12-01-2021, 05:13 PM
It was difficult for Bartholomew Drigg, he had created his persona to shield his own well-hidden character from possible
hurt and even though he knew that Peggy didn't really see him as this shallow rascal with a surface-level perception to gain
favour from the company he is employed with, the out-of-this-world scene he'd just witnessed demanded a truth that would
still be foreign to his tongue.
"I just thought..." he began and then one of his better-Angels metaphorically slapped the back of his head. The little Witch
scrutinised his movements and lifted her chin to silently urge the salesman to continue. Showing rare facial ingredients of
determination, Bart breathed in deeply and released the real reason he'd taken the same route as his confessor currently
sitting on the grass with her poncho tucked between her knees.
"I had set my path on going to Magdalene, but seeing you walking in the opposite direction caused me to pause. It was the
way you seemed tenacious, you were dogged on what you had to do and I felt... I felt for a moment, I felt lesser. Does that
make sense?" Mr Drigg said hurriedly and his eyes gave the hint to Peggy that what he was saying was from the heart.
She nodded and made sure no pretentious look appeared from beneath the brim of her hat.
" Aye, but this feeling of dearth, of inadequacy... was it enough te' change yer' plans?" the Last Witch of Underhill pressed
with sincerity, she knew that these moments were rare in both the Fae and Human times and never to be wasted.
"I mean, yer' could've felt that Ah' might be headin' to a place where a good trade could be made and that would make better
sense" she offered, but she saw that once Bartholomew had acknowledged a doorway existed of truths and falsehoods, he
wouldn't belittle himself by leaving it open or closing it. "I'm sorry, I just felt left-out" the seemingly-exhausted Drigg muttered
and tried to stifle anymore of this painful soul-searching by getting to his feet.
Peggy copied the action and stood close to her taller companion on this stranger-than-usual quest and looked at him as he
stared off towards Magdalene. "Yer' my kind-of fella', Mr Drigg and and now at least we know yer' weren't part of the trap..."
she said and patted his slighty-soiled shirt. "...Now we know some bugger wants a piece of Ol' Peggy" she added with less
enthusiasm.
...................................................
"...Nay, its a corn-circle that was in place when Summer ended" the prone sorceress whispered to the man laid beside her
under the hedge. They had crept back along Calder's Way and were using the last clumps of Hawthorn bushes to disguise
their surveillance of the fake village.
As Bart stared into the weird Spook-cope and occasionally gasped at what he was viewing, Peggy attempted to quietly explain
how Salvation Row came into existence... sort of. "It starts with a flattenin' of the cereal and then whoever the bugger is who's
doin' this, slowly builds the apparition up until it's like what yer' see without that Spook-lens" she posited and shuffled to avoid
a nasty thorn doing its business in a place left unsaid.
"Do yer' see anyone else?" she asked as she glanced at Drigg's alarmed face and smiled at his stunted acceptance of what
shouldn't be. The amazed agent of unlikely remedies imperceptibly shook his head and then Peggy saw that his eyes had
enlarged to the size of hard-boiled eggs. "No, there's the Hob-thing, but... oh my, there's..." and that was all Bartholomew
whimpered as he quickly handed over the appliance to the little Witch beside him.
During her time of slowly dissecting Drigg's reasoning for being in this current situation, Peggy Powler had lightly burrowed
through her memories of who the puppet-master of this assumed Witch-Trap might be. His name had been dredged from her
past, but quickly discarded due to the simple fact that she'd been told by -up to two Midnight Mail Carriers, that he'd been burnt
at the stake for a felonious act of sorcery that was deliberately orchestrated to -not only fail, but to also gain favour with a noted
gentry's daughter.
"Callendous Vole..." the little Witch said with dripping tones of animus "...the great magician who couldn't keep it in his pants"
she supplemented and brought another look of surprise from the chap in the dark-red suit.
...................................................
"I... I don't understand, Peggy..." Bart stammered as they crept their way back to where they'd earlier talked, "...We were in his
trap, we were stood right in the centre of Salvation Row" he added and hoped his bag of potions were still where he'd left them.
Peggy walked along behind Drigg and told him she'd explain when she was certain they were out of earshot. Through her scope,
she'd seen no sign that Vole was aware of their reconnoitre, but she knew from her time with Myrddin that he was known as a wily
scoundrel and could not be trusted. But what Bartholomew had mentioned made some sense, in the form that she and the currently
stooped salesman had left Salvation Row and so, the trap had failed. Why didn't Callendous Vole show his villainous-self then?
"Aye, yer' reet, but Ah' think we need to think this through" she muttered in her crouched position, more to herself than the man who's
backside joggled in front of her.
...................................................
They ate cold sandwiches from Peggy's altruistic canvas satchel and Bartholomew Drigg chewed his meagre meal, whilst masticating
on the puzzle of the majick bag. The flint for the earlier campfire came from the container, the canteen of water was inside and now this
scant fare had been plucked from it. Yet, all the salesman could see -as it hung from Peggy's shoulder, was a seemingly-empty sack.
"Divna' trouble yer'self, me-old mocker..." the little Witch said affably, "...tis' majick beyond yer' heed" and offered a smile of reassurance.
The mild winter's day was fading fast and they were without shelter and a plan. After another silent minute passed between them, Peggy
ventured a proposal that she expected Drigg to balk at.
"This bag that hold's yer' fascination, yer' can sleep in it, if'n yer' want?" and watched Bart's dawning features as he grasped the wrong
idea. The once-was-shyster looked with wide-eyes at his newly-found friend and whispered "you mean... you mean me and you in that?!"
Peggy Powler smiled amiably and replied "Nay Bart, yer' not me-type... but there are folks Ah' need te' see that only come out at night"
Without commenting, the Last Witch of Underhill wasn't sure how to take Mr Drigg's sigh of relief and so prepared his encounter with the
unusual canvas cradle and didn't dwell on it.
...................................................
Minutes later, Peggy whispered assuringly "Sleep well Bart, Ah'll be back soon" as she laid the flap over his frightened gaze and heard
him faintly answer back "Make it sooner!".
hurt and even though he knew that Peggy didn't really see him as this shallow rascal with a surface-level perception to gain
favour from the company he is employed with, the out-of-this-world scene he'd just witnessed demanded a truth that would
still be foreign to his tongue.
"I just thought..." he began and then one of his better-Angels metaphorically slapped the back of his head. The little Witch
scrutinised his movements and lifted her chin to silently urge the salesman to continue. Showing rare facial ingredients of
determination, Bart breathed in deeply and released the real reason he'd taken the same route as his confessor currently
sitting on the grass with her poncho tucked between her knees.
"I had set my path on going to Magdalene, but seeing you walking in the opposite direction caused me to pause. It was the
way you seemed tenacious, you were dogged on what you had to do and I felt... I felt for a moment, I felt lesser. Does that
make sense?" Mr Drigg said hurriedly and his eyes gave the hint to Peggy that what he was saying was from the heart.
She nodded and made sure no pretentious look appeared from beneath the brim of her hat.
" Aye, but this feeling of dearth, of inadequacy... was it enough te' change yer' plans?" the Last Witch of Underhill pressed
with sincerity, she knew that these moments were rare in both the Fae and Human times and never to be wasted.
"I mean, yer' could've felt that Ah' might be headin' to a place where a good trade could be made and that would make better
sense" she offered, but she saw that once Bartholomew had acknowledged a doorway existed of truths and falsehoods, he
wouldn't belittle himself by leaving it open or closing it. "I'm sorry, I just felt left-out" the seemingly-exhausted Drigg muttered
and tried to stifle anymore of this painful soul-searching by getting to his feet.
Peggy copied the action and stood close to her taller companion on this stranger-than-usual quest and looked at him as he
stared off towards Magdalene. "Yer' my kind-of fella', Mr Drigg and and now at least we know yer' weren't part of the trap..."
she said and patted his slighty-soiled shirt. "...Now we know some bugger wants a piece of Ol' Peggy" she added with less
enthusiasm.
...................................................
"...Nay, its a corn-circle that was in place when Summer ended" the prone sorceress whispered to the man laid beside her
under the hedge. They had crept back along Calder's Way and were using the last clumps of Hawthorn bushes to disguise
their surveillance of the fake village.
As Bart stared into the weird Spook-cope and occasionally gasped at what he was viewing, Peggy attempted to quietly explain
how Salvation Row came into existence... sort of. "It starts with a flattenin' of the cereal and then whoever the bugger is who's
doin' this, slowly builds the apparition up until it's like what yer' see without that Spook-lens" she posited and shuffled to avoid
a nasty thorn doing its business in a place left unsaid.
"Do yer' see anyone else?" she asked as she glanced at Drigg's alarmed face and smiled at his stunted acceptance of what
shouldn't be. The amazed agent of unlikely remedies imperceptibly shook his head and then Peggy saw that his eyes had
enlarged to the size of hard-boiled eggs. "No, there's the Hob-thing, but... oh my, there's..." and that was all Bartholomew
whimpered as he quickly handed over the appliance to the little Witch beside him.
During her time of slowly dissecting Drigg's reasoning for being in this current situation, Peggy Powler had lightly burrowed
through her memories of who the puppet-master of this assumed Witch-Trap might be. His name had been dredged from her
past, but quickly discarded due to the simple fact that she'd been told by -up to two Midnight Mail Carriers, that he'd been burnt
at the stake for a felonious act of sorcery that was deliberately orchestrated to -not only fail, but to also gain favour with a noted
gentry's daughter.
"Callendous Vole..." the little Witch said with dripping tones of animus "...the great magician who couldn't keep it in his pants"
she supplemented and brought another look of surprise from the chap in the dark-red suit.
...................................................
"I... I don't understand, Peggy..." Bart stammered as they crept their way back to where they'd earlier talked, "...We were in his
trap, we were stood right in the centre of Salvation Row" he added and hoped his bag of potions were still where he'd left them.
Peggy walked along behind Drigg and told him she'd explain when she was certain they were out of earshot. Through her scope,
she'd seen no sign that Vole was aware of their reconnoitre, but she knew from her time with Myrddin that he was known as a wily
scoundrel and could not be trusted. But what Bartholomew had mentioned made some sense, in the form that she and the currently
stooped salesman had left Salvation Row and so, the trap had failed. Why didn't Callendous Vole show his villainous-self then?
"Aye, yer' reet, but Ah' think we need to think this through" she muttered in her crouched position, more to herself than the man who's
backside joggled in front of her.
...................................................
They ate cold sandwiches from Peggy's altruistic canvas satchel and Bartholomew Drigg chewed his meagre meal, whilst masticating
on the puzzle of the majick bag. The flint for the earlier campfire came from the container, the canteen of water was inside and now this
scant fare had been plucked from it. Yet, all the salesman could see -as it hung from Peggy's shoulder, was a seemingly-empty sack.
"Divna' trouble yer'self, me-old mocker..." the little Witch said affably, "...tis' majick beyond yer' heed" and offered a smile of reassurance.
The mild winter's day was fading fast and they were without shelter and a plan. After another silent minute passed between them, Peggy
ventured a proposal that she expected Drigg to balk at.
"This bag that hold's yer' fascination, yer' can sleep in it, if'n yer' want?" and watched Bart's dawning features as he grasped the wrong
idea. The once-was-shyster looked with wide-eyes at his newly-found friend and whispered "you mean... you mean me and you in that?!"
Peggy Powler smiled amiably and replied "Nay Bart, yer' not me-type... but there are folks Ah' need te' see that only come out at night"
Without commenting, the Last Witch of Underhill wasn't sure how to take Mr Drigg's sigh of relief and so prepared his encounter with the
unusual canvas cradle and didn't dwell on it.
...................................................
Minutes later, Peggy whispered assuringly "Sleep well Bart, Ah'll be back soon" as she laid the flap over his frightened gaze and heard
him faintly answer back "Make it sooner!".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.