02-16-2022, 11:19 PM
Although Martin Caldwell counted eighty-two of them, Mangus Marle assured the father-of-two carrying the hogshead of
Cullett oil on his shoulder that the lighthouse actually contained eighty-three steps to reach the great beacon. Catching
his breath at the peak of the spiralling stairway, the old man resisted to tell -the son of the fine-haired beauty he'd once
asked out for a-walking, that his arithmetic included the step of the tower's front door.
With a grunt of relief, Martin placed the cask of fuel beside the metal tray where the pyre would be ignited and marvelled
at the contraption in front of him. "Yer' in for a real treat me-boy as the best sunsets in all of Sandingham County are the
ones from this height" Mangus wheezed as he fished for a wick-lighter from a small wooden box fixed to one of the legs
that supported the flower-like device.
Protected from the elements by small lead-lined windows, a large shiny metal bowl sat in the centre of the cramped room.
In the middle of this basin, a tube protruded where a wick was to be inserted. The very act that the old man in the wrinkled
bib-and-braces was performing during Martin's scrutiny of the apparatus.
Hinged to the sides of the porringer, two curved sheets of mirror sat encased in a highly-polished brass 'petals' that -when
erected vertically, became the lenses that Mangus would relate to the interested young man were known as Fresnels. These
reflectors were set in such a way that they not only intensified a light-source one directed to them, they echoed the radiation
to a faceted piece of glass clutched in a claw-carved metal clamp between the pair of Fresnel lenses. From here, a blazing
ray of light fired out for leagues into the darkness of the Great Sea.
Except tonight, the lighthouse had another mission and for Martin Caldwell, his current assignment was to fill that bowl with
the contents of the barrel he'd just hauled up. For the old man titled Marle, his role was supervisor for this evening and this
wouldn't be the first time he'd delegated the labour to someone in better physical-shape than himself.
...................................................
Peggy Powler finished binding the twine to the base of the Rhododendron bush and slowly unfurling the string from the small
horseshoe, manoeuvred her way back out from under the foliage. She'd been right all along, whoever this Godwin fellow was,
had failed to contain the strange magic from his Beams of King Stephen and it had seeped into the soil of the island.
This sneaky brigand would have no knowledge of what powers a Rhododendron held, the type of bush that defies the cold
and flowers its blood-red hearted blooms when all else sleeps. This shrub had drawn the weird doorway's magical juices
like a lightning-rod to this point on the atoll and became an appealing site for Chester's manifestations. Hence, the erratic
action of the sparks that had developed into spinning spheres that flew in a vertical circular motion that was almost as wide
as the little Witch's hat.
It was this ring of shifting lights Peggy estimated were the ingredients that would conjure the rudimentary corridor where the
waiting Replacements would return to The Wool-Pit and the passageway that Chester Caldwell was currently stuck in. Blue
-white orbs danced in the air just ahead of the motionless representations of four of the residents of Camden Bight and with
the assistance of a small spell, the Last Witch of Underhill held out the tethered curved metal of equine footwear.
The light had almost gone from the shrouded space and watching the floating horseshoe drift slowly towards the rotating balls
of throbbing phosphorescence, Peggy breathed in deeply as she prepared herself for any fleeting opportunity to grab for the
man incarcerated in a cell of confusion. The blank-faced sculptures waited and so did the little sorceress, but it was the one
wearing the poncho who leapt in alarm when the sudden question came. "Can we help Ma'am?" asked Pa Gurnard
The sky was almost vacant of daylight, as the five Murdigons stepped awkwardly into the confined glade and scared Peggy
enough to excuse herself for a moment. Lillian Caldwell looked at Jessie Gurnard and Indigo Dunth looked up at the big man
in the homemade dungarees. But it was Samuel Gurnard who suggested why she was squatting behind a tree.
...................................................
"What's yer' hurry..." Mangus Marle chortled as he watched the son of Lillian Caldwell pacing back and forth across the lantern's
gallery. "...Miss Powler said dusk was the moment we send the light towards Byefleet Howe and the sun hasn't gone over yet"
he added and went back to stoking his pipe.
Martin flicked back the fringe of hair, an act he'd always done when frustrated with something. "Yes but won't our elevation make
a difference?" he asked with a tone of exasperation and glanced towards the gloom looming on the far-end of the island.
Mangus creased his brow and showed his muddle and grunted "our what?". Martin stepped closer to the diagonal astragals
of the windows and sighed his annoyance. "Our height, man... we'll see the sun disappear later than those at Byefleet Howe"
he hissed and heard the older lighthouse keeper moan at his aching bones as he rose to the realisation.
...................................................
The spinning circle of lights were merely a blur now and the diameter had increased enough that someone of Peggy's size
could enter. But the little Witch had warned the newcomers to the shadowed dell that its magic will only be at its maximum
when the doorway is sufficient in girth to allow the Replacements through.
"Tis' a glamour beyond my thinkin', I tell thee" Pa Gurnard whispered to the Camden woman beside him and felt the need to
draw an invisible rood across his chest. Indigo Dunth saw the gesture and copied it, there was devilry going on here and maybe
even he'd be saved as he believed Herne enjoyed the taste of mead too.
The revolving light-show continued to illuminate the faces of all there, but only captivated five of them. The Replacements looked
on with the same lassitude as they'd always had and the little woman in the hat watched with an entirely different focus on the orbs
of effulgence.
Then it happened.
Suddenly, the doll-people began to move and Peggy Powler pitched her scheme with better haste. The aperture within the spinning
globes snapped open and ignoring the unified gasp from behind her, the sorceress tossed her hat to one side and leaned in through
the shimmering rupture. The replica of Beatrice Penrose nudged past Peggy as she entered the void and staggering to keep her feet,
Indigo ran to help steady the Witch's stance. "Take care, Miss Powler..." the sober drunkard shouted as air began to be sucked into the
hole in mid-air,"...yer' haven't paid me yet!".
Samuel and Jessie ran forward then as the male of the Ship Chandlery bundled by the little necromancer and grasped the rarely-washed
jacket of the drinker from Camden Bight. "Dig in, Sam" Jessie advised his younger brother and drove a boot-heel into the lumpy ground.
Crossing himself again, their father stepped warily behind his two boys and crouching slightly, grabbed both of them by the waist.
Peggy stared into an abyss and -as she mused later, the cheeky bugger stared back. But as the blackness faded, she saw the stars and
moons that decorated a dirty-red sky that could only wish for a day of sunlight. Sucking in a lungful of the rushing air, the little Witch
noticed shapes moving around in the shadows and recognised the apollyons who dwelt in the loathsome realm of The Wool-Pit.
"Are you the vanguard of the temptress they call Lillian?" a voice croaked from Peggy's right-hand side and there stood on the ash that was
once soil, stood Chester Caldwell. Nearing the semi-torso of the strange vision before him, the old man pulled at the back of the rag that
hid his nakedness and offered a smile of the fated forgotten. Florence Goddard strode past the pair and her husband came through with
the same indifference that he'd offered Peggy back at the Dry Goods Store.
Chester nodded a greeting as if this was an everyday occurrence and then brought his attention back to the little woman hanging out of
the puzzling nowhere. "If you're a good sort, a slice of bread might cheer this gloom, don't you think?" he commented encouragingly with
the air of someone sitting on a beach searching through a picnic basket.
In another situation, Peggy would have consoled the poor cuckoo and maybe even shed a tear, but at that moment all she could offer was
"Come here, yer' bugger!" and grabbed Chester by his scrawny arm. Grunting in her exertions, the struggling spellbinder caught sight over
the wriggling man's shoulder of a change in the scenery. The monsters of The Wool-Pit had seen her.
...................................................
Mangus Marle rubbed his eyes and peered out into the night, "You've got better eyesight than me me-lad, can yer' see where the light
is supposed to shine?". Martin Caldwell pulled on the crank-handle as instructed until the chunk of reflective glass faced in the surmised
direction. "You're the damned lighthouse keeper, you must have some idea" he replied with agitation. Mangus adjusted his braces and
went back to locating the point where Byefleet Howe waited in the blackness.
...................................................
Ma Gurnard shook her head and wondered if Tawny Codswell was pulling her waggler, if she couldn't see that the Angel statue had always
been designed to hold the Calcite Spar, then her eyes were as bad as her cooking. "Yer' can't tell me that yer' think this is all just haphazard
and yon crystal just happens te' fit, do yer?" The rotund woman in the dark-green headscarf peered towards the gossiper of Byefleet looking
smug beneath the shadowed figure of Adjef and decided to prove her wrong.
A minute later, Ma Gurnard reappeared from her house with a lantern to assist in shutting the big mouth of the arms-folded busybody, once
and for all.
...................................................
"Pull me out!" Peggy screamed as a horde of the ugly demons raced towards the miniature invader and her squirming captive, the murk
of the dull-red sky mercifully hid their twisted features. Indigo Dunth's purchase on the Witch's poncho slipped a little, but the need for
his rightful numma reminded him to hold the line. "Pull boys" the would-be drunk screeched as he avoided glancing at Peggy's displayed
hind-quarters.
Lillian ran to be beside him and stared into the hole into a world she'd once been denied entry to and saw what was left of her husband.
Filthy and forlorn, Chester writhed in his craziness and at that precise moment, she loved him more than ever. "Get your backside out of
that place now!" Lillian snapped and grabbed the gaunt shoulder of the cause of that devotion.
Moments later, Chester's smiling dirt-smeared face poked out of the doorway and meekly croaked "Yes my dear".
Breathing hard, Peggy fell backwards and snatched at the taut twine that held the charm from disappearing into the void. The plan to bring
light into The Wool-Pit had failed and and now all could be done was to close the aperture.
...................................................
"There!" Martin barked and grabbed the flickering candle from Mangus and thrust it towards the waiting wick. The older man shuffled over
to the cranking mechanism and honed the coming-beam towards their target. This would be a night to remember, he thought and watched
the dazzling ray streak out across the canopy of Murdigon's woodland towards a faint glow in the dark.
...................................................
What happened next was only partly seen by the bickering ladies beneath the water-drawing statue as the blazing beam glanced off the
special mineral, caused Ma Gurnard and Tawny Codswell to fall to the ground and then shoot away into the trees. Holding their hands to
shield their eyes from the vivid effulgence, the pair of fishwives were totally silent during the lucent incident.
Pa Gurnard's cap sailed into the hole as he heaved his two lads and their burdens from the devilish orifice he'd be racking his brains to
explain about to his wife later, the velocity that the brightness was almost powerful enough to take him out of his boots. "Heave Mister
Gurnard" Lillian shouted as the large ray of light poured into the receding gouge in the middle of the air and sobbed as Peggy, Indigo
and her husband fell panting to the ground.
Murmuring a few unknown words, the horseshoe fell on the Witch's lap, the lighthouse's radiance dulled and the dark woods were silent
again.
...................................................
Mangus Marle was alone again with his task as Martin Caldwell kissed the old man's forehead and fled from the tower. Carefully lowering
the precious Fresnels and dowsing the flamed-wick, Mangus wondered if he'd one day have this evening's unusual incident explained to
him.
...................................................
It was over.
Cullett oil on his shoulder that the lighthouse actually contained eighty-three steps to reach the great beacon. Catching
his breath at the peak of the spiralling stairway, the old man resisted to tell -the son of the fine-haired beauty he'd once
asked out for a-walking, that his arithmetic included the step of the tower's front door.
With a grunt of relief, Martin placed the cask of fuel beside the metal tray where the pyre would be ignited and marvelled
at the contraption in front of him. "Yer' in for a real treat me-boy as the best sunsets in all of Sandingham County are the
ones from this height" Mangus wheezed as he fished for a wick-lighter from a small wooden box fixed to one of the legs
that supported the flower-like device.
Protected from the elements by small lead-lined windows, a large shiny metal bowl sat in the centre of the cramped room.
In the middle of this basin, a tube protruded where a wick was to be inserted. The very act that the old man in the wrinkled
bib-and-braces was performing during Martin's scrutiny of the apparatus.
Hinged to the sides of the porringer, two curved sheets of mirror sat encased in a highly-polished brass 'petals' that -when
erected vertically, became the lenses that Mangus would relate to the interested young man were known as Fresnels. These
reflectors were set in such a way that they not only intensified a light-source one directed to them, they echoed the radiation
to a faceted piece of glass clutched in a claw-carved metal clamp between the pair of Fresnel lenses. From here, a blazing
ray of light fired out for leagues into the darkness of the Great Sea.
Except tonight, the lighthouse had another mission and for Martin Caldwell, his current assignment was to fill that bowl with
the contents of the barrel he'd just hauled up. For the old man titled Marle, his role was supervisor for this evening and this
wouldn't be the first time he'd delegated the labour to someone in better physical-shape than himself.
...................................................
Peggy Powler finished binding the twine to the base of the Rhododendron bush and slowly unfurling the string from the small
horseshoe, manoeuvred her way back out from under the foliage. She'd been right all along, whoever this Godwin fellow was,
had failed to contain the strange magic from his Beams of King Stephen and it had seeped into the soil of the island.
This sneaky brigand would have no knowledge of what powers a Rhododendron held, the type of bush that defies the cold
and flowers its blood-red hearted blooms when all else sleeps. This shrub had drawn the weird doorway's magical juices
like a lightning-rod to this point on the atoll and became an appealing site for Chester's manifestations. Hence, the erratic
action of the sparks that had developed into spinning spheres that flew in a vertical circular motion that was almost as wide
as the little Witch's hat.
It was this ring of shifting lights Peggy estimated were the ingredients that would conjure the rudimentary corridor where the
waiting Replacements would return to The Wool-Pit and the passageway that Chester Caldwell was currently stuck in. Blue
-white orbs danced in the air just ahead of the motionless representations of four of the residents of Camden Bight and with
the assistance of a small spell, the Last Witch of Underhill held out the tethered curved metal of equine footwear.
The light had almost gone from the shrouded space and watching the floating horseshoe drift slowly towards the rotating balls
of throbbing phosphorescence, Peggy breathed in deeply as she prepared herself for any fleeting opportunity to grab for the
man incarcerated in a cell of confusion. The blank-faced sculptures waited and so did the little sorceress, but it was the one
wearing the poncho who leapt in alarm when the sudden question came. "Can we help Ma'am?" asked Pa Gurnard
The sky was almost vacant of daylight, as the five Murdigons stepped awkwardly into the confined glade and scared Peggy
enough to excuse herself for a moment. Lillian Caldwell looked at Jessie Gurnard and Indigo Dunth looked up at the big man
in the homemade dungarees. But it was Samuel Gurnard who suggested why she was squatting behind a tree.
...................................................
"What's yer' hurry..." Mangus Marle chortled as he watched the son of Lillian Caldwell pacing back and forth across the lantern's
gallery. "...Miss Powler said dusk was the moment we send the light towards Byefleet Howe and the sun hasn't gone over yet"
he added and went back to stoking his pipe.
Martin flicked back the fringe of hair, an act he'd always done when frustrated with something. "Yes but won't our elevation make
a difference?" he asked with a tone of exasperation and glanced towards the gloom looming on the far-end of the island.
Mangus creased his brow and showed his muddle and grunted "our what?". Martin stepped closer to the diagonal astragals
of the windows and sighed his annoyance. "Our height, man... we'll see the sun disappear later than those at Byefleet Howe"
he hissed and heard the older lighthouse keeper moan at his aching bones as he rose to the realisation.
...................................................
The spinning circle of lights were merely a blur now and the diameter had increased enough that someone of Peggy's size
could enter. But the little Witch had warned the newcomers to the shadowed dell that its magic will only be at its maximum
when the doorway is sufficient in girth to allow the Replacements through.
"Tis' a glamour beyond my thinkin', I tell thee" Pa Gurnard whispered to the Camden woman beside him and felt the need to
draw an invisible rood across his chest. Indigo Dunth saw the gesture and copied it, there was devilry going on here and maybe
even he'd be saved as he believed Herne enjoyed the taste of mead too.
The revolving light-show continued to illuminate the faces of all there, but only captivated five of them. The Replacements looked
on with the same lassitude as they'd always had and the little woman in the hat watched with an entirely different focus on the orbs
of effulgence.
Then it happened.
Suddenly, the doll-people began to move and Peggy Powler pitched her scheme with better haste. The aperture within the spinning
globes snapped open and ignoring the unified gasp from behind her, the sorceress tossed her hat to one side and leaned in through
the shimmering rupture. The replica of Beatrice Penrose nudged past Peggy as she entered the void and staggering to keep her feet,
Indigo ran to help steady the Witch's stance. "Take care, Miss Powler..." the sober drunkard shouted as air began to be sucked into the
hole in mid-air,"...yer' haven't paid me yet!".
Samuel and Jessie ran forward then as the male of the Ship Chandlery bundled by the little necromancer and grasped the rarely-washed
jacket of the drinker from Camden Bight. "Dig in, Sam" Jessie advised his younger brother and drove a boot-heel into the lumpy ground.
Crossing himself again, their father stepped warily behind his two boys and crouching slightly, grabbed both of them by the waist.
Peggy stared into an abyss and -as she mused later, the cheeky bugger stared back. But as the blackness faded, she saw the stars and
moons that decorated a dirty-red sky that could only wish for a day of sunlight. Sucking in a lungful of the rushing air, the little Witch
noticed shapes moving around in the shadows and recognised the apollyons who dwelt in the loathsome realm of The Wool-Pit.
"Are you the vanguard of the temptress they call Lillian?" a voice croaked from Peggy's right-hand side and there stood on the ash that was
once soil, stood Chester Caldwell. Nearing the semi-torso of the strange vision before him, the old man pulled at the back of the rag that
hid his nakedness and offered a smile of the fated forgotten. Florence Goddard strode past the pair and her husband came through with
the same indifference that he'd offered Peggy back at the Dry Goods Store.
Chester nodded a greeting as if this was an everyday occurrence and then brought his attention back to the little woman hanging out of
the puzzling nowhere. "If you're a good sort, a slice of bread might cheer this gloom, don't you think?" he commented encouragingly with
the air of someone sitting on a beach searching through a picnic basket.
In another situation, Peggy would have consoled the poor cuckoo and maybe even shed a tear, but at that moment all she could offer was
"Come here, yer' bugger!" and grabbed Chester by his scrawny arm. Grunting in her exertions, the struggling spellbinder caught sight over
the wriggling man's shoulder of a change in the scenery. The monsters of The Wool-Pit had seen her.
...................................................
Mangus Marle rubbed his eyes and peered out into the night, "You've got better eyesight than me me-lad, can yer' see where the light
is supposed to shine?". Martin Caldwell pulled on the crank-handle as instructed until the chunk of reflective glass faced in the surmised
direction. "You're the damned lighthouse keeper, you must have some idea" he replied with agitation. Mangus adjusted his braces and
went back to locating the point where Byefleet Howe waited in the blackness.
...................................................
Ma Gurnard shook her head and wondered if Tawny Codswell was pulling her waggler, if she couldn't see that the Angel statue had always
been designed to hold the Calcite Spar, then her eyes were as bad as her cooking. "Yer' can't tell me that yer' think this is all just haphazard
and yon crystal just happens te' fit, do yer?" The rotund woman in the dark-green headscarf peered towards the gossiper of Byefleet looking
smug beneath the shadowed figure of Adjef and decided to prove her wrong.
A minute later, Ma Gurnard reappeared from her house with a lantern to assist in shutting the big mouth of the arms-folded busybody, once
and for all.
...................................................
"Pull me out!" Peggy screamed as a horde of the ugly demons raced towards the miniature invader and her squirming captive, the murk
of the dull-red sky mercifully hid their twisted features. Indigo Dunth's purchase on the Witch's poncho slipped a little, but the need for
his rightful numma reminded him to hold the line. "Pull boys" the would-be drunk screeched as he avoided glancing at Peggy's displayed
hind-quarters.
Lillian ran to be beside him and stared into the hole into a world she'd once been denied entry to and saw what was left of her husband.
Filthy and forlorn, Chester writhed in his craziness and at that precise moment, she loved him more than ever. "Get your backside out of
that place now!" Lillian snapped and grabbed the gaunt shoulder of the cause of that devotion.
Moments later, Chester's smiling dirt-smeared face poked out of the doorway and meekly croaked "Yes my dear".
Breathing hard, Peggy fell backwards and snatched at the taut twine that held the charm from disappearing into the void. The plan to bring
light into The Wool-Pit had failed and and now all could be done was to close the aperture.
...................................................
"There!" Martin barked and grabbed the flickering candle from Mangus and thrust it towards the waiting wick. The older man shuffled over
to the cranking mechanism and honed the coming-beam towards their target. This would be a night to remember, he thought and watched
the dazzling ray streak out across the canopy of Murdigon's woodland towards a faint glow in the dark.
...................................................
What happened next was only partly seen by the bickering ladies beneath the water-drawing statue as the blazing beam glanced off the
special mineral, caused Ma Gurnard and Tawny Codswell to fall to the ground and then shoot away into the trees. Holding their hands to
shield their eyes from the vivid effulgence, the pair of fishwives were totally silent during the lucent incident.
Pa Gurnard's cap sailed into the hole as he heaved his two lads and their burdens from the devilish orifice he'd be racking his brains to
explain about to his wife later, the velocity that the brightness was almost powerful enough to take him out of his boots. "Heave Mister
Gurnard" Lillian shouted as the large ray of light poured into the receding gouge in the middle of the air and sobbed as Peggy, Indigo
and her husband fell panting to the ground.
Murmuring a few unknown words, the horseshoe fell on the Witch's lap, the lighthouse's radiance dulled and the dark woods were silent
again.
...................................................
Mangus Marle was alone again with his task as Martin Caldwell kissed the old man's forehead and fled from the tower. Carefully lowering
the precious Fresnels and dowsing the flamed-wick, Mangus wondered if he'd one day have this evening's unusual incident explained to
him.
...................................................
It was over.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.