12-02-2021, 04:40 PM
There was no moon and with the Witch's satchel now a bed for Bartholomew Drigg, no option of producing a lantern
from her magical canvas container to illuminate Peggy Powler's journey was available to visit those who may have vital
information regarding the odd the village that didn't really exist.
But in a way, Peggy felt the darkness was comforting and as she crossed into a ploughed field and continued to follow
the leafless hedgerow along the Calder's Way, the crouching sorceress thought about her long-ago interaction with the
unprincipled rapscallion called Callendous Vole.
The lane the junction that led to Salvation Row was on her right and keeping low, she glimpsed the shadowy lumps of
the faux-buildings from behind the disrobed bush. But Peggy saw one faint light, one glimmer that in her hurried passing
of the fabricated parcel, she'd think about later. Now was the time to ruminate about Vole.
...................................................
Her first encounter with this duplicitous supposed-Seer would've been around the time when a young Peggy Powler had
her first taste of Grandma Farnsworth's famous all-berry pie at the Sedgwick & Derwent County Fair. It had been in early
summer and the five days of celebration were drawing to a close when the buoyant medium decided she would reward
herself for the cleansing of a farming family's haunted scarecrow with a hefty slice of the renowned pastry.
Greeting the odd passer-by that recognised her scant gossiped-about uniform, Peggy mentally agreed that if the sweet
tart was good enough, she'd partake in another wedge to celebrate her two-week-old twentieth birthday. Some raucous
commotion to her left distracted for a moment, but sticking to her decision that her tummy-rumblings outweighed her
curiosity, Peggy walked briskly to the wide kiosk with the well-painted declaration of certain sugary fare.
Of course, reality rarely aligns with dramaturgy and so reading the banner over stall, the Last Witch of Underhill came to
the understanding that Grandma Farnsworth had passed away a couple of years ago, but any prospective customer could
be assured that at all times, the dead woman's recipe was strongly adhered to.
The two helpings of pie was very nice and even though the single dollop of home-made ice-cream helped it's consumption,
the young woman in the revealing poncho relished her whole interaction with the Grandmother's kitchen-technique and then
thanked the gawping teenager for his work.
It was only when Peggy decided to feed her mind that she accidentally ran across the stage-show that had been rowdy earlier.
In an act of pure showmanship, a young man of Peggy's age was dressed in a robe adorned with stars, crescent moons and
what looked flying owls, performed sheer unadulterated chicanery on an elevated wooden platform and the noisy audience
just ate it up with a spoon.
On either side of the stage-setting, two man-sized braziers belched green smoke out into the blue summer sky and to the little
Witch, these ornaments were somehow unnerving and seemed at-odds with the light jocularity and anemic hermetics.
However, the crowd loved him and even though his tricks were certainly not of the majick discipline, Peggy could see how his
presentation was the key factor in the entertainment. With in-house bawdy jokes that occasionally insulted noted figures of
the town of Sedgwick and its neighbour -Derwent Drews -to give its full name, the crowd frolicked in the suggestive calumny
pouring from the man with the winning smile and ribald tongue.
In large scrolled letters on a wooden board mounted on an easel, the little Witch read his name as 'Callendous Vole, The Magi
To The August' and watched as he pocketed something that was part of his trick. It was fairly dexterous, but certainly not of the
true art. Still, this kind of regalement brought merriment and in a time when evil was stalking the land, Peggy knew a good chortle
was not just healthy for the body, the soul enjoyed the occasional titter too.
Later, as the Fair was packing-up for the evening, Ms Powler took a stroll along the rear-area of the stalls and stages where folk
were storing away costumes and other paraphernalia. She enjoyed the memories the sights brought about her time growing-up
in the Carnival, the multitude of sequins and beads sparkled among coloured cloth and the aromatic aroma of horse-dung held
sway in the warm summer air.
"How did you like my show?" an eloquent voice asked from a tent Peggy had just passed and stirring from her reminiscing, she
turned and viewed the naughty hambone who wore a gown of superficial symbols and brought laughter to those who needed it.
...................................................
Callendous Vole's hair was straw-coloured and shoulder-length, Peggy knew this gave any onlooker a feeling of adventure and
of being carefree passion. He was handsome in a thin-faced sort-of-way, but not the type of eye-catcher to the bare-footed Witch
offering a polite curtsy. "Fair travels" she said and smiled at remembering Myrddin's advice that civility goes a long way when
discovering strengths and weaknesses.
The robe was dramatically swished back as Vole placed his hands on his belted-hips, "I propose you seek a reading with me?"
he asked as if such fortune-telling was regular request from this noble diviner and looked away as if his attention in the barely
-dressed woman had lost his interest. Callendous' narrow nose became a weather vane of vanity as he waited for the female
to melt in his arrogant presence.
At this point, Peggy would usually remove her hat for decorum's sake, but she didn't wish it to seem like a hint of courting-display.
Instead -and with a thespian-bent that her old Mentor would've been proud of, she nervously asked how the Great and Spectacular
Callendous Vole worked his amazing magic.
Staring off towards sights only those who dabble in the serious supernatural prestidigitation can appreciate, the haughty illusionist
related to the pint-sized peasant that he was one with the Dark Arts. Bowing out and leaving the egotistical ass at his marquee, the
young Witch felt like her head was turning into a blood-orange as she hurried away to disgorge her laughter at his pomposity.
...................................................
Now staring at the strange non-hamlet of Salvation Row, Peggy wondered if maybe her earlier mirth regarding the Dark magic and
Mr Vole had been a little presumptive.
from her magical canvas container to illuminate Peggy Powler's journey was available to visit those who may have vital
information regarding the odd the village that didn't really exist.
But in a way, Peggy felt the darkness was comforting and as she crossed into a ploughed field and continued to follow
the leafless hedgerow along the Calder's Way, the crouching sorceress thought about her long-ago interaction with the
unprincipled rapscallion called Callendous Vole.
The lane the junction that led to Salvation Row was on her right and keeping low, she glimpsed the shadowy lumps of
the faux-buildings from behind the disrobed bush. But Peggy saw one faint light, one glimmer that in her hurried passing
of the fabricated parcel, she'd think about later. Now was the time to ruminate about Vole.
...................................................
Her first encounter with this duplicitous supposed-Seer would've been around the time when a young Peggy Powler had
her first taste of Grandma Farnsworth's famous all-berry pie at the Sedgwick & Derwent County Fair. It had been in early
summer and the five days of celebration were drawing to a close when the buoyant medium decided she would reward
herself for the cleansing of a farming family's haunted scarecrow with a hefty slice of the renowned pastry.
Greeting the odd passer-by that recognised her scant gossiped-about uniform, Peggy mentally agreed that if the sweet
tart was good enough, she'd partake in another wedge to celebrate her two-week-old twentieth birthday. Some raucous
commotion to her left distracted for a moment, but sticking to her decision that her tummy-rumblings outweighed her
curiosity, Peggy walked briskly to the wide kiosk with the well-painted declaration of certain sugary fare.
Of course, reality rarely aligns with dramaturgy and so reading the banner over stall, the Last Witch of Underhill came to
the understanding that Grandma Farnsworth had passed away a couple of years ago, but any prospective customer could
be assured that at all times, the dead woman's recipe was strongly adhered to.
The two helpings of pie was very nice and even though the single dollop of home-made ice-cream helped it's consumption,
the young woman in the revealing poncho relished her whole interaction with the Grandmother's kitchen-technique and then
thanked the gawping teenager for his work.
It was only when Peggy decided to feed her mind that she accidentally ran across the stage-show that had been rowdy earlier.
In an act of pure showmanship, a young man of Peggy's age was dressed in a robe adorned with stars, crescent moons and
what looked flying owls, performed sheer unadulterated chicanery on an elevated wooden platform and the noisy audience
just ate it up with a spoon.
On either side of the stage-setting, two man-sized braziers belched green smoke out into the blue summer sky and to the little
Witch, these ornaments were somehow unnerving and seemed at-odds with the light jocularity and anemic hermetics.
However, the crowd loved him and even though his tricks were certainly not of the majick discipline, Peggy could see how his
presentation was the key factor in the entertainment. With in-house bawdy jokes that occasionally insulted noted figures of
the town of Sedgwick and its neighbour -Derwent Drews -to give its full name, the crowd frolicked in the suggestive calumny
pouring from the man with the winning smile and ribald tongue.
In large scrolled letters on a wooden board mounted on an easel, the little Witch read his name as 'Callendous Vole, The Magi
To The August' and watched as he pocketed something that was part of his trick. It was fairly dexterous, but certainly not of the
true art. Still, this kind of regalement brought merriment and in a time when evil was stalking the land, Peggy knew a good chortle
was not just healthy for the body, the soul enjoyed the occasional titter too.
Later, as the Fair was packing-up for the evening, Ms Powler took a stroll along the rear-area of the stalls and stages where folk
were storing away costumes and other paraphernalia. She enjoyed the memories the sights brought about her time growing-up
in the Carnival, the multitude of sequins and beads sparkled among coloured cloth and the aromatic aroma of horse-dung held
sway in the warm summer air.
"How did you like my show?" an eloquent voice asked from a tent Peggy had just passed and stirring from her reminiscing, she
turned and viewed the naughty hambone who wore a gown of superficial symbols and brought laughter to those who needed it.
...................................................
Callendous Vole's hair was straw-coloured and shoulder-length, Peggy knew this gave any onlooker a feeling of adventure and
of being carefree passion. He was handsome in a thin-faced sort-of-way, but not the type of eye-catcher to the bare-footed Witch
offering a polite curtsy. "Fair travels" she said and smiled at remembering Myrddin's advice that civility goes a long way when
discovering strengths and weaknesses.
The robe was dramatically swished back as Vole placed his hands on his belted-hips, "I propose you seek a reading with me?"
he asked as if such fortune-telling was regular request from this noble diviner and looked away as if his attention in the barely
-dressed woman had lost his interest. Callendous' narrow nose became a weather vane of vanity as he waited for the female
to melt in his arrogant presence.
At this point, Peggy would usually remove her hat for decorum's sake, but she didn't wish it to seem like a hint of courting-display.
Instead -and with a thespian-bent that her old Mentor would've been proud of, she nervously asked how the Great and Spectacular
Callendous Vole worked his amazing magic.
Staring off towards sights only those who dabble in the serious supernatural prestidigitation can appreciate, the haughty illusionist
related to the pint-sized peasant that he was one with the Dark Arts. Bowing out and leaving the egotistical ass at his marquee, the
young Witch felt like her head was turning into a blood-orange as she hurried away to disgorge her laughter at his pomposity.
...................................................
Now staring at the strange non-hamlet of Salvation Row, Peggy wondered if maybe her earlier mirth regarding the Dark magic and
Mr Vole had been a little presumptive.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.