The next couple of days were spent with Stanley Dawes and the seated Jimmy Dougie struggling to teach the little Witch
called Peggy Powler how to ride a race horse. Even though Doctor Higgins had warned the stable-owner not to move the
young lad from the bed in Stanley's front-room, it was quietly agreed upon -that with their boss' daily supervised carrying,
Pip and Farra could lift Jimmy via a kitchen chair and position him near the area where the horses ran.
True, the renowned necromancer had been a passenger on many a mount in her time travelling the highways and byways
of the land, this transport was usually with the Midnight-Mail carriers who ferried various styles of information to the villages
and towns for purely communal-adhesion reasons. These couriers were regular companions on Peggy's journeys and she'd
befriended many of the emissaries that rode through the night to get to their destinations. It was a normal part of a roaming
sorceress' vocation and she felt when it came to riding a horse, well... how difficult could it be?
But when it comes to handling a large running animal between one's legs and urging that creature to endanger its life by
vaulting over ridiculously-high obstacles, it seemed such an undertaking is not for for the faint-hearted or those who live
their lives chasing demons and werewolves. Even with Stanley and the young ostler shouting out encouragement and tips
on riding the unusually placid Diabolus, it seemed Peggy Powler would never make a good Jockey.
Sitting on the dew-damp grass after her third fall from the tall black horse, the Last Witch of Underhill wondered if she had
bitten off more than she could chew. Diabolus eyed the shoeless necromancer groaning as she got to her feet and if equine
cognition does encompass judgment and evaluation, one could suggest the horse agreed with its rider. Patting the nose
of the waiting horse, Peggy breathed "It's not you, honey, it's just me-legs aren't what they used te' be" and glanced over
to where the two more-proficient wranglers of steeds watched-on with faces of forced-consolation.
The towering slippery brute had changed and the big man in the canvas waistcoat and his younger employee with his leg
in splints had noticed the transformation. Earlier, as the compliant Diabolus had been led out of his stall, Stanley had asked
Pip and if the horse had been off its feed or had the stable-boy noticed anything unusual about Diabolus' behaviour. To the
pair of remaining stable-hands, nothing had changed. One day, Diabolus had been the irascible stallion waiting to deliver
a nasty kick to a careless shovel-wielding worker, the next he was whinnying merrily to the other horses in their respective
stalls and submissive during grooming.
"Something about the bugger has changed..." Stanley muttered to the boy grunting as he adjusted the position of his broken
limb, "...I can't place my finger on it, but I'm wondering if that woman's put a hex on Diabolus. What do you think?" he asked
Jimmy without looking at him. The lame stable-hand merely wondered why his superior had used the word 'bugger', a term
he'd never heard before Peggy Powler had arrived at the Dawes stables. "Maybe" he offered and went back to tolerating
the dull ache in his leg.
The next day duplicated the previous bout of horse-riding instruction and unknown to everyone except the trainee-jockey in
the big hat, the following day was the same due to the nightly visit to Diabolus' stall from little Pommer and a couple of his
fellow-Sprites. Fae-folk have a way with some animals and it is true that high-moral discourse will fail between contrasting
species if one the participants wishes to eat the other, but in the area of non-predatory disquisition, language is not a
barrier for the Sprite.
As Farra Combs snored away his dreams of hauling in fish-full nets with his Pa and Pip Farnby's slumber consisted of
hopefully meeting the girl that smiled at him he'd spied when he'd visited Dibbleswith to fetch Doctor Higgins, Pommer
and his companions talked to the horse that had lost the power to trust. Perched on the wooden partition holding the half
stuffed hay-bag that separated Diabolus from the other Dawes racing-stock, faith in one's self and those who shared this
realm with, were worked on.
...................................................
"...Yes, well I can't get over the fact that yer' paid Lord Tatem to enter a race I'd categorically told yer' I had no intention of
entering" Stanley stated as he and Peggy followed behind Pip and Farra hauling the Dougie-lad back to their Manager's
home. The Witch of the roads kept her own gaze forward as Stanley went over this old-chestnut again, the loss of nasal
control at the moment he was to cede his part in a dumb race his father had won once and the fact that Peggy had funded
the entry-fee.
It was late-afternoon of Day-five and in a couple of church candles time, that dreaded dawn would arrive on the Dawes estate
for the annual Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race. Here they were again, bickering via shallow abstracts about the
one thing that Stanley subconsciously feared the most, bettering his father.
The weary Witch switched the reins of the docile plodding Diabolus following its would-be rider from one hand to the other
and nonchalantly replied "Ah' must of got me-brain in treacle 'cos of yer' sneezin' fit, Stanley." She now used his first name
and also noticed the broad-shouldered man had taken to speaking similar to herself.
Stanley peered ahead as he noticed the two stable-hands had changed his instructions on bringing and returning Jimmy
Dougie. Farra was now carrying the sidelined horse-rider over his shoulder, whilst Pip lugged one of Stanley's mother's
favourite kitchen chairs under his arm. For a brief moment, the annoyed stable-owner found himself unsure of which he
was more concerned about and felt guilty that the thought had popped into his head in the first place.
It seemed more and more, his authority on his own property was waning and his whole business was descending into a
silly world of make-believe and random certitude. "...Divna' worry thee-self, Stanley, there's always a plan te' these things
and yer've just got to trust it'll be reet in the end" Peggy added and gently elbowed the big man beside her in the thigh.
"Eh... and yer' startin' te' sound like me, yer' bugger" she quipped with the hope of cheering the upset stable-owner as the
strange pair ambled back to the yard. Stanley merely grunted and went back to deliberating on the odds of actually finishing
the race.
The rules were he would receive the entry-fee back if his horse succeeded in getting around the the four-and-half mile course
and would improve if Diabolus could get within the top four. Of course, Stanley knew that the money was not his and really, it
meant very little to him when weighed against the opportunity to take the trophy. The famous cup his father had won all those
years ago.
"I figure if yer' steer clear of the pack and just take yer..." he corrected himself, "...if you take your time when coming to the
fences, there's a chance you might complete the race, Peggy..." he said earnestly and peered down towards the wide brim
of the Witch's floppy hat. "...What do you think?" he said with the best buoyancy he could muster.
Peggy Powler lifted her head, looked fixedly back at the giant with tightly-curled hair and showed a smile that slightly jittered
Stanley for a moment. The horse trainer recognised that the woman's glare was another piece of evidence that his command
of what he said regarding his business, the trio of ostlers' employment and even own future, was being undermined by those
he deemed outsiders. "Aye, yer' the boss" the Witch replied and yet, her eyes told of something else.
It wasn't until their long-stretched shadows touched the gate-posts of the yard that Peggy decided to say what she'd almost
spoken when Stanley had offered his advice on how to conduct the Summertide and Barnstead event. She knew it would be
cruel, but this well-meaning -but flawed human needed the special medication the easy-going animal wandering behind her
had taken. For the last few nights, Diabolus had taken his nursing in spoon-fulls, Stanley Dawes was now going to glug down
the whole bottle.
"Is that a dandelion-seed in yer' hair, Stanley...?" Peggy said lightly and waved a hand for him to lean forward for checking.
Stanley did so without thinking and right there-and-then, that silly world of make-believe that he'd been recently tolerating
took a severe twist in its journey. For his smaller companion's part, it involved a whispered spell and an index-finger on the
big man's forehead, the rest was straight from the heart.
"Ah' think me-hoss and me will run pell-mell in the race yer' futha' always wanted yer' te' win. Ah' think yer' Pa did and will
always love yer' and he'd want yer' to better him as his son. Do yer' hear me Stanley Dawes?" Peggy leaned close and softly
breathed on the man who was now a boy watching how his father had hugged his mother in his triumph. It was Stanley's
best moment, he'd been so proud of his Pa's achievement and it was this happiness his psyche feared to taint with a victory
of his own
"Me and me-hoss here, we're gonna run like Old Scratch himself is bitin' our asses, we're gonna jump them fences like
we got wings, do yer' hear me Stanley Dawes?" the little Witch whispered menacingly. "Aye, it'll be a sight te' see alright,
we're gonna win that race and yer' futha' will be proud of yer' anyway" she finished in a lighter tone and gently brushed the
stable-owner's hair in a hint of affection.
As Stanley came around from his odd bout of daydreaming and slowly stood to his true height, Diabolus the now-amiable
eavesdropper, whinnied his agreement of Peggy's Powler's scheme. "Ah think Ah' got it all out" the Witch said and wiggled
her fingers to show the imaginary floating seed-pod was no more.
called Peggy Powler how to ride a race horse. Even though Doctor Higgins had warned the stable-owner not to move the
young lad from the bed in Stanley's front-room, it was quietly agreed upon -that with their boss' daily supervised carrying,
Pip and Farra could lift Jimmy via a kitchen chair and position him near the area where the horses ran.
True, the renowned necromancer had been a passenger on many a mount in her time travelling the highways and byways
of the land, this transport was usually with the Midnight-Mail carriers who ferried various styles of information to the villages
and towns for purely communal-adhesion reasons. These couriers were regular companions on Peggy's journeys and she'd
befriended many of the emissaries that rode through the night to get to their destinations. It was a normal part of a roaming
sorceress' vocation and she felt when it came to riding a horse, well... how difficult could it be?
But when it comes to handling a large running animal between one's legs and urging that creature to endanger its life by
vaulting over ridiculously-high obstacles, it seemed such an undertaking is not for for the faint-hearted or those who live
their lives chasing demons and werewolves. Even with Stanley and the young ostler shouting out encouragement and tips
on riding the unusually placid Diabolus, it seemed Peggy Powler would never make a good Jockey.
Sitting on the dew-damp grass after her third fall from the tall black horse, the Last Witch of Underhill wondered if she had
bitten off more than she could chew. Diabolus eyed the shoeless necromancer groaning as she got to her feet and if equine
cognition does encompass judgment and evaluation, one could suggest the horse agreed with its rider. Patting the nose
of the waiting horse, Peggy breathed "It's not you, honey, it's just me-legs aren't what they used te' be" and glanced over
to where the two more-proficient wranglers of steeds watched-on with faces of forced-consolation.
The towering slippery brute had changed and the big man in the canvas waistcoat and his younger employee with his leg
in splints had noticed the transformation. Earlier, as the compliant Diabolus had been led out of his stall, Stanley had asked
Pip and if the horse had been off its feed or had the stable-boy noticed anything unusual about Diabolus' behaviour. To the
pair of remaining stable-hands, nothing had changed. One day, Diabolus had been the irascible stallion waiting to deliver
a nasty kick to a careless shovel-wielding worker, the next he was whinnying merrily to the other horses in their respective
stalls and submissive during grooming.
"Something about the bugger has changed..." Stanley muttered to the boy grunting as he adjusted the position of his broken
limb, "...I can't place my finger on it, but I'm wondering if that woman's put a hex on Diabolus. What do you think?" he asked
Jimmy without looking at him. The lame stable-hand merely wondered why his superior had used the word 'bugger', a term
he'd never heard before Peggy Powler had arrived at the Dawes stables. "Maybe" he offered and went back to tolerating
the dull ache in his leg.
The next day duplicated the previous bout of horse-riding instruction and unknown to everyone except the trainee-jockey in
the big hat, the following day was the same due to the nightly visit to Diabolus' stall from little Pommer and a couple of his
fellow-Sprites. Fae-folk have a way with some animals and it is true that high-moral discourse will fail between contrasting
species if one the participants wishes to eat the other, but in the area of non-predatory disquisition, language is not a
barrier for the Sprite.
As Farra Combs snored away his dreams of hauling in fish-full nets with his Pa and Pip Farnby's slumber consisted of
hopefully meeting the girl that smiled at him he'd spied when he'd visited Dibbleswith to fetch Doctor Higgins, Pommer
and his companions talked to the horse that had lost the power to trust. Perched on the wooden partition holding the half
stuffed hay-bag that separated Diabolus from the other Dawes racing-stock, faith in one's self and those who shared this
realm with, were worked on.
...................................................
"...Yes, well I can't get over the fact that yer' paid Lord Tatem to enter a race I'd categorically told yer' I had no intention of
entering" Stanley stated as he and Peggy followed behind Pip and Farra hauling the Dougie-lad back to their Manager's
home. The Witch of the roads kept her own gaze forward as Stanley went over this old-chestnut again, the loss of nasal
control at the moment he was to cede his part in a dumb race his father had won once and the fact that Peggy had funded
the entry-fee.
It was late-afternoon of Day-five and in a couple of church candles time, that dreaded dawn would arrive on the Dawes estate
for the annual Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race. Here they were again, bickering via shallow abstracts about the
one thing that Stanley subconsciously feared the most, bettering his father.
The weary Witch switched the reins of the docile plodding Diabolus following its would-be rider from one hand to the other
and nonchalantly replied "Ah' must of got me-brain in treacle 'cos of yer' sneezin' fit, Stanley." She now used his first name
and also noticed the broad-shouldered man had taken to speaking similar to herself.
Stanley peered ahead as he noticed the two stable-hands had changed his instructions on bringing and returning Jimmy
Dougie. Farra was now carrying the sidelined horse-rider over his shoulder, whilst Pip lugged one of Stanley's mother's
favourite kitchen chairs under his arm. For a brief moment, the annoyed stable-owner found himself unsure of which he
was more concerned about and felt guilty that the thought had popped into his head in the first place.
It seemed more and more, his authority on his own property was waning and his whole business was descending into a
silly world of make-believe and random certitude. "...Divna' worry thee-self, Stanley, there's always a plan te' these things
and yer've just got to trust it'll be reet in the end" Peggy added and gently elbowed the big man beside her in the thigh.
"Eh... and yer' startin' te' sound like me, yer' bugger" she quipped with the hope of cheering the upset stable-owner as the
strange pair ambled back to the yard. Stanley merely grunted and went back to deliberating on the odds of actually finishing
the race.
The rules were he would receive the entry-fee back if his horse succeeded in getting around the the four-and-half mile course
and would improve if Diabolus could get within the top four. Of course, Stanley knew that the money was not his and really, it
meant very little to him when weighed against the opportunity to take the trophy. The famous cup his father had won all those
years ago.
"I figure if yer' steer clear of the pack and just take yer..." he corrected himself, "...if you take your time when coming to the
fences, there's a chance you might complete the race, Peggy..." he said earnestly and peered down towards the wide brim
of the Witch's floppy hat. "...What do you think?" he said with the best buoyancy he could muster.
Peggy Powler lifted her head, looked fixedly back at the giant with tightly-curled hair and showed a smile that slightly jittered
Stanley for a moment. The horse trainer recognised that the woman's glare was another piece of evidence that his command
of what he said regarding his business, the trio of ostlers' employment and even own future, was being undermined by those
he deemed outsiders. "Aye, yer' the boss" the Witch replied and yet, her eyes told of something else.
It wasn't until their long-stretched shadows touched the gate-posts of the yard that Peggy decided to say what she'd almost
spoken when Stanley had offered his advice on how to conduct the Summertide and Barnstead event. She knew it would be
cruel, but this well-meaning -but flawed human needed the special medication the easy-going animal wandering behind her
had taken. For the last few nights, Diabolus had taken his nursing in spoon-fulls, Stanley Dawes was now going to glug down
the whole bottle.
"Is that a dandelion-seed in yer' hair, Stanley...?" Peggy said lightly and waved a hand for him to lean forward for checking.
Stanley did so without thinking and right there-and-then, that silly world of make-believe that he'd been recently tolerating
took a severe twist in its journey. For his smaller companion's part, it involved a whispered spell and an index-finger on the
big man's forehead, the rest was straight from the heart.
"Ah' think me-hoss and me will run pell-mell in the race yer' futha' always wanted yer' te' win. Ah' think yer' Pa did and will
always love yer' and he'd want yer' to better him as his son. Do yer' hear me Stanley Dawes?" Peggy leaned close and softly
breathed on the man who was now a boy watching how his father had hugged his mother in his triumph. It was Stanley's
best moment, he'd been so proud of his Pa's achievement and it was this happiness his psyche feared to taint with a victory
of his own
"Me and me-hoss here, we're gonna run like Old Scratch himself is bitin' our asses, we're gonna jump them fences like
we got wings, do yer' hear me Stanley Dawes?" the little Witch whispered menacingly. "Aye, it'll be a sight te' see alright,
we're gonna win that race and yer' futha' will be proud of yer' anyway" she finished in a lighter tone and gently brushed the
stable-owner's hair in a hint of affection.
As Stanley came around from his odd bout of daydreaming and slowly stood to his true height, Diabolus the now-amiable
eavesdropper, whinnied his agreement of Peggy's Powler's scheme. "Ah think Ah' got it all out" the Witch said and wiggled
her fingers to show the imaginary floating seed-pod was no more.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.