Lillian Aldwych stared flabbergasted at the litte ass-exposing Witch as she crawled across the leaf-litter towards the thief that
had stolen her husband. The bright blue eyes of the Beams of King Stephen blinked once and give no impression that they'd
spotted the shuffling Fae-woman.
The clearing that Peggy Powler was advancing on had seen no traffic recently, the prone sorceress had carefully searched the
dried-dirt for footprints when she and the ragged woman had first arrived to investigate the otherworldly location. There was
nothing to indicate those of Camden Bight had used the veil to The Wool-Pit recently.
"Nice and easy" Peggy whispered to herself as she crept up to the perimeter where the scattered dead leaves were no more.
All was quiet and only the most observant of creatures would wonder what strange slithering predator was approaching the
open place of the woods. Maybe that's why a mouse lost its nerve and skittered across the open expanse between the two
strange posts and made a run for safety.
But reality doesn't stock main characters in its constant progress like the melodramatic fops often regarded on munificent
stage-shows one can attend in the bigger towns on the mainland. The mystical engine of the real world holds no favourites
and no smoky footlight illuminates a certain female with her exposed buttocks as the cardinal player on her own style of
platform.
As the little Witch guessed she must've disturbed the fleeing long-tailed critter, a large shadow suddenly darkened the soil
of the treeless glade and dropped heavily onto the squealing mammal. The true killer of the night extinguished the life of the
mouse and as an afterthought, gave a mocking glance towards the little poncho-wearing crawler that had failed to capture
her own supper.
So as the big nocturnal bird took to flight, Peggy grimaced at the fleeing owl and standing up in full view of the Beams, she
looked over at the gawking open-mouthed woman called Lillian. "Bugger it!" she mouthed and shrugged her acceptance of
what might happen next.
...................................................
The furtive walk back to the place where Lillian had lost everything she held dear was long enough for the Last Witch of Underhill
to hear more commentary about the weird apparatus that Ralph Godwin had bragged was a special passageway to a better life.
"...I did notice he stood near the post close to the trail to that leads to old-man Tuttle's shack..." Lillian continued around a mouthful
of sunberries, "...that particular Beam seemed important in some way" she added and wiped the juice on fingers across the torn
remains of her long dark-blue gown.
As the sun ran for it's nightly swim in the Great Sea and the gloom unfurled its raiment of obscureness amongst the crooked trees,
the vengeful wife of the phantom called Chester recalled something that caught the ear of the little Witch struggling to keep up with
Lillian's purposeful stride.
"There was one thing that I never figured out ..." she said as they became aware they were approaching the point where they had
first met. "...I could never understand why Godwin ruled out using the Beams of King Stephen during daylight and even the visitors
from the The Wool-Pit came at night and left before the dawn arrived" she'd mused as the odd lantern-light from the homes around
Camden Bight twinkled through the branches of the stunted trees.
"Maybe sunlight is somethin' they divna' like over at The Wool-Pit?" Peggy returned between gasping to contend with the woman's
pace and pondered on the words she'd said. The sunset glowed from its seat on the watery horizon into the raked-glade where the
Beams of Stephen stood and drew long shadows close to where the wary pair were watching.
As ball of fire slowly lost its brilliance and the woods became the domain of the dark, the little Witch handed Lillian her hat and set
off to tackle the teaser of where her new-found friend's husband had gone
....................................................
Like a miniature statue, the poncho-wearing wanderer stood and waited to fight the evil lantern-eyes that protected the anomalous
doorway to The Wool-Pit. With shallow breaths, Peggy prepared herself to dive for cover if the watching beacons suddenly turned
scarlet with rage for her trespass. The two cobalt-blue eyes blinked once, just had they'd done on the spellbinder's first encounter
with them and went back to sleep.
"They're clockwork!" Peggy said loudly and marched over to the brother of the post she'd first examined and decided illumination
would help her figure out what these dumb-lumps of thingamajigs were. Under a flickering flame from her thumb, the scrutinising
sorceress was nervously joined by the woman who'd fell foul to their failure.
Peggy peered closer and saw the reason for Ralph Godwin's need to be stationed in the position Lillian had stated. The light from
her little digit glowed across the surface of the ivory-coloured inset of the sham pillar as the inquisitive magus caught sight of a faint
groove betrayed where a small hatch on the counterfeit post was situated. Glancing at the wide-eyed woman beside her, the daring
Witch stretched out her hand and pressed it.
With simultaneous intakes of air, Peggy and Lillian stared at the green and red pulsing lights that had been hiding within the post.
They were square like the dominoes found in taverns in most counties, but no tiles like these graced the beer-stained tables of
up and down the land. "Yer' bugger!" the wizard exclaimed and accepted her hat back from the woman leaning in for a closer look.
Lillian murmured back "I have to agree, Miss Powler, bugger-indeed".
....................................................
Nodding her confidence once more towards the trembling Lillian Aldwych, Peggy stepped back to where they'd first discovered
the throbbing lights. Pulling back the material of her dark-blue dress, Lillian stood a few inches away from the Calcite Spar line
where her husband had first disappeared.
"Now, Ah'll say again Ma'am, divna' move and certainly divna' step over the line..." Peggy warned and stared her meaning at the
nervous grandmother. The dark figure beside the pale boundary nodded back, but the little Witch noticed the courage Lillian had
shown to survive out her for so long was waning fast. "..And remember me-words, this isn't majick" the diminutive warlock added
confidently.
With a small prayer to Herne, Peggy pressed the green-glowing light and the queerest thing happened.
had stolen her husband. The bright blue eyes of the Beams of King Stephen blinked once and give no impression that they'd
spotted the shuffling Fae-woman.
The clearing that Peggy Powler was advancing on had seen no traffic recently, the prone sorceress had carefully searched the
dried-dirt for footprints when she and the ragged woman had first arrived to investigate the otherworldly location. There was
nothing to indicate those of Camden Bight had used the veil to The Wool-Pit recently.
"Nice and easy" Peggy whispered to herself as she crept up to the perimeter where the scattered dead leaves were no more.
All was quiet and only the most observant of creatures would wonder what strange slithering predator was approaching the
open place of the woods. Maybe that's why a mouse lost its nerve and skittered across the open expanse between the two
strange posts and made a run for safety.
But reality doesn't stock main characters in its constant progress like the melodramatic fops often regarded on munificent
stage-shows one can attend in the bigger towns on the mainland. The mystical engine of the real world holds no favourites
and no smoky footlight illuminates a certain female with her exposed buttocks as the cardinal player on her own style of
platform.
As the little Witch guessed she must've disturbed the fleeing long-tailed critter, a large shadow suddenly darkened the soil
of the treeless glade and dropped heavily onto the squealing mammal. The true killer of the night extinguished the life of the
mouse and as an afterthought, gave a mocking glance towards the little poncho-wearing crawler that had failed to capture
her own supper.
So as the big nocturnal bird took to flight, Peggy grimaced at the fleeing owl and standing up in full view of the Beams, she
looked over at the gawking open-mouthed woman called Lillian. "Bugger it!" she mouthed and shrugged her acceptance of
what might happen next.
...................................................
The furtive walk back to the place where Lillian had lost everything she held dear was long enough for the Last Witch of Underhill
to hear more commentary about the weird apparatus that Ralph Godwin had bragged was a special passageway to a better life.
"...I did notice he stood near the post close to the trail to that leads to old-man Tuttle's shack..." Lillian continued around a mouthful
of sunberries, "...that particular Beam seemed important in some way" she added and wiped the juice on fingers across the torn
remains of her long dark-blue gown.
As the sun ran for it's nightly swim in the Great Sea and the gloom unfurled its raiment of obscureness amongst the crooked trees,
the vengeful wife of the phantom called Chester recalled something that caught the ear of the little Witch struggling to keep up with
Lillian's purposeful stride.
"There was one thing that I never figured out ..." she said as they became aware they were approaching the point where they had
first met. "...I could never understand why Godwin ruled out using the Beams of King Stephen during daylight and even the visitors
from the The Wool-Pit came at night and left before the dawn arrived" she'd mused as the odd lantern-light from the homes around
Camden Bight twinkled through the branches of the stunted trees.
"Maybe sunlight is somethin' they divna' like over at The Wool-Pit?" Peggy returned between gasping to contend with the woman's
pace and pondered on the words she'd said. The sunset glowed from its seat on the watery horizon into the raked-glade where the
Beams of Stephen stood and drew long shadows close to where the wary pair were watching.
As ball of fire slowly lost its brilliance and the woods became the domain of the dark, the little Witch handed Lillian her hat and set
off to tackle the teaser of where her new-found friend's husband had gone
....................................................
Like a miniature statue, the poncho-wearing wanderer stood and waited to fight the evil lantern-eyes that protected the anomalous
doorway to The Wool-Pit. With shallow breaths, Peggy prepared herself to dive for cover if the watching beacons suddenly turned
scarlet with rage for her trespass. The two cobalt-blue eyes blinked once, just had they'd done on the spellbinder's first encounter
with them and went back to sleep.
"They're clockwork!" Peggy said loudly and marched over to the brother of the post she'd first examined and decided illumination
would help her figure out what these dumb-lumps of thingamajigs were. Under a flickering flame from her thumb, the scrutinising
sorceress was nervously joined by the woman who'd fell foul to their failure.
Peggy peered closer and saw the reason for Ralph Godwin's need to be stationed in the position Lillian had stated. The light from
her little digit glowed across the surface of the ivory-coloured inset of the sham pillar as the inquisitive magus caught sight of a faint
groove betrayed where a small hatch on the counterfeit post was situated. Glancing at the wide-eyed woman beside her, the daring
Witch stretched out her hand and pressed it.
With simultaneous intakes of air, Peggy and Lillian stared at the green and red pulsing lights that had been hiding within the post.
They were square like the dominoes found in taverns in most counties, but no tiles like these graced the beer-stained tables of
up and down the land. "Yer' bugger!" the wizard exclaimed and accepted her hat back from the woman leaning in for a closer look.
Lillian murmured back "I have to agree, Miss Powler, bugger-indeed".
....................................................
Nodding her confidence once more towards the trembling Lillian Aldwych, Peggy stepped back to where they'd first discovered
the throbbing lights. Pulling back the material of her dark-blue dress, Lillian stood a few inches away from the Calcite Spar line
where her husband had first disappeared.
"Now, Ah'll say again Ma'am, divna' move and certainly divna' step over the line..." Peggy warned and stared her meaning at the
nervous grandmother. The dark figure beside the pale boundary nodded back, but the little Witch noticed the courage Lillian had
shown to survive out her for so long was waning fast. "..And remember me-words, this isn't majick" the diminutive warlock added
confidently.
With a small prayer to Herne, Peggy pressed the green-glowing light and the queerest thing happened.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.