02-07-2022, 11:11 PM
The grooved artery that took Peggy Powler and her sullen leadfoot towards Camden Bight became more and more obstructed
as they left old Arthur Tuttle's neglected estate and entered the dense foliage that covered most of the island. A couple of times,
Alf Slater would disembark the cart and grunted his exertions to remove a fallen branch that the surrounding stunted trees had
decided to relinquish.
"Bloomin' wood-apes" the tallow-seller would spit towards the shadows of the vegetation and lumber back to his place beside the
little Witch on the creaking wooden seat. Peggy had held her tongue and declined from commenting that such creatures didn't live
on the Isle of Murdigon, it was too-far out from the mainland for them to get here and she'd seen no sign to indicate a group or even
a single Woodwose inhabited the squat forests.
They trundled on along the labyrinthine lane and what sun could be glimpsed between the heavy leafage, now came from the west.
"Almost there" Slater murmured as he tapped the mule's croup with the loose reins and to Peggy's relief, the animal didn't respond
with a usual display of flatulence. The track was a little wider now and on the bumping buggy's right-hand side, the little Witch spied
a clearing that she promptly mentally ticked off as a place she had to visit later.
However, it seemed her churlish driver had also noticed what had piqued Peggy's interest. "Just a place where the young 'uns play"
Alf mumbled matter-of-factly and kept his eyes on the trail, but the Last Witch of Underhill felt the over-compensation. "Aye" she
offered back in a whisper.
The two tall carved poles had been deliberately set in their places and a light-coloured line connected the pair of hewn masts. What
the demarcation course was comprised of or what it was for, the jostling sorceress feeling the pulsing horseshoe in her pocket were
questions she quickly shelved in her internal library of investigation.
...................................................
"...And once again Mister Slater, Ah' thank yer' fur' the use of yer' conveyance" Peggy said whilst handing over the two florris to the
dull slab of meat standing beside his farting beast of burden. The scruffy man nodded and showed his gratitude by remaining his
boorish self, but the mule twisted its mouth in a way that the Witch would consider an attempted smile. Alas, a low rasping from the
animal's mizzen offered a different interpretation for the grimace and Peggy left the pair to their own inhalations.
Camden Bight was indicative of a mainland fishing town, but for the twenty-or-so families that made up the permanent community,
it was carved more in the vein of accepting those who rode the Great Sea, more than spawning such green-water anglers. Down
towards the stone-built harbour, three exhausted-looking trawler boats creaked against their moorings, whilst some chatting men
sat on the wooden bollards repairing nets and eyeing any passing females.
Stores stood as ushers to the marriage of the visiting fishermen and the single road that Camden Bight had to to offer. Those who
spent their lives in the fairly well-to-do community occupied the small cottages that orbited the main thoroughfare and worked in
the outlets designed to judiciously cater for their patrons.
A Dry-Goods Store stood beside a Barber's shop and further down, an outlet that sold shoes. Moving her eyes and mind from that
side of the road, Peggy forced the memory of another Cobbler from her past to stay away from her thinking. The usual Tavern waited
beside a Livery and a Salon of some type, maybe a tailor -the little Witch guessed. Finally, at the end of the cobbled thoroughfare,
the customary Ship Chandlery waited for its next sea-going customer.
The village of Camden Bight took its name from the wide curve the tail of Murdigon took on its journey to the tip of the island. Peggy
guessed following the Bight northwards would bring her to hamlet known as The Narrows and an enigmatic lighthouse they serviced.
But that was for later and for the moment, the little stranger in a strange town required information and the street-surveying Shaman
calculated that maybe such quarry could be obtained over a flagon of ale. Recalling that she'd left John Potter's donated jug of beer
on his parked rowboat, Peggy licked her lips as she peered down the cobbled-street and unconsciously touched Ma Gurnard's food
parcel in her satchel.
Maybe the tavern branded 'The Horatio' held some of her answers? With a light spring in her step, the sprightly spellbinder set her
prow towards the den of gossip and lubrication.
...................................................
"Tis' a fine hoagie, Miss Powler..." Indigo Dunth remarked readily as he bit down on the shared sandwich, "...me-belly had thought
that me-throat was cut" he chuckled and washed down the food with a swig of ale. Peggy ignored the obvious conundrum from the
old drunk and quaffed her own tankard of chock. She'd waited only a couple of minutes seated at a table near the Inn's only window
before one of the four men leaning on the counter had swaggered over to see who this newcomer was and if they possibly carried
any means to purchase more libation. An old trick, but one that had served the wandering Witch well during her travels.
Indigo rasped the stubble on his chin and allowed a stifled discharge of beer fumes to vent from his smiling mouth. "So what did
yer' say yer' were visiting Camden Bight for?" he asked and quickly scrutinising the sot's eyes, Peggy accepted no shiftiness hid
within his query.
"Ah'm just passin' through and Ah' thought te' me-self that such a pretty place shouldn't be allowed to be missed" the diminutive
wizard answered and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, broadcast a pair of unsullied doe-eyes of an innocent -but obliged
traveller who appreciated such mild nosiness.
Indigo leaned forward and nodded that he understood her response. The old scrote was rough-around-the edges and seemed to
be one of those folk who just went with whatever the tide offered and accepted his lot as mere amiable flotsam in a sea of order.
"Aye, tis' good fur' the soul to berth in the shallows from time-to-time" he agreed and over-embellished his surprise at finding his
stoup empty.
Peggy kept her face straight as she politely waved the landlord if he could refill the puzzled man's jug and assuming he'd discovered
treasure, Indigo Dunth nodded with a vigour that almost dislodged his finger-greased cap. "Mind me-lady, Ah'm not the type te' take
advantage of such a kind soul, but yer've just caught me on one of me-worst days of being without a florris" he assured the innocent
Fae-woman softly asking the bar-keep for another round of hops.
The little bare-footed transient showed her concern and rapport of her new-found friend's financial drought by commenting as she
handed over the coinage to the tavern-owner, "Aye, well we've all had them days..." and ignored the dubious looks of the proprietor.
"It's an ill wind and no mistake" Peggy reiterated and surveyed the forlorn drunkard gazing at the scratched surface of the table.
Indigo was thinking of something serious and whatever it was, brought him betwixt and between. The attentive Witch could see that
the lined and booze-carved face hinted of doubt and misgivings. "Yer' reet Miss Powler, but fur' old Indigo, those days will be soon
be behind me" he whispered and offered no cheer to his words. Peggy patted his gnarled and weathered hand and checking to see
if any of The Horatio's customers were watching, gently breathed her own kind of fishing technique.
"Naw me-lad, yer' not near death's door yet, man..." she assured the sad barfly hypnotised within his own introspection and quickly
wiggled her little finger to sugar the bait. The cache of another brew was all Indigo Dunth sought, but Peggy Powler hunted a deeper
trove of treasure. "...Ah'll wager no bugger could replace yer'self, Indigo" she added and waited for the line to be tugged.
Dunth looked up from his self-reflection and showed the face of the damned. There was no deceit or craftiness in his reddened eyes
and no set of the mouth to show he'd been lacquering his words. Indigo was frightened and by something beyond his ale-soaked savvy.
"We all get replaced, Miss... they told us it's our destiny" he mumbled and drowned his sorrow in the metal tankard of fermented cereal.
A moment later, he doffed his grimy cap and staggered his way back to the bar and pretending to not regard her fleeting visitor, Peggy
saw that nobody came to persuade him to join in a conversation, nor did Indigo seek solace among his fellow drinkers. He was a loner
and for the Witch nodding her thanks to the Inn-keeper as she rose to leave, that was fine with her.
Surveying the stone-surfaced street of Camden Bight, Peggy could see by the lack of footfall that the dusk was hurrying in fast and
setting her wide-brimmed hat on her head, she assured herself that when the darkness came, a stronger more-baited hook would
be cast for the souse called Indigo Dunth to give up the secret she needed to find out what was really happening on Murdigon.
as they left old Arthur Tuttle's neglected estate and entered the dense foliage that covered most of the island. A couple of times,
Alf Slater would disembark the cart and grunted his exertions to remove a fallen branch that the surrounding stunted trees had
decided to relinquish.
"Bloomin' wood-apes" the tallow-seller would spit towards the shadows of the vegetation and lumber back to his place beside the
little Witch on the creaking wooden seat. Peggy had held her tongue and declined from commenting that such creatures didn't live
on the Isle of Murdigon, it was too-far out from the mainland for them to get here and she'd seen no sign to indicate a group or even
a single Woodwose inhabited the squat forests.
They trundled on along the labyrinthine lane and what sun could be glimpsed between the heavy leafage, now came from the west.
"Almost there" Slater murmured as he tapped the mule's croup with the loose reins and to Peggy's relief, the animal didn't respond
with a usual display of flatulence. The track was a little wider now and on the bumping buggy's right-hand side, the little Witch spied
a clearing that she promptly mentally ticked off as a place she had to visit later.
However, it seemed her churlish driver had also noticed what had piqued Peggy's interest. "Just a place where the young 'uns play"
Alf mumbled matter-of-factly and kept his eyes on the trail, but the Last Witch of Underhill felt the over-compensation. "Aye" she
offered back in a whisper.
The two tall carved poles had been deliberately set in their places and a light-coloured line connected the pair of hewn masts. What
the demarcation course was comprised of or what it was for, the jostling sorceress feeling the pulsing horseshoe in her pocket were
questions she quickly shelved in her internal library of investigation.
...................................................
"...And once again Mister Slater, Ah' thank yer' fur' the use of yer' conveyance" Peggy said whilst handing over the two florris to the
dull slab of meat standing beside his farting beast of burden. The scruffy man nodded and showed his gratitude by remaining his
boorish self, but the mule twisted its mouth in a way that the Witch would consider an attempted smile. Alas, a low rasping from the
animal's mizzen offered a different interpretation for the grimace and Peggy left the pair to their own inhalations.
Camden Bight was indicative of a mainland fishing town, but for the twenty-or-so families that made up the permanent community,
it was carved more in the vein of accepting those who rode the Great Sea, more than spawning such green-water anglers. Down
towards the stone-built harbour, three exhausted-looking trawler boats creaked against their moorings, whilst some chatting men
sat on the wooden bollards repairing nets and eyeing any passing females.
Stores stood as ushers to the marriage of the visiting fishermen and the single road that Camden Bight had to to offer. Those who
spent their lives in the fairly well-to-do community occupied the small cottages that orbited the main thoroughfare and worked in
the outlets designed to judiciously cater for their patrons.
A Dry-Goods Store stood beside a Barber's shop and further down, an outlet that sold shoes. Moving her eyes and mind from that
side of the road, Peggy forced the memory of another Cobbler from her past to stay away from her thinking. The usual Tavern waited
beside a Livery and a Salon of some type, maybe a tailor -the little Witch guessed. Finally, at the end of the cobbled thoroughfare,
the customary Ship Chandlery waited for its next sea-going customer.
The village of Camden Bight took its name from the wide curve the tail of Murdigon took on its journey to the tip of the island. Peggy
guessed following the Bight northwards would bring her to hamlet known as The Narrows and an enigmatic lighthouse they serviced.
But that was for later and for the moment, the little stranger in a strange town required information and the street-surveying Shaman
calculated that maybe such quarry could be obtained over a flagon of ale. Recalling that she'd left John Potter's donated jug of beer
on his parked rowboat, Peggy licked her lips as she peered down the cobbled-street and unconsciously touched Ma Gurnard's food
parcel in her satchel.
Maybe the tavern branded 'The Horatio' held some of her answers? With a light spring in her step, the sprightly spellbinder set her
prow towards the den of gossip and lubrication.
...................................................
"Tis' a fine hoagie, Miss Powler..." Indigo Dunth remarked readily as he bit down on the shared sandwich, "...me-belly had thought
that me-throat was cut" he chuckled and washed down the food with a swig of ale. Peggy ignored the obvious conundrum from the
old drunk and quaffed her own tankard of chock. She'd waited only a couple of minutes seated at a table near the Inn's only window
before one of the four men leaning on the counter had swaggered over to see who this newcomer was and if they possibly carried
any means to purchase more libation. An old trick, but one that had served the wandering Witch well during her travels.
Indigo rasped the stubble on his chin and allowed a stifled discharge of beer fumes to vent from his smiling mouth. "So what did
yer' say yer' were visiting Camden Bight for?" he asked and quickly scrutinising the sot's eyes, Peggy accepted no shiftiness hid
within his query.
"Ah'm just passin' through and Ah' thought te' me-self that such a pretty place shouldn't be allowed to be missed" the diminutive
wizard answered and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, broadcast a pair of unsullied doe-eyes of an innocent -but obliged
traveller who appreciated such mild nosiness.
Indigo leaned forward and nodded that he understood her response. The old scrote was rough-around-the edges and seemed to
be one of those folk who just went with whatever the tide offered and accepted his lot as mere amiable flotsam in a sea of order.
"Aye, tis' good fur' the soul to berth in the shallows from time-to-time" he agreed and over-embellished his surprise at finding his
stoup empty.
Peggy kept her face straight as she politely waved the landlord if he could refill the puzzled man's jug and assuming he'd discovered
treasure, Indigo Dunth nodded with a vigour that almost dislodged his finger-greased cap. "Mind me-lady, Ah'm not the type te' take
advantage of such a kind soul, but yer've just caught me on one of me-worst days of being without a florris" he assured the innocent
Fae-woman softly asking the bar-keep for another round of hops.
The little bare-footed transient showed her concern and rapport of her new-found friend's financial drought by commenting as she
handed over the coinage to the tavern-owner, "Aye, well we've all had them days..." and ignored the dubious looks of the proprietor.
"It's an ill wind and no mistake" Peggy reiterated and surveyed the forlorn drunkard gazing at the scratched surface of the table.
Indigo was thinking of something serious and whatever it was, brought him betwixt and between. The attentive Witch could see that
the lined and booze-carved face hinted of doubt and misgivings. "Yer' reet Miss Powler, but fur' old Indigo, those days will be soon
be behind me" he whispered and offered no cheer to his words. Peggy patted his gnarled and weathered hand and checking to see
if any of The Horatio's customers were watching, gently breathed her own kind of fishing technique.
"Naw me-lad, yer' not near death's door yet, man..." she assured the sad barfly hypnotised within his own introspection and quickly
wiggled her little finger to sugar the bait. The cache of another brew was all Indigo Dunth sought, but Peggy Powler hunted a deeper
trove of treasure. "...Ah'll wager no bugger could replace yer'self, Indigo" she added and waited for the line to be tugged.
Dunth looked up from his self-reflection and showed the face of the damned. There was no deceit or craftiness in his reddened eyes
and no set of the mouth to show he'd been lacquering his words. Indigo was frightened and by something beyond his ale-soaked savvy.
"We all get replaced, Miss... they told us it's our destiny" he mumbled and drowned his sorrow in the metal tankard of fermented cereal.
A moment later, he doffed his grimy cap and staggered his way back to the bar and pretending to not regard her fleeting visitor, Peggy
saw that nobody came to persuade him to join in a conversation, nor did Indigo seek solace among his fellow drinkers. He was a loner
and for the Witch nodding her thanks to the Inn-keeper as she rose to leave, that was fine with her.
Surveying the stone-surfaced street of Camden Bight, Peggy could see by the lack of footfall that the dusk was hurrying in fast and
setting her wide-brimmed hat on her head, she assured herself that when the darkness came, a stronger more-baited hook would
be cast for the souse called Indigo Dunth to give up the secret she needed to find out what was really happening on Murdigon.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.