Thistle's clear eyes twinkled from the shadows of the hedgerow as Peggy Powler waited for Kittie Bretton to return from
her evening meal. The quiet lane offered its own kind of magic to the spell-worker and her small friend in the bushes,
the remains of the sun sat heavy on the horizon where the Great Sea met the cloudless sky and seemed reluctant to
submerge into the deep green waters.
This was their world now, a place where humans assumed a day was spent, used-up and a had no value for the drudgery
that places like St. Martin's O' The Green held so dear. The tents -all tied and taut, stood behind where Peggy watched
the evening come to life and not unlike the changing of the day, marked the time for when their husks would also have
life breathed into their empty hearts.
All except the awning near the two standing-stones.
...................................................
It had been a busy afternoon, Kittie had tied brightly-coloured ribbons to the poles of the marquee and it would always
make the little girl smile because just as she was sure she'd gathered all of the braids and pennants from inside of the
Witch's mysterious satchel, there was always more when Kittie placed her hand inside.
Peggy had loosely attached the Bretton tapestry to the rear of the interior of the tent and was about to prepare the pair of
monoliths for their dressing when Jane Bowman nervously appeared at the entrance to the Green. Moving a moth-eaten
sack from one hand to her other, she opened the gate and approached the necromancer like a midnight mouse inspecting
a crumb of cheese.
"Fair travels, Ms Powler..." the skittish woman said quietly "...I've brought the item you requested". Peggy resisted the urge to
look around to see who or what Mrs Bowman might be wary of and also stifled a chuckle that Jane's long-ancestors may have
been Hiders. "Ah' thank thee" the Witch replied and with a guiding arm to her waist, steered the tense lady into the tent.
The rope was ideal. In fact, examining the hawser further, Peggy could see that it was two ropes carefully knotted together
and the connection partially hidden by one of the many strips of coloured cloth. "The ribbons even match the tones of the tent"
Jane offered hopefully with a weak smile and the the little woman checking the hemp agreed without looking up from her study.
"Aye, she's a beauty, Ah'' see yer fella is from Durridge, yes?" Peggy asked as she checked the binding where the ropes met.
Jane's small grin changed into an 'O' of surprise and her eyes attempted a similar shape. "Your magic never fails to..." but the
chary Mrs Bowman's exclamation was halted by a wave of the hand from the inspector of her gift.
"Nay lass, yon binding is a fisherman's knot and Ah' was just tekkin' a guess" Peggy said and widened her reassuring smile.
After some more light badinage regarding tomorrow's festival, the weather and how pretty the Fortune-Teller's marquee was
decked-out, Mrs Bowman scurried off back to where fearful people feel less apprehensive about the world that turns around
them. Peggy Powler returned to preparing for another realm that folk such as Jane would never dare to even contemplate.
...................................................
The sky became that captivating dark azure tone that only the stars can fully appreciate. Thistle Treacle had arrived with a
small cough to announce his presence, but hissed his reluctance to be a snatched meal by some passing owl.
Peggy's face remained stoic, but she did appreciate the his concerns and so left any idea of charming the little Bogle until
later.
Occasionally, a lantern in a cottage window would ape the radiance of the Yetun's eyes and both outsiders watched without
comment as a community settled down to wait out the darkness. Rooks, tired from a day of combing the fields for their fare,
passed overhead like black ghosts looking for a haunted house.
"Yer'll be fine..." the Witch leaning on the Green's gate said softly "...she's the kind of child that will keep our secret".
Thistle Treacle was still unconvinced, but with a sideways look towards a well-used track the rabbits use to travel the length
of the bushes along the lane, he kept his features neutral.
The girl's silhouette skipped lightly up the slight rise of the cobbled track and with a straightening of her poncho, Peggy
went to meet her. Kittie's eyes shone too, but not with Mr Treacle's wariness, but with a special wonder that only a child
can generate. The night was the lair of the monster, the haunt of the lusus naturae, the playground of the horror that shuns
the daylight.
"Fair travels, little 'un" the last Witch of Underhill cooed as Kittie soaked in her surroundings. She'd never been allowed
to be outside so late and certainly never this far from her home since Maggie had been taken. Whatever wizardry her
new friend had performed on her mother had certainly worked. "Fair elements, Ms Powler" Kittie replied faintly -but it
was obvious that the remaining child of Mary Bretton was still absorbed in the ambience of the Green.
Lifting the brim of her hat, Peggy waited for Kittie to look at her and then with a serious pose, she stated the situation.
"Lassie, Ah've a rare appeal to ask yer'... Can yer' keep a hugger-mugger?" Kittie's facial muscles moved slightly as
the hounds of suspicion raced across her mind. The night was an exciting place to be, but she was old enough to know
that demons waited here too.
"Hugger-mugger?" she asked and glanced towards the hedgerow where the wary Thistle waited, this was an expression
unknown to the girl and to prove it she shrugged. "A secret, me-girl" the Witch whispered and shone one of her famous
smiles. Kittie's head didn't come off and roll down the lane, but her vigorous nodding should have done that.
...................................................
"Good evening Sire, my name is Kittie Bretton and I'm happy to meet you" Kittie chirped cheerfully into the earthy-smelling
darkness of the hawthorn bush. Treacle Thistle sucked in a large gulp of air and wondered what ancient rules he might be
breaking. This just wasn't done, humans were never meant to interact with the Fae... it just wasn't done.
"Fair... fair elements, young Kittie" a voice replied from the shadows and ignoring the slight tutting from the Witch in the tall
hat, Treacle remained where he was at. With an uncertain glance towards the announcer of the chiding, Kittie wondered if
this was some sort of adult prank, but Peggy stepped forward to allay such doubts.
"Come out yer' bugger...!" the Witch grunted as -quickly leaning into the tenebrosity of the undergrowth, she hauled the little
man in the brown clothes from his hiding place. "...Ah' divna' have the time fur' such ditherings" she added as Treacle was
plucked out of his haven.
Peggy placed the squirming Fae onto the cobbles and braced herself to catch him if he ran, but Treacle only stood looking
ashamed and frightened at his exposure. The banner that Peggy had hoped the little being had brought with him now lay on
the the sea-stones of the lane, her exertions to reveal Treacle had caused it drop from his grip.
"I'm glad to meet you" Kittie said as if it was a regular encounter and brought a look of surprise from the Witch by the act of
a well-executed curtsy. The mild astonishment remained on Peggy's face as the Bogle took off his hat and bowed in response.
" I am Treacle Thistle, we are bonded by our respect for each other" he said confidently and with words once used from the
time of the High Elders.
Peggy smiled at her theory that sometimes, a special magic exists that no magician can concoct or draw from a potion.
Sometimes, life itself is the Seer.
...................................................
"...That's reet, but Ah' need yer' to watch fur when the rope twitches" Peggy explained to her two crouching companions.
Treacle peered over at the Witch holding the flickering candle and whimpered "you don't mean me too?" and with a small
gasp of relief, he accepted Peggy's shaking of the head.
The trio of would-be rescuers were in the tent and the ribbon-wrapped rope laying straight as a fossilised saltwater Wyrm,
disappeared under the canvas and waited directly between the two -now decorated, standing-stones behind them.
Like an angler's line, the thick lanyard waited for the bait to dangled.
"Nay Thistle, thee'll be watchin' from the cedars..." Peggy answered "...and if'n there's a dilemma, yer' te' say the words that
Ah' tell yer' soon" Treacle nodded, but his face showed he didn't fully understand. He'd earlier thought his tasks were over
when his banner had been fastened above the tent opening. A wobbly undertaking that involved all three of them, two lengths
of string and a balancing-act.
Passing the candle to the Yetun, the Witch of Underhill now reached for the bribe that would draw Gwydionel into Peggy's trap.
"The Bitch wivna' be able te' resist this beauty" Peggy whispered as she took the Bretton tapestry down from its place and urged
the girl and the Bogle to accompany her outside with a wave of her head. "Howay me-partners!" she hissed with a smirk.
With the same acrobatic feat that was needed to erect Treacle's banner onto the tent, Peggy Powler, Kittie Bretton and Treacle
Thistle hung the large piece of ornate arras on the back of the Fortune-Telling marquee. The trap had been set.
...................................................
"Goodnight Kittie..." the kindly Witch said as the little girl opened the door of her mother's cottage. "...And remember, not a
word" she added and from her position at the garden gate, pointed towards the darkness of the shrubbery that ran the length
of the lane. Kittie nodded and made the sign of a stitched-mouth, an expression that lit-up the Witch's face with relief.
Ten minutes later and after explaining her assistance in readying the tent to her mother, Kittie swished her nightdress as she
stepped up to her bedroom window and peered out into the night. The meeting between Mr Thistle and herself was omitted
from the account she'd given her mother and gazing at the dull-white track that led towards the Green, Kittie realised it was
just another of her secrets about the night that she'd never told anyone.
Getting into bed, Kittie would never know that the brown-clothed reason for her secret was now watching the cottage from the
shadows of the bushes. And as the downstairs lantern was snuffed, the weary Treacle Thistle accompanied the also-tired Peggy
back towards his home.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
her evening meal. The quiet lane offered its own kind of magic to the spell-worker and her small friend in the bushes,
the remains of the sun sat heavy on the horizon where the Great Sea met the cloudless sky and seemed reluctant to
submerge into the deep green waters.
This was their world now, a place where humans assumed a day was spent, used-up and a had no value for the drudgery
that places like St. Martin's O' The Green held so dear. The tents -all tied and taut, stood behind where Peggy watched
the evening come to life and not unlike the changing of the day, marked the time for when their husks would also have
life breathed into their empty hearts.
All except the awning near the two standing-stones.
...................................................
It had been a busy afternoon, Kittie had tied brightly-coloured ribbons to the poles of the marquee and it would always
make the little girl smile because just as she was sure she'd gathered all of the braids and pennants from inside of the
Witch's mysterious satchel, there was always more when Kittie placed her hand inside.
Peggy had loosely attached the Bretton tapestry to the rear of the interior of the tent and was about to prepare the pair of
monoliths for their dressing when Jane Bowman nervously appeared at the entrance to the Green. Moving a moth-eaten
sack from one hand to her other, she opened the gate and approached the necromancer like a midnight mouse inspecting
a crumb of cheese.
"Fair travels, Ms Powler..." the skittish woman said quietly "...I've brought the item you requested". Peggy resisted the urge to
look around to see who or what Mrs Bowman might be wary of and also stifled a chuckle that Jane's long-ancestors may have
been Hiders. "Ah' thank thee" the Witch replied and with a guiding arm to her waist, steered the tense lady into the tent.
The rope was ideal. In fact, examining the hawser further, Peggy could see that it was two ropes carefully knotted together
and the connection partially hidden by one of the many strips of coloured cloth. "The ribbons even match the tones of the tent"
Jane offered hopefully with a weak smile and the the little woman checking the hemp agreed without looking up from her study.
"Aye, she's a beauty, Ah'' see yer fella is from Durridge, yes?" Peggy asked as she checked the binding where the ropes met.
Jane's small grin changed into an 'O' of surprise and her eyes attempted a similar shape. "Your magic never fails to..." but the
chary Mrs Bowman's exclamation was halted by a wave of the hand from the inspector of her gift.
"Nay lass, yon binding is a fisherman's knot and Ah' was just tekkin' a guess" Peggy said and widened her reassuring smile.
After some more light badinage regarding tomorrow's festival, the weather and how pretty the Fortune-Teller's marquee was
decked-out, Mrs Bowman scurried off back to where fearful people feel less apprehensive about the world that turns around
them. Peggy Powler returned to preparing for another realm that folk such as Jane would never dare to even contemplate.
...................................................
The sky became that captivating dark azure tone that only the stars can fully appreciate. Thistle Treacle had arrived with a
small cough to announce his presence, but hissed his reluctance to be a snatched meal by some passing owl.
Peggy's face remained stoic, but she did appreciate the his concerns and so left any idea of charming the little Bogle until
later.
Occasionally, a lantern in a cottage window would ape the radiance of the Yetun's eyes and both outsiders watched without
comment as a community settled down to wait out the darkness. Rooks, tired from a day of combing the fields for their fare,
passed overhead like black ghosts looking for a haunted house.
"Yer'll be fine..." the Witch leaning on the Green's gate said softly "...she's the kind of child that will keep our secret".
Thistle Treacle was still unconvinced, but with a sideways look towards a well-used track the rabbits use to travel the length
of the bushes along the lane, he kept his features neutral.
The girl's silhouette skipped lightly up the slight rise of the cobbled track and with a straightening of her poncho, Peggy
went to meet her. Kittie's eyes shone too, but not with Mr Treacle's wariness, but with a special wonder that only a child
can generate. The night was the lair of the monster, the haunt of the lusus naturae, the playground of the horror that shuns
the daylight.
"Fair travels, little 'un" the last Witch of Underhill cooed as Kittie soaked in her surroundings. She'd never been allowed
to be outside so late and certainly never this far from her home since Maggie had been taken. Whatever wizardry her
new friend had performed on her mother had certainly worked. "Fair elements, Ms Powler" Kittie replied faintly -but it
was obvious that the remaining child of Mary Bretton was still absorbed in the ambience of the Green.
Lifting the brim of her hat, Peggy waited for Kittie to look at her and then with a serious pose, she stated the situation.
"Lassie, Ah've a rare appeal to ask yer'... Can yer' keep a hugger-mugger?" Kittie's facial muscles moved slightly as
the hounds of suspicion raced across her mind. The night was an exciting place to be, but she was old enough to know
that demons waited here too.
"Hugger-mugger?" she asked and glanced towards the hedgerow where the wary Thistle waited, this was an expression
unknown to the girl and to prove it she shrugged. "A secret, me-girl" the Witch whispered and shone one of her famous
smiles. Kittie's head didn't come off and roll down the lane, but her vigorous nodding should have done that.
...................................................
"Good evening Sire, my name is Kittie Bretton and I'm happy to meet you" Kittie chirped cheerfully into the earthy-smelling
darkness of the hawthorn bush. Treacle Thistle sucked in a large gulp of air and wondered what ancient rules he might be
breaking. This just wasn't done, humans were never meant to interact with the Fae... it just wasn't done.
"Fair... fair elements, young Kittie" a voice replied from the shadows and ignoring the slight tutting from the Witch in the tall
hat, Treacle remained where he was at. With an uncertain glance towards the announcer of the chiding, Kittie wondered if
this was some sort of adult prank, but Peggy stepped forward to allay such doubts.
"Come out yer' bugger...!" the Witch grunted as -quickly leaning into the tenebrosity of the undergrowth, she hauled the little
man in the brown clothes from his hiding place. "...Ah' divna' have the time fur' such ditherings" she added as Treacle was
plucked out of his haven.
Peggy placed the squirming Fae onto the cobbles and braced herself to catch him if he ran, but Treacle only stood looking
ashamed and frightened at his exposure. The banner that Peggy had hoped the little being had brought with him now lay on
the the sea-stones of the lane, her exertions to reveal Treacle had caused it drop from his grip.
"I'm glad to meet you" Kittie said as if it was a regular encounter and brought a look of surprise from the Witch by the act of
a well-executed curtsy. The mild astonishment remained on Peggy's face as the Bogle took off his hat and bowed in response.
" I am Treacle Thistle, we are bonded by our respect for each other" he said confidently and with words once used from the
time of the High Elders.
Peggy smiled at her theory that sometimes, a special magic exists that no magician can concoct or draw from a potion.
Sometimes, life itself is the Seer.
...................................................
"...That's reet, but Ah' need yer' to watch fur when the rope twitches" Peggy explained to her two crouching companions.
Treacle peered over at the Witch holding the flickering candle and whimpered "you don't mean me too?" and with a small
gasp of relief, he accepted Peggy's shaking of the head.
The trio of would-be rescuers were in the tent and the ribbon-wrapped rope laying straight as a fossilised saltwater Wyrm,
disappeared under the canvas and waited directly between the two -now decorated, standing-stones behind them.
Like an angler's line, the thick lanyard waited for the bait to dangled.
"Nay Thistle, thee'll be watchin' from the cedars..." Peggy answered "...and if'n there's a dilemma, yer' te' say the words that
Ah' tell yer' soon" Treacle nodded, but his face showed he didn't fully understand. He'd earlier thought his tasks were over
when his banner had been fastened above the tent opening. A wobbly undertaking that involved all three of them, two lengths
of string and a balancing-act.
Passing the candle to the Yetun, the Witch of Underhill now reached for the bribe that would draw Gwydionel into Peggy's trap.
"The Bitch wivna' be able te' resist this beauty" Peggy whispered as she took the Bretton tapestry down from its place and urged
the girl and the Bogle to accompany her outside with a wave of her head. "Howay me-partners!" she hissed with a smirk.
With the same acrobatic feat that was needed to erect Treacle's banner onto the tent, Peggy Powler, Kittie Bretton and Treacle
Thistle hung the large piece of ornate arras on the back of the Fortune-Telling marquee. The trap had been set.
...................................................
"Goodnight Kittie..." the kindly Witch said as the little girl opened the door of her mother's cottage. "...And remember, not a
word" she added and from her position at the garden gate, pointed towards the darkness of the shrubbery that ran the length
of the lane. Kittie nodded and made the sign of a stitched-mouth, an expression that lit-up the Witch's face with relief.
Ten minutes later and after explaining her assistance in readying the tent to her mother, Kittie swished her nightdress as she
stepped up to her bedroom window and peered out into the night. The meeting between Mr Thistle and herself was omitted
from the account she'd given her mother and gazing at the dull-white track that led towards the Green, Kittie realised it was
just another of her secrets about the night that she'd never told anyone.
Getting into bed, Kittie would never know that the brown-clothed reason for her secret was now watching the cottage from the
shadows of the bushes. And as the downstairs lantern was snuffed, the weary Treacle Thistle accompanied the also-tired Peggy
back towards his home.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.