Stanley Dawes placed the last sack of oats into the storeroom next to the stall where he kept Diablous and even with
the tack-decorated wooden wall separating them, the irritable stable-owner could sense the sly animal next-door was
mocking him. Setting the bag of cereal on top of the others, Stanley wondered how much longer he would be able to
afford such feed for his remaining livestock.
Jack Pennington had given him a funny look from his wagon when he'd only purchased four sacks of the stuff, a look
that Stanley knew would send tongues wagging back in Dibbleswith. Glaring daggers at the partition between the bane
of his livelihood and himself, the bushy-eyebrow manager sighed and wondered when his luck would turn.
"Is there anyone in there?" a woman's chirpy voice slid into the cramped storehouse and the buoyant tone pulled Stanley
from his malaise. To the man who'd steered clear of women and focused his attention on his trade, the question hinted at
a small female, maybe a Gypsy selling her gift of fortune-telling or even a village girl looking for work.
Wiping his hands on his moleskin trousers and quickly finger-combing his hair, Stanley prepared himself to chase the
woman off his property.
...................................................
Taking the strand of straw from his mouth, Farra Combs watched with curiosity as his boss talked to the little bare-footed
woman in the big floppy hat. The blonde-haired lad now standing at the open top-part of the stable's Dutch door had been
earlier currying his favourite horse -Pleasant Poe and humming quietly to himself as he combed the crusted-dirt the mare
had acquired from this morning's canter.
It had been a long journey from Truro to where he currently stood soothing the half-snoozing thoroughbred, Farra had left
his coastal home because he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps and trawl the Great Sea for Puttsie-fins and
Danderheads. It wasn't the gruelling work that he had shunned, it was the monotony of the tasks of the fishermen. Farra
had believed his destiny lay inland and here he was cleaning mud from an animal, just like he had done yesterday.
But Farra's upbeat disposition was forced after hearing from Pip that the thicket next to the Gallops was to be cleared
and since it had been a whole year since Mr Dawes had employed anyone else, the straw-chewing young stable-hand
didn't want to think about the hard work that lay ahead. Now -watching his stooping boss discussing something with the
midget-stranger, Farra wondered if a woman was now joining their not-so-merry band.
...................................................
"Listen to me Miss..." Stanley said forebodingly, "...this is my land and if I say that overgrown mess out there is to be hauled
out, it's to be hauled out. I've got real problems with a kid in there with a broken leg..." a thick callused thumb pointed to the
kitchen door of the main house. "..And a business that's already been hit by what you believe his bad luck. I don't need you
turning up and adding more to my pile" he added and displayed a face of slowly-uncoiling annoyance towards the diminutive
female in a too-big-for-her hat.
Peggy peered up at the defiant man with the tightly-curled hair and mentally bit down on her want to cast a spell. It would
be easier and much needed, the Sprite's explanation of his home being destroyed was at the whim of this man and in her
view, not vital to his trade of horse racing. The little sorceress' pinkie-finger itched to solve the problem, but Peggy held firm.
"Yer' seem te' be a reasonable fella, Mister Dawes and Ah' can see yer' a man of means, but this little favour te' me would
stop a lot of bad luck comin' yer' way fur-sure..." she said in a slightly needy tone. "...Yer'll be aware that breaking a Fae's
domain always brings such misfortune, surely yer' Ma must've told yer' this?" Peggy added and saw those briars above
the horse trainer's stern eyes furrow.
Stanley bent closer and hissed menacingly "are you threatening me, Witch?" This was all he needed today, some sqaut
hussy who couldn't afford shoes casting bad ju-ju on him for a reason that belongs in a child's bedtime story. His brooding
gaze showed his disdain for the trespassing woman and hoped it would be enough to send her on her way.
Emulating the man's earlier exhale of exasperation, the Last Witch of Underhill held up her hands to indicate the palaver
was over. Peggy knew she'd have to find another way to save Pommer's home and sadly, it may involve the use of majick.
"Well, I tried me-best and Ah' can see yer' not fur' movin'. Fair travels Mister Dawes" she stated politely and was about
turn and leave the yard, when providence decided to visit the Dawes estate.
"If you wish to curse anything around here, that damned-horse in there would make a fine candidate" Stanley growled as
he stood to his full height and subconsciously rubbed the base of his aching back. He guessed if such hocus-pocus existed
-a notion that pragmatic businessmen like Stanley believed himself to be seriously doubted , then such a payment should
be given to the appropriate applicant.
Seeing the small visitor glance towards the stables and then offer a look of confusion, Stanley added to his ante to rid his
yard of the nosy Witch in the poncho. "I'll tell you what, lady... if you can move muck-out my stables, win me a race or even
fix that hell-horse Diablous, I'll reconsider digging out your silly copse" Stanley quipped and smiled inwardly as he turned
to get on with his day.
Just like the Fortune-Teller his late-father had named his winning mare after, these folk held no real power to do anything,
they just used scare-tactics that belong in the world of little children's fears. Shaking his head at the lengths people go to
try and get their way, the stable owner went to see if Jimmy's leg was any better. However, it was only Farra who saw the
little woman nod as if in accord with something the ostler failed to hear. Pleasant Poe whinnied that her pelt wasn't fully
preened and the lad who disliked fishing-nets went back to work.
...................................................
The big silver moon shone its argent light down over the tall alder trees of the condemned copse and across the cobbled
stones of Dawes' quiet stable yard. This limpid effulgence drew stick-thin shadows of tiny shapes stealing across the open
ground to where the sleeping equine raced over chimerical prairie and felt a wild breeze stir their manes.
If Farra Combs or Pip Farnby had roused himself from their respective cots in the loft above where the horses slept, they
may have recognised one of these scuttling forms. The waddling shape was taller than the rest and wore -what some might
call, a 'too-big-for-her' hat.
Within that floppy headwear, a shadow darker than the silhouettes climbing through the open window of the stables smiled
as the bargain was about to be implemented. "Reet yer' bugger, let's see how honourable you are, Mister Dawes" whispered
Peggy Powler and stepped through the door that a Sprite politely held open for her.
the tack-decorated wooden wall separating them, the irritable stable-owner could sense the sly animal next-door was
mocking him. Setting the bag of cereal on top of the others, Stanley wondered how much longer he would be able to
afford such feed for his remaining livestock.
Jack Pennington had given him a funny look from his wagon when he'd only purchased four sacks of the stuff, a look
that Stanley knew would send tongues wagging back in Dibbleswith. Glaring daggers at the partition between the bane
of his livelihood and himself, the bushy-eyebrow manager sighed and wondered when his luck would turn.
"Is there anyone in there?" a woman's chirpy voice slid into the cramped storehouse and the buoyant tone pulled Stanley
from his malaise. To the man who'd steered clear of women and focused his attention on his trade, the question hinted at
a small female, maybe a Gypsy selling her gift of fortune-telling or even a village girl looking for work.
Wiping his hands on his moleskin trousers and quickly finger-combing his hair, Stanley prepared himself to chase the
woman off his property.
...................................................
Taking the strand of straw from his mouth, Farra Combs watched with curiosity as his boss talked to the little bare-footed
woman in the big floppy hat. The blonde-haired lad now standing at the open top-part of the stable's Dutch door had been
earlier currying his favourite horse -Pleasant Poe and humming quietly to himself as he combed the crusted-dirt the mare
had acquired from this morning's canter.
It had been a long journey from Truro to where he currently stood soothing the half-snoozing thoroughbred, Farra had left
his coastal home because he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps and trawl the Great Sea for Puttsie-fins and
Danderheads. It wasn't the gruelling work that he had shunned, it was the monotony of the tasks of the fishermen. Farra
had believed his destiny lay inland and here he was cleaning mud from an animal, just like he had done yesterday.
But Farra's upbeat disposition was forced after hearing from Pip that the thicket next to the Gallops was to be cleared
and since it had been a whole year since Mr Dawes had employed anyone else, the straw-chewing young stable-hand
didn't want to think about the hard work that lay ahead. Now -watching his stooping boss discussing something with the
midget-stranger, Farra wondered if a woman was now joining their not-so-merry band.
...................................................
"Listen to me Miss..." Stanley said forebodingly, "...this is my land and if I say that overgrown mess out there is to be hauled
out, it's to be hauled out. I've got real problems with a kid in there with a broken leg..." a thick callused thumb pointed to the
kitchen door of the main house. "..And a business that's already been hit by what you believe his bad luck. I don't need you
turning up and adding more to my pile" he added and displayed a face of slowly-uncoiling annoyance towards the diminutive
female in a too-big-for-her hat.
Peggy peered up at the defiant man with the tightly-curled hair and mentally bit down on her want to cast a spell. It would
be easier and much needed, the Sprite's explanation of his home being destroyed was at the whim of this man and in her
view, not vital to his trade of horse racing. The little sorceress' pinkie-finger itched to solve the problem, but Peggy held firm.
"Yer' seem te' be a reasonable fella, Mister Dawes and Ah' can see yer' a man of means, but this little favour te' me would
stop a lot of bad luck comin' yer' way fur-sure..." she said in a slightly needy tone. "...Yer'll be aware that breaking a Fae's
domain always brings such misfortune, surely yer' Ma must've told yer' this?" Peggy added and saw those briars above
the horse trainer's stern eyes furrow.
Stanley bent closer and hissed menacingly "are you threatening me, Witch?" This was all he needed today, some sqaut
hussy who couldn't afford shoes casting bad ju-ju on him for a reason that belongs in a child's bedtime story. His brooding
gaze showed his disdain for the trespassing woman and hoped it would be enough to send her on her way.
Emulating the man's earlier exhale of exasperation, the Last Witch of Underhill held up her hands to indicate the palaver
was over. Peggy knew she'd have to find another way to save Pommer's home and sadly, it may involve the use of majick.
"Well, I tried me-best and Ah' can see yer' not fur' movin'. Fair travels Mister Dawes" she stated politely and was about
turn and leave the yard, when providence decided to visit the Dawes estate.
"If you wish to curse anything around here, that damned-horse in there would make a fine candidate" Stanley growled as
he stood to his full height and subconsciously rubbed the base of his aching back. He guessed if such hocus-pocus existed
-a notion that pragmatic businessmen like Stanley believed himself to be seriously doubted , then such a payment should
be given to the appropriate applicant.
Seeing the small visitor glance towards the stables and then offer a look of confusion, Stanley added to his ante to rid his
yard of the nosy Witch in the poncho. "I'll tell you what, lady... if you can move muck-out my stables, win me a race or even
fix that hell-horse Diablous, I'll reconsider digging out your silly copse" Stanley quipped and smiled inwardly as he turned
to get on with his day.
Just like the Fortune-Teller his late-father had named his winning mare after, these folk held no real power to do anything,
they just used scare-tactics that belong in the world of little children's fears. Shaking his head at the lengths people go to
try and get their way, the stable owner went to see if Jimmy's leg was any better. However, it was only Farra who saw the
little woman nod as if in accord with something the ostler failed to hear. Pleasant Poe whinnied that her pelt wasn't fully
preened and the lad who disliked fishing-nets went back to work.
...................................................
The big silver moon shone its argent light down over the tall alder trees of the condemned copse and across the cobbled
stones of Dawes' quiet stable yard. This limpid effulgence drew stick-thin shadows of tiny shapes stealing across the open
ground to where the sleeping equine raced over chimerical prairie and felt a wild breeze stir their manes.
If Farra Combs or Pip Farnby had roused himself from their respective cots in the loft above where the horses slept, they
may have recognised one of these scuttling forms. The waddling shape was taller than the rest and wore -what some might
call, a 'too-big-for-her' hat.
Within that floppy headwear, a shadow darker than the silhouettes climbing through the open window of the stables smiled
as the bargain was about to be implemented. "Reet yer' bugger, let's see how honourable you are, Mister Dawes" whispered
Peggy Powler and stepped through the door that a Sprite politely held open for her.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.