Humouress hops Down Undah in 2025 - first thread

review posted/ rated/ written/ read/ (released)
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March

✔   18) The Wizard of Evesham by M.C. Beaton {BBC adaptation} (2009)
✔     17) Who's Sorry Now? by Maggie Robinson (2019)
✔        16) Stars Beyond Realms by Marie-Hélène Lebeault (2023) 
✔     15) Love in Lockdown by Chloe James (2020)
✔   14) The Call of the Sword by Roger Taylor (1988)
✔        13) The Spare Room by Laura Starkey (2024)
✔     12) Emily Goes to Exeter by M.C. Beaton (1990)
✔     11) The Belle of Belgrave Square by Mimi Matthews (2022)
✔   10) Abhorsen by Garth Nix (2003)
✔     9) The Mage's Daughter by Lynn Kurland (2008)
✔     8) Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson (2019)

review posted/ rated/ written/ read/ (released)
✔ /  / (#) / Title

February
✔   7) Blood Spirits by Sherwood Smith (2010)
✔     6) Funny Story by Emily Henry (2024)
✔   5) Star of the Morning by Lynn Kurland (2008)
✔        4) The Iron King by Julie Kagawa (2011)

review posted/ rated/ written/ read/ (released)
✔ /  / (#) / Title

January

✔     3) Starling House by Alix. E. Harrow (2023)
✔     2) Race the Sands by Sarah Beth Durst (2020)
✔     1) Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer (2020)

He’d tortured many men over his ten years in this business. For information, for making him angry, for trying to kill him, and he’d been loath to admit it … but he even did it once because he’d seen a man being cruel to a duck.

During the day the House could be mistaken for a mere building; at night, it never could. It has the obscure topography of a dream or a body, with endless, sinuous hallways and stairs that climb at unnatural angles. The walls heave in and out, a vast rib cage, and Arthur suspects if he were to press his ear to the plaster he would hear the subtle beating of a heart somewhere beneath all the oak and pine and plaster.
Most nights Arthur finds it soothing—it’s nice to imagine that he doesn’t stand alone against the Beasts, even if his only ally is a foolish old house with ambitions of sentience—but tonight the House is restless. Every nail turns fretfully in its hole and the roof tiles clack like chattering teeth. A drainpipe bangs against the wall in the anxious rhythm of a woman drumming her nails on the table. Arthur soothes it as best he can, renewing wards and double-checking charms, but the weather is mild and the doors are locked.

A slow, almost imperceptible tremble in his spells of defense along the northern border.
He’d wondered at first if he’d just imagined it. He’d paid special attention to the border for the fortnight following, but he’d sensed nothing else.
And then, yesterday, he realized that his spells were being eroded from beneath their underpinnings, much like sand being pulled out from a bather’s feet as he stood upon the shore. It was a very gentle tide, but a relentless one.
Miach’s first thought had been Lothar. But the tide didn’t have that stench of rottenness that permeated all that Lothar did. Indeed, there was nothing but a faint smell of evil, as if it were nothing but tainted water that washed away at his spells. It had made him wonder . . .
So he’d brought up to his tower all the manuscripts and scrolls he could find describing any of the black mages who’d ever troubled the Nine Kingdoms.

She put the matter out of her mind and sought her chamber, finding it just as she had left it two years earlier. Indeed, it looked just as it had for the six years she’d called it her own. She hadn’t used it very often since going on to make her way to other places, but each time she’d returned, she had found it thusly prepared for her. She leaped into her bed with a guilty abandon she would regret in a se’nnight’s time when she was reduced to rough blankets near a weak fire. She closed her eyes and promised herself a good, long march through bitter chill at some point in the future as penance.
But not tonight.

"The young teen I'd trust, Theresa? And the older teen, what's her name, Tania? Yeah. She's an odd duck - someone told me she used to sit on the roof ridgepole and talk to imaginary friends when she was a kid. Played with cats and rats. Actually, I kinda like the sound of that! Anyway, she's gotten locked into the Salfmatta sorority, so you can bet she'd keep her lip zipped."

Salfmatta sorority - the Salfmattas were the ones who were kind of like healers and kind of like mages, near as I could tell. My grandmother's old governess, Tante Mina, was one. I'd stayed with her after I escaped from Tony, and she'd clued me in about the Blessing, among other things.

"I'd also trust the married sister," Nat went on.

And on the shelves, winding around and around, reachable only by ladders ...
Elisabeth lit up. "Grimoires," she breathed, even more delighted than before.
Nathaniel's expression grew odd. "You like this place?"
"Of course I do. It has books in it."
He just stood there, not trying to stop her, so Elisabeth clambered up the nearest ladder. She had spotted a familiar title on the shelf, winking its gilt for attention. When she reached for it, it squirmed free of its neighbors and dropped eagerly into her hand.
"I knew you had to be here somewhere!" she said to the Lexicon. She hadn't seen it since the ride into Brassbridge. "I can't believe he stole you."
The grimoire gave a guilty rustle. She looked over her shoulder at the marvelous, sparkling chaos of the study.

Elisabeth demonstrated to the steward that she would be an ideal candidate by lifting up one end of a cabinet in his office, uncovering a booklouse underneath and stomping on it, much to the delight of a young apprentice who happened to be passing by. She then sat down opposite the steward's desk and answered a number of job-related questions such as how quickly she could run, and whether she strongly valued keeping all ten of her fingers. The steward seemed impress that she found all of his questions perfectly reasonable. Most people, he explained, walked straight out the door.
"But this is a library," she replied in surprise. "What do they expect - that the books won't try to bite off their fingers?"

"What are you writing?" Among the physician's scribbled notes, she had made out the word "delusions."
He snapped the notebook shut. "I know all of this must be very frightening for you, but try not to agitate yourself. Excitement will only worsen the inflammation."
She stared. "The - what?"
"The inflammation of your brain, Miss Scrivener," he explained patiently. "It is quite common among women who read novels."
Before Elisabeth could think of a reply to this baffling remark, he called Hannah back into the room, who looked pinched with worry. "Please tell the Chancellor that I prescribe a strict period of bed rest for the patient," he said to her. "It is clear that this is a classic case of hysteria. Miss Scrivener should exert herself as little as possible. Once the swelling in her brain subsides, her mind may return to normal."

Silas's gaze disengaged from Nathaniel, slowly, as though he found it difficult to look away, and fixed upon her instead. Her breath caught at the emptiness in his night-dark eyes, but she didn't waver.

"How old are you?"she asked.
"Eighteen."
She sat back in surprise. "Truly?"
"I haven't sacrifced virgins tor my pertect cheekbones, if that's what you mean. Virgins, in general, have fewer magical properties than people tend to assume."
Elisabeth tried not to look too relieved by that information.

It was a truly alarming turn of events. She was a hardened, seasoned mercenary with scores of sieges and battles under her belt, yet all she seemed to be able to do of late was weep and cling to a man as if she couldn’t stand up on her own.

The feeling that washed over her was every bit as unpleasant as the one she’d experienced when Miach had told her about her parentage at Lismòr. She thought, for a moment, that she just might be ill—she who had never shied away from the difficult.

Lirael looked at the bell in her hand, and the spirit fragments, pools of inky darkness that were already creeping together, seeking to join for greater strength. The bell was Kibeth, which was appropriate, so she rang it in a quick S shape, producing a clear and joyful tune that made her left foot break out into a little jig.

They waded across, Mogget clinging to Sam’s shoulder and the Dog swimming in the middle. Unlike most dogs, Lirael noticed, her friend actually stuck her whole head underwater, ears and all. And whatever power fast-moving water had over the Dead and some Free Magic creatures clearly didn’t apply to the Disreputable Dog.
“How come you like to swim but hate baths?” asked Lirael curiously as they reached dry ground and found a sandy patch between the rocks to set up a makeshift camp.
“Swimming is swimming and the smells stay the same,” said the Dog. “Baths involve soap.”

“I understand. It’s just not that simple...” the Major began. Then he paused, and his red face went blotchy and pale at the temples. Lirael watched his brow furrow up as if a strange thought were trying to break free. Then it cleared. Carefully he put his hand into his pocket, then suddenly withdrew it and punched his newly brass-knuckled fist into the Bakelite exchange board, its delicate internal mechanisms exploding with a rush of sparks and smoke.
“Damn it! It is that simple! I’ll order the company to go. After all, the politicos can only shoot me for it later if we win. As for you, Private, if you mention a word of this to anyone, I’ll feed you to the cat thing here. Understand?”
“Yum,” said Mogget.

Not that landing in the Old Kingdom would be easy. Touchstone looked at the fabric wing shivering above him and hoped that most of the plane was man-made. For if parts of it were not, they would fall apart too soon, the common fate of Ancelstierran devices and machinery once they were across the Wall.
“I am never flying again,” muttered Touchstone. Then he remembered Ellimere’s message. If they did manage to land on the other side of the Wall and get to Barhedrin, then they would have to fly somewhere in a Paperwing, to engage in a battle with an unknown Enemy of unknown powers.
Touchstone’s face set in grim lines at that thought. He would welcome that battle. He and Sabriel had struggled too long against opponents manipulated from afar. Now whatever it was had come out in the open, and it would face the combined forces of the King, the Abhorsen and the Clayr.
Provided, of course, that the King and the Abhorsen managed to survive this flight.

Mere proximity to him was enough to set her stomach fluttering. To make her insides quiver and quake.

She had felt just the same when he’d approached her at Lady Arundell’s ball. At the time, she’d mistaken the sensation for fear.

But it wasn’t fear. She realized that now, much to her chagrin. It was something else. Something worse.

It was attraction.

Despite all she knew of him—despite the warnings of her friends, and of her own mind and conscience—her body was disposed to like the man.

More than like.

She wondered if he felt it, too; this low thrum of physical awareness.

Mere proximity to him was enough to set her stomach fluttering. To make her insides quiver and quake.

She had felt just the same when he’d approached her at Lady Arundell’s ball. At the time, she’d mistaken the sensation for fear.

But it wasn’t fear. She realized that now, much to her chagrin. It was something else. Something worse.

It was attraction.

Despite all she knew of him—despite the warnings of her friends, and of her own mind and conscience—her body was disposed to like the man.

More than like.

She wondered if he felt it, too; this low thrum of physical awareness.

‘We are in need of your help,’ said Emily. ‘Mrs Bradley is s-stuck in the bath.’ She began to giggle helplessly, leaning against the kitchen door. Lord Harley began to laugh as well.

The door opened a crack and Hannah’s cold eye surveyed the laughing pair. ‘Pull yourselves together,’ she admonished. ‘My lord, be as quick and deft as you can, for Mrs Bradley is sore embarrassed.’

They followed Hannah into the kitchen. Not only Mrs Bradley’s body was covered by a sheet but her face as well.

Give me your hands, Mrs Bradley,’ ordered Lord Harley. Two hands appeared from below the sheet. He gave a great heave. The bath tilted and more water flooded on the floor but Mrs Bradley remained stuck fast.

‘I am sorry about this,’ he said, bending over the coffin-shaped tin bath to examine her more closely. He took off his coat and rolled up his shirt-sleeves and slid his hands into the water under the sheet and then, as a squawk of sheer outrage rose from Mrs Bradley’s lips, under her bottom. With one almightly wrench he lifted her clear from the bath and set her down on her feet.

Panting and blushing, Mrs Bradley wrapped the sheet round her ample body.

‘Like Venus rising from the foam,’ said Lord Harley gently and kissed one plump cheek.

‘Oh, go on with you, me lord,’ giggled a newly coquettish Mrs Bradley.

‘We are in need of your help,’ said Emily. ‘Mrs Bradley is s-stuck in the bath.’ She began to giggle helplessly, leaning against the kitchen door. Lord Harley began to laugh as well.

The door opened a crack and Hannah’s cold eye surveyed the laughing pair. ‘Pull yourselves together,’ she admonished. ‘My lord, be as quick and deft as you can, for Mrs Bradley is sore embarrassed.’

They followed Hannah into the kitchen. Not only Mrs Bradley’s body was covered by a sheet but her face as well.

Give me your hands, Mrs Bradley,’ ordered Lord Harley. Two hands appeared from below the sheet. He gave a great heave. The bath tilted and more water flooded on the floor but Mrs Bradley remained stuck fast.

‘I am sorry about this,’ he said, bending over the coffin-shaped tin bath to examine her more closely. He took off his coat and rolled up his shirt-sleeves and slid his hands into the water under the sheet and then, as a squawk of sheer outrage rose from Mrs Bradley’s lips, under her bottom. With one almightly wrench he lifted her clear from the bath and set her down on her feet.

Panting and blushing, Mrs Bradley wrapped the sheet round her ample body.

‘Like Venus rising from the foam,’ said Lord Harley gently and kissed one plump cheek.

‘Oh, go on with you, me lord,’ giggled a newly coquettish Mrs Bradley.

But in His falling, two things He did. His mortal hand loosed the spear that struck down Ethriss, and His spirit shrank and vowed and learned and hid in the hearts of His most faithful until some future time would come.

Hawklan stood up and wrapped his right hand firmly around the hilt of the sword. As he did so, he heard a sound like a distant trumpet. A faint, infinitely distant clarion call from another age. For an instant he felt a surge of recognition, also from times past, but it slipped away like a dream at dawn.
'My sword,' he heard himself say softly.

Hawklan wore the clothes and the sword as if they were a natural part of him. The brothers saw before them the man they knew as a healer. A gentle, slightly innocent man, full of gentleness and light. But his healer's cowled robe had been laid aside and, standing armed, breeched, and booted, in a metal-buckled jerkin and with a long hooded cloak over his shoulders, the whole in black, his bearing was purely that of a warrior and leader. A warrior and a leader the like of which could be seen in the thick of battle in many of the carvings that filled the Castle.

'I wonder what killed it? I can't see any injury. It looks healthy enough.'
'Apart from being dead,' chuckled Gavor, then, apologetically, 'Sorry.'

‘Thanks anyway though,’ I say, feeling sorry for the guy. He sounds like a laugh. ‘Where do you live?’
‘In flat 29,’ comes the voice.
‘Hi, nice to meet you, we’re Erica and Sophia – are you on the second floor?’
‘Yeah that’s me.’
‘Well, you must be to the left of us then. Jack, whose brother’s wife Tina is having a baby, is on the third floor. He’s above us.’ This is a bit random; I’m introducing someone I’ve never met to someone I don’t know and have never met. This lockdown just gets weirder by the minute.
‘How fabulous, I love the idea of having a socially distanced meet and greet. Hello, all, I’m Greg at number 29.’

I love Mum. She’s about twenty years behind everyone else but is super thrilled about everything and her enthusiasm is infectious.

Jack hesitates a moment. I call up to him, ‘Jack, this is my friend Erica – she’s a fully qualified midwife so you’re in safe hands!’
‘Hi, Erica!’ he says, sounding more his usual self. ‘I don’t know. Apparently the contractions are every three to four minutes.’ Jack recites this fact as though he has learnt it by heart
‘Okay, well that means she is probably about six centimetres dilated so she’s still got a way to go until that baby’s going to be born. You can never tell though.’
‘How dilated does she need to be? Sounds horrible.’ Jack is obviously totally traumatised. It almost makes me want to giggle – guys just have no idea what women have to go through.

I wonder if it’s too late to recruit another vicar. This one seems slightly faulty.
...
The vicar looks a bit shaken by all of this. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says casually, as though this sort of thing is commonplace. His face looms ridiculously close to the screen. ‘I will be having a serious word with my pets after the service. Now … where were we?’

‘Okay so I’m going to show you all a short film, “What happened when we all stopped” by Jane Goodall

So this film shows us it’s important to remember we need to look after our world. It’s the only one we’ve got. And since we’ve all been home much more than usual, it’s given us all a chance to stop, think and notice. Notice the things around us and how important they are to us. To discover what effect we have on the world. Did you hear that all the dolphins have come back to the water near Venice because there have been fewer visitors?’

This is the new normal. Whether it is better than the old one still waits to be seen, like everything in life, a story waiting to be told – it’s in the hands of people to decide how it unfolds.

“I'm a reformed character. Reforming, anyhow. Everybody Upstairs thinks so. I don't know why you can't see that,” Rupert grumbled, smoothing his own hair down. Addie had to admit that he was still ridiculously attractive, even if he was dead.

She was about to tug the green glass tip free when Rupert smiled and blew a kiss from the middle of the road, just a few feet away.

Both she and Bunny screamed.

“Stop reading my mind. I don't like it, and you know that,” Addie said crossly.
“I explained about that. It's not actually mind-reading. But I do catch a sentence or two on occasion.”

'You remember that hairdresser I was telling you about?'
'Ah - the one who you thought was blackmailing his customers ...'
'I think he's dead.'
'Oh Aggie, not another one!'
'I'm afraid so - some women have the power to drive men wild; I have a gift for making them drop down dead.'

'I'm going in alone.'
'Alright then, I'll go to the police station and tell Bill Wong!'
'James ... when did you go from being the naughty boy in the tuck shop to the boring head prefect?'
'I think it was when I grew up!'