Goddard's Dry-Goods Store supported the classical character of most of these types of trading-outlets that Peggy Powler had
ever entered. Brooms in barrels waited beside a long counter stacked with rolls of brightly-coloured fabric, straw-lined baskets
of stone-hard cheeses, legs of netted cured ham and a glass display for the more-frivolous kinds of sellable items.
A small seductive porcelain Mermaid lounged in the mouth of a polished conch shell along with a silver snuff-box decorated with
a carving of a breaching Blubbershark. Two bottles of Sarson & Sarson Hair Restorer stood like sentries beside a fancy-looking
hairbrush and matching mirror, a sight that made the little Witch think of Bartholomew Drigg, a well-dressed carpetbagger from
another time in her life.
Perusing the many trinkets behind the glass, Peggy noticed the faint reflection of somebody behind her balanced on a ladder in
front of the many shelves that adorned the store's walls. Instead of turning to greet the presumed-Mr Goddard gauging his wares
or merely dusting, the solitary perspective bare-footed customer continued to monitor the stationary man high-up on the rungs of
the moveable stairway.
Usually, this genre of store-keepers would be so amenable that it bordered on cringing or at least, explain an apology for their
lack of haste to serve a busy patron of their establishment, but this one... this one seemed to be frozen in time and in deed.
Had Goddard not seen her entering his store...? Granted, the shop's door had been propped open by a knee-high wooden crate
of Overland Tea and so it was possible her unshod steps might go unheard, but Peggy knew that any person-to-person proximity
ususally brought an awareness almost at once.
Peggy watched the stationary mirrored figure waiting on the ladder and wondered what could be happening, this sort of awkward
incident customarily only occurred when the store-keeper was in another room. With that in-mind, the puzzled spellbinder arrived
at the answer to the odd situation, she would call for assistance in the conventional manner. "Er... Shop?!" she managed to bark
and felt her cheeks redden slightly with the embarrassment of acting as if she was alone and knowing that she was not.
Mr Goddard moved without a sound and descended the ladders without comment. Observing his reflection, Peggy noticed that
at no time did he look around to see who'd called out behind him. Walking slowly around behind the long counter, the patient
sorceress caught a glance at his full appearance and mentally agreed he fitted the average mould of a Dry-Goods retailer.
An inference that would return to bother the bantam charm-wrangler later.
Except... the usual enthusiasm swaddled around the good fortune of making a sale was absent -she noticed, as he listlessly
approached and preparing herself to covertly pick the brains of the seemingly disinterested Mr Goddard, Peggy offered her
best smile to the seemingly-souless figure staring vacantly at her.
...................................................
Refreshing her canteen from the hand-cranked water-pump, Peggy Powler decided there was a need to wait around to see if
any of Camden Bight's residents came to use the cast-iron siphon and chance a chin-wag with the dawdling poncho-wearing
woman. The recent encounter with the owner of Goddard's Dry-Goods Store had left her in a bit of a disorder and to validate
her queer conclusion, a natter with a local would certainly resolve her doubts on the Shopkeeper being what Peggy thought
he was.
Seeing the lack of impressions on his hands was bad enough, but noticing a line -comparable to a joined-hem running from
beneath his collar and disappearing into his hair, well that had been enough for the little woman seeking to purchase some
food. Splashing some water onto her hands and rubbing her bare elbows to cool her misgivings, Peggy glanced again at the
open doorway of the store and saw nobody standing there wondering why she'd ran out.
...................................................
Noon was over an hour away and nobody had yet come into view. The trawler-men had finished their mendings and were now
milling around on their respective vessels. Peggy had tarried at the pump and then eventually strolled up to the top of the main
road in the hopes that Alf Slater or even Indigo Dunth would appear to be drawn on the vacuum of Camden Bight.
The sun continued its act of shortening shadows and yet no shaded profiles on the cobblestones were of garrulous drunkards or
obnoxious tallow-renderers, only the little Witch seemed to exist in the silent seaside village. No curtains twitched in the cottages,
no dog woofed to be fed and none of the familiar sounds relating to a functioning settlement broke the quietness.
Turning to follow a rabbit trail back to the more satisfying picturesque surroundings of where she'd woken up this morning, Peggy
caught a slight movement ahead of her. It wasn't much and many would miss it, but to someone who knows the ways of the timid
in both the animal and human kingdoms, such subtle shifting in position can be often glimpsed.
The act wasn't much and very similar to the manner Woodwosen would sometimes watch humans perfoming daily chores.
These elusive forest-folk will remain hidden inside preferred foliage and if a breeze blows, they attempt to emulate any slight
sway or wobble such an eddy would cause. Woodwose -like the mousy stranger in the flourishing Myrtle bush, was also using
a cover much closer to the observed than most people think.
Beneath the oval-shaped leaves and bright-white blossom, a face peered out that gave the ambling Witch the idea that this silent
watcher wasn't afraid of her environment, only the inhabitants of it. Peggy believed the individual who'd sought refuge in the wild
shrubbery was a female. However, whoever was hunkered in the bush was not of the Fae-world as they would've recognised one
of their own by now. Idly gazing around at the milieu of stunted trees, she opted that it was concealed human woman.
Not wanting to scare the shadowed face, Peggy set off to amble into the shady woods and then held a finger to her lips as if she
wasn't sure of which way to go. Theatrically nodding to herself to give the impression a decision had been arrived at, the unshod
subject of the secretive monitoring turned to saunter around the perimeter of Camden Bight and coincidentally, pass the bush of
bright-pearly flowers.
"Do er' think they're watchin' us reet now?..." Peggy whispered calmly as she came to a dead-stop next to the Witch-high growth
of fragrant evergreen. There was no response, unless one included a delicate sound of body-adjustment beneath the tradtional
plant associated with sweethearts. Gazing upwards to peek through the canopy at the blue Summer sky, the little soreceress
played her biggest gamble since arriving on Mudigon and added "...Ah' know Ah' wouldn't want te' be replaced either, Lillian".
The gasp from the undergrowth was audible and drew a smile from beneath the large hat of the wearer. "Yer'may not tek' me
-word fur' it, but Ah'm from the mainland and Ah' think we need te' talk" Peggy suggested softly and stepped slowly away into
the shade of the woods. A moment later, a snap of of a twig behind her told the little Witch that she was being followed.
...................................................
Trust is fragile thing that can break the battle-lines of the most hardened of combat-weary veterans and buckle the faith of the
fiercest of believers. Those who swim in the mephitic mires of politics and governance use it as a tool and a weapon without
appreciating its true meaning. For Peggy Powler it was a precious candle flame that showed her the way.
And so it was with this ideal carefully being handled, that the bare-footed Fae-Witch began to gradually climb up a crab-apple
tree that resided in one of the rare glades on the island and wait for her frightened guest. The runtish bisque grass that endured
around the base of the sour-tasting Malus struggled to mimic their lush-green brethren near the shoreline. Sunlight brawled with
the overhead leafy baldachin and rarely caught sight of the yellowing turf below.
But for a tentative gathering of a solitary spellbinder and a shy someone who might know what was really happening on the Isle
of Murdigon, it was ideal. The small clearing was far enough away from Camden Bight or any track an average hiker would utilise
and had the asset of being encompassed by the usual bushes that proliferated on the the island. This meant that the apprehensive
outcast could have a clear view of the sorceress sitting on a lichen-baked branch.
A bird chirped its indignation of having unwanted company in its domain and after a minute or so, grew bored with the notion of
berating the intruders and went to dine on an unlucky caterpillar on a branch somewhere. Peggy waited until she was sure the
hiding woman was settled and then cooed from her perch "what can yer' tell me about the Beams of King Stephen?".
It was almost a whole minute before a voice huskily whispered "I can tell you it doesn't work properly..." and with the slightest of
leafy-movement, the dishevelled owner of the words cautiously stepped out from her verdurous concealment.
"...And I can tell you the Wool-pit isn't what they believe it is" Lillian Aldwych added.
ever entered. Brooms in barrels waited beside a long counter stacked with rolls of brightly-coloured fabric, straw-lined baskets
of stone-hard cheeses, legs of netted cured ham and a glass display for the more-frivolous kinds of sellable items.
A small seductive porcelain Mermaid lounged in the mouth of a polished conch shell along with a silver snuff-box decorated with
a carving of a breaching Blubbershark. Two bottles of Sarson & Sarson Hair Restorer stood like sentries beside a fancy-looking
hairbrush and matching mirror, a sight that made the little Witch think of Bartholomew Drigg, a well-dressed carpetbagger from
another time in her life.
Perusing the many trinkets behind the glass, Peggy noticed the faint reflection of somebody behind her balanced on a ladder in
front of the many shelves that adorned the store's walls. Instead of turning to greet the presumed-Mr Goddard gauging his wares
or merely dusting, the solitary perspective bare-footed customer continued to monitor the stationary man high-up on the rungs of
the moveable stairway.
Usually, this genre of store-keepers would be so amenable that it bordered on cringing or at least, explain an apology for their
lack of haste to serve a busy patron of their establishment, but this one... this one seemed to be frozen in time and in deed.
Had Goddard not seen her entering his store...? Granted, the shop's door had been propped open by a knee-high wooden crate
of Overland Tea and so it was possible her unshod steps might go unheard, but Peggy knew that any person-to-person proximity
ususally brought an awareness almost at once.
Peggy watched the stationary mirrored figure waiting on the ladder and wondered what could be happening, this sort of awkward
incident customarily only occurred when the store-keeper was in another room. With that in-mind, the puzzled spellbinder arrived
at the answer to the odd situation, she would call for assistance in the conventional manner. "Er... Shop?!" she managed to bark
and felt her cheeks redden slightly with the embarrassment of acting as if she was alone and knowing that she was not.
Mr Goddard moved without a sound and descended the ladders without comment. Observing his reflection, Peggy noticed that
at no time did he look around to see who'd called out behind him. Walking slowly around behind the long counter, the patient
sorceress caught a glance at his full appearance and mentally agreed he fitted the average mould of a Dry-Goods retailer.
An inference that would return to bother the bantam charm-wrangler later.
Except... the usual enthusiasm swaddled around the good fortune of making a sale was absent -she noticed, as he listlessly
approached and preparing herself to covertly pick the brains of the seemingly disinterested Mr Goddard, Peggy offered her
best smile to the seemingly-souless figure staring vacantly at her.
...................................................
Refreshing her canteen from the hand-cranked water-pump, Peggy Powler decided there was a need to wait around to see if
any of Camden Bight's residents came to use the cast-iron siphon and chance a chin-wag with the dawdling poncho-wearing
woman. The recent encounter with the owner of Goddard's Dry-Goods Store had left her in a bit of a disorder and to validate
her queer conclusion, a natter with a local would certainly resolve her doubts on the Shopkeeper being what Peggy thought
he was.
Seeing the lack of impressions on his hands was bad enough, but noticing a line -comparable to a joined-hem running from
beneath his collar and disappearing into his hair, well that had been enough for the little woman seeking to purchase some
food. Splashing some water onto her hands and rubbing her bare elbows to cool her misgivings, Peggy glanced again at the
open doorway of the store and saw nobody standing there wondering why she'd ran out.
...................................................
Noon was over an hour away and nobody had yet come into view. The trawler-men had finished their mendings and were now
milling around on their respective vessels. Peggy had tarried at the pump and then eventually strolled up to the top of the main
road in the hopes that Alf Slater or even Indigo Dunth would appear to be drawn on the vacuum of Camden Bight.
The sun continued its act of shortening shadows and yet no shaded profiles on the cobblestones were of garrulous drunkards or
obnoxious tallow-renderers, only the little Witch seemed to exist in the silent seaside village. No curtains twitched in the cottages,
no dog woofed to be fed and none of the familiar sounds relating to a functioning settlement broke the quietness.
Turning to follow a rabbit trail back to the more satisfying picturesque surroundings of where she'd woken up this morning, Peggy
caught a slight movement ahead of her. It wasn't much and many would miss it, but to someone who knows the ways of the timid
in both the animal and human kingdoms, such subtle shifting in position can be often glimpsed.
The act wasn't much and very similar to the manner Woodwosen would sometimes watch humans perfoming daily chores.
These elusive forest-folk will remain hidden inside preferred foliage and if a breeze blows, they attempt to emulate any slight
sway or wobble such an eddy would cause. Woodwose -like the mousy stranger in the flourishing Myrtle bush, was also using
a cover much closer to the observed than most people think.
Beneath the oval-shaped leaves and bright-white blossom, a face peered out that gave the ambling Witch the idea that this silent
watcher wasn't afraid of her environment, only the inhabitants of it. Peggy believed the individual who'd sought refuge in the wild
shrubbery was a female. However, whoever was hunkered in the bush was not of the Fae-world as they would've recognised one
of their own by now. Idly gazing around at the milieu of stunted trees, she opted that it was concealed human woman.
Not wanting to scare the shadowed face, Peggy set off to amble into the shady woods and then held a finger to her lips as if she
wasn't sure of which way to go. Theatrically nodding to herself to give the impression a decision had been arrived at, the unshod
subject of the secretive monitoring turned to saunter around the perimeter of Camden Bight and coincidentally, pass the bush of
bright-pearly flowers.
"Do er' think they're watchin' us reet now?..." Peggy whispered calmly as she came to a dead-stop next to the Witch-high growth
of fragrant evergreen. There was no response, unless one included a delicate sound of body-adjustment beneath the tradtional
plant associated with sweethearts. Gazing upwards to peek through the canopy at the blue Summer sky, the little soreceress
played her biggest gamble since arriving on Mudigon and added "...Ah' know Ah' wouldn't want te' be replaced either, Lillian".
The gasp from the undergrowth was audible and drew a smile from beneath the large hat of the wearer. "Yer'may not tek' me
-word fur' it, but Ah'm from the mainland and Ah' think we need te' talk" Peggy suggested softly and stepped slowly away into
the shade of the woods. A moment later, a snap of of a twig behind her told the little Witch that she was being followed.
...................................................
Trust is fragile thing that can break the battle-lines of the most hardened of combat-weary veterans and buckle the faith of the
fiercest of believers. Those who swim in the mephitic mires of politics and governance use it as a tool and a weapon without
appreciating its true meaning. For Peggy Powler it was a precious candle flame that showed her the way.
And so it was with this ideal carefully being handled, that the bare-footed Fae-Witch began to gradually climb up a crab-apple
tree that resided in one of the rare glades on the island and wait for her frightened guest. The runtish bisque grass that endured
around the base of the sour-tasting Malus struggled to mimic their lush-green brethren near the shoreline. Sunlight brawled with
the overhead leafy baldachin and rarely caught sight of the yellowing turf below.
But for a tentative gathering of a solitary spellbinder and a shy someone who might know what was really happening on the Isle
of Murdigon, it was ideal. The small clearing was far enough away from Camden Bight or any track an average hiker would utilise
and had the asset of being encompassed by the usual bushes that proliferated on the the island. This meant that the apprehensive
outcast could have a clear view of the sorceress sitting on a lichen-baked branch.
A bird chirped its indignation of having unwanted company in its domain and after a minute or so, grew bored with the notion of
berating the intruders and went to dine on an unlucky caterpillar on a branch somewhere. Peggy waited until she was sure the
hiding woman was settled and then cooed from her perch "what can yer' tell me about the Beams of King Stephen?".
It was almost a whole minute before a voice huskily whispered "I can tell you it doesn't work properly..." and with the slightest of
leafy-movement, the dishevelled owner of the words cautiously stepped out from her verdurous concealment.
"...And I can tell you the Wool-pit isn't what they believe it is" Lillian Aldwych added.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.