A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill

Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;

Then—all at once the air was still,

And showers of hailstones pattered round.

--From "A Whirl-Blast From Behind the Hill" - William Wordsworth

The whirl-blast that took me from behind was the wonky and mystical ways of a certain software provider. Last night, as I prepared to put the final touches on a story send it in before the deadline, I learned that my subscription had expired and had not renewed like it was supposed to. To give teeth to the blast, I could not renew, upgrade, or purchase. I kept getting an error message that said, "Sorry, something went wrong." Needless to say, that was not helpful. Today I had to contact support and after a wait of only a little more than an hour and interrogation through the bright screen for another hour, they deigned to let me make a purchase. For the present, everything works.

That's a prelude to saying I did get the story edited and sent off - only a few minutes ago. It's a late capstone to a wet and raining weekend spent on the road and in an emergency room. However, the high point of the weekend can be discovered here: Cursed Ruins Revisited.

I completed The Men Who Lost America -- and my thoughts on it are here.

I finished reading the Wyrd Warfare anthology--and thoroughly enjoyed it. I'm now diving into Prelude to Waterloo: Quatre Bras by Andrew W. Field.

I chose the book, in addition a long personal interest, because Quatre Bras and Waterloo must eventually figure into my stories of Gavrel, Pichon, and Beaujeu. However, the next one I write with them will probably feature the battle of Marengo.

Check out this Free Fantasy Frenzy - go at them like hungry sharks.

Fun Fact: In lieu of a fun fact, I'm giving some fictitious facts from Clamorous Harbingers, 3 of the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire Series:

Rip shielded his eyes from sun. He looked across the water to the ship anchored off shore. “What do you make of it?” he asked Antonio.

“She’s not too big for us. We could handle her if we could get to her. She’s a Spanish sloop by the look of her. If these soldiers can be trained as sailors, we’ll have fine crew.”

Rip said, “That’s if we can take her.”

“Captain,” Antonio said, “of course we will take her. The Spanish are not good sailors—with notable exceptions, you know. We will find a boat upon the shore and take supplies to sell to the crew. Our supplies will be the surprise of powder and ball delivered in small doses. Yes, we will take it, Captain.”

“I like his confidence,” Colonel Washington said.

Rip said, “You might think otherwise before we’re done, Colonel.”

“Washington, please. Recent events have resulted in the resignation of my commission.”

“All right. Antonio, you and our three seamen, Morris, Hayes, and Bishop, you’ll crew the boat. The rest of us will be ready with our muskets charged. Where’s your boat?”

“Captain, the village will have boat. Why do you worry?”

“I worry because it keeps me alive. You should worry too. That charm of yours is not good against Spanish ball, right?”

“My countrymen will not shoot me. Come. Let’s find a boat in which to visit my cousins.”

When darkness fell, the ship remained anchored off the shore. The procession of men marched behind Antonio. They walked boldly in formation through the cobblestone streets toward the dock. The village had one long pier at which several single-sailed boats were tied. Fishing nets hung upon boats and between posts upon the dock.

As the little procession drew near the wooden planks, the door of a poorly lit tavern opened. A dark-haired woman in a bulky white blouse and red skirt came out the door in the arms of a large sailor. The sailor carried her with one arm, not allowing her feet to touch the ground. She said some heated words in Spanish to the sailor.

“Go ahead,” Antonio said to the others. “I must have a word with my cousin. Arrange a boat.”

Charles stopped to protest, but a look from Antonio changed his mind. “Follow me,” he said to the others.

Antonio strode over to the man in the loose white blouse and yellow vest with his long black hair tied in a queue. Speaking Spanish he said, “A Spanish gentlemen only makes a lady scream with delight, Señor.”

Without releasing the woman, the sailor looked at Antonio. He saw a tall man dressed in black clothes stained with the mud and dirt of many days hard travel. “What would you know about being a Spanish gentleman?”

“I have the honor of being Antonio Rodriguez Javier Juan Carlos de Castile y Leon.”

“And I have the honor of having this woman.” The sailor pressed his mouth against that of the struggling woman.

The woman screamed, “Antonio!” as she evaded the pressing lips of the sailor.

“Eveline?” Antonio exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I left you in Antigua.”

The sailor clapped a hand over her mouth, squeezing tightly and stifling her response.

Antonio grabbed the Spanish sailor by the wrist. He jerked and twisted, drawing the man to him, and forcing him to release his hold upon the woman. The sailor swung his other heavy fist at Antonio, but the smuggler pulled him past. The fist struck only air. Antonio released him and he fell to the ground.

“Antonio!” Eveline cried once more.

“My pretty Antiguan flower, how is it that I find you here on the coast of France?”

For response, Eveline recoiled, pointing to the sailor.

Antonio whirled. The sailor came at him with a straight knife, pointed and double-edged. Antonio backed up a pace. When the sailor advanced, Antonio sprang forward, getting inside the dagger. He seized his antagonist’s throat with his right hand and found the wrist of the knife-hand with his left. The sailor pounded the side of Antonio’s head with his free hand. Antonio drew in close to reduce the power of his enemy’s punches, and applied pressure upon the throat. At the same time, he forced the wrist backwards, rolling it over in the process.

I guess that's all I've got for now. I didn't get any feedback on my the questions I asked about giveaways, so I'll revisit the subject later.