Tales from Norlandia, Part 3

Here is the second of the Flash Fiction teasers for The Rocks of Aserol.

“With the coming of the Rail-Ryde, Aserol has turned from a provincial backwater supporting the nearby naval base into an important source of Norlandian wealth. The first edition of the Ryde cCompany’s handbook for travellers describes the town, no doubt in the hope of enticing the new craze of ‘touring,’ and we repeat it here.”

Chapter 2, Aserol

Aserol is situated at the southern tip of the continent of Norlandia. It fronts onto the bay of Southcape and occupies the level ground at the base of the Amexian hills. These are heavily wooded and contain the large coal deposits currently mined by Waster Mining and Metals.

This company, which is the largest local employer after the Navy, has three shafts in its workings, a beltway carries coal direct to the Rail yards. The logs cleared in the building of the mines, factories and other facilities are used to shore the mine shafts and in other endeavours. In addition to its mines the company smelts local ferrous ores and makes steel. It has a clockwork makers and laboratories on site, working under the auspices of the Ministry of Coal.

 Wild beast abound in the virgin forests, wild swine, cervines and ursines provide sport for the hunter and clear streams have many good sized piscine’s for the angler.

The cliffs on the eastern end of the promenade are steep and have the lighthouse of King Oscar on the top. Underneath, a wide sandy beach affords safe water bathing.

The population is steadily increasing with the development of commerce and trading links. There are many surrounding villages and small townships, each with its own character. The harbour of Aserol is available to ships of all sizes; there are coal loading facilities and a large fisher basin. Most popular species of piscine and various crustaceans are caught in numbers for local consumption and now for transport in iced boxes to the metropolis. Additionally, agriculture thrives on the lower slopes of the hills. Fruits, vegetables and animals are grown and herded.

There is a naval base five miles distant with its own branch of the Rail.

The power generators (referred to as Locals in popular speech) produce steam for the populace’s domestic needs and for local industries, which are mainly ship building and repair, chandlery and related to mining. Facilities exist to recharge clockworks of every size. Coal powder is available for mobiles.

There is brewing and wine making, using produce grown in the vicinity. The quality of these wines and ales is among the best available.

The advent of the Rail has not diminished the seaborne trade but rather enhanced it; produce from sea and land can now be in the capital in hours instead of days.

There are several hotels and guest houses, where reasonable rates are charged for rooms and meals of good quality. Among the best are the Waterfront Hotel and the Aserol Grand, this last one is owned by the Rail-Ryde company. For those on a more modest budget, the Provincial is adequate. Many establishments cater for the discerning diner and sell food and drink of the highest quality, a list is supplied in appendix ii. There are also more informal dining facilities and coffee saloons scattered throughout the town.

A promenade pier is a recent construction, this enables persons to walk out over the ocean and take refreshments suspended over the waves.

The town is generally peaceful, with the proximity of the naval base it has not been subject to raids from the sea and the locals are mostly law abiding. It would be better for the traveller not to attend some of the ale houses frequented by the workers, such establishments as the Drogans Rest are notorious for parting the unsuspecting from their money. More salubrious establishments on the sea road and promenade cater for the traveller in safety. In summer there are band shows in the evening on the promenade, many establishments have their own bands and competition between them is fierce.

The priests of Bal hold regular devotions in their cloisters and are available for petitions and blessings to all-comers. Aserol is more observant of religion than the capital and strictly keeps all the festivals and offering days.

Drogans are regularly sighted in the area but attacks are rare. A good system of netting is in place and watchtowers and balloons are manned and ready. In recent years there have been no reported adult fatalities from Drogan attacks, although ovine’’s and small bovine’s are sometimes taken.

The climate is agreeable, being some five scale points warmer than the average temperatures in the cCapital for most of the year. In winter this figure rises to seven making it an ideal place for a tour in the colder months for those from the North. Invalids and convalescents also report on the climate’s beneficial effects.

Contact yYour nearest Rail-Ryde offices for details and prices. Mobiles of all types can be transported to Aserol in safety on our services.

Wednesday Morning

Yvonne and I had a quiet day planned for today, we were waiting for deliveries and a phone call. I decided to use the time to make some teacakes as I had a bit of flour to use up before its use by date.
 The flour is one of my favourites, it has pieces of dried apple already mixed in, with the cinnamon as well it tastes fantastic.

but I added a mixture of Raisins, Cranberries and Dried Mango to it for extra fruitiness. 

The recipe is:-

500g of flour

300g water

10g yeast

10g salt

60g caster sugar

50g butter

200g fruit.

It's made like ordinary bread so whatever method you follow.

I actually used a full bag of flour, 1.5kg, so I ended up with 3,500 g of dough.
After bulk proving, this made 24 teacakes at 135-145g each.

After an hour to rise they were baked at 200°C for 24 minutes (internal temperature was 95°C)

 While all that was going on, I made a cottage pie for tonight, the double induction hob was going flat out at one point.

 I love this hob because you can move it around the kitchen or take it away altogether if you need the workspace. And particularly odorous foods can be cooked out of the house. (Like the fried onion rings, which can leave the house smelling of onions for days - I think it's worth it but Yvonne disagrees!)

Cottage Pie made, with plenty of ridges in the mashed potato to go brown and crispy in the oven!

And with my famous beef stock gravy as well,

Not a bad mornings work.

And I got a good crispy top on the pie in the oven.

Steak and Cheese and Potato skins

I've wondered if it's about time I left the writing posts to my website and concentrated on food and Devon life on here. But of course my audience varies and a lot of people don't look at the website.

So if the writing posts are not your thing, fear not! I will always post more foodie things than writing on here. 

So today it's my take on a potato nacho idea I spotted on facebook a while ago. As usual, I have modified it a little.

If you remember I always save and cook my potato peels, see this post for details, and this basic recipe used sliced raw potato. Perfect I thought, I can just substitute them.

So I lined my dish with the cooked potato peels, defrosted.

and then I fried some thin steak, the marks are from where I pretended that it was someone I don't like!

Just fry in a little oil for two minutes a side.

Now the eagle-eyed among you will have spotted that three pieces of steak became two somehow. My lips are sealed (I was always told not to eat with my mouth open!).

Anyway, slice the steak into small pieces and randomly place it over the potato. (I put some smoked Paprika on first in case you're wondering what the red stuff is) You could put a little garlic paste on as well.

Next job is to cover the whole thing with grated cheese, I used strong cheddar.

Now it requires fifteen to twenty minutes in the oven at 180°C and a side salad.

And here it is.

That's a keeper!

The tale of Christopher Padget.

A small Flash Fiction for Sunday, taken from my Galactographic magazine project.

These days, everyone’s heard of Christopher Padget, after all, the Padget Inverter is an essential part of every spaceship. But what the reader must remember is that two hundred years ago, when mankind was living on a single planet, the whole of spaceflight was overshadowed by a brilliant genius who stated quite simply that the speed of light was as fast as anyone would ever travel. And the physics of the day backed him up.

But that was all the more reason for a young lad to experiment, not because he believed that Einstein was right, but because he believed that he could also be wrong.

This is his story.

Christopher Padget was a 15-year-old science geek. Rarely leaving his father’s house, he preferred to spend the time when he was not at school (which he hated for everyone else’s ignorance) in performing experiments. His particular area of interest was electromagnetics and he was sure he was on the verge of something.

One day, he was playing around with a pair of plate electromagnets. He was trying to refract light in air, just as its direction is bent in water. He thought that by creating a strong enough magnetic field he might do this. The thing that he didn’t know was that his power supply, old and second hand, was not producing a constant voltage across the magnets. In fact, as he rotated the controls, instead of an increase in voltage he got a continuously fluctuating one.

On looking between the plates he was amazed to see the wall, with its bookcase, had moved. There was a definite distortion to its shape and relative position. He moved his head from side to side, peering through the gap and always whatever was behind the gap didn’t line up with what was outside. Hardly able to believe what he was seeing, he grabbed his camera and took video of the effect and of the control settings on his power supply.

He rotated the controls a bit more and the effect stopped, with trembling hands he reset the dial but nothing happened. For the next hour, ignoring his supper, he fiddled and became more despondent, why couldn’t he repeat it? At least he had the video, which he transferred to his computer and uploaded for safe keeping.

Next day at school, he shared his findings with his Physics teacher. Brian Woolman was a fan of Christopher, he had found him to be a diligent and accurate reporter of fact but he was dubious of the story. But when he saw the video, he had to agree that something had happened. In the lunch break, he tried to replicate Christopher’s experiment but without success.

In the next lesson, Mr Woolman called Christopher to one side as the class filed out, “I can’t repeat your findings,” he said, “It must be something unique to your equipment.”

“But it’s all second-hand stuff, nothing special,” replied Christopher, “If I didn’t have the video I think I would be doubtful myself.”

Mr Woolman gave Christopher a test meter and asked him to calibrate his power supply.

That evening, Mr Woolman was enjoying a quiet pint in his local when a man he saw occasionally spotted him. David Turner was a fellow physicist working on something at the University although he had never really said what. Woolman waved him over and the two sat and chatted. After they had exhausted the usual small talk, Brian raised the subject of Christopher’s experiment.

“David, I have a conundrum for you,” Woolman said. He explained what Christopher had told him.

Davis took a drink of his beer, barely able to contain his excitement, “do you know; we’ve been trying to do that for years, I need to know all the details.”

“I don’t know it all,” Brian replied, “he said he could only do it once, but he has a video, I’ve seen it. I couldn’t repeat it following his method.”

“Well, said David, “if you can find out it would be the discovery of the century, if not more.”

“Really, I just thought it was some sort of weird harmonic effect.”

David finished his pint, “Drink up, I’ll get us another and explain.”

After a couple of minutes, David returned with two fresh pints, they both drank and David sat back,

“As you know,” he began, “light is always reckoned to have a constant speed, whatever you do with it. If you could locally bend it, then like air over a wing it would have to speed up to get back to where it’s meant to be once its past whatever bent it. In effect, it has to move faster than light to catch up.”

Brian nodded, “I understand all that. So what does it mean in practical terms, with air the pressure drops and provides lift, it’s how planes fly.”

David nodded. “Well the theory is that if light can be bent out of the way, the speed of travel in the bent area can exceed the speed of light, as the light there is already moving faster there would be no barrier to it. It’s all very theoretical; up to now we haven’t been able to bend the light.”

He made a decision. “I need to speak to this boy. I’ll come to the school tomorrow.”

Back at his house, Christopher looked at the readings; his power supply produced a constantly fluctuating output. It was useless for his experiments. He was tempted to take the thing to bits and investigate but realised that this was the reason that it did what it did. Mr Woolman would know what to do. He would ask him tomorrow.

Christopher carried the power supply into school the next day, he found Mr Woolman in the science department’s staff room and with him was another man he didn’t know. Mr Woolman introduced him as a Dr Turner from the University. They shook hands.

“I don’t understand, said Christopher, “what’s he doing here.”

“Christopher,” said Woolman, “don’t worry, I told David about what you had done. He’s very interested.”

“Can I see the video please Christopher?”  David asked.

Christopher showed him and he looked very surprised. He pointed to the box. “Is that the power supply?”

“Yes, but it’s broken, It produces a fluctuating output.”  David took a deep breath, fluctuating output, why hadn’t they thought of that? Instead, they had just poured more and more power into the field.

“May I take it away and test it, Christopher? We’ll give you another one, a new one.”

Christopher looked worried, “I’m not sure, it’s my discovery and I don’t want it taken away from me.”

“Don’t worry Christopher, I don’t want the glory. If you’re right, there’s a job waiting for you with us.”

And the rest; as they say……

BBQ Chicken and Spring Flowers.

I haven't done much food blogging recently, I've been a bit pre-occupied with the upcoming book. But of course, you still had to eat I hear you say. Well, that is true but its been mainly food that I have blogged about before so I haven't posted it again.

However today I did a new recipe for me. BBQ chicken with a homemade BBQ sauce.
It wasn't as thick as I would have liked it to be, but the flavour it imparted was divine, and I can always try it again, I have an idea for that.

Anyhow, the sauce was made from Agave Syrup, a dry BBQ rub that I was given for Christmas (I don't know what was in it) and some Tomato Ketchup.
I mixed the ingredients and coated the skinned chicken portions. 

That was where I went wrong, it was so runny that it all fell off the meat.

I baked the chicken uncovered for 45 minutes at 180°C in a fan oven, basting every 10 minutes to get the sauce over the meat. 

In the end, the heat thickened it up enough. 

Next time I think that I will cook the sauce and reduce it before I coat the chicken with it.

We had the chicken with a salad of Watercress, tomato, grated carrot, corn, and grapes.

which was superb.

Last week I found a Chilli and Harissa spice blend, that should do for a lamb mince idea that I have done before and will probably try on Saturday.

Our garden has really taken off in the last week, the first of my potato plants have surfaced (just)

and everything else is looking great, especially the tulips.

although we also have Bluebells,

wild garlic, (both sorts)

and some pelargoniums,

The apple blossom is out as well,

and I've put the bunting up on Yvonne's summer arbour.

Finally, the dark hebe is trying to cover the God and Goddess.

That's about it but I can't resist one last message about the book. The edit is done, now the manuscript can be formatted for ebook and paperback. Advance copies will be ready soon.

Tales from Norlandia, Part 2

 Leading up to the publication of “The Rocks of Aserol,” I have written a series of Flash Fiction tales to introduce you to the world of Norlandia. They will give you a feel of the book without giving too much away. I hope this piece gets you wondering and thinking. If you enjoy it please spread the word. If you have any questions or comments, add them below. Remember there will be another instalment published on May15th.

Drogan Watch

Ivan Evershed was a twenty-year veteran, his service had been faithful in the wars and skirmishes he had been part of, and now was his twilight. For his last posting he had been sent for what the old hands called a ‘cushy’, the easy life in the Balloonists.

The Balloonists were the part of the service that kept the populace safe from the Drogans. In watchtowers and balloons they scanned the skies, gave warning and engaged the beasts with their gas-guns if they could.

Ivan was a senior and so was not supposed to leave the ground, his function was to organise and train the conscripts who did the climbing and the flying. But he loved the feeling of being up high, whether it was atop a watchtower or in the basket of a gas balloon. And having been a part of the service expedition to the desolate islands that were the beast’s home he felt a grudging affinity with them.

And so it was on that day that he led the two conscripts out for their first patrol. They were youngsters, in the first year of their conscription and had not been overcome by the cynicism of the third years, waiting out the last of their time. They had been in the balloon before, so had conquered their nausea.

“Come on then, you two,” he growled as the three, wrapped up warm in the summer sun, climbed into the wicker basket. Six feet square it was closed on three sides, the fourth containing the doorway. It was attached by four wire ropes to a canvas envelope that towered above them, filled with coal gas. It bobbed a few inches off the ground on its moorings, shifting from side to side as the men moved around loading their equipment. The gas guns, supplies and provisions were passed into them. When all was aboard, a wicker panel was fitted into place over the opening and locked from the inside.

Under Ivan’s orders the three balloonists set up their equipment, the guns and telescopes were mounted on swivels set in the steel frame of the basket, ammunition trays were set handy and the food and other things stowed. The sound-powered speaker was tested and the gas warning horn sounded. The basket itself was five feet high so only the heads of the three showed, bobbing in and out of sight as they worked. This basket would be their home for the next day and everything had a place. In one corner was a hole in the wickerwork floor; that corner was left unoccupied.

“Everyone happy?” asked Ivan and the two nodded. There were two rope toggles by Ivan’s side and he turned to the two young soldiers. “Now then,” he said, “what are these two toggles for?”

The taller of the two, Bryce, spoke up, “Filling gas release is the green one, sir.”

“And the red is the dump valve, for an emergency return to ground,” broke in the other. His name was Howard, as far as Ivan could remember.

He nodded, “A controlled return to ground if you please, Mr Howard. And why might we do that?”

“In the event of an attack we cannot beat off,” he replied. “Or a lightning storm or the loss of our cables.” These answers were straight from the manual, so he had been paying attention.

“Very good. Mr Bryce, will you do the honours?”

The young soldier held the green toggle and leant his head over the side of the basket. He waved to the ground corporal. “Ready release,” he called.

The corporal barked, “Fill release.” One of the ground crew shut a valve on the flexible filling line that attached to the side of the envelope. “Ready release,” he repeated and Bryce pulled the toggle. With a hiss of gas the filling hose fell away and was coiled.

The underside of the basket had another mounting, holding three more wires. These ran through sheaves set on tracks which led to three winches, spread in a circle around the launch site.

“Clear to fly,” said Bryce and the corporal signalled to his three winch-men. They lifted pawls and the wires paid out from the winches. The basket rose silently in the sky as the sheaves moved back towards the winches on the tracks. The balloon was stable under the tension of the three spaced wires, the wind having little effect on it.

Ivan consulted a clockwork as they rose, the moving needle showed the height above ground. “Look overside, you two,” he commanded and Bryce and Howard did so. They saw the town recede below them and the countryside open up to view. They rose above the belching chimneys of the Locals, fortunately for them, today they were upwind of the smoke. They passed the tops of the watchtowers, and looking down could see people and vehicles on the streets about their business, like so many scurrying insects. The ascent slowed as the needle reached two hundred feet and they sat, swaying gently.

“Right then lads, we’re up,” said Ivan. “What’s the first order of business?” The two thought long, and exchanged whispers, was it to report? to write a log? In the distraction of their position they could not think. “Come on then,” Ivan prompted, “the most important thing in the Drogan watch and the first thing we do on station.”

Shaking their heads, the two admitted defeat. Ivan looked exasperated, as if all his training had been a failure.

“Get the char brewing,” he gave them the service’s first answer to most problems. “You did remember the makings, didn’t you?”