Sherlock Holmes Investigates. The Pink Jewel Conundrum.
This 7,000 word story tells of an investigation into the disappearance of a valuable jewel from the library of the Mayor of Portsmouth.
This 13,200 word novelette records Dr Watson's view of events when he and Holmes are recalled to the scene of the Case of the Dog which Did Not Bark to investigate disturbing reports.
The litch of the late Mr Stracker is roaming the district, spreading terror of the Undead, and body parts.
In the course of their enquiries they meet with threats and danger, tense situations, and some call for their skills. Finally there is a degree of resolution, perhaps true love for some and an affirmation of faith in ancient superstition for others.
Read a sample of my book!
In this 10,000 word story Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson investigate a theft, and discover a conspiracy that threatens the British Empire and the person of Her Majesty Queen Victoria.
They travel by horseless carriage from Winchester to the New Forest and beyond. The good Doctor is delighted to drive this novel conveyance, while others are not so sanguine.
They investigate the theft of some Voodoo Dolls from Lady Violet Chatterley, and find an evil intent behind an apparently simple crime.
The friends use logic and scientific knowledge to trace the connections between Lady Chatterley, Dr Livingstone,the Voodoo Dolls, an evil Lascar, a Gypsy Seer, an exotic bird, an African Witchdoctor, a Christian missionary, and Her Majesty the Queen.
With determination, and some help, they race to avert a shocking tragedy and an evil curse.
There is an explosive climax, and some tears are shed.
Buy Sherlock Holmes Investigates. The Case of Lady Chatterley's Voodoo Dolls on Amazon
"Waking the Stones" has believable characters in an unusual but not incredible situation.
Research findings in apparently unrelated fields are combined with existing technology, and used in a different way to current applications.
Subliminal sound can influence emotions and even actions. Some frequencies can have physical effects, causing illness and even sterility (so far only in experiments on animals, I hope)
The result, in the wrong hands, is a form of mind control.
It's possible that Government agencies may already have something similar, in the real world.
Waking the Stones explores the situation when an ambitious politician applies this to boost people's emotional responses.
By luck, circumstance, and a determined search, the protagonists find an answer that comes from unexpected places and people.
Along the way they also discover each other.
One completed novel 'Eland Dances' Now self- published as an ebook.
New cover. The image, used with the permission of The Bradshaw Foundation, is from Game Pass Shelter in the Drakensberg Mountains. It depicts a dying eland with a shaman, and portrays graphically some of the core beliefs of the San artists.
I have done some photoshopping to make the rock seem transparent, revealing the Other World beyond, into which the shamans believed they could slip, like a frog through the surface of a pond.
Peter Fitt identifies with the spiritual herbivores of the world against the predators, the power hungry exploiters. He takes his Sixties ideals into Africa, and tries to make love, not war, so that peace and love may rule. He is a defender, not an aggressor, but he can’t stand aside while others are attacked.
Shit rises to the top when stirred, in his stepfather’s words. He sees that in the chaotic conditions of civil war and revolution the worst elements rise to dominance in the power structure - those motivated solely by their own personal advantage.
In the Congo, Zambia, and Zimbabwe in the aftermath of colonialism, greed and power struggles on personal and ideological levels fuel the growing turmoil. Red Communism, the Green agrarian Revolution, and the pervasive White Man’s way all have their partisans. America, Britain, the USSR, and South Africa jostle for influence, with China in the wings. Culture and mores are underlain by a mix of indigenous traditions and spiritual beliefs, while the radio carries music and pop culture along with news of the world deep into the bush. Christian missionaries, Peace corps volunteers, black Power advocates, and memories of slave raiders are all there too.
Events play against the backdrop of the ancient Bush, the wild. The eyes of the spirits and the animals, the elephant, the eland, and many more, watch. Some believe they do more than just watch.
I have a self-published short story collection
'In the Valley stories' available on Smashwords.com $1.99 any ebook format
Buy from Amazon.com for Kindle
or buy direct from me through Paypal $1.99 as PDF
In the Valley
Herds of buffalo, zebra, and impala had trodden a wide swathe into dust as they made their daily pilgrimage to the pool below the camp. This clear way glowed in the light of the half moon, bright against the darker background of fallen leaves and thoroughly grazed grass, and led the men easily between the scattered mopani trees and the patches of thorn scrub and anthills. Ndinga followed Gosnaat closely as they moved through shadow and silver silence.
Ndinga felt sure and confident. He had eaten well and slept soundly. Solid chunks of yesterday’s bushbuck, washed down with marula beer, sat firmly inside him. Today we will reap a good harvest from this Game Reserve, this Luangwa Valley, he thought. Not like the old days, when we hunted with wire snares and bows, and had to run from the Rangers. We haven’t even seen the bastards since Gosnaat bought these guns. Their power scares the Rangers. Those Army men who sold us the guns were right, since those two Game Rangers were shot last year, the rest of the Reserve people have avoided all the hunters.
Dry leaves rustled. Ndinga saw Gosnaat jerk his head, and knew his brother-in-law wanted to curse at the clumsy fool, Solomon, the third man in the band, but customary silence on the hunt prevailed. They settled back into smooth movement, feet feeling the way with the ease of many expeditions in this time, the stillness between night and morning.
Soon after daylight first touched the guinea fowl’s high perches, while the birds stretched out their blue necks to ring their metallic calls into the shadowed world below, Ndinga heard the typical noises of a group of feeding elephant. They rumbled in their deep voices, so that he felt the vibrations in the ground under his bare feet, and tore branches and bark from the trees. They seemed quite unaware of any danger.
Gosnaat gestured to the others to spread out to either side. They didn’t discuss which ones they were going for. It didn’t really matter, thought Ndinga, because any one of these beasts had so much meat that most of it would be wasted. Bush meat was good to eat and easy to sell, so their quarry had always been whatever the bush offered first, except for elephants, until today.
Each found a good vantage point, and prepared to shoot. Ndinga moved the selector on his gun all the way, into automatic position, and pushed hard to be sure it was going to let plenty of bullets out. He didn’t see the sense in just letting a few out at a time. To kill an elephant would probably need a lot of power. It clicked, the sound almost lost in the crackle and swish of a tree pushed down by a cow with a young calf close by her side. Only partly dependent on her mother’s milk, the baby took some of the tender tree leaves and began to chew.