A love story, part two: Getting the numbers to add up ~ Tallis Steelyard

Reblogged from Jim Webster, aka Tallis Steelyard:

A love story, part two. Getting the numbers to add up

When contemplating telling the story of Hindle Walbarrow It occurred to me that I must first tell the salutary tale of the House of Bumblewin. The Bumblewins are usurers and will indeed lend money. But they are also calculate actuarial tables and even more importantly, they produce the compound interest tables that so many others use. Now you would have thought that once you had a compound interest table, it would do forever. After all, numbers don’t change.

Jos Bumblewin Senior had realised that as well. But he was determined to do something about it. Now even a leading Port Naain Usurer cannot change arithmetic. But he could influence the calculation. As a Sinecurist he suggested to the Council of Sinecurists that the Council could cover a temporary shortfall in their budget by raising an impost of one dreg per alar repaid. He pointed out that it would fall to usurers to collect this and pay it, annually, to the Council. Whilst a very small sum on any given loan, across the city in the course of a year, it produced a respectable sum. The Council accepted his suggestion with gratitude.

Continue reading at Tallis Steelyard

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Fantasy ~ Willow Willers #writephoto

Vlad was as usual showing off, knowing that all the staff would be on the look out for his arrival he decided to give them a show. Circling the castle twice getting lower each time Vlad went into a fast dive pulling up at the last minute and soaring up into a barrel roll spiralling back and forth across the courtyard he was indeed putting on an impressive show.

Unfortunately as he started to perform a Triple Sulko, the formidable figure of the Grandmother with the Invisible cape appeared at one of the windows and loudly commanded Vlad to “Cease this Tom Foolery’.

Continue reading at  willowdot21

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The Entered Dragon ~ Steve Tanham

Like waking within a dream – or, at least, the point where the lucidity begins…

I turn my head in the small theatre, expecting others to be smiling, if not laughing. But no-one is, because no one else is here…

Just me and it…

The curtains part and what I know to be behind them takes centre stage. Leathery pads, soft on the well-trod wood, make a sliding sound as it turns to face me. The eyes are glittering, but not as much as its breath, which seems gathered to strike in elongated curls of superheated air.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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The House That Fish Built: Long-Horn O’Leary…

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…From the south came Long-Horn O’Leary and his host.

“Hail, the flame-hot hammerer: wielder of the red mallet,” said Father Fish as he lolloped alongside O’Leary’s company on foot, “When the men of Albion return from foreign lands you protect their rear so that an assailant may not spring past you, nor over you, what then should prevent the Champion’s Portion of Red-Hill-Hall being yours ?”

Said Long-Horn O’Leary, “why, if it isn’t that dullard Fish Face, come to pester me with his eccentric wit,” he laughed aloud and his company set up a roar and raised their swords.

Continue reading at France and Vincent

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A FANTASY

First in this week…

Iain Kelly's avatarIain Kelly

‘…the castle was saved and the dragon was slain.’

The boy finished reading and looked up.

‘Very good, Michaels. Back to your seat. Right, who’s next? Hines?’

Freddy stood up nervously, fumbling his jotter, and made his way to the front of the class.

‘We haven’t got all day, boy. Start reading.’

‘Yes sir,’ Freddy mumbled. ‘A Fantasy Tale, by Freddy Hines.’

‘Speak up, boy. Let the class hear you.’

Freddy gulped and stared at the page in front of him, unable to raise his head and see the roomful of eyes watching him, waiting for him to fail.

‘After school one day I ran home. My Dad was waiting for me when I got in. He was back living with Mum and me. I was very happy to see him. I got changed out my uniform and he took Mum and me out for a slap-up dinner to celebrate…

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Thursday photo prompt: Fantasy #writephoto

Welcome to this week’s #writephoto prompt!

You can find all last week’s entries in the weekly round-up, which was published earlier today.

Throughout the week, I will feature as many of the responses here on the Daily Echo as time and space allows, usually in the order in which they are submitted.

All posts will be featured in the weekly round-up on Thursday 13th August, linking back to the original posts of contributors.

Use the image below as inspiration to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose, as long as it is fairly family-friendly.

Submit your link by noon (GMT) Wednesday 12th August.

Link back to this post with a pingback (Hugh has an excellent tutorial here) and/or leave a link in the comments below, to be included in the round-up. If you link to any other post, I may miss your entry when compiling the round-up.

Use the #writephoto hashtag in your title so your posts can be found.

There is no word limit and no style requirements, except that your post must take inspiration from the image and/or the prompt word given in the title of this post.

Feel free to use #writephoto logo or include the prompt photo in your post if you wish, or you may replace it with one of your own to illustrate your work.

By participating in the #writephoto challenge, please be aware that your post may be featured as a reblog on this blog and I will link to your post for the round-up each week.

Regular contributors are also welcome to come over as my guest and introduce themselves (click here for details).

Please note: As I do not share my political opinions on this blog, please do not use the challenge as a platform from which to share yours. Party political or racially offensive posts will not be reblogged.

This week’s prompt ~ Fantasy

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green landscape of rolling hills and an island in a bay. In the foreground, pastel-painted buildings and a tall clock tower are surrounded by summer trees.

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Photo prompt round-up: Worn #writephoto

Facelift or healing

Disguising the deepest wounds

New replaces old

Time’s inexorable march

Writes inescapable tales

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The photo for this week’s prompt was taken in Bakewell, Derbyshire, a few years ago. The worn steps are typical of many older homes and are a poignant reminder of how many feet have passed that way and how many stories the old stones have witnessed. I was particularly struck by the incongruity of the two new steps that have replaced the originals, their surfaces as yet unmarked by time and experience.

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Thank you to everyone who took part, visited or reblogged the posts or left comments for their authors. A new prompt will be published later today. As always, I will reblog as many contributions as space and time allows as they come in… and all of them will be featured in the round-up next Thursday.

All the posts are listed below, so please click on the links below to read them and leave a comment for the author!

Pingbacks do not always come through… if you have written a post for this challenge and it does not appear in the round-up, please leave a link to your post in the comments and I will add it to the list.

An invitation to writephoto writers…

As there are usually too many contributions to reblog all of them every week, and so that we can get to know their writers, I would like to invite all writephoto writers to come and introduce themselves on the blog as my guest! Click here for details.

Come and join in!

Thank you to all Contributors!

Jen Goldie

Shweta Suresh at My Random Ramblings

Lisa Coleman at Our Eyes Open

Kerfe Roig at K- Lines that Aim to Be

stoneronarollercoaster

Noah Weiss at Never a Worry

Christine Bolton at Poetry for Healing

Pranav R. Lal at Pranav’s Writing

Jude at Tales Told Different

Neel Anil Panicker

Annette Kalandros at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

Melanie A. Peters at Intentergy

Happysoul at Live Love Laugh Learn

Michelle Navajas at michnavs

earth sky air

Anisha at Crazy Nerds

G. Dutta at Straight From The Heart

Geoff Le Pard at TanGental

Michael at Morpeth Road

Mark Bierman

Anita from Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

Frank Hubeny at Poetry, Short Prose and Walking

Everywhere and Nowhere

Aashi D Parekh at Falling Upwards

Paula Light at Light Motifs II

Smita Ray at The Wide Blue

Jules at Jules Pens Some Gems

Di at pensitivity101

Trent P. McDonald at Trent’s World

Balroop Singh at Emotional Shadows

Cheryl at The Bag Lady

Jez Farmer at About the Jez of It

Fandango at This, That and the Other

Na’ama Yehuda

Keith Hillman at Keith’s Ramblings

Kitty’s Verses

S. S. at Mindfills

Neha at Forgotten Meadows

Honoré Dupuis at Of Glass and Paper

Aseem Rastogi at Transition of Thoughts

Dr. Crystal Grimes at Mystical Strings

Goff James at Art, Photography and Poetry

Jane Dougherty Writes

Lady Lee Manila

Hayley R. Hardman at The Story Files

Kim Blades

Willow Willers at willowdot21

K. L. Caley at new2writing

Iain Kelly

Sadje at Keep it Alive

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A rift in time…

november hawk orc 014

The hut was dark, save for the smoking lamp, shadows danced around her, drawing her into vision. She sat, silent and still, waiting for what would come, opening herself to the now familiar shift.

A strange perfume filled the air, herbs and sap, burning like a fire of pine logs, but concentrated, more fragrant. Candles lit the furthermost end of the hut, which was no longer the familiar wattle and daub, but made of stone, squared and painted with tall figures in red ochre, yellow and black. They seemed almost alive in the flickering light, painted stories of strange beings, dragons and men. She knew not of what they spoke, but sensed their import and sanctity to those who had wrought them.

Looking down at herself, she saw no longer the simple shift, but a thick woollen gown, undyed and unadorned, tied by a leather belt. On her feet were sandals, not dissimilar to those she knew. Her hand flew up to the feather at her neck, but encountered only beads and a wooden pendant shaped like a crossing of roads. Her long, lustrous hair was covered by a veil, tied tightly around her head. Yet her eyes felt her own as she looked down the length of this holy place, with its high ceiling and unfamiliar scents.

Shifting her inner vision, she recognised the rainbow of light that was the signature of her home, the enclosure shared with the sisterhood. Here were the blues and greens, the gold and pinks of the sacred light that she knew. The building was strange, but the land was not.

Continue reading at France and Vincent

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Crumbled ~ Paula Light #writephoto

A love so strong must abide,

She believed, as she left to find

Herself, somewhere else.

She traveled, swam, camped, and climbed

To experience the world

She’d been denied.

Continue reading at  Light Motifs II

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Innocence #midnighthaiku

Innocence blushes

The simple heart is golden

Open to beauty

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