02-14-2022, 08:21 PM
The only street that Camden Bight can boast seemed to be back to normal -if normal can include the four strange figures
standing in a single-file queue not far from where the full-sailed trawler boats bobbed on the waters of the Great Sea. These
were the Replacements, a quartet of mechanical puppets that had somehow lost their purpose due to a couple of possible
reasons.
Considering the diverse class-structure of Camden Bight, it seemed the residents from all walks of life were chatting merrily
with each other regardless of their individual social-standing. Florence Goddard was elaborating to Indigo Dunth about the
stationary mannequins damaging future-sales at her store and the landlord of The Horatio tavern was having an in-depth
conversation with Nell Caldwell about how they'd all been duped by the conniving scoundrel called Ralph Godwin.
Others blathered their annoyance, but since the one person who'd rescued the small village from the fate of The Wool-Pit had
requested The Replacements to be left unmolested, the crowd stayed on the cobblestones and didn't venture any closer to the
train of vacant clockwork effigies.
Peggy Powler -standing beside Martin Caldwell and his mother, watched the assembly and felt that -at least, part of her work had
been accomplished here on the Isle of Murdigon. But what concerned her now was the recovery of Chester Caldwell and how the
now-defunct Beams of King Stephen would effect such a half-prepared rescue.
Glancing over at the dishevelled grandmother in the torn dark-blue dress, the spellbinder saw that Lillian Caldwell seemed to be
resisting the distraction of the jovial throng and her inner-turmoil was obvious to those who know how to see it. Somewhere out
there in the ethereal, her husband wallowed in an unbalance of lunacy. How long had Chester left before he finally swallowed the
toxin to be part of the unsoundness?
The motionless figures at the dock held no interest for Peggy, she'd seen similar ones touted around in Carnivals and by travelling
entertainment troupes. An internal wheel moved a cog and a metal spring brought everything to life. Even the strange groove on the
imposter of Mr Goddard was explainable as merely cast-marks made during the moulding of the mock-skin.
The weary warlock was about to dismiss thinking about the four Replacements, when she reconsidered the possible reasons for
their fixed-staring at the sea-wall of the Ship Chandlery Store. Why there...? What fascinated these mindless clockwork toys that
no longer held an agenda?
"What do you think makes them work?" Martin Caldwell asked and his question was posed to the woman who'd saved almost his
entire family. The little Witch peered up at the young man and shrugged her shoulders, it wasn't important how they worked, what
bothered her was why they were stood where they were.
Yawning away her lack of sleep, Peggy drew strength from the morning scenery as she ruminated on the final part of her scheme.
The band of Replacements hadn't initially figured into her plan to hopefully pluck Chester Caldwell from his pocket of madness and
forever rid the Isle of Murdigon of an invasion from The Wool-Pit, but their organised position hinted of something more meaningful
than just broken-down dolls.
"Iffn'' yer' excuse me, Ah just want te' see how the Penroses are settlin' back in" Peggy said and waddled off towards the last retailer
on the road. The forlorn look on Lillian's face was obvious and so the sorceress stopped and asked the exhausted grandmother to
lean closer with a move of her hand. "Yer' might think this is all over, but gettin' yer' fella back is the next thing on me-list..." Peggy
whispered and showed a kindly smile of comfort. "...No bugger gets left behind on my watch" she added with a knowing wink and
saw Lillian's eyes fill with tears.
...................................................
The display in the large front-window of The Ship Chandlery was now being rearranged by Beatrice Penrose and seeing the sign
on the door announcing it was open, Peggy guessed Milton Penrose was also moving items around in the attempt to resettle back
into the nest they'd built.
The little bell tinkled as the Last Witch of Underhill stepped inside and surveyed the sea-faring commodities for shipping vessels
and crews. Varieties of rope hung from the walls alongside sheets of sail-cloth and other sundries that are needed for a voyage on
the Great Sea. Glancing towards the wall that the Replacements found so fascinating, Peggy observed a set of large glass-cases
perched on ascending oak-shelves that contained gifts that passing sailors and trawler-men had left -presumably, in gratitude for
the Goddard's professional service.
An eight foot-long stuffed Carter's Sawfish stared down at the bantam Witch with the same glazed-look as the four mute mannequins
outside. Beside it, waited a frozen-in-time scampering Southland's Stoat boasting the much-cherished fur on its back. But the most
interesting flaunt on the decorated wall was the glass-fronted casket displaying a massive uncut chunk of off-white quartz.
Milton looked up from his counting of side-sister hooks and making sure his comb-over wasn't out of place, gave his recent saviour
a grin that was at-odds with his usual serious demeanour. The stand-in shop-keepers had also held no interest for the busy couple,
they'd found them motionless near the Chandlery's front door and just pushed them out of their premises.
"Here's the wonderful woman we owe our lives to, Beattie" the balding proprietor said and wiping his hands on his apron, hurried
around from the tackle-filled counter. The dowdy woman kneeling in the window challenged her husband for the widest-smile award
and hastily clambered out from her nautical exhibit. "Will you be needing a cup of tea, Miss Powler?" Beatrice asked as she rubbed
any dust from the display onto an already-smudged pinny.
Allowing her mind to browse her memories of Myrddin's teachings, Peggy politely declined the offer of a brew and kept her gaze
set towards the lump of Calcite Spar. Somewhere in the old magician's words was a tale that had a bearing on the crushed crystal
up at the clearing and the nugget resting in the dusty container. What was it Myrddin had said?
...................................................
Whilst Peggy is going through her recollections of her time with the wise wizard, how the exhibit that held the sorceress' appeal had
come into Milton Goddard's possession may be interesting to some.
...................................................
Around ten years ago, Captain Amos Bartlett set out on his ship -The Albatross, on a voyage that would test his very sanity and
drive his crew to the edge of mutiny. Originally from Swan Portcullis, the veteran windjammer had sailed The Great Sea many
times and searched in vain to find the boundary of the water where the sun hides at night.
Ferocious sea-serpents and green-water beasts that would wet the beds of many a dreaming landlubber were a regular prospect
through Captain Bartlett's telescope, but the sight of unknown lands and the where the world ended, always evaded him. Thrice,
the indomitable skipper believed a vague far-off elevation in the waves was the goal he sought and yet every time, it was either a
giant Steller's Sea-Cow or the bloated remains of an extremely large Blubbershark.
On this mission to search for a marvel to ease his self-absorbed spirit, Bartlett had headed north towards the great ice-flows that
can crush a ship like matchwood. And it seemed for a time, such a swan-song was looming for the Captain and his freezing men.
The Albatross had been caught by the pack-ice and was being dragged along towards a slow frozen certain death, the ship's bevy
now looked to their leader for a way out or at least, mea culpa for his insane choice of direction.
When after six days of waiting for the hand of doom to nudge the surrounding sheer mountains of featureless white and bring an
end to the abject misery of his refrigerated men, Captain Bartlett spied through his eye-glass a sight he first took as a sign that
the numbing temperature had finally frosted his mind. A ray of light shone from a hole in the high wall of ice and seemed to beam
a signal of hope as well as warmth.
From his position on the icicle-adorned bridge, he saw dripping water around the edge of the pocket and giving thanks to the
Gods who serve the sea, announced to his hands that salvation may lie just ahead. After a day of scaling the sheer precipice,
the white-bearded men arrived at the thawing maw where the bright light was residing and examined the source of the warm
lambency.
It was a crystal, a faceted alabaster-hued object dwelling in a place no rock or mineral should've been. What despair and dolor
had accompanied the six men who made the climb, melted in the glow of the mysterious miracle in the hollowed-out grotto.
However, it was Captain Bartlett who saw the magic and how it was being performed. Daylight was being tunnelled through a
small fissure in the back-wall of the ice-crypt and hitting the crystal, became magnified into a beam of heat that -luckily for the
crew of The Albatross, created a breach for its escape. This power of incandescence was what the grinning commander assured
his men was also their means to freedom from their current ensnarement.
Using lumber and metal from the dwindling stores and rigging not needed for their scheme, the sailors set about building a brazier
that would create enough light from its flames that the coveted chunk of mineral would render their route of release into mere slush.
When two years later, they reached land, they all agreed the many-faced crystal should be encased and displayed somewhere the
tale never relates.
But what is known that one of the remaining midshipmen was a man called Penrose and he had a brother who live on the island
of Murdigon. The rest, they say is history.
...................................................
"Alf Slater and Martin Caldwell... can yer' come here please!" the pint-sized thaumaturge shouted loudly from the Chandlery
doorway and for a moment, the chattering dropped as the large unshaven man and the son of Lillian Caldwell trotted over to
where the caller waited. Indigo Dunth watched as the two men nodded as if being instructed with serious information and the
drunkard's eye didn't fail to see the handing over of a gold numma coin.
It was glaringly evident now to the rum-pot that the little woman was the actual Peggy Powler that the visiting Tars in the tavern
had spoken of and not a fellow imbiber. Somewhere in his ale-damaged brain, Indigo wondered how much he'd contributed to
the volte-face of Camden Bight's early decision to leave for The Wool-Pit and whether such input warranted a similar payment.
Maybe some cash could be captured if the famous necromancer was pressed?
Indigo's face of cunning confidence quickly changed when the woman barked his name and peering over towards the Chandlery,
the boozer saw a come-hither finger demanding his approach. "Yer' like the smell of money me-lad, don't yer?..." Peggy growled
as he approached the mean-looking woman standing beside the two larger men than himself. "...Whey, Ah' have a job fur' yer te'
earn such a scent" she added as he arrived in the shade of the doorway.
...................................................
Lillian Caldwell watched as her son walked briskly back up the road without acknowledging his own mother or even his wife and
his children. The Tallow-renderer was next and along with the unsavoury souse often seen staggering around the hamlet, strode
silently together towards the unpaved lane that would lead to where Slater kept his mule and cart.
The scene was so strange that the weary matriarch failed to spot the face grinning up at her from under her wide-brimmed hat.
"How are yer' copin'?" Peggy asked easily and her features told Lillian that the Witch genuinely meant it. With another glance
towards her departing son, Lillian looked back at the smiling sorceress and replied that she was fairing well.
"It seems one of your schemes is underway..." the lady who was once feral stated "...Will this include myself?". Peggy patted the
woman's hand and nodded. "Aye, yer' be accompanying the tallow-man and his help to the community of Byefleet Howe, where
Ah' have a task fur' yer' to perform" she informed Lillian enigmatically.
...................................................
With a distraught Milton and Beatrice Penrose watching as the hunk of Calcite Spar was loaded onto Alf Slater's cart, the driver,
the drunk and the once forest-roaming female set off for the place the Gurnard's called home and where an unusual water-drawing
statue awaited with outstretched arms. On another track of intrigue, Martin Caldwell walked with purpose and a request towards a
village called The Narrows and where a lighthouse towered above all those who abided there.
For Peggy Powler, now the lump of crystalline mineral that had been causing some type of blockage had been removed, the quartet
of would-be Replacements had began to walk towards the path that would take them towards their point of exit back to The Wool-Pit.
The little Witch had guessed the Calcite Spar had been a bearing on their static-state and now their journey would be to the original
location where Peggy first came into contact with a semi-nude old toothless man called Chester Caldwell. She wasn't certain of her
speculation, but something about that meeting was important, just as important as the positioning of the Angel-statue called Adjef.
The poor soul was trapped in a pocket of -what Peggy believed, was a magnetic-style oblivion brought on by the damaged Beams
of King Stephen and would only be viable here in this reality for small amounts of time. Maybe a pattern of appearances existed and
that was what she was gambling on.
Following the queue of mechanical-people, she hoped the Rhododendron bush where she'd first encountered Chester Caldwell
held a secret to be unveiled and finish this unusual issue of Murdigon.
standing in a single-file queue not far from where the full-sailed trawler boats bobbed on the waters of the Great Sea. These
were the Replacements, a quartet of mechanical puppets that had somehow lost their purpose due to a couple of possible
reasons.
Considering the diverse class-structure of Camden Bight, it seemed the residents from all walks of life were chatting merrily
with each other regardless of their individual social-standing. Florence Goddard was elaborating to Indigo Dunth about the
stationary mannequins damaging future-sales at her store and the landlord of The Horatio tavern was having an in-depth
conversation with Nell Caldwell about how they'd all been duped by the conniving scoundrel called Ralph Godwin.
Others blathered their annoyance, but since the one person who'd rescued the small village from the fate of The Wool-Pit had
requested The Replacements to be left unmolested, the crowd stayed on the cobblestones and didn't venture any closer to the
train of vacant clockwork effigies.
Peggy Powler -standing beside Martin Caldwell and his mother, watched the assembly and felt that -at least, part of her work had
been accomplished here on the Isle of Murdigon. But what concerned her now was the recovery of Chester Caldwell and how the
now-defunct Beams of King Stephen would effect such a half-prepared rescue.
Glancing over at the dishevelled grandmother in the torn dark-blue dress, the spellbinder saw that Lillian Caldwell seemed to be
resisting the distraction of the jovial throng and her inner-turmoil was obvious to those who know how to see it. Somewhere out
there in the ethereal, her husband wallowed in an unbalance of lunacy. How long had Chester left before he finally swallowed the
toxin to be part of the unsoundness?
The motionless figures at the dock held no interest for Peggy, she'd seen similar ones touted around in Carnivals and by travelling
entertainment troupes. An internal wheel moved a cog and a metal spring brought everything to life. Even the strange groove on the
imposter of Mr Goddard was explainable as merely cast-marks made during the moulding of the mock-skin.
The weary warlock was about to dismiss thinking about the four Replacements, when she reconsidered the possible reasons for
their fixed-staring at the sea-wall of the Ship Chandlery Store. Why there...? What fascinated these mindless clockwork toys that
no longer held an agenda?
"What do you think makes them work?" Martin Caldwell asked and his question was posed to the woman who'd saved almost his
entire family. The little Witch peered up at the young man and shrugged her shoulders, it wasn't important how they worked, what
bothered her was why they were stood where they were.
Yawning away her lack of sleep, Peggy drew strength from the morning scenery as she ruminated on the final part of her scheme.
The band of Replacements hadn't initially figured into her plan to hopefully pluck Chester Caldwell from his pocket of madness and
forever rid the Isle of Murdigon of an invasion from The Wool-Pit, but their organised position hinted of something more meaningful
than just broken-down dolls.
"Iffn'' yer' excuse me, Ah just want te' see how the Penroses are settlin' back in" Peggy said and waddled off towards the last retailer
on the road. The forlorn look on Lillian's face was obvious and so the sorceress stopped and asked the exhausted grandmother to
lean closer with a move of her hand. "Yer' might think this is all over, but gettin' yer' fella back is the next thing on me-list..." Peggy
whispered and showed a kindly smile of comfort. "...No bugger gets left behind on my watch" she added with a knowing wink and
saw Lillian's eyes fill with tears.
...................................................
The display in the large front-window of The Ship Chandlery was now being rearranged by Beatrice Penrose and seeing the sign
on the door announcing it was open, Peggy guessed Milton Penrose was also moving items around in the attempt to resettle back
into the nest they'd built.
The little bell tinkled as the Last Witch of Underhill stepped inside and surveyed the sea-faring commodities for shipping vessels
and crews. Varieties of rope hung from the walls alongside sheets of sail-cloth and other sundries that are needed for a voyage on
the Great Sea. Glancing towards the wall that the Replacements found so fascinating, Peggy observed a set of large glass-cases
perched on ascending oak-shelves that contained gifts that passing sailors and trawler-men had left -presumably, in gratitude for
the Goddard's professional service.
An eight foot-long stuffed Carter's Sawfish stared down at the bantam Witch with the same glazed-look as the four mute mannequins
outside. Beside it, waited a frozen-in-time scampering Southland's Stoat boasting the much-cherished fur on its back. But the most
interesting flaunt on the decorated wall was the glass-fronted casket displaying a massive uncut chunk of off-white quartz.
Milton looked up from his counting of side-sister hooks and making sure his comb-over wasn't out of place, gave his recent saviour
a grin that was at-odds with his usual serious demeanour. The stand-in shop-keepers had also held no interest for the busy couple,
they'd found them motionless near the Chandlery's front door and just pushed them out of their premises.
"Here's the wonderful woman we owe our lives to, Beattie" the balding proprietor said and wiping his hands on his apron, hurried
around from the tackle-filled counter. The dowdy woman kneeling in the window challenged her husband for the widest-smile award
and hastily clambered out from her nautical exhibit. "Will you be needing a cup of tea, Miss Powler?" Beatrice asked as she rubbed
any dust from the display onto an already-smudged pinny.
Allowing her mind to browse her memories of Myrddin's teachings, Peggy politely declined the offer of a brew and kept her gaze
set towards the lump of Calcite Spar. Somewhere in the old magician's words was a tale that had a bearing on the crushed crystal
up at the clearing and the nugget resting in the dusty container. What was it Myrddin had said?
...................................................
Whilst Peggy is going through her recollections of her time with the wise wizard, how the exhibit that held the sorceress' appeal had
come into Milton Goddard's possession may be interesting to some.
...................................................
Around ten years ago, Captain Amos Bartlett set out on his ship -The Albatross, on a voyage that would test his very sanity and
drive his crew to the edge of mutiny. Originally from Swan Portcullis, the veteran windjammer had sailed The Great Sea many
times and searched in vain to find the boundary of the water where the sun hides at night.
Ferocious sea-serpents and green-water beasts that would wet the beds of many a dreaming landlubber were a regular prospect
through Captain Bartlett's telescope, but the sight of unknown lands and the where the world ended, always evaded him. Thrice,
the indomitable skipper believed a vague far-off elevation in the waves was the goal he sought and yet every time, it was either a
giant Steller's Sea-Cow or the bloated remains of an extremely large Blubbershark.
On this mission to search for a marvel to ease his self-absorbed spirit, Bartlett had headed north towards the great ice-flows that
can crush a ship like matchwood. And it seemed for a time, such a swan-song was looming for the Captain and his freezing men.
The Albatross had been caught by the pack-ice and was being dragged along towards a slow frozen certain death, the ship's bevy
now looked to their leader for a way out or at least, mea culpa for his insane choice of direction.
When after six days of waiting for the hand of doom to nudge the surrounding sheer mountains of featureless white and bring an
end to the abject misery of his refrigerated men, Captain Bartlett spied through his eye-glass a sight he first took as a sign that
the numbing temperature had finally frosted his mind. A ray of light shone from a hole in the high wall of ice and seemed to beam
a signal of hope as well as warmth.
From his position on the icicle-adorned bridge, he saw dripping water around the edge of the pocket and giving thanks to the
Gods who serve the sea, announced to his hands that salvation may lie just ahead. After a day of scaling the sheer precipice,
the white-bearded men arrived at the thawing maw where the bright light was residing and examined the source of the warm
lambency.
It was a crystal, a faceted alabaster-hued object dwelling in a place no rock or mineral should've been. What despair and dolor
had accompanied the six men who made the climb, melted in the glow of the mysterious miracle in the hollowed-out grotto.
However, it was Captain Bartlett who saw the magic and how it was being performed. Daylight was being tunnelled through a
small fissure in the back-wall of the ice-crypt and hitting the crystal, became magnified into a beam of heat that -luckily for the
crew of The Albatross, created a breach for its escape. This power of incandescence was what the grinning commander assured
his men was also their means to freedom from their current ensnarement.
Using lumber and metal from the dwindling stores and rigging not needed for their scheme, the sailors set about building a brazier
that would create enough light from its flames that the coveted chunk of mineral would render their route of release into mere slush.
When two years later, they reached land, they all agreed the many-faced crystal should be encased and displayed somewhere the
tale never relates.
But what is known that one of the remaining midshipmen was a man called Penrose and he had a brother who live on the island
of Murdigon. The rest, they say is history.
...................................................
"Alf Slater and Martin Caldwell... can yer' come here please!" the pint-sized thaumaturge shouted loudly from the Chandlery
doorway and for a moment, the chattering dropped as the large unshaven man and the son of Lillian Caldwell trotted over to
where the caller waited. Indigo Dunth watched as the two men nodded as if being instructed with serious information and the
drunkard's eye didn't fail to see the handing over of a gold numma coin.
It was glaringly evident now to the rum-pot that the little woman was the actual Peggy Powler that the visiting Tars in the tavern
had spoken of and not a fellow imbiber. Somewhere in his ale-damaged brain, Indigo wondered how much he'd contributed to
the volte-face of Camden Bight's early decision to leave for The Wool-Pit and whether such input warranted a similar payment.
Maybe some cash could be captured if the famous necromancer was pressed?
Indigo's face of cunning confidence quickly changed when the woman barked his name and peering over towards the Chandlery,
the boozer saw a come-hither finger demanding his approach. "Yer' like the smell of money me-lad, don't yer?..." Peggy growled
as he approached the mean-looking woman standing beside the two larger men than himself. "...Whey, Ah' have a job fur' yer te'
earn such a scent" she added as he arrived in the shade of the doorway.
...................................................
Lillian Caldwell watched as her son walked briskly back up the road without acknowledging his own mother or even his wife and
his children. The Tallow-renderer was next and along with the unsavoury souse often seen staggering around the hamlet, strode
silently together towards the unpaved lane that would lead to where Slater kept his mule and cart.
The scene was so strange that the weary matriarch failed to spot the face grinning up at her from under her wide-brimmed hat.
"How are yer' copin'?" Peggy asked easily and her features told Lillian that the Witch genuinely meant it. With another glance
towards her departing son, Lillian looked back at the smiling sorceress and replied that she was fairing well.
"It seems one of your schemes is underway..." the lady who was once feral stated "...Will this include myself?". Peggy patted the
woman's hand and nodded. "Aye, yer' be accompanying the tallow-man and his help to the community of Byefleet Howe, where
Ah' have a task fur' yer' to perform" she informed Lillian enigmatically.
...................................................
With a distraught Milton and Beatrice Penrose watching as the hunk of Calcite Spar was loaded onto Alf Slater's cart, the driver,
the drunk and the once forest-roaming female set off for the place the Gurnard's called home and where an unusual water-drawing
statue awaited with outstretched arms. On another track of intrigue, Martin Caldwell walked with purpose and a request towards a
village called The Narrows and where a lighthouse towered above all those who abided there.
For Peggy Powler, now the lump of crystalline mineral that had been causing some type of blockage had been removed, the quartet
of would-be Replacements had began to walk towards the path that would take them towards their point of exit back to The Wool-Pit.
The little Witch had guessed the Calcite Spar had been a bearing on their static-state and now their journey would be to the original
location where Peggy first came into contact with a semi-nude old toothless man called Chester Caldwell. She wasn't certain of her
speculation, but something about that meeting was important, just as important as the positioning of the Angel-statue called Adjef.
The poor soul was trapped in a pocket of -what Peggy believed, was a magnetic-style oblivion brought on by the damaged Beams
of King Stephen and would only be viable here in this reality for small amounts of time. Maybe a pattern of appearances existed and
that was what she was gambling on.
Following the queue of mechanical-people, she hoped the Rhododendron bush where she'd first encountered Chester Caldwell
held a secret to be unveiled and finish this unusual issue of Murdigon.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.