Someone once wrote: "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog" and for the bantam-sized
Peggy Powler standing beside Stanley Dawes and staring up at the horse named Diabolus, she hoped the quote had some
merit.
"It's simple fact really, the damned-thing just doesn't like anyone riding on its back..." the indifferent stable-owner said plainly
and emphasised his comment by sighing through his nose. "...I'd all but give-up on what to do, maybe sell the cursed-animal
to the knacker-man... maybe" he dolefully added and sought solace by peering out of the clean window to see his employees
leave for the other horses' early-morning canter.
The little Witch neared the wooden partition where Diabolus was tethered and surveyed the sable-coloured stallion resting its
left back-leg and giving the impression it was snoozing. Even though a half-closed eyelid offered a scene of serenity, Peggy
noticed the sneaky inky-eye watching her every move. "Aye yer've been treated bad, haven't yer' yer' Bugger..." she whispered
softly to the huge head, "...taken from yer' Ma and forced to run in a race that's simply too great for yer'" Peggy murmured and
for an instant, the little woman suddenly grasped the level of intelligence that was buried deep within in the muscular brute.
Realising that Diabolus could not only sense human's emotions, Peggy now knew the wily animal could also understand the
actual language of those who sought to manage its life. Keeping her face from revealing what she'd discovered, the woman
in the big hat motioned as if to lift her hand in order to caress Diabolus' hairy nostrils. Then suddenly, she turned and walked
away from the peaceful scene and left the stallion flinching with surprise.
Without a comment to Stanley -who had been focused on pondering the puzzling situation of how his recent visitor would be
able to compete in the gruelling Hunt race clinging to such a spiteful mount, Peggy stepped out into the yard and scanned the
sky -as if the heavens held the answer.
When Stanley appeared from the shadows of the stable, the sun had finally broken through and now warmed the morning on
the Dawes estate. He looked at the little pondering woman standing in on the freshly-swept cobbles of his yard and wondered
what she was thinking.
Reviving the possibility of taking part in the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race was a great idea, but the realities
that Stanley and Peggy had at hand were just too outlandish to consider seriously taking part in the dangerous competition.
Besides the hard facts that the only horse he believed could endure the four-and-half mile hurdle-bedevilled test of endurance
held a disposition to ejecting its rider, today was the day Stanley was supposed to register at Lord Tatem's home if he was to
enter Diabolus and the unfortunate passenger.
The answer to Mister Dawes' wonder was that the Last Witch of Underhill had arrived at an impasse she had attempted to
avoid in solving the problem. Majick, a simple spell of taking Diabolus' willpower and husbanding the horse to do what Peggy
wanted, would be easy. But would it be right? The moral aspect of cheating would draw her more towards the human side of
her parentage and be at-odds with the ethical values she believed lay in her semi-Fae heritage. A bugger-of-a-pickle indeed.
Stanley nudged Peggy out of her wool-gathering when he remarked about the registration time and watched as she returned
from wherever she'd been in her thinking. "Just to save face, I should go and tell him I'll not be entering the contest..." Stanley
said sullenly. "...I know he'll laugh his fancy-pants off, but I'd rather him do it to my face than behind my back" he added and
went to fetch his jacket.
Peggy Powler breathed in deeply and subconsciously adjusted the satchel strap on her shoulder. "Would it be a bugger if
'Ah took that trudge wiv' yer, Mister Dawes?" she called to the broad shoulders of the man wandering towards the kitchen
door. A vague wave on a hand indicated the stable-owner was bothered either way and glancing back into the gloom where
the damaged stallion was pretending to not listen, the necromancer smiled at what she'd found out.
"Thee'll be just another hoss when the evenin' comes, Diabolus..." Peggy said towards the dark rectangular entrance,
"...Yer' old mother'll be proud of yer' to have bested a Witch and tossed away yer' destiny all in a single day, me-lad" she
appended and theatrically re-setting her hat on her head, ambled over to wait beside the track out of the Dawes property.
...................................................
"Ah need te' water the flowers, Mister Dawes" the little Witch said suddenly as the pair had been quietly walking along the
lane that skirted his land. The other side of copse could be seen from this position and to Stanley, the overgrown foliage
seemed worse than the jungle he'd witnessed in the years he'd been training horses. But now, this strange petite woman
had disappeared into the tangle of brambles, ferns and twisting Honeysuckle on a mission he just didn't comprehend.
As if to answer his mental puzzle, Peggy called back "Ah'm takin' a pee, Mister Dawes" and the stable-owner found refuge
from his sudden embarrassment by rummaging through the pockets of his tweed coat. If the Witch's need to make water
took longer, one can assume Stanley's trusty-waistcoat would be next on the roster for delving.
Pommer frowned his own perplexity at what the Witch had said to the giant man on the trail as she now crouched down to
speak to him. The jubilant Sprite had been the toast of his community after they had all taken part in cleaning the structures
that the humans contained their animals in. For Pommer, this little woman who rebuffed undergarments and footwear, had
saved their home by outwitting the pocket-foraging fellow with the bushy eyebrows.
"Aye..." Peggy said hurriedly to stop the Sprite's whispered gratitude, "...yer can thank me wiv' flowers on me-grave when
Ah' gan' over, but for now..." the susurrant sorceress took a glance towards where her fellow-traveller was waiting. "...Ah'
need yer' te' do me a favour". Pommer -still elated from he and his group of Fae's part in the Witch's copse-saving scheme,
nodded and listened with eyes of a child being told a fairy-story.
...................................................
Lord Archibald Tatem's home was big and fancy just as Peggy had guessed. Lavish gothic architecture screamed out the
aristocrat's accumulation of wealth and power. Large perfectly-manicured lawns lay on either side of the well-raked gravelled,
neatly-clipped privet-hedged corridor that a large man and his smaller companion walked along, to make sure they felt the
domineering opulence Lord Tatem enjoyed.
Approaching the well-scrubbed steps that furthered the undermining the confidence of a caller's visit, Peggy decided due to
the tale of the Gnomes and their displacement from the swanky house and the impressive trimmings of the massive building,
she already didn't like Lord Tatem. A human-envy-failing, yes -she agreed to herself, but she was half-human and so, valid in
her eyes.
A pair of peacock-engraved marble pillars ox-carted in from the Gallen islands stood like sentinels either-side of a door that
would allow six people aligned shoulder-to-shoulder to enter The oak of the huge iron-studded egress had been taken from
forests now long gone in the Piltdown district and the dark metal hardware had been forged by a Blacksmith who only dealt
with those of high birth. Soaking in all this terrible waste of material, Peggy emulated Stanley's earlier resistance and didn't
spit on the ground.
"Can we tek' it that this fella farts through silk, Mister Dawes?" she quipped from the side of her mouth as Stanley reached
for the knocker that resembled Old Scratch with an iron ring in his mouth. The stable-owner -a man fully aware that he and
the little Witch were way-out of their social league, replied "call me Stanley and let's get this over with quick, eh?".
Peggy Powler standing beside Stanley Dawes and staring up at the horse named Diabolus, she hoped the quote had some
merit.
"It's simple fact really, the damned-thing just doesn't like anyone riding on its back..." the indifferent stable-owner said plainly
and emphasised his comment by sighing through his nose. "...I'd all but give-up on what to do, maybe sell the cursed-animal
to the knacker-man... maybe" he dolefully added and sought solace by peering out of the clean window to see his employees
leave for the other horses' early-morning canter.
The little Witch neared the wooden partition where Diabolus was tethered and surveyed the sable-coloured stallion resting its
left back-leg and giving the impression it was snoozing. Even though a half-closed eyelid offered a scene of serenity, Peggy
noticed the sneaky inky-eye watching her every move. "Aye yer've been treated bad, haven't yer' yer' Bugger..." she whispered
softly to the huge head, "...taken from yer' Ma and forced to run in a race that's simply too great for yer'" Peggy murmured and
for an instant, the little woman suddenly grasped the level of intelligence that was buried deep within in the muscular brute.
Realising that Diabolus could not only sense human's emotions, Peggy now knew the wily animal could also understand the
actual language of those who sought to manage its life. Keeping her face from revealing what she'd discovered, the woman
in the big hat motioned as if to lift her hand in order to caress Diabolus' hairy nostrils. Then suddenly, she turned and walked
away from the peaceful scene and left the stallion flinching with surprise.
Without a comment to Stanley -who had been focused on pondering the puzzling situation of how his recent visitor would be
able to compete in the gruelling Hunt race clinging to such a spiteful mount, Peggy stepped out into the yard and scanned the
sky -as if the heavens held the answer.
When Stanley appeared from the shadows of the stable, the sun had finally broken through and now warmed the morning on
the Dawes estate. He looked at the little pondering woman standing in on the freshly-swept cobbles of his yard and wondered
what she was thinking.
Reviving the possibility of taking part in the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race was a great idea, but the realities
that Stanley and Peggy had at hand were just too outlandish to consider seriously taking part in the dangerous competition.
Besides the hard facts that the only horse he believed could endure the four-and-half mile hurdle-bedevilled test of endurance
held a disposition to ejecting its rider, today was the day Stanley was supposed to register at Lord Tatem's home if he was to
enter Diabolus and the unfortunate passenger.
The answer to Mister Dawes' wonder was that the Last Witch of Underhill had arrived at an impasse she had attempted to
avoid in solving the problem. Majick, a simple spell of taking Diabolus' willpower and husbanding the horse to do what Peggy
wanted, would be easy. But would it be right? The moral aspect of cheating would draw her more towards the human side of
her parentage and be at-odds with the ethical values she believed lay in her semi-Fae heritage. A bugger-of-a-pickle indeed.
Stanley nudged Peggy out of her wool-gathering when he remarked about the registration time and watched as she returned
from wherever she'd been in her thinking. "Just to save face, I should go and tell him I'll not be entering the contest..." Stanley
said sullenly. "...I know he'll laugh his fancy-pants off, but I'd rather him do it to my face than behind my back" he added and
went to fetch his jacket.
Peggy Powler breathed in deeply and subconsciously adjusted the satchel strap on her shoulder. "Would it be a bugger if
'Ah took that trudge wiv' yer, Mister Dawes?" she called to the broad shoulders of the man wandering towards the kitchen
door. A vague wave on a hand indicated the stable-owner was bothered either way and glancing back into the gloom where
the damaged stallion was pretending to not listen, the necromancer smiled at what she'd found out.
"Thee'll be just another hoss when the evenin' comes, Diabolus..." Peggy said towards the dark rectangular entrance,
"...Yer' old mother'll be proud of yer' to have bested a Witch and tossed away yer' destiny all in a single day, me-lad" she
appended and theatrically re-setting her hat on her head, ambled over to wait beside the track out of the Dawes property.
...................................................
"Ah need te' water the flowers, Mister Dawes" the little Witch said suddenly as the pair had been quietly walking along the
lane that skirted his land. The other side of copse could be seen from this position and to Stanley, the overgrown foliage
seemed worse than the jungle he'd witnessed in the years he'd been training horses. But now, this strange petite woman
had disappeared into the tangle of brambles, ferns and twisting Honeysuckle on a mission he just didn't comprehend.
As if to answer his mental puzzle, Peggy called back "Ah'm takin' a pee, Mister Dawes" and the stable-owner found refuge
from his sudden embarrassment by rummaging through the pockets of his tweed coat. If the Witch's need to make water
took longer, one can assume Stanley's trusty-waistcoat would be next on the roster for delving.
Pommer frowned his own perplexity at what the Witch had said to the giant man on the trail as she now crouched down to
speak to him. The jubilant Sprite had been the toast of his community after they had all taken part in cleaning the structures
that the humans contained their animals in. For Pommer, this little woman who rebuffed undergarments and footwear, had
saved their home by outwitting the pocket-foraging fellow with the bushy eyebrows.
"Aye..." Peggy said hurriedly to stop the Sprite's whispered gratitude, "...yer can thank me wiv' flowers on me-grave when
Ah' gan' over, but for now..." the susurrant sorceress took a glance towards where her fellow-traveller was waiting. "...Ah'
need yer' te' do me a favour". Pommer -still elated from he and his group of Fae's part in the Witch's copse-saving scheme,
nodded and listened with eyes of a child being told a fairy-story.
...................................................
Lord Archibald Tatem's home was big and fancy just as Peggy had guessed. Lavish gothic architecture screamed out the
aristocrat's accumulation of wealth and power. Large perfectly-manicured lawns lay on either side of the well-raked gravelled,
neatly-clipped privet-hedged corridor that a large man and his smaller companion walked along, to make sure they felt the
domineering opulence Lord Tatem enjoyed.
Approaching the well-scrubbed steps that furthered the undermining the confidence of a caller's visit, Peggy decided due to
the tale of the Gnomes and their displacement from the swanky house and the impressive trimmings of the massive building,
she already didn't like Lord Tatem. A human-envy-failing, yes -she agreed to herself, but she was half-human and so, valid in
her eyes.
A pair of peacock-engraved marble pillars ox-carted in from the Gallen islands stood like sentinels either-side of a door that
would allow six people aligned shoulder-to-shoulder to enter The oak of the huge iron-studded egress had been taken from
forests now long gone in the Piltdown district and the dark metal hardware had been forged by a Blacksmith who only dealt
with those of high birth. Soaking in all this terrible waste of material, Peggy emulated Stanley's earlier resistance and didn't
spit on the ground.
"Can we tek' it that this fella farts through silk, Mister Dawes?" she quipped from the side of her mouth as Stanley reached
for the knocker that resembled Old Scratch with an iron ring in his mouth. The stable-owner -a man fully aware that he and
the little Witch were way-out of their social league, replied "call me Stanley and let's get this over with quick, eh?".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.