The bucket had once been used in extinguishing an accidental fire at Hatton in the Corn's main meeting house, The Cobb Inn.
It was that same receptacle that Daniel Grundy -the owner of the Blacksmith property, had sat on and promised himself to be a
better man on the night his first son was born. Until this morning, drink hadn't passed his lips since that day of commitment.
So as Duckworth Bowe chose it as a possible candidate to hold the newly-created Wizard Stone, the wooden pail can be said
to have a history of nobleness in some form. Now with the young man staring wide-eyed as Myrddin transferred the hovering hot
aggregate towards the bucket, it seemed a new note in the vessel's account was about to occur.
Alas the choice was a poor one and both Duckworth and Myrddin would have to agree that the sight of the quickly-burning insides
of the pail was a good indication that a better container was needed. "Maybe a bucket of water is needed to put out the fire in the
bucket?" the older Magician suggested whimsically to his crestfallen pupil, but it failed to cheer the sad-faced young man gazing
down at the charred and smoking pitcher.
Peggy Powler wasn't faring any better. Leather thongs hung from wrought-iron hooks and old farrier tools waiting for repair shared
shelves with cobwebs laden with the husks of flies that ventured into the establishment. An badly-scarred cowhide apron dangling
from a nail looked promising, but the fist-sized hole in its front-pocket caused the young girl to put her hands on hips and snort
through her nostrils.
"Howay yer' bugger..." Peggy cursed "...yer' in here somewhere" she whispered into the musty shadows at the back of the foundry.
A wheel rim attempted to glint in the faint daylight seeping through the eaves above and a deflated pair of bellows lay like forgotten
lungs of a long-dead giant beside a pile of unused lengths of black metal still tied with farmer's twine.
Closing her eyes as her mother had told her, she mentally called out to the object she desired, it had only worked once and even it
wasn't exactly correct. But that's a tale for another time. As Duckworth's panting quietened and Myrddin muttered something about
a bucket, Peggy thought she heard a different resonate.
"Thiixo'oe" the bare-footed teenager believed she'd it sounded like and then it came a again, "Thiixo'oe". Opening her eyes and
scanning the dusty darkness at the rear of Mr Grundy's workshop, she thought she saw the source of the possible word. The blade
of a bent pickaxe lay across it and some discarded straw almost hid it from view, but Peggy saw the dishevelled canvas sack.
Avoiding the prongs of a waiting-for-repair hay-fork, she made her way to the corner of the wooden building where the abandoned
and unwanted resided. Mouse-droppings and old bird nests wait in line with the useless things that we throw away as the world moves
along and something that was once held dear, becomes merely a memory of a time when such objects were cherished.
Peggy kneeled down in the gloom and pulling the strap of the crumpled satchel clear of the rusty tool, she said hello to her new friend.
...................................................
Jack Dor remained in the shadow of a large Ferocactus and watched his dead minions dance as well as the woman who'd thought
she'd expelled him from this realm. The tall thin man in the long dark-red coat unconsciously touched the side of his face where Peggy
Powler's damned Lapis Veneficus had touched him and wondered what other attributes she'd acquired since they'd last met.
Sitting up there on the hillside with the man who'd visited here before, Jack Dor stirred his thoughts like the twisted limbs of his puppets
out there in the night and educed ideas of he and that little prole in the revealing poncho. The last Witch of Underhill... a rated prize
indeed for a simple Daemon such as himself.
"He knows Ah'm here" the source of the hiding ghoul's ruminations said and checking Duckworth's horrified gaze, she recalled Myrddin's
lecture on the owner of these tragic funambulists.
...................................................
"It's just a bag...!" Duckworth snorted as Peggy held out the large satchel beside the bearded magician, "...it'll melt straight through it"
the young man assured his fellow-apprentice of the Majick arts. Myrddin smiled to himself as he carefully manipulated the smoking
stone towards the young girl's offering. "Aye, yer'd think so..." Peggy whispered to nobody and showed a face of determination, "..but
Ah' believe in it" she added with a gritted tone.
The brightly-radiating element crackled and spat as it neared the worn aperture of the hip-sack, but the grip of it's new proprietor held
steady as the Lapis Veneficus disappeared into the darkness of the satchel. Both Duckworth and Peggy waited with bated-breath for
the moment the stone clunked unceremoniously onto the foundry's floor or the bag suddenly burst into flames.
Their smirking mentor gently closed its flap and waited for his junior students to exhale.
"Now, let us seek out a Daemon..." Myrddin said softly and ignoring the wide gazes from the couple before him, he strode towards the
daylight of Hatton in the Corn. "...I'm sure Mr Dor will be waiting for us" he added as Peggy blinked at the gawping Duckworth and then
carefully slipping the strap of the satchel over her shoulder, the pair followed the great Magician out of the Blacksmith's shop
It was that same receptacle that Daniel Grundy -the owner of the Blacksmith property, had sat on and promised himself to be a
better man on the night his first son was born. Until this morning, drink hadn't passed his lips since that day of commitment.
So as Duckworth Bowe chose it as a possible candidate to hold the newly-created Wizard Stone, the wooden pail can be said
to have a history of nobleness in some form. Now with the young man staring wide-eyed as Myrddin transferred the hovering hot
aggregate towards the bucket, it seemed a new note in the vessel's account was about to occur.
Alas the choice was a poor one and both Duckworth and Myrddin would have to agree that the sight of the quickly-burning insides
of the pail was a good indication that a better container was needed. "Maybe a bucket of water is needed to put out the fire in the
bucket?" the older Magician suggested whimsically to his crestfallen pupil, but it failed to cheer the sad-faced young man gazing
down at the charred and smoking pitcher.
Peggy Powler wasn't faring any better. Leather thongs hung from wrought-iron hooks and old farrier tools waiting for repair shared
shelves with cobwebs laden with the husks of flies that ventured into the establishment. An badly-scarred cowhide apron dangling
from a nail looked promising, but the fist-sized hole in its front-pocket caused the young girl to put her hands on hips and snort
through her nostrils.
"Howay yer' bugger..." Peggy cursed "...yer' in here somewhere" she whispered into the musty shadows at the back of the foundry.
A wheel rim attempted to glint in the faint daylight seeping through the eaves above and a deflated pair of bellows lay like forgotten
lungs of a long-dead giant beside a pile of unused lengths of black metal still tied with farmer's twine.
Closing her eyes as her mother had told her, she mentally called out to the object she desired, it had only worked once and even it
wasn't exactly correct. But that's a tale for another time. As Duckworth's panting quietened and Myrddin muttered something about
a bucket, Peggy thought she heard a different resonate.
"Thiixo'oe" the bare-footed teenager believed she'd it sounded like and then it came a again, "Thiixo'oe". Opening her eyes and
scanning the dusty darkness at the rear of Mr Grundy's workshop, she thought she saw the source of the possible word. The blade
of a bent pickaxe lay across it and some discarded straw almost hid it from view, but Peggy saw the dishevelled canvas sack.
Avoiding the prongs of a waiting-for-repair hay-fork, she made her way to the corner of the wooden building where the abandoned
and unwanted resided. Mouse-droppings and old bird nests wait in line with the useless things that we throw away as the world moves
along and something that was once held dear, becomes merely a memory of a time when such objects were cherished.
Peggy kneeled down in the gloom and pulling the strap of the crumpled satchel clear of the rusty tool, she said hello to her new friend.
...................................................
Jack Dor remained in the shadow of a large Ferocactus and watched his dead minions dance as well as the woman who'd thought
she'd expelled him from this realm. The tall thin man in the long dark-red coat unconsciously touched the side of his face where Peggy
Powler's damned Lapis Veneficus had touched him and wondered what other attributes she'd acquired since they'd last met.
Sitting up there on the hillside with the man who'd visited here before, Jack Dor stirred his thoughts like the twisted limbs of his puppets
out there in the night and educed ideas of he and that little prole in the revealing poncho. The last Witch of Underhill... a rated prize
indeed for a simple Daemon such as himself.
"He knows Ah'm here" the source of the hiding ghoul's ruminations said and checking Duckworth's horrified gaze, she recalled Myrddin's
lecture on the owner of these tragic funambulists.
...................................................
"It's just a bag...!" Duckworth snorted as Peggy held out the large satchel beside the bearded magician, "...it'll melt straight through it"
the young man assured his fellow-apprentice of the Majick arts. Myrddin smiled to himself as he carefully manipulated the smoking
stone towards the young girl's offering. "Aye, yer'd think so..." Peggy whispered to nobody and showed a face of determination, "..but
Ah' believe in it" she added with a gritted tone.
The brightly-radiating element crackled and spat as it neared the worn aperture of the hip-sack, but the grip of it's new proprietor held
steady as the Lapis Veneficus disappeared into the darkness of the satchel. Both Duckworth and Peggy waited with bated-breath for
the moment the stone clunked unceremoniously onto the foundry's floor or the bag suddenly burst into flames.
Their smirking mentor gently closed its flap and waited for his junior students to exhale.
"Now, let us seek out a Daemon..." Myrddin said softly and ignoring the wide gazes from the couple before him, he strode towards the
daylight of Hatton in the Corn. "...I'm sure Mr Dor will be waiting for us" he added as Peggy blinked at the gawping Duckworth and then
carefully slipping the strap of the satchel over her shoulder, the pair followed the great Magician out of the Blacksmith's shop
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.