Jane

[Odalisque]

I'm mulling over a start on a new novel set in the same world as Odalisque, and with some of the same characters. The title I currently have in mind is Jane. The little I've written reads as follows:

Modesty Clay and I were lovers, although I never really knew her.

Flocking gulls squawked over the marshes. A chill breeze blew, against which I wrapped my cloak. Thick salty mud, an enemy of leather, spattered my boots. Lingering in my mouth and heavy on my stomach lay a dinner of beans and sausages. Better not to consider what kind of meat had been mixed with bread and herbs inside the skins.

Although not a soldier, I was with our army in Essex. Coming to my occupation, it seems so monstrously dull it’s small wonder that my first impulse was to state that Modesty and I were lovers. By nature, I am an ordinary person. While the empire depends on we who keep tally of its transactions, my calling lacks glamour. Not for me to strut in thigh boots, gauntlets and cuirass – sometimes gleaming, sometimes deliberately dulled – in the manner of Modesty Clay. We served the Majesty of the same Empress, she as cavalry officer, me as a fiscal inspector.

There – I’ve said it. Fiscal inspector. Whilst others slaughtered Her Imperial Majesty’s enemies on the field of blood, I merely counted the pennies paid to them. That was what brought me to Essex, and Modesty Clay’s independent company of light cavalry. It was not that I expected any misappropriation of the soldiers’ pay, although that needed to be checked. It is to be hoped that the honour of one of Her Majesty’s officers – and the good sense of our soldiery – would prevent such a thing. The penalty of enslavement provides a powerful additional argument in favour of an honest distribution of Her Majesty’s money.

Prizes, in my experience, are far more likely to give rise to malpractice. In fully ninety-nine cases from a hundred, I am convinced, this arises from simple arithmetic errors. My feeling is that schoolmistresses should use greater vigour when spanking the principles of long division into their pupils. But one cannot blame a gallant officer for the failings of her childhood tutors. In such cases, it is enough to redress the distribution of prize money, taking it from the overpaid to make necessary restitution.

[Nemonymous]

A goodly start. I must encourage you in this sequel. Are you going to blog it?
And is it anything to do with the JANE books by Evadne Price?

[Odalisque]

Thank you, Des.

I hadn't yet thought about blogging. It seems too early. But I thought it might be interesting to post the first few paragraphs.

I didn't think of Evadne Price's Jane at first. Of course, on a little reflection, Evadne Price came to mind. Originally, I was seeking a monosyllabic ordinary name. My narrator says that she's an ordinary person.

[Odalisque]

Work on Jane is going slowly. I'm not entirely sure where the story is going, and I'm trying to feel my way. That may be a problem with taking a central character, rather than a plot, as my jumping off point -- but I think that the approach has its advantages, too.

...and a character who says that she is an ordinary person, too...

I have written a bit of dialogue, which has maybe livened it up a bit.

[Odalisque]

It's still in rough draft form, but here's a bit on which I was working on Wednesday:

While the prospect of being involved in a battle at sea worried me, my churning stomach was a more immediate concern. Not long after the Furious had been sited, I made my way to the rail to be sick. At first nothing arose from inside me. Just as I was concluding that I would not, after all, be physically ill, my stomach seemed to turn itself inside out. Almost at once wet splashed into my face – it took me a few moments of identify the moisture as my own vomit. A cry of disgust escaped my lips.

“Valuable lesson, little Jane,” the captain said, laughing. “Never throw into the wind.”

“Seagirl Spratt,” called Lieutenant Jones, “dip a bucket into the drink for Miss Brewster to clean herself up.”

While the first bucket of sea water sufficed to clean my skin, it took a couple more to tease regurgitated food from my hair. Dabbing at my shirt removed most of the muck from that, but it remained in need of a proper wash – whilst continuing cold and clammy. The smell of my own filth as I cleaned it away did nothing to settle my stomach.

As the morning continued, preparations for battle progressed. Sailors fetched stones for the catapult, I think part of our ship’s ballast. Marines daubed a sooty substance over the hitherto bright cuirasses, greaves, vambraces and helmets. Others stacked crossbows and swords ready for use.

Around midday, against my better judgment, I went down to lunch. Having forced a little food down my throat, I wished that I hadn’t, and soon returned to the deck.

Unexpectedly, a sharp breeze in my face made me feel a little better. Glancing about with renewed interest, I saw the Furious for the first time. Had it been an object at arm’s length, the warship would have been perhaps two inches long. A second craft, evidently – even my untutored eye – designed to carry cargo, seemed to be under tow. With little idea as to the vessels’ size, there was no way to gauge the distance separating us. Even had I known how far away the ships were, it would not have signified very much without knowing the range of our catapult and theirs. It occurred to me that I might ask, but was shy to do so.

Capstans creaked as sailors tightened the catapult ropes. Others rolled a surprisingly large boulder into its waiting cup. The first exchange of fire was clearly expected shortly, and it seemed wise to go below. Only a continuing queasiness stayed my feet. The cool breeze on deck helped to feel a little less sick.

With a loud thud and twanging of ropes our catapult released its boulder. Wide eyed, I watched it dwindle to the size of a pebble and vanish. A tiny splash disturbed the sea close to the stern of the Furious. The capstans groaned more urgently and a second rock rumbled into place. A great splash spattered us with sea water, falling like rain. They had returned our fire. Feeling, now, that I’d be safer on deck should our hull be holed, I remained where I was. A second time our catapult released its burden, noisier than before. This time, I saw no splash. Sailors and marines roared our triumph.

“What is it, Lieutenant Jones?” I asked.

“We’ve smashed their afterdeck catapult on only our second shot, Miss Brewster. Brilliantly well done.”

“Does that mean that they can’t shoot at us?”

“Not unless they can bring their three main deck catapults to bear, Miss Brewster. They’ll try to turn about to do that, but we’re faster and more manoeuvrable than they are.”

“So we’re safe?”

“Given good sailing – and we can expect nothing less from Captain Grey – we’re safe enough for now, Miss Brewster.”

“And we can sink them?”

“We could always do that, little Jane.” The captain laughed. “But you, of all people should know better.”

“Me of all people?”

“You of all people, little Jane. Your job is to oversee the spoils of war. We don’t want to send our prize to the bottom, if we can help it.”

“Besides, Miss Brewster, they have a merchant ship as a prize. There’ll be prisoners in their hold – prisoners we shouldn’t drown. If it comes to that, the crew of the Furious would probably prefer enslavement to death. The sea is the enemy of all, sailors try not to drown one another.”

“So they’ll surrender to us?”

“Eventually, little Jane.”

This cryptic remark worried me, but I didn’t care to ask what would need to happen before the Furious surrendered. Perhaps because we were manoeuvring to avoid their main deck catapults, our ship rolled and pitched more violently than ever. Inevitably, I felt increasingly ill. Having sucked my finger and raised it to the wind, I returned to the rail.

Leaning over, rather to my surprise, no vomit rose in my throat. Thuds echoed in quick succession. Looking up, I saw that several arrows quivered in the planking – the nearest only two or three feet from my head. Spraying sick, now, I ran for the hatch. Huddled in the hold, I listened to the sounds of battle – thudding, shrieking, clattering. In my refuge, I was safe from arrow fire, but – should we lose – not from enslavement.

[Odalisque]

This morning I am quite excited about Jane. My starting point was my central character, without any very clear idea of what would happen to her (apart from what was implied in the first small beginnings of the book -- which wasn't much). Suddenly, this morning, an entire plot clicked into place -- and suddenly I know where Jane is going. The plot will resolve itself into a love triangle that grows even messier as it expands to a pentagon. Poor Jane! But a resolution is at hand...

It's a curious moment -- having a plot emerge (seemingly without much volition from me) where formerly there was none.

[Odalisque]

Apart from polishing and (possibly) later tinkering, I think I've now finished the first chapter of Jane. If anyone wants to see it, let me know! (I've sent it to one person without being asked.)

[Odalisque]

I've had a strange moment with Chapter 2 of Jane today... The writing has been going very slowly. I couldn't see where the current little bit was going, or why I should write it at all. It just seemed wrong. But I pushed on (slowly) with the idea that I might be about to delete quite a chunk. Then, suddenly, today, the little fragment of story has fallen into place. And I find myself thinking -- Oh, so that's what it was about... and I'm left surprised by something over which people might expect me to exercise more conscious control.

Strange business, writing.

[candy]

Looks great Odalisque!! I did notice a typo in the last line I think Jane almost spilled the drink instead of splitting it hehehe

"Now, the dimness of a stormy mid afternoon suggested evening – of the year, as well as the day." I really like this line!!! Thanks for sharing!!!

[Odalisque]

Quote Originally Posted by candy

Looks great Odalisque!! I did notice a typo in the last line I think Jane almost spilled the drink instead of splitting it hehehe "Now, the dimness of a stormy mid afternoon suggested evening – of the year, as well as the day." I really like this line!!! Thanks for sharing!!!

Thanks, Candy! You must have read the last post on this thread very soon after I posted it. I noticed that she'd almost split her drink very quickly, and did a swift edit.

May you never split your drinks!