"What do yer' mean, yer' never saw it?" Peggy Powler asked the shoulder blades of Albert Hobson and shook her with incredulity.
Where the strip of mowed lawn came to the corner of the conifer plantation, a large marble statue of Pook sitting on a fern-strewn
plinth had been placed for aesthetic reasons to show that their supreme spirit of the land held what the novices did as important.
The exacerbated Witch peered again at the small burrow behind the alabaster sculpture and wondered how it had gone unnoticed.
Albert kept glancing towards the vines and Peggy could see he was uncomfortable about leaving his assigned post, but never once
did he look towards the crouching necromancer examining the excavation. "Miss Powler, my duty is towards the care of the hops"
he offered as an explanation. Standing to her full height, the sorceress decided it was time to take the gloves off on this situation.
"Bugger te' yer' duty, Albert...!" Peggy barked as she walked around to face the young man, "...there's a critter out here who stole
one of yer' own". Albert flinched and turned way, but the woman in the poncho tracked his movement. "Don't yer' ignore me Albert,
this is important" she growled at the cowering youngster and suppressing her annoyance at the silly practice towards outsiders,
grabbed the hood of his dark-blue tunic.
Even though Albert Hobson outweighed the Witch, was stronger than the Witch -although Peggy would be willing to gamble she
could outrun the lad in an egg-and-spoon race, the brown-eyed fairly-handsome twenty year-old shook with fear at being forced
to break the Pook axioms. "Please Ma'am..." Albert mewled "...I'll get into trouble" he weakly assured the angry-looking Oracle
in front of him.
For the first time since she'd arrived at Pook Hill, they looked at each other and Peggy could see Albert's life-long regime-training
squirm against his shrouded natural stance of a human being. Under all the Pooker's proselytising, beneath all the religious rules
he'd grown up with and with the full gravity of what his basic character had been fashioned into, the staring Witch could see that
somewhere in there, Albert Hobson was more than just some kid who was scared of a fabricated demi-god.
The smiling lady under the big hat waited a moment and then whispered "Divna' move from this spot, yer' hear?" and received
a small nod that he understood her order. Swiftly turning on her bare heel, the Last Witch of Underhill went to seek young Albert's
superior.
...................................................
Peggy shrugged her indifference at the back of the woman peculiarly called Hortense and repeated her comment. "Ah' divna
give a bugger what yer' rules are, tell the lad he's te' help me te' find Alaric Hobson, reet?" The frumpy middle-aged red-head
flared her nostrils towards the fields of vines and clenched her hands in anger. "In Pook law, Albert is a subordinate and his role
is to tend the crop" Hortense Hobson answered through gritted teeth and felt the presence of the outsider closer than before.
"Yeah well, he's my subordinate now and yer' can run te' Brenna if she has a problem with it, she can drag her fat-behind down
here and tell me te' me-face" the little Witch chanced and that was enough to make Hortense swing out her fist. Resisting the
reflex to duck, Peggy allowed the wide blow to dislodge her hat. But seeing the flame-haired woman turn around to follow-up
her detonation of emotions, the smaller female set her feet -and if need be, a spell to repel any possible assault.
"Hortense no!" gasped Albert and surprisingly, this was enough to knock the wind out of the sails of the ginger-maned hellcat
with the vicious temper. Hortense Hobson whirled back to face the fields she had authority in and focused on pouring cold water
on her inner-volcano. "I am... I have failed my faith, I apologise" she spluttered in frustration.
Peggy produced one of her rare wicked grins and gently patted the bent back of the green-smocked supervisor. "Divna' trouble
yer' good soul lass, we all have te' let the fizz out of our bottles at times" she said softly so that only the shuddering Hortense could
hear. Realising Albert needed to feel what she had in store for him wouldn't disturb his belief-system, Peggy knew she would have
to push the Supervisor a little more.
"Me-lips are sealed te' what's happened here, but if yer' could find it in yer' power to authorise the lad te' help me fur' a little while,
then Ah'm sure Pook will see the wisdom in yer' verdict" the wily Wizard suggested in hushed tones. Hortense peered out at the
orderly rows of hop vines and wished her apparel was blue..
...................................................
The hole behind the idol smelled of beer. It was faint, but the yeasty bouquet was definitely there and holding down the back of her
poncho, Peggy sniffed at the slightly-acrid scent and wondered how it fit into the kidnapping of Alaric Hobson.
Albert was staring out at the familiar landscape that held no mysteries or required an individual to make decisions of effect. Among
those twisting vines, the young man was nobody and nothing was required of him except to follow a set of simple instructions. The
world was smaller when you... "Albert, get yer'self over here now" snapped Peggy and forsaking her modesty, bent closer to the
clearly deliberate head-sized breach.
The darkness mocked any probability of Peggy seeing the depth of the hole, which is more than can be said for Albert Hobson.
"Ma'am..." a choked voiced offered "...your garment has... is not working" the Blue-smocked lad stammered and turned away
just as Peggy got to her feet. "Aye, sorry about that" the little abashed Witch replied and resetting her poncho and putting her
hat back on her head, added "yer' know Ah' can smell beer down there and Ah've nay idea why".
Albert's wide eyes flicked back and forth from the fields of barley to the grass-surrounded aperture and Peggy could see he was
performing something very rare, he was deliberating without guidance. He was also facing slightly towards the woman his dogma
demanded to shun. "Could it be a leak?" Albert said weakly and again, looked towards the golden fields corralled between the
countless rows of hop plants.
Peggy followed his gaze and wondered what he could possibly mean. The Pookers were known for producing the basics of ales,
but not the actual brewing. When she'd first come to the settlement, Alaric Hobson had unenthusiastically showed the bare-footed
stranger to the area of where they believed the Manticore was hiding and had taken the pair of disciples when he'd attacked.
During their walk to the conifers, Alaric had answered her query when she'd casually asked where the barrels of beer were kept
with the simple response that only the ingredients were grown, harvested, mashed and packaged here at Pook Hill. Waiting until
he was urged to continue, the balding Red-Smock had divulged that the actual fermentation occurred elsewhere and his outsider
-guest had taken his answer at face-value.
"Yer' make beer here?" Peggy asked as she stepped closer to her taller newly-acquired hesitant assistant and saw his eyes narrow.
If what Albert had said was true, where were facilities to process and store the product? There were no buildings away from the main
section of the village, just houses and small out-buildings built beside them, Ransom the donkey's stable and the new Meeting House.
The young man attempted to turn away, but Peggy grabbed the collar of his tunic again. "Tell me what yer' know and divna' lie, me-bag
of spells will make yer' a stoat before yer' can say Jack Robinson" the little necromancer warned as he tried to twist from her grasp.
Seeing the lad's intrinsic conflict beginning to bring tears to his eyes, she reluctantly wiggled her little finger and Albert became calm
almost at once. It wasn't right and she knew it. Majick isn't a tool to be used in every circumstance, but the torment she was causing
was a fair reason to invoke such power.
"There now Albert..." Peggy cooed and studied his languid face, "...show me where yer' keep yer' brew". Without speaking, the rangy
young man set-off towards the enclosures of cereal and checking to see if Hortense was watching, the little Witch followed.
Where the strip of mowed lawn came to the corner of the conifer plantation, a large marble statue of Pook sitting on a fern-strewn
plinth had been placed for aesthetic reasons to show that their supreme spirit of the land held what the novices did as important.
The exacerbated Witch peered again at the small burrow behind the alabaster sculpture and wondered how it had gone unnoticed.
Albert kept glancing towards the vines and Peggy could see he was uncomfortable about leaving his assigned post, but never once
did he look towards the crouching necromancer examining the excavation. "Miss Powler, my duty is towards the care of the hops"
he offered as an explanation. Standing to her full height, the sorceress decided it was time to take the gloves off on this situation.
"Bugger te' yer' duty, Albert...!" Peggy barked as she walked around to face the young man, "...there's a critter out here who stole
one of yer' own". Albert flinched and turned way, but the woman in the poncho tracked his movement. "Don't yer' ignore me Albert,
this is important" she growled at the cowering youngster and suppressing her annoyance at the silly practice towards outsiders,
grabbed the hood of his dark-blue tunic.
Even though Albert Hobson outweighed the Witch, was stronger than the Witch -although Peggy would be willing to gamble she
could outrun the lad in an egg-and-spoon race, the brown-eyed fairly-handsome twenty year-old shook with fear at being forced
to break the Pook axioms. "Please Ma'am..." Albert mewled "...I'll get into trouble" he weakly assured the angry-looking Oracle
in front of him.
For the first time since she'd arrived at Pook Hill, they looked at each other and Peggy could see Albert's life-long regime-training
squirm against his shrouded natural stance of a human being. Under all the Pooker's proselytising, beneath all the religious rules
he'd grown up with and with the full gravity of what his basic character had been fashioned into, the staring Witch could see that
somewhere in there, Albert Hobson was more than just some kid who was scared of a fabricated demi-god.
The smiling lady under the big hat waited a moment and then whispered "Divna' move from this spot, yer' hear?" and received
a small nod that he understood her order. Swiftly turning on her bare heel, the Last Witch of Underhill went to seek young Albert's
superior.
...................................................
Peggy shrugged her indifference at the back of the woman peculiarly called Hortense and repeated her comment. "Ah' divna
give a bugger what yer' rules are, tell the lad he's te' help me te' find Alaric Hobson, reet?" The frumpy middle-aged red-head
flared her nostrils towards the fields of vines and clenched her hands in anger. "In Pook law, Albert is a subordinate and his role
is to tend the crop" Hortense Hobson answered through gritted teeth and felt the presence of the outsider closer than before.
"Yeah well, he's my subordinate now and yer' can run te' Brenna if she has a problem with it, she can drag her fat-behind down
here and tell me te' me-face" the little Witch chanced and that was enough to make Hortense swing out her fist. Resisting the
reflex to duck, Peggy allowed the wide blow to dislodge her hat. But seeing the flame-haired woman turn around to follow-up
her detonation of emotions, the smaller female set her feet -and if need be, a spell to repel any possible assault.
"Hortense no!" gasped Albert and surprisingly, this was enough to knock the wind out of the sails of the ginger-maned hellcat
with the vicious temper. Hortense Hobson whirled back to face the fields she had authority in and focused on pouring cold water
on her inner-volcano. "I am... I have failed my faith, I apologise" she spluttered in frustration.
Peggy produced one of her rare wicked grins and gently patted the bent back of the green-smocked supervisor. "Divna' trouble
yer' good soul lass, we all have te' let the fizz out of our bottles at times" she said softly so that only the shuddering Hortense could
hear. Realising Albert needed to feel what she had in store for him wouldn't disturb his belief-system, Peggy knew she would have
to push the Supervisor a little more.
"Me-lips are sealed te' what's happened here, but if yer' could find it in yer' power to authorise the lad te' help me fur' a little while,
then Ah'm sure Pook will see the wisdom in yer' verdict" the wily Wizard suggested in hushed tones. Hortense peered out at the
orderly rows of hop vines and wished her apparel was blue..
...................................................
The hole behind the idol smelled of beer. It was faint, but the yeasty bouquet was definitely there and holding down the back of her
poncho, Peggy sniffed at the slightly-acrid scent and wondered how it fit into the kidnapping of Alaric Hobson.
Albert was staring out at the familiar landscape that held no mysteries or required an individual to make decisions of effect. Among
those twisting vines, the young man was nobody and nothing was required of him except to follow a set of simple instructions. The
world was smaller when you... "Albert, get yer'self over here now" snapped Peggy and forsaking her modesty, bent closer to the
clearly deliberate head-sized breach.
The darkness mocked any probability of Peggy seeing the depth of the hole, which is more than can be said for Albert Hobson.
"Ma'am..." a choked voiced offered "...your garment has... is not working" the Blue-smocked lad stammered and turned away
just as Peggy got to her feet. "Aye, sorry about that" the little abashed Witch replied and resetting her poncho and putting her
hat back on her head, added "yer' know Ah' can smell beer down there and Ah've nay idea why".
Albert's wide eyes flicked back and forth from the fields of barley to the grass-surrounded aperture and Peggy could see he was
performing something very rare, he was deliberating without guidance. He was also facing slightly towards the woman his dogma
demanded to shun. "Could it be a leak?" Albert said weakly and again, looked towards the golden fields corralled between the
countless rows of hop plants.
Peggy followed his gaze and wondered what he could possibly mean. The Pookers were known for producing the basics of ales,
but not the actual brewing. When she'd first come to the settlement, Alaric Hobson had unenthusiastically showed the bare-footed
stranger to the area of where they believed the Manticore was hiding and had taken the pair of disciples when he'd attacked.
During their walk to the conifers, Alaric had answered her query when she'd casually asked where the barrels of beer were kept
with the simple response that only the ingredients were grown, harvested, mashed and packaged here at Pook Hill. Waiting until
he was urged to continue, the balding Red-Smock had divulged that the actual fermentation occurred elsewhere and his outsider
-guest had taken his answer at face-value.
"Yer' make beer here?" Peggy asked as she stepped closer to her taller newly-acquired hesitant assistant and saw his eyes narrow.
If what Albert had said was true, where were facilities to process and store the product? There were no buildings away from the main
section of the village, just houses and small out-buildings built beside them, Ransom the donkey's stable and the new Meeting House.
The young man attempted to turn away, but Peggy grabbed the collar of his tunic again. "Tell me what yer' know and divna' lie, me-bag
of spells will make yer' a stoat before yer' can say Jack Robinson" the little necromancer warned as he tried to twist from her grasp.
Seeing the lad's intrinsic conflict beginning to bring tears to his eyes, she reluctantly wiggled her little finger and Albert became calm
almost at once. It wasn't right and she knew it. Majick isn't a tool to be used in every circumstance, but the torment she was causing
was a fair reason to invoke such power.
"There now Albert..." Peggy cooed and studied his languid face, "...show me where yer' keep yer' brew". Without speaking, the rangy
young man set-off towards the enclosures of cereal and checking to see if Hortense was watching, the little Witch followed.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.