real world. And I read a lot of that kind of stuff, but it's usually set in London or, you know, America's...
[22:31] Oxford. Oxford, yeah. But I'm never, I don't think I'd ever come across one that was set in Manchester.
[22:41] Like specifically very, very obviously Manchester city centre and the surrounding areas. So I wanted a story about, that was set in that and I also wanted to include some themes that I touched on later with, you know, I think a few years ago when I wrote it there was a rise in, I feel like xenophobia, towards immigrants and refugees and sadly I don't think that's gone away but those were my two kind of main things when I set out to write this. Thank you, that's brilliant, thank you. Very strangely chanted. This is a circus fantasy story. Jack wants to be the first female ringmaster and Quinn wants to escape from his factory job to become a costume maker and wear his creations himself. In this extract, the two main characters cross paths for the first time. Chapter seven. For two days, Quinn held the the costumer's invitation open-palmed. He looked at it side-long. In case examining it too closely revealed it to be just a dream. The apprenticeship. Well, that surely was a dream. And even if it weren't, Quinn knew the rules. People had their place. His place was clear. Boys' bodies were for war. Besides, if he wasn't allowed to help Mama at the.
Quinn's reverie at the factory, dreaming of the circus performer
[24:07] Dress shop, making commissions for the capital's well-to-do, there was no way he'd be allowed to help Rigadosio in the fairground making costumes for circus performers. But the offer to return to the fairground, it tantalised him. At the factory, the droning of machinery lulled him into reverie, the sparks sent up by whirring steel transformed into flashes of shimmering silk. The circle of anima, glinting fiercely in the sunlight streaming through the windows was a performer suspended, golden purple, light and shadow. Quinn mused on how he'd designed the performer's costume, the folds and falls of cloth needed to give the costume breath. Then he skipped and sashayed into contemplating the performance itself, a hoop spinning, airborne tumbling, the gold ever-changing into the purple and back into to the gold.
Morgan!" He roused and jerked his hand back, just in time to avoid it getting shredded on the spinning file. His heart raced.
Merciful animal boy, are you looking to lose a limb?
The bullets he'd been holding to the file were shaven, nearly clean through. He imagined the file searing through skin, muscle or bone instead. He trembled.
Get a hold of yourself, the nearest line worker, Zeke, he'd learned, hissed. You've been distracted for days. Remember, the foreman is always watching. Do you want to lose your job?".
[25:34] On the walkway above, several soldiers looked their way in interest. Their numbers had been increasing steadily. None of them were his brother, but perhaps one day he'd look up and see several in there. It was peacetime, after all. His brother could be assigned to a factory for guarding. I'm not a child. I know how to handle myself, Quinn wanted to say. But clearly, he didn't. That afternoon, he left the factory shaken and determined. He would be a better worker if he weren't distracted. He'd been a better worker when he'd had the tightrope.
A brief escape, a way to sort himself out before the next day's work.
Father likely wouldn't agree. But Father wasn't around. He hastened to the fairground. In daydreaming of the costumer's tent, Quinn had imagined watching Brigadosio at work, staying out of the man's way and studying the racks in silence, no touching, no talking, towing the line.
[26:29] But when Quinn arrived, the costumer was not alone. He stopped short in the tent's entrance.
A girl stood before the standing mirror, dressed like a man in a loose shirt and black straight leg trousers. Quinn was struck by her long fall of hair, burnished brass shining in the lamplight, like a sunlit river streaming. Looking at it, he could almost remember the softness of curls against his cheek, his nape. How he'd lifted his chin then. He dropped his hand from where he'd subconsciously lifted it to his head. His own hair was cropped criminally short.
Of any length was a risk on the assembly line.
"'Ah, Mr. Morgan,' Brigobosio said. The costumer whisked his measuring tape around the girl's crown with finesse. "'I was hoping you'd be back. Come in!' The girl's dark eyes flashed in the mirror. Quinn hesitated. "'I can come back.' "'Nonsense. You're here now, and Jack doesn't mind.' The girl looked like she very much did mind, but she kept quiet. Quinn stepped forward, allowing the tent flap to close behind him. As he did so, the girl turned to the costumer and demanded, you have the measurement? At Brigadosio's nod, she pulled her lovely hair into a severe knot that tugged at the skin of her temples. It made her look extremely disagreeable, but Quinn suspected that was just her face.
[27:52] Sit or stand, wherever you like, Brigadosio directed. I'm just finishing up taking some measurements. Quinn chose a spot as far from Jack as possible. He watched as the costumer, Today, dressed in a black over-robe that would have looked quite staid were it not for the gold paint covering his brown scalp, face and arms, deftly circled the girl's neck, bust, waist and hips while she stood rigidly. I've asked Quinn to be my apprentice, to help me with the revel, but alas, Brigadier Shirside, he's playing hard to get. Jack eyed Quinn through the mirror, doing a thorough study of him. He was acutely aware of how grubby and unkempt he was after a day at the factory. Why, she asked. Didn't sound like she cared one way or another. Quinn didn't really want to answer, but Brigadocio was silent, intent upon the girl's arm length, and the girl was raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance.
I already have a job. Doing what? Jack asked in a lazy, disinterested tone.
He answered as coolly as possible. I file imperfections off bullets.
[29:00] Her blank stare was eloquent in its disdain. And do you enjoy filing imperfections off bullets?
The judgment in her voice made him bristle. It's an important work.
I make sure the bullets fly true, which helps protect our soldiers against rebels, which aids in maintaining peace and contributes to Reveillia's and the King's glory.
[29:22] He paused, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth.
Father's words. Since when did he care about Reveillian's glory?
[29:31] Brigadosio, despite closed eyes, managed to convey great interest in the conversation.
Jack looked unimpressed.
You didn't answer my question. You were avoiding it.
Her satisfied tone rankled him. It's not that simple. It's not about enjoying. It's about contributing something of value to— "'So you don't enjoy your job,' she interrupted.
"'Lucky you, you have another offer.' "'It's not that simple,' Quinn repeated.
"'Jackslip Curl, it is that simple.
"'Quit a job you dislike, take a job you'd enjoy. "'Do what you want.
"'You're foolish to do otherwise.' Quinn couldn't believe the gore of this skirt.
He wasn't judging her for her life choices, except, "'Like I trust the decision-making ability of someone who dresses as if coughed up by a mortuary.
Are you going for the resurrected corpse with that hairstyle, or is it just a happy accident?
She bared her teeth. Before blood could be drawn, Brigadocio intervened.
I'm done updating your measurements, he said airily. Now tell me about what you're thinking for this costume.
Jack's scorching eyes slid from Quinn's to her own in the mirror.
Without their heat on her, Quinn shook himself.
He wouldn't let this girl get to him and bring him down to her pettiness. He was an adult.
Black trousers, Jack proclaimed, suitable for fencing, black top hat, a red tailcoat with gold epaulets and braiding.
[30:55] Bold and brassy, the costumer sounded pleased. Now, will this be for the audition, or are you already anticipating the King's favour?
He asked knowingly.
The girl's thin lips curled in a smirk. It's good to be prepared.
Like some people, I go after what I want.
Don't stoop, Quinn told himself, breathing deeply to focus. Don't lower yourself to her level.
[31:19] You feel confident then about the audition? Brigadosio asked.
Primo will have to choose me. If he wants to put on the finest fair the world's ever seen, she said matter-of-factly. It took Quinn heroic effort not to roll his eyes.
Ah, but I heard young William will be running the show, Brigadosio said.
A shadow crossed Jack's expression, gone so quickly. Quinn wondered if he'd imagined it.
Same thing. She waved a dismissive hand. As for astonishing the king, that won't be a problem.
Yes, Queen had imagined it. There were no cracks in this girl.
He could just imagine what his father would have to say about her.
Clearly delusional, out of touch with reality, a child.
The thought made him straighten, and when Jack met his eyes in the mirror again, he offered a smirk of his own.
Her gaze sharpened. She opened her mouth to speak. We're all done here, then. Brigadocio clapped his hands.
Come back in three days and I'll show you what I've come up with." Jack seemed irritated at the clear dismissal, but she nodded, shot Quinn another glare, and left the tent without a thank you or a goodbye.
Quinn let out a deep breath. He marvelled at how spacious the tent felt with her absence.
I'm guessing she's one of the uppity prima donnas you mentioned before?
[32:33] Brigadocio rumbled through the piles of cording on the table.
Oh, she's a piece of work, I'll give you that.
But she is talented, fighting an uphill battle, though." At Quinn's frown, the costumer clarified, There's never been a female ringmaster in Reveillia's history, in all the Edge, as far as I know.
Still, if anyone could make it happen, it would be her, I'd wager.
If only she'd get out of her own way.
As for you, Quinn startled to have the costumer's full attention on him.
After not being able to use his eyes, the man sure did know how to impress his focus from someone.
For all my near perfection, I'm not a patient man. I'll make my offer only once more. Come work for me.
Finding Inspiration in the Circus: A Story of Wonder and Awe
[33:19] So, Meg, same question to you. What brought you to write the Very Strange and Enchanted Story?
First, thank you so much for that fantastic reading. It sounds better in your voice than it does in my head, so thank you for that. I was inspired, as you might imagine, by the circus. We have a really marvelous local troupe that performs, and I also do some of the circus arts myself, from the aerial silks to flying trapeze, and I really wanted to capture that feeling that I have whenever I'm at the circus, that feeling of wonder and awe, the feeling of being a child again. And especially since I wrote this during the pandemic, I really wanted to write something really hopeful about possibility and wonder, and to write about young people who, in a world that is trying to place all these demands on them, clinging to that hope and sense of possibility for themselves and their futures. So, A Very Strange Enchanted came out of that.
[34:23] That. Thank you, that's wonderful. I'm just going to pass the introduction to Emilia.
A caretaker of York, my penholland. A wonderful story about dragons of all shapes and sizes in York, but York as it might be in a future world or a parallel world. York is back to medieval levels of population. In this extract, Erin, the local lass, gets into serious trouble Thanks to the incomer from the South, Sam.
Mother's Warning and Departure
[34:54] Thanks, Amelia. Extract from chapter three. What was it your mother said when we were leaving this morning?
Sam suddenly asked slightly too loudly, travel safely?
Erin hazarded a guess, having not really been paying attention in all the how lovely to see you agains and they do make care and look after you.
Be careful near the forest," she said. Sam leaned forward. Which forest? Erin rolled her eyes. The action was becoming quite a habit when Sam was around.
The forest! I said we wouldn't go in.
[35:28] Did you tell her you would get some amber carrier for the banquet?
You really oughtn't to let her down. Sam was annoyingly persistent.
I won't, said Erin. She rested her hands lightly on her trouser pockets.
It's not necessary to go into the forest. Sam was also determined.
Well, if you won't go, I will." She yanked on Pony One's reins, pulling her sharply left, and kicked her into a slow canter, disappearing into the undergrowth with scant care for her own, or her trusty steed's safety. Sam!
Rascous ribcage! This was not how Erin had planned the afternoon.
She looked uneasily at the sky, whose clear pallor was being subsumed by a threatening deep purple on the western horizon.
No time to hang around. She geed up her own pony and followed in Sam's wake, hunkering down low over the pony's hairy neck to go as fast as possible through scratchy thorn bushes and clinging sticky weed.
Why in Lucky's name couldn't Sam have taken the track that lay a few minutes further to the south?
At this rate, they and all the food they'd gathered earlier would be bruised beyond use, and Erin knew exactly whose shoulders to place the blame on.
[36:36] Pony 2 kept up the breakneck speed for as long as she could, and Erin sustained herself with dark thoughts about what she wanted to do to her new friend when she eventually caught, up. It felt like an age. Later, she concluded, it was only ten minutes or so. As whipcord branches with vicious barbs started to lash at her head and neck, Pony 2 stretched out her nose and Erin grabbed Pony 1's reins with white knuckles, thanking the gods of fire and ice both that Sam hadn't given into bravado and elected for bareback riding after all. They stuttered to a halt in the lee of a spiny black trunk and breathed.
[37:11] Strands of thin sunlight edged through the canopy, like apologies, casting strange shadows across the spongy, bare forest floor.
In a matter of meters, all the joyful verdant greenery was gone, replaced with clusters of dark-horned pillars rising into the sky, with spiked branches at uncomfortable intervals, fanning out like fingers reaching out.
To each other, Erin wondered, or to anyone who entered the forest.
She shivered. Sam slid off her pony and took a few tentative steps further in, carefully not looking back at Erin.
Please don't. Please don't. Please don't.
Erin wanted to shout at the top of her voice, but swallowed the words down before they could burst out of her mouth.
In here, noise was not a thing to make lightly. Distant thunder rumbled faintly into the woods on a gentle breeze, rustling what passed for leaves on those crooked branches with an eerie, subdued clatter.
Sam looked up and gasped. Far above their heads, tiny Ambercaria crystals trembled, projecting tiny, brilliant rainbows onto the treetops that danced merrily in the wind.
It's beautiful, whispered Sam, turning circles with her face in the sky.
You need to go, Erin said under her breath, holding tight onto Pony 1's reins and keeping a reassuring hand on Pony 2's furry flank.
[38:34] Now! Almost without warning, the older girl threw herself at the nearest tree and started to climb rapidly, even as the rough, spiky bark ripped at her hands and knees and the sharp, widely spaced out branches pulled at her hair and scratched at her body.
Impatiently, she shrugged off her thick jacket and threw it to the ground, determined to reach the fairy-like droplets of treasure dangling above her head.
Without encumbrance, she flew up the branches like a squirrel up a ladder.
Even in a wash of impending doom, Erin appreciated her skill.
Nonetheless, get down, Erin said, hissing the words as loud as she dared, get down now.
Sam ignored her, or perhaps she didn't hear anything in her frenzy to reach riches.
She grasped a handful of the delicate Ambercaria teardrops and crowed in triumph.
So high up in the canopy now that the sound reverberated far across the treetops, Erin's heart dropped.
She slid off her pony and bent down to pick up the jacket, folding it slowly as she waited for Sam to descend the tree.
Halfway down, three quarters.
The lowest branch was higher than Erin could reach with her fingertips.
What was the best way down?
[39:44] She clipped her tongue quietly at Pony One, maneuvering him calmly into position under the tree for a quick getaway.
A jubilant sand teetered on the spines of the bottom branch, high on adrenaline, one hand still clutching her prize, a glorious handicap on her balance.
"'Drop it,' Erin whispered. Do it! Drop it! Or you'll never make the landing!
[40:06] Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the snow links creeping towards them.
Two were on the ground, silent feet padding carefully, deliberately closer.
One in the trees, that one would be slower.
All of them were staring fixedly at the human invader and her equine friends.
It wasn't a friendly look.
Erin looked around in vain for a weapon, but there were no thick sticks or gnarly clubs, only discarded leaf spikes and decaying amber gold in a thick layer of humus.
I'm not dropping it, Sam said loudly. Her tenuous grip on the rough trunk slipped, and she fell heavily onto Pony One, who staggered but held fast, steadied by Erin's firm clasp of its halter. Somehow, Sam got her free hand to the pommel, before she could tumble head over heels over the pony altogether and pulled herself up excitedly, holding out the jewels.
We're rich! I can go home! You could… strombone on a bicycle!
The monstrous snow lynx yelled a terrible cry, its tufted ears taut, its massive white body crouching between dinner plate-sized paws.
Combined with the noise, the stench from its gaping maw was too much.
Both ponies retched away from Erin and bolted for home, saddlebags flapping wildly.
Sam could do nothing but hold on for dear life, clutching her precious cargo to her chest.
[41:25] Erin watched them go with her feet rooted to the ground. She should run too.
She looked to the edge of the forest, but it was too far and she was too small. She'd never make it.
She looked at the nearest big cat as it growled at the back of its cavernous throat, huge eyes still fixed on her. Another padded up to its flank, jaws dripping with insatiable intent.
Where was the one in the branches now? Should she run anyway?
Fibre of her being was screaming silently for help, yet she couldn't even move her legs.
How utterly useless was that? Doing nothing ran contrary to Erin's every life breath, but all she could do now was sink slowly down to the ground, holding the soft leather jacket in front of her like the world's most useless shield, and wait to meet her end.
[42:14] Okay, Penn, we know how this goes.
What brought you to write this story? Are you from York, I suppose, is the first question people might want to know.
I'm not from York, but I've lived in York for my adult life just about. And I started writing this during the pandemic because my daughter had run out of books and she said, write me a story! And I started writing and she thought I would finish it in one night. And it was just such an escape being in an altar at York where I could make it do anything I wanted. So it went on for a bit longer than one night. But we're very fond of dragons in our house and we're very fond of York and particularly the places that most people don't see because they don't look up, and they don't look in and so it all kind of came together from there.
[43:11] And in your honour, of course, we have a dragon with us tonight, who is guarding his or her egg, I think.
So, last but definitely not least is Reba Khatun's story, Don't Go Out After Dark.
It's definitely a tale for Halloween, fast approaching. approaching. Weaving in the ghost stories of Bangladeshi culture, a return to that country to visit family after the sudden death of Hafsa's father becomes an even more terrifying affair than anyone expected. So prepare to be scared.
This is an extract from Chapter 2, Arrival at the Family Home in Bangladesh.
[44:00] The vehicle door slid open from the outside and a sea of awe-stricken and smiling faces peered inside the vehicle. Sasa jumped out of his seat and ran around the outside of the vehicle.
Hafsa twisted in her seat to look at Bisma, who had climbed onto Mum's lap. Sasa parted the onlookers before opening the middle door and holding out a hand to Ahmed and then one to Hafsa.
With one arm around each sibling, he guided them towards the archway of thin, bendy trees at the end of the road, and into a large courtyard flanked either sides by coxes of trees. Hafsa spotted a few mango trees in the midst, the ripe green fruits hanging like crystals on a pendant.
Arriving at Dad's Hometown
[44:38] Hafsa's eyes wandered over to the two rows of buildings on opposite sides. The ones on the left were basic wooden huts, with the end door open and straw spilling out onto the courtyard, the hind legs of a cow extended out. Bismarck would be happy. The buildings on the right side were higher than ground level, with a covered veranda and reached by stairs. Made out of concrete blocks, these were presumably the living quarters. Hafsa turned round to look for Mum, who was right behind Bismarck and a group of kids.
Mum stopped to stroke their faces and pat their heads in reply to their greetings. Sasa pulled her gently by the hand.
"'Come on, Moinja. It's Margaret time. You shouldn't be outside after dark.", He scanned the surrounding area and narrowed his eyes at the copse of trees. Hafsa hesitated.
Should she tell him of the things she had seen tonight? Probably not.
She didn't know him at all.
As anxious as she was in this new place, she didn't want to be restricted by a ton of rules as she was also a tiny bit excited to see where Dad grew up.
Birds called out to each other from amongst the treetops. A dullbird settled on the branch of a betel palm, lifted its white tail and whistled.
Black fruit trees and even a bay leaf tree dotted the outskirts of the courtyard.
The edges were bordered by giant screens of vegetation blossoming with flowers and vegetables such as green beans and snake beans.
[46:01] Hafsa took a deep breath in, savouring the aroma of vegetation.
It was like being in Dad's greenhouse. No wonder he had green fingers. He grew up here.
[46:12] A black goat emerged from the bushes, suddenly causing her to jump.
A titter of laughter spread around her, increasing when a rumble erupted from the back end of the goat. Hafsa was more interested in not stepping in all the puddles of bird poo on the ground.
Was it only a fortnight ago that she'd been walking beside her dad at the Sandwell Valley Park, swinging a bag of bird food in her hand and weaving around blobs of geese droppings.
And now she was doing the exact very thing in Bangladesh, minus her dad. Her heart cracks a little bit more. Is this how it was going to be for the rest of her life? That memories would pop up out of anywhere, and each time it would hurt her deeply. Hafsa, overwhelmed with sadness, could only but drag her feet forwards, leaving a trail in the dirt, just one step at a time, she told herself. There was a tube well on the right side of the courtyard. The floor surrounding it was wet. An elderly man pumped the handle of the tube well and water splashed into the plastic bucket below. Some water missed and joined the growing pool on the floor. Sasa led them around it and the growing crowd stopped at the stairs. On the veranda, a hen and her chicks were scratching at the floor in the corner while a toddler tried to scoop up a chick without much success. A series of open doors along the veranda spilled faint light out onto the straw-strewn floor.
Entering the living quarters and meeting Fufu
[47:34] Sasa led them through the first door. Hafsa banged her arm onto the metal door, propped open with a brick and rubbed her funny bone. The small room they entered was crudely plastered and furnished with a wooden four-poster bed, steel cabinet, clothes rail and a table.
[47:49] In the dark corner, a shadow stirred. Hafsa made out the outline of a person.
She tried to calm her breathing as she remembered the woman from the airport.
When an elderly woman leaned forward into the light, Hafsa relaxed.
The woman got up slowly and shuffled into the middle of the room using a walking stick.
I told you, never show your face here again.
It was Fufu, Dad's elder sister. The hard look in her eyes made Hafsa shudder.
What did she mean? Why would dad's sister treat them like this? Hafsa stared at her mum for an explanation, but the colour had drained from mum's face. When she looked at Ahmed standing on the side with Bisma, he shrugged his shoulders and whispered, what's going on?
[48:34] Now it was Hafsa's turn to shrug. She had no idea. Suddenly, Fufu charged forwards, her stick banging on the floor. With each word she shouted, you were warned about the consequences if you stepped foot in our home again." She raised her walking stick and thrust it towards Hafsa. Instinctively, Hafsa closed her eyes, expecting the walking stick to come into contact with her shoulder, but nothing. She felt a whoosh of air as the walking stick missed her, and then a whiff of the rotten meat smell from the airport shot up her nose, making her gag.
She opened her eyes as an eerie cackle sounded behind her, sending a shiver down her spine.
With her heart hammering in her chest, Hafsa turned around slowly and came face to face with the creepy lady from the airport.
Hello, granddaughter, it's finally nice to meet you.
[49:30] So Reba, tell us a little bit about why you've written such a scary story.
I love horror. Horror films, horror stories, I love it. And I remember reading, you know, Goosebumps, Einstein and that feeling, that joy of reading those books never went away.
[49:50] And this particular story I wrote because I've been to Bangladesh and I've had the same rules, don't go out after dark, and then you ask why, why, why. They won't tell you. So later I did my own exploring and I found out all these stories and then asked friends and family and everyone's got a story that they know someone or someone's the one who's seen a witch or, you know, like a demon or something. So I just, I thought it'd be lovely to write, my own story.
So when we announce the winner, I want to say before that point that all of us loved all the stories. And if we could give five prizes away, we would have done that. And we were so impressed that we, Christabel and I, have put together a sample of everybody's work plus a little bio and your photograph. So it's not over this evening. We'll also be sending this out to agents and we'll make sure Alice gets one. So that hopefully we we have more than one winner tonight.
