For those who may be interested in my next novel, as yet unnamed, here's a taster in the form of its first chapter. Bear in mind, though, that it will almost certainly change as I work on the rest of the book:

1 FRESHEST OF MEADOW DAISIES

The two young Gaian Order brothers had stopped their string of laden pack ponies for a breather. The light, recycled cotton of their shabby tunics was sweat-stained a darker green in places. They’d chosen the usual spot: on the bank of a pool fed by a tumbling brook, on the path beside which they’d steadily been climbing. Up through the forest’s hot and humid air.

They’d set out earlier that morning from Bolton’s small but hectic harbour, there at the sun-baked northern head of the River Tonge’s estuary into Manchester Bay. They’d followed the river further north, the slanting mid-winter sun glinting back at them from the water of the rice fields set back from its bank. A tributary had then taken them off into the cooler shade of forest to the west, beside which they’d continued their climb to the clough where they now sat, getting their breath back and swatting away the flies.

The peaty-brown brook threaded its swollen course down from the heave of a forested Winter Hill to the northwest. Above them here, though, its narrow but deep cut in the rock of the hillside brought it rushing busily into the pool. The cooler air, and certainly the prospect of the steeper climb ahead, only went to keep the lads from their feet and their ponies’ heads bent to the thin grass of the clough.

“At least it ain’t pissing it down,” the slighter lad observed, as he made himself more comfortable. But his companion only grunted, lay back and closed his eyes.

“And, thank Gaia, they’d got in our consignment of willow-bark tea this time,” at which he picked up a small stone from beside him and threw it into the pool. Plop; but the swirling water quickly consumed its ripples.

“Do you reckon…” but something caught his eye. “What’s that, Winston?” and he pointed to the far side of the pool.

“What’s what, Denzel?” and Winston raised his head, following his fellow brother’s aim.

Something was drifting close past the pool’s far bank, slowly coming around in the circling current of the brook’s inflow. Denzel had already got to his feet, now standing at the edge, staring at what appeared to be a long log wrapped in frogspawn. But when it finally floated to their side, and he stretched out to grab it, it remained just beyond reach.

“Here,” Winston said, getting to his feet and offering his hand.

This time, leaning out against the anchor of Winston’s weight, and before the thing could drift too far, Denzel’s fingertips finally snagged it. Its covering, though, felt nothing like any frogspawn he’d ever handled before; not as slimy and yielding. On the contrary: strangely firm and warm and dry.

It took some effort—slipping and sliding in the tepid mud at the edge of the pool—before they got the weighty thing out and onto the bank. And there it then lay, leaking water. The two lads sat back down, wiping sweat from their sun-blackened brows on the sleeves of their tunics, and mutely stared at whatever it was.

Certainly not a log, for it hadn’t felt rigid enough, bending during its manhandling in at least a couple of places. But as the water within slowly drained away, Denzel was sure he could make out the shape of a hand through its strange wrapping.

He turned a wary eye towards Winston.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen owt like it before,” it prompted him to say.

“Hmm,” was all Denzel managed, before his curiosity sent his fingers exploring along its surface.

They came to an edge, one somehow firmly stuck down. But after a bit of probing, tugging and a final pull, a section noisily came away near one end. Some further digging, though, and more sounds of the bond tearing, suddenly revealed a mat of wet hair, at which Denzel sharply withdrew his hands.

“Uh,” he shivered. “It is a body,” and they both stood back, staring down at the thing.

“What’s a body doing being washed down this side of the hill?” Winston presently wondered, darting wary glances into the forest about them. “There ain’t been no serious fighting between thems in Bolton and Horwich for years. And we’re too far from Chorley. And what’s it wrapped up like that for? They’re usually stripped clean of everything.”

“Dunno.”

“So, what do we do now, then?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t reckon it’s going to be someone we know, do you?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, why don’t you ’ave a look and find out?”

“What? Me?”

“You found it.”

“But…” Denzel drew in a long breath. “All right, then.”

Far more gingerly this time, he painstakingly peeled back yet more of the wrapping, but then just knelt there, frowning over what he’d uncovered.

“Well?” Winston pressed. “Anyone we know?”

“Er… No. No, it’s not,” but then he whispered, “It’s a young lass.” When he came to tear his gaze away, he frowned at Winston, clearly puzzled. “But a young fair-skinned lass, who…who looks just as fresh as the freshest of any meadow daisy I’ve ever seen.”

A Force Between Waters has now been published and is available in all good Amazon bookshops ;^}