Palace of Lace

By Jon Jacks

She's no older than seven; and yet she’s calling the children of our lands together, telling us we must prevent our king’s coronation. An ancient mosaic has been uncovered, its patterns of whirling spheres containing prophecies of the coming of the Most High. But rulers of the underworld have their own interpretation of the prophecies; and soon, a Palace of Lace will be rising on Glastonbury Tor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Jacks
• Release date: Dec 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370085859

Jon Jacks

While working in London as, first, an advertising Creative Director (the title in the U.S. is wildly different; the role involves both creating and overseeing all the creative work in an agency, meaning you’re second only to the Chairman/President) and then a screenwriter for Hollywood and TV, I moved out to an incredibly ancient house in the countryside.On the day we moved out, my then three-year-old daughter (my son was yet to be born) was entranced by the new house, but also upset that we had left behind all that was familiar to her.So, very quickly, my wife Julie and I laid out rugs and comfortable chairs around the huge fireplace so that it looked and felt more like our London home. We then left my daughter quietly reading a book while we went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat.Around fifteen minutes later, my daughter came into the kitchen, saying that she felt much better now ‘after talking to the boy’.‘Boy?’ we asked. ‘What boy?’‘The little boy; he’s been talking to me on the sofa while you were in here.’We rushed into the room, looking around.There wasn’t any boy there of course.‘There isn’t any little boy here,’ we said.‘Of course,’ my daughter replied. ‘He told me he wasn’t alive anymore. He lived here a long time ago.’A child’s wild imagination?Well, that’s what we thought at the time; but there were other strange things, other strange presences (but not really frightening ones) that happened over the years that made me think otherwise.And so I began to write the kind of stories that, well, are just a little unbelievable.

Book preview

Palace of Lace

Jon Jacks

Other New Adult and Children’s books by Jon Jacks

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll’s Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers – Gorgesque

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent

Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak

Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife

Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches – Lady of the Wasteland

The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash – An Incomparable Pearl – We Three Queens – Cygnet Czarinas

Memesis – April Queen, May Fool – Sick Teen – Thrice Born – Self-Assembled Girl – Love Poison No. 13

Whatever happened to Cinderella’s Slipper? – AmeriChristmas – The Vitch’s Kat in Hollywoodland

Blood of Angels, Wings of Men – Patchwork Quest – The World Turns on A Card

Text copyright© 2017 Jon Jacks

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‘The Isle of Avalon…decorated at the sepulchre of them all with vaticinatory little Spheres of Prophecy, and in future it will be adorned with those who praise the Most High.’

Prophecy of Maelgwn (‘Melkin’) of Gwynedd, c520 AD

Chapter 1

My little sister Merwenna is the fifth child in our little village to go missing.

Every time each child has vanished – doubtlessly, it was believed, into the thickly tangled mass of surrounding woodland – search parties have been hurriedly and efficiently put together, utilising every horse and dog in the village to ensure the search is as far spread and as swiftly and thoroughly enveloping as possible.

Wolves are remorselessly hunted down.

Bears and boars are ensnared, then summarily executed for their supposed crimes.

Even their lairs and dens are sought out, the cubs found there gleefully and vengefully slaughtered.

Yet there are no human remnants, no shreds of clothing, found anywhere nearby.

It was as if Merwenna and all the other missing children had been spirited up into the air, prematurely taken into the embrace of God.

*

Working the land was hard and exhausting at the best of times but now, with the dispiriting disappearance of Merwenna, it seemed to me to be an even more worthless and unrewarding task.

Sometimes, I realised, it wasn’t worth fighting back the tears; I simply allowed my body to be wracked by the grief I felt. It was the only way to grant myself at least a brief alleviation of what could have been a huge weight pressing down upon me; a vast, invisible burden, forcing the breath from my lungs, and the blood swirling painfully about my head.

Be thankful for small mercies; isn’t that what we’re instructed to do by our priests?

At least we’re not suffering the ravages of the murderous armies and roaming bands of the Danes causing such mayhem in other parts of our land. London itself is besieged, and it’s rumoured that the king is dead, rising to Heaven to stand alongside his two eldest sons, already lost to the wars.

His third son, Edmund, has fled London and is heading our way, hoping to raise a new army.

Which means the rampaging Danes may soon be not too far behind.

Small mercies indeed!

Strangely, it sounds to me as if the wind whispering across the furrowed field agrees with me.

Not mercies at all then.

It’s just my overwrought imagination, playing tricks.

Come; come with me.

Maybe it’s the rustling of the leaves of the woodland bordering the fields.

Maybe it's the fairies, the spirits of the woods, whom we had been assured had been banished long ago.

Come; and I will enjoin you once more with your sister.

Glancing about me, I look to see if anyone else has heard this strange calling of the wind.

But there’s no one nearby, as if they, too, have been called away by a whispering of the wind unheard by me.

I let my battered hoe fall from my land.