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Peggy Powler & The Missing Children.
#13
"I know one thing for sure..." Thistle Treacle said as he scanned the terrain for low-flying owl-shaped predators, "your comment
about a doorway makes sense to me". The Witch of Underhill lightly drew the Yetun to her in the act of protection and began to
find their way out the surrounding foliage.

"Aye, the two standing-stones are obvious, but when Turnip described his great-great Gran-daddy seein' the lassie snatched 
between the apple trees..." Peggy Powler muttered as she skirted around an outcrop of spiny gorse "...'Ah knew then, that this
Gwydionel-woman needed a frame to make her way from the Otherside."

As they walked back towards the wall of Calder's Way, the shadow of Peggy's hat hid her eyes and what she was thinking.
The Bitch On The Hill likes colour, bright colours and needs those who can create such hues of delight.
'...Ah yes, places where one can lose themselves' Mary Bretton had said and the taller of the midnight pair smiled to herself
in the darkness. 

Her conversation with the Gnome had brought up a couple of ideas on how to fix the problem, but the tired sorceress was still
a little grey about how to retrieve the Chimer-Children. Nibbling her lip, she wagered to herself that all of the girls that been taken
held such a gift. But who is this mysterious Gwydionel-character, Peggy knew all the old legends involved in necromancy and all
the players who'd made their mark.

Back in the days of the Carnival, Madame Ruth Powler had taught her only issue well, the names of those who dallied with the mystic
forces that waited just beyond the clutches of regular folk and the dark energies they had wielded. The regularly-intoxicated Fortune
-Teller would impress on her daughter that these esoteric powers were not to be trifled with, a wisdom resided with them and was
not to be taken for granted.

The only man in Peggy's life, a father-figure -she'd later guess was Mister Volcano, the fair's fire-eater. During one the evenings
that she'd sit around the campfire outside his Hades-hued tent, this rangy tattoo-covered man had tossed her another of his special
candies and asked how her training was going. Jamming the Hellfire taffy into her mouth, the young girl had nodded robustly that
all was going well.

"I've heard tell of a woman who haunts the halls of the Otherside..." Mr Volcano said and kept his eyes towards the flames that followed
the sway of his dancing fingers. "...It's said she adores the colour of red and your mother..." the brooding man poked a thumb over his
shoulder towards where the nightly-inebriated clairvoyant slept beneath a tent embroidered with emblems of the supernatural and the
thaumaturgic. "...told me that I'd better watch out when I pass over" Jacob Volcano whispered and gave the girl in the green dress
a knowing wink.

The little cobbled lane that led to St. Martin's felt welcoming as Peggy and Thistle walked under the full moon. The hamlet was
fast asleep and small lights bobbed far out in the Great Sea, all was quiet and it was hard to believe such dark diabolic arts
waited somewhere just out of sight of this reality.

"Will you do me the honour of staying near my home tonight?" Thistle mumbled as they neared the gate to the empty meadow
and with a light pat on the Bogle's shoulder, his companion agreed with a thank you. Following the hawthorn hedgerow, they
emulated the silent village behind them.

The woods where Peggy had seen the footprint was nearby and as she wondered what possible connection the small impression
in the mud could have on the current investigation, Thistle's hand grabbed her poncho and stopped her in her tracks.

"Mind the hollow there..." he whispered in the dark, "here-there be rabbits" the Yetun giggled and pointed towards a grassy mound
just below the remains of an ancient lightning-struck elm tree. Reaching for a string-held key from under blouse, he casually remarked
something that made a faint light go on in his guest's mind. "Damned bolt-holes... you've gotta watch for them" 

Later, as she climbed into her satchel and wishing the weary-eyed thistle a good night's sleep, Peggy wondered if her plan would
be ready in time for the midsummer festival. Gaudy colours, a child-stealing horror and a village that was looking to the only force
that could deal with such uncanny mischievousness. Peggy breathed in deeply and vowed to herself that she should do better.
After all, the celebrations were only three evenings away.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 


Messages In This Thread
Peggy Powler & The Missing Children. - by BIAD - 04-16-2021, 02:34 PM
RE: Peggy Powler & The Missing Children. - by BIAD - 06-17-2021, 05:48 PM

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