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Synopsis

When the perfect job comes up, Charlie doesn’t think twice about taking it. This is the break he’s been looking for and nobody, not even the rest of his team, can persuade him otherwise.

The job means working for an old enemy and crossing the border into London. Both are risky, but Charlie has no idea how high the stakes really are. The team will have to confront their past, each other and a killer who is closer than they realize. But can they all make it out of the city alive?

“We all remember that kid in Piccadilly. That determined look he had on his face as he willed all those people to him. Just using his mind, he pulled them close then blew them all to pieces. It could be anyone. Your neighbour, your friend, your lover. Remain vigilant. Reachers are everywhere.”

Border Lines is the second book in L.E. Fitzpatrick’s Reachers series.

Border Lines Cover

Buy Links

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/
Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B01N9C0VCJ/

Start with Book One, The Running Game

Rachel’s father called it the running game. Count the exits, calculate the routes, and always be ready to run.

On the surface, Rachel is just an ordinary doctor, but she has a secret. Rachel is a Reacher, wanted by the government and the criminal underworld for her telekinetic powers.

Charlie and his brother John have a reputation for doing the impossible. But after losing his family, Charlie is a broken mess and John is barely keeping him afloat. In desperation, they take a job from a ruthless crime lord, only to discover the girl they are hunting is a Reacher… one of their own kind.

With the help of dangerous and dubious allies, can Rachel turn the game around and save herself?

The Running Game Cover

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01GIGM1X8/
Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B01GIGM1X8/

About the author

L E Fitzpatrick was born in Hull, East Yorkshire, but now lives in West Wales, with her family plus lots of dogs and cats. She manages an office, volunteers as a room steward for the National Trust and also supports independent authors as a proofreader and beta reader. She obviously has no spare time because of this, but if she did it would probably be invested in walking in the countryside and enjoying the peace and quiet.

L E Fitzpatrick published her first series Dark Waters in 2011 and is currently working on her Reacher series.

Social Links

Website: http://l-e-fitzpatrick.blogspot.co.uk
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lefitzpatrickbooks
Twitter: https://twitter.com/L_E_Fitzpatrick
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/L_E_Fitzpatrick

Reachers Series Concept Art - Characters

Happy New Year

Happy New Year from myself & all the Adventurers who populate the Black River Chronicles.

New Features for this year:

‘Highdays & Holidays’

a calendar of all the important dates in Aberddu City State -coming soon in the sidebar

‘Indie Readers Indie Writers’

A blog feature where I will review books by other Indie Authors. Check out the menu bar above.

In our world it’s 2016, for the Adventurers it’s 1116 a.c. (after cataclysm).

They have the same hopes & dreams as we do – healthy, wealthy & happiness; getting through the year with the requisite number of limbs – that kind of thing. However, it’s a mad world, and somebody’s got to save it!

Join the adventurers this year as they battle against great evils, the odds, and more than occasionally their own better judgement.

Start with ‘The Winter That Follows’

AVAILABLE HERE IN PAPERBACK OR ON KINDLE  and join the adventure.

 

 

The Winter That Follows: An Aberddu Adventure

A very nice man wrote a very nice thing about The Winter That Follows

Musings on fiction related stuff

The Winter That Follows: An Aberddu Adventure is an excellent background to the other tales in the series. The characters are rich and deep, and give the feeling of having lived. Also it was nice to see a little more of the rich world in which these tales are set. I look forward to the next in the series.

The Aberddu Adventures series by LG Surgeson is a fun and interesting fantasy world adventure story of the old school. With brave adventures and evil so and so’s.

View original post

Another Day Another Great Review

on Amazon.co.uk

By do not disturb

This review is from: The Freetown Bridge (The Aberddu Adventures Book 1) (Kindle Edition)
The Freetown Bridge starts by introducing you to a number of intriguing characters, all of whom instantly seem to have depth and a backstory to each that I would love to know more of. In fact, I lost track occasionally of who was who and who was where simply due to the vast number of ‘main’ characters in the book, as well realised as each one was.
The story moves on quickly and brought me to genuine laughter and even a heartfelt tear. I am surprised that this is the first book by Surgeson; with a start like this I expect great things to come!!

Very exciting – as I have no idea who the reviewer is.

You can tell she’s a lady…

A polite cough disturbed Iona’s train of thought and she looked up to see her housekeeper standing in the study door way with a complex expression questioning look on her face and a towering militia officer with his helmet tucked under his arm standing behind her.

Thank you Leonora,” she said rising carefully from her seat and meeting the woman’s quizzical look with a ‘your guess is as good as mine’ expression. “Do come in officer. Close the door and tell Shayla we’d like some tea, thank you Leonora.” She motioned for the officer to step into the room and gave Leonora another complicated glance that said ‘don’t wander too far when you’ve closed the door’. Then she turned to the officer, who she could tell was a corporal now she could see the rank stripe on his sleeve. Clearly this wasn’t too serious a visit, most of the things she expected the militia to call on her about were matters for more senior officers. Relaxing slightly, although not entirely, she smiled at the corporal. Then she turned to her desk and flicked the folder shut, covering the plan she had just been reviewing. Reminding herself that she was a Lady and therefore gracious under pressure, she indicated that the officer should take a seat by the window, as far from her desk as it was possible to sit. Perching opposite him on the edge of the armchair by the fireplace, she said in a honey-sweet voice,

I’m sure you are aware that I am Lady Iona, Duchess of Pringle.” It was a small cruelty that brightened her day, watching the officer trying to work out whether he ought to stand up, where to look and whether to offer her a hand or not. “And you are?”

I’m Corporal Elvin Fisher,” grumbled the militiaman, addressing his naval and keeping his gaze fixed on his boots.

Very pleased to meet you,” lied Iona charmingly, offering the corporal a hand to shake, which he accepted warily. “Now corporal, how can I help you?” She smiled trying not to bare her teeth.

Um, it’s like this, your Lady-ship,” he said uncomfortably, staggering over the word lady-ship. “I’m one of the duty officers at the Docklands Militia Base. It’s about two miscreants we’ve got in custody down at the Docklands nick. We’ve had a request from the clink, I mean the gaol house, for you to bail them out, and truth be told we’d be most grateful if you was in the position to oblige. They’re playing merry wossname with the duty officer apparently, saying they was only performing and that as members of the Bard’s Guild they’re entitled to perform anything they liked. We’ve put them in the end cell but they’re still creatin’.” At this point Iona’s face was fighting against a cacophony of expressions. Already she was entirely certain who these two gaol birds were and she was torn between blind fury, side-splitting laughter and polite confusion. It made her look as though she was suppressing a sneeze.

Really?” she said to the now beleaguered looking corporal, “How dreadful.” As she said dreadful a snort of amusement escaped, which the corporal took for a sneeze and uttered ‘bless you,’ under his breath. “What are the names of these miscreants? It is possible they might be associates or tenants of mine.” The officer dipped into his pocket and pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket.

The name they originally gave us was ‘The Amazing Bazooka Sisters’, then they claimed to be Sister Daisy and Mori Silerbanis, then one of them claimed she was a personal friend of the Frisian Ambassador and the other one was his mistress.” At this point, the poor man cleared his throat and continued valiantly. “After an hour in the stockade they finally admitted to being called Bread and Butter Pudding and Custard the Goblin of the Aberddu Chaos Temple and Miss Clara Euphemistia Cropper of no fixed abode.” As he read out the names he flushed red with embarrassment. Managing to contain her mirth, Iona nodded with mock solemnity.

I am aware of both these, what was the word you used? Miscreants, and I am in a position to pay the bonds on both of them. How much is it?”

Seventeen florins the pair, and you’ll have to come down to the militia building to sign the papers,” he said with a look of gleeful optimism dawning in his eyes. He had clearly thought this a fool’s errand but now it seemed likely that he might actually return to the base victorious.

Give me five minutes to collect my things and bring the chaise around,” said Iona with an edge of well-mannered exasperation, “and we’ll go.”

When, twenty minutes later, Iona drew her well known chaise and greys up outside the Docklands militia base, every eye in the street was on her and the embarrassed officer that had just jumped down from the passenger seat. Very few people would be presumptuous enough to leave a vehicle of this quality parked in this neighbourhood but Iona dared. No thief in their right mind, or even a wilful child with a piece of chalk, would lay their hand on Iona Pringle’s chaise. The militia officer opened his mouth to suggest it was unwise but before he could get the words out she turned to him and with a wry smile said,

I’m sure the illustrious citizens of Aberddu can be trusted not to steal a cart belonging to a widow-woman from outside of a militia building.” Then, she turned smartly on her heels and headed towards the open door of the base before he could object.

In the entrance hall, a cat fight between to dockland streetwalkers was being tentatively managed by a massive sweaty militiaman who had them both by the hair and had pushed them each to arms length. His shiny face was turned to one side to keep it out of scratching and spitting range. Around the edge of the room a gang of their colleagues, each in a set of heavy steel cuffs and still dressed in their working clothes, were participating in some colourful social commentary at the top of their voices.

Beyond the shrieking and cursing prostitutes, Iona could hear the usual after dark remonstrations coming from the ground floor cells. She stopped by the door, removed her gloves and hat and without batting an eye lid turned to Corporal Fisher and said,

Do lead on,”

Er, yeah,” he mumbled, now regretting his success in getting Lady Pringle to accompany him down to the base. Between her unguarded chaise and the fact she didn’t seem to have any sense of self-preservation in the face of a bunch of cat fighting hookers, he had a feeling things were going to end badly. “Walk this way your lady-ship”

With some trepidation, he lead her across the crowded hall and down the narrow stairs. He knocked on the door at the bottom and was let through by a squat, disgruntled woman in a green tabard who handed him a large ring of keys without a word. Picking up her skirts so that she had a good three inches of clearance, Iona took a step on to the foul floor of the corridor. She had heard Pudding and Clara the moment she had passed through the doorway. It really was a masterful talent they had between for creating an Indaba even whilst incarcerated. Iona allowed herself a private smirk as she heard Pudding serenading an irate gaoler with the old music hall favourite “I like it like a well boiled ham, firm and pink and juicy.” The atonal section as she escalated to the middle eight was a stroke of genius.

Corporal Fisher turned to Iona and shouted over the cacophony of singing and the shouts of the other prisoners for her to stop,

As I said, we would be most grateful if you would pay the bonds for them.” Iona nodded, having managed to chorale her face back to polite compliance just in time. “If you come this way, you can have a brief word with them before the private takes you up to the office to fill out the bonds.”

Thank you,” said Iona graciously as she tiptoed through the effluent on the gaol floor fighting back the urge to ask them when the last time they had hosed it down. She had actually walked through cleaner sewers, no wonder people complained about militia detention. It was a long walk to the end of a long narrow corridor with cells either side, the occupants either hunched in the shadows or catcalling at her and flailing through the bars. Then, faced with a t-junction she followed Fisher to the left passed a cell of arguing pickpockets some of whom she recognised. Neither she nor they acknowledged this acquaintance as she passed, they just came to the grille to watch what was happening.

Clara and Pudding were in the cell at the end just as Fisher had said and when Iona came into view Pudding stopped in the middle of the second verse of “Well Boiled Ham” and they broke into a chorus of the far less subtle “You can tell she’s a Lady by what she charges,” in glorious two part disharmony. They were clearly steaming drunk and judging by the state of them had either fallen into someone’s cesspit or Doc Loladge’s city slurry works. They looked almost exactly the same as they had when Iona had importuned them on Fisherman’s Walk, apart from the fact they were even dirtier, there were no apples, Pudding was actually wearing her hat and Clara had been swamped by a large woollen coat that dragged on the floor as she hopped about in the cells. Iona sighed and immediately regretted taking such a deep breath.

Shut it you two,” she hissed before Corporal Fisher had the chance to bark any recrimination. “You’ve got some explaining to do.” Clara and Pudding shut up immediately and looked at Iona with mock shame. Infuriated that Iona’s hissing had succeeded where his threats and taunts had failed, the gaoler glowered. “And this’ll be coming out of your wages,” Iona added smartly as she turned her back on them and took herself back to the stairs. 

The Summer of Fire: Prologue

 

The Time Before….

One speaks of the time before the Summer of Fire in the same hushed tones as one speaks of the time before the cataclysm. As though the world was somehow softer then, as though we were more innocent and more lovely. As though no trouble existed. It is the golden age, not long ago but far away. It is seen as almost out of reach by those who do not really know of what they speak.

To speak of a time before the Summer of Fire, a time truly before the cacophony of events that chose to confluence in those short months, is to speak of a time more than four hundred years gone. Few have a genuine understanding of what lead to the time known as the Summer of Fire, of the rising powers that had grown, with the patience of mountains, over centuries. Only in looking back could scholars rightfully understand the full scale of events that preceded it.

It is difficult to distinguish therefore what came ‘before’, as this is a relative term. Each individual will have a point in time that they consider to be the time ‘before’, after which their life will have changed irrevocably. General consensus suggests that by 1099ac it was already too late, but for some it started long before that.