Bartholomew Drigg stared into the dwindling flames of the campfire and drank his chicory drink. It seemed Peggy Powler
owned an expansive collection of daily requirements -similar to his own tote of aesculapian wonders. Now shouldered, her
satchel gave the appearance of being empty, but as the conjurer of spells had just explained, looks can be deceiving.
"Yer'll be savvy with a Hall of mirrors...?" Peggy had whispered towards the salesman without looking at him and quickly
added "...divna' look at me as we sit here". Bartholomew nodded once and sipped his brew, this seemed a little-too cloak
-and-dagger for his liking and felt he should clarify that a serious merchant rarely capers in tomfoolery as it may hinder a
customer's focus. However, he just kept staring at the fire.
"The village we see over there is just like those corridors of reflection, it shows what is normal, but slightly deformed" Peggy
continued. "The Salvation Row we're seein' isn't the Salvation Row as we think it should be". Mr Drigg nervously reached for
his cloth carry-all and wondered if it contained a tonic for such paranoia. True -the village was empty and gave off a feeling
of abandonment, but it was there and he could see it over the lip of his faithful tin-mug.
Bartholomew decided to use his abilities as a marketer and bring the woman that -in his opinion was showing far-too much
bare leg, bring her back to a harbour of sanity. But as the uncomfortable vendor drew in a breath to assist the renown magician,
he guessed that she had guessed his plan.
Peggy casually picked up two pebbles and handed one to the puzzled man sat beside her. "Toss yours towards Calder's Way
and see how it bounces along the track". Bartholomew grooved his eyebrows and wondered if he had actually stepped into
another realm, but this one was the crazy world of Peggy Powler.
But because of his dislike of being turned into a newt or apple, he silently capitulated to her madness and lobbed the stone
along the track that led to the sea-cobbled highway. It did what all chunks of rubble do and bounced a couple of times before
coming to rest beside its quarried brethren. "I'm feeling slightly inane, Miss Powler... Would a powder help you?" he said softly
and hoped his escaped causticness hadn't been noticed.
Peggy smiled the smile of someone who understood the jibe, but just didn't wish to grasp the jocularity. "Yer' a Cad, Mr Drigg,
but indulge me will yer'?" she whispered and retrieved a nod from someone who knew what a warning looked like.
"Now toss this pebble with the same vigour along the lane towards Salvation Row" the little Witch asked, but Bartholomew
knew it wasn't a request. With a resigned sigh on his lips, he did as he was told and watched the stone become still on impact.
The exhale became a small gasp.
"Aye" was all Peggy answered and went on with drinking her cooling brew.
...................................................
The grey clouds that had accompanied the oddly-matched pair from their morning walk to the weird representation of a hamlet
still hung overhead as they reversed their journey back to blackened Rowan tree where they'd spent the night. Combating Drigg's
protestations of just calling it a day and moving on to Magdalene, Peggy tried to explain what was possibly going on.
"Yer' bein' hogswoddled, Bart... can yer' not see?" she said with a wry smile. "Whey, Ah'd have thought a rum-fella like yer'self
would've tekin' umbrage at such a caper" she added and scanned his face to see if he understood the situation. Bartholomew
looked at the famed road that would take him away from all this weirdness and listened to the Angels in his head.
He could be in Magdalene by early evening and be sitting down to a nice meal at a lodging-house. He might strike it lucky and
acquire interest over that very dining table about his cure-alls and potions to improve hair-loss. He would be running away from
something that had nothing to do with him -or his calling in life, and go back to what he did best.
Then he envisioned the stone falling flat on the dirt-road and a little woman in a silly hat waddling towards whatever misfortune
could concoct such a fraudulent vision. In that same head, Bartholomew Drigg was on trial.
Peggy saw the movements within his face and left him to fight it out in the court of humanity, Fae were cut from a different cloth
and had no right to trespass on the human way. A warning from her mother that Peggy had tried to adhere to, although a little
nudge -she believed, didn't do any harm. Without a word, she walked over to the base of the lightning-struck tree and pondered
on what had to be done about Old Scratch's counterfeit collection of cottages.
The other question that swam within this dilemma was 'why'... why would someone create a bogus village?
The answer didn't come, but a result did float to the surface when she heard the man behind her say "Okay... you can call me
Bart".
owned an expansive collection of daily requirements -similar to his own tote of aesculapian wonders. Now shouldered, her
satchel gave the appearance of being empty, but as the conjurer of spells had just explained, looks can be deceiving.
"Yer'll be savvy with a Hall of mirrors...?" Peggy had whispered towards the salesman without looking at him and quickly
added "...divna' look at me as we sit here". Bartholomew nodded once and sipped his brew, this seemed a little-too cloak
-and-dagger for his liking and felt he should clarify that a serious merchant rarely capers in tomfoolery as it may hinder a
customer's focus. However, he just kept staring at the fire.
"The village we see over there is just like those corridors of reflection, it shows what is normal, but slightly deformed" Peggy
continued. "The Salvation Row we're seein' isn't the Salvation Row as we think it should be". Mr Drigg nervously reached for
his cloth carry-all and wondered if it contained a tonic for such paranoia. True -the village was empty and gave off a feeling
of abandonment, but it was there and he could see it over the lip of his faithful tin-mug.
Bartholomew decided to use his abilities as a marketer and bring the woman that -in his opinion was showing far-too much
bare leg, bring her back to a harbour of sanity. But as the uncomfortable vendor drew in a breath to assist the renown magician,
he guessed that she had guessed his plan.
Peggy casually picked up two pebbles and handed one to the puzzled man sat beside her. "Toss yours towards Calder's Way
and see how it bounces along the track". Bartholomew grooved his eyebrows and wondered if he had actually stepped into
another realm, but this one was the crazy world of Peggy Powler.
But because of his dislike of being turned into a newt or apple, he silently capitulated to her madness and lobbed the stone
along the track that led to the sea-cobbled highway. It did what all chunks of rubble do and bounced a couple of times before
coming to rest beside its quarried brethren. "I'm feeling slightly inane, Miss Powler... Would a powder help you?" he said softly
and hoped his escaped causticness hadn't been noticed.
Peggy smiled the smile of someone who understood the jibe, but just didn't wish to grasp the jocularity. "Yer' a Cad, Mr Drigg,
but indulge me will yer'?" she whispered and retrieved a nod from someone who knew what a warning looked like.
"Now toss this pebble with the same vigour along the lane towards Salvation Row" the little Witch asked, but Bartholomew
knew it wasn't a request. With a resigned sigh on his lips, he did as he was told and watched the stone become still on impact.
The exhale became a small gasp.
"Aye" was all Peggy answered and went on with drinking her cooling brew.
...................................................
The grey clouds that had accompanied the oddly-matched pair from their morning walk to the weird representation of a hamlet
still hung overhead as they reversed their journey back to blackened Rowan tree where they'd spent the night. Combating Drigg's
protestations of just calling it a day and moving on to Magdalene, Peggy tried to explain what was possibly going on.
"Yer' bein' hogswoddled, Bart... can yer' not see?" she said with a wry smile. "Whey, Ah'd have thought a rum-fella like yer'self
would've tekin' umbrage at such a caper" she added and scanned his face to see if he understood the situation. Bartholomew
looked at the famed road that would take him away from all this weirdness and listened to the Angels in his head.
He could be in Magdalene by early evening and be sitting down to a nice meal at a lodging-house. He might strike it lucky and
acquire interest over that very dining table about his cure-alls and potions to improve hair-loss. He would be running away from
something that had nothing to do with him -or his calling in life, and go back to what he did best.
Then he envisioned the stone falling flat on the dirt-road and a little woman in a silly hat waddling towards whatever misfortune
could concoct such a fraudulent vision. In that same head, Bartholomew Drigg was on trial.
Peggy saw the movements within his face and left him to fight it out in the court of humanity, Fae were cut from a different cloth
and had no right to trespass on the human way. A warning from her mother that Peggy had tried to adhere to, although a little
nudge -she believed, didn't do any harm. Without a word, she walked over to the base of the lightning-struck tree and pondered
on what had to be done about Old Scratch's counterfeit collection of cottages.
The other question that swam within this dilemma was 'why'... why would someone create a bogus village?
The answer didn't come, but a result did float to the surface when she heard the man behind her say "Okay... you can call me
Bart".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.