open the batting.'
'Cliche.'
Everyone except Anton smiled.
Anton said, 'Since the last meeting, I have not done any writing owing to pressure of work.'
Someone murmured, 'Cliche.'
'If you like I could give you ten or twenty minutes on the curse of the cliche in modern English.'
'Another time, perhaps. I happen to know there are members bursting to read out their latest work and I think they should have their opportunity. How about you, Zach?'
To Bob's right there was a movement. The young man with the earring had sunk low in his chair during the early part of the meeting and seemed to be falling asleep. He braced himself, reached into his rucksack and took out a thick, dog-eared sheaf and placed it on the table. So this was Zach. Without any preamble he began to read with extraordinary intensity. 'Gripping the great, razor-sharp, double-bladed axe forged in fire by the ironmaster of Avalon, Madrigor the fearless strode across the narrow causeway that led to the ancient castle on the mount, ignoring the savage east wind fanning his black velvet cloak and the icy sea-spray whipping his leathery calves. He had one objective and that was to vanquish the stinking hordes within and recover the mazarin stone of his ancestor, Godfric, and put its magical powers to noble employment, arming him for the ordeals to come. Not even the massed ranks of the Querulinda would stand in his way now. He was transformed, invincible, super-strong. His green eyes gleamed and his teeth flashed in the glow of the setting sun. If the gods were with him he would prevail over his enemies. True, the opposition were vastly better equipped than he with their vats of boiling oil and their flaming arrows. What did it matter, the terrifying din they made by beating on their shields and chanting war-songs? The archers stared down gimlet-eyed from the battlements, crossbows at the ready, impatient for him to come within range. They were dressed in chainmail and helmets. Madrigor spurned even a shield, relying on his agility, his innate sense of timing, to avoid whatever the enemy cast in his direction. Within himself, he relished the challenge. .'
While the tide of words poured over them, Bob glanced around the table. Not everyone was listening. Opposite him, Thomasine rolled her eyes upwards and gave a slight smile. The owner of the bow tie was looking at a competition leaflet. Two, at least, were rehearsing for their turns, scanning their scripts, their lips moving. Maurice leaned back and checked his watch.
I'm having a ball, Bob thought. This is like nothing else, this bunch of strange people united only by their desire to write. I can't wait to hear what each of them will read out. What sort of book has the chairman written and almost got into print? The doodling blonde? Thomasine, with the twinkle in her eye?
'. . the salt of his own sweat stinging his lips, he hauled himself higher up the rock face without heeding the damage to his bare hands. Another stream of boiling oil hit the outcrop above him and splashed, sizzling behind him. He swayed to one side to avoid a flaming arrow. Having got this far, almost to the great granite wall of the citadel itself, he knew with glorious certainty that the gods had chosen to favour him this day. Without their aid, he would assuredly have been struck down before getting so far. The encroaching darkness, evening's gift to the oppressed, would help him now. He still had to scale the bare wall and surmount the bastion. .'
Maurice the. chair said, 'Perhaps at this point-'
But the torrent couldn't be halted in mid-flow. '. . above which his enemy waited to engage him.'
'Thank you, Zach.'
'Lanterns had been lit along the parapet.'
'I'm interrupting you there because we could run out of time. Speaking for myself, I wish we could go on. You've reached an enthralling part of the story.'
Zach's lips were still moving, though his voice had tailed off.
Maurice said, 'Anyone care to comment?'
'I couldn't take much more of it,' the outspoken woman said. She had deep-set, dark eyes that looked as if they could see right through you.
'I'm not sure if that counts as constructive criticism, Naomi.'
'No, I mean I'm not used to such excitement. I was there with him, climbing the castle walls. It's a tour de force.'
'Really? There's a tribute, Zach.'
The Welshman said, 'You could, perhaps, get him over the rocks and up the wall a little quicker. We all know he's going to sock it to the opposition.'
'Tudor, that's not the point,' Thomasine said. 'Zach is writing long. It's fantasy. They're big books. A fantasy writer can't get away with under six hundred pages.'
'There's more if you want,' Zach said, brandishing unread pages like banknotes.
'Unfortunately,' Maurice said, 'we'll have to deny ourselves until next time.'
'I'll be into another chapter by then.'
'Excellent. We can't wait. Thomasine, let's change the mood with something from you, shall we?'
'I can't compete with what we've just heard.'
'We're not in competition. Never were.'
'All right. I've written another erotic poem.'
There was a noticeable raising of the attention level.
'Good on you, Tommy, girl,' Tudor the Welshman said.
She took a small, black notebook from her bag. 'It's called 'A Night with Rudolf'.' She cleared her throat and began to read.
'Covent Garden, Nureyev alone upon the stage,
The music of
And I know, I know, I know, this is the one, the solo,
The thing he does so well, the reason I am here,
Two months' wages, a small fortune, my holiday in France,
For a seat in the stalls, front row. Close-up view
Of those stallion haunches in all their muscularity stretching the tights,
Gold tights, gold, gleaming, steaming, straining tights.
I watch him circle the stage with leaps as enormous
As the music, giving me sensations I should not have in a public place.
I cannot shift my eyes from his bulging masculinity. Wondering, wishing,
Dreaming, thrilled by the music and the man, in my memory I will hold
This experience for ever.'
'Oh, my word!' Miss Snow said. 'I'm all of a quiver.'
Anton was frowning. 'Was that erotic?'
Tudor said, 'If it was, it went over my head.'
'You men,' Miss Snow said. 'You have no subtlety. If it isn't in four-letter words, you don't respond at all.'
'I loved it,' Maurice said. 'Straight into our next anthology, if I have anything to do with it. Personally I never understood the appeal of Nureyev, but you've just opened my eyes, Tommy. Very telling, that stallion reference. What was it? 'Haunches in all their masculinity'?'
'Muscularity.'
'Right. What a striking image. I would almost say rampant.'
'Whoa, boy,' Tudor said.
'I mean it. She promised us an erotic poem, and she delivered.'
'Don't. I'm getting embarrassed,' Thomasine said.
'This might be the right moment to have our break, then. Did anyone put the kettle on?'
It was good to stretch the haunches, muscular or flabby. Bob hadn't appreciated how tense he had got climbing up the castle wall and leaping around the Covent Garden stage. No one else seemed to know what to say to Thomasine after her reading, so he went over. 'That was high-tone. If the rest of this mob are up to your standard, I'm leaving right now.'
'Don't be daft. We're all beginners. You hear what someone else has done and it sounds kind of special
