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Peggy Powler & The Missing Children.
#39
The selfish seagull unknowingly became Peggy Powler's alarm-clock when it screeched its indignation of a returning boat
from the Great Sea disrupting its butter-eel hunt. Even though the breeze-powered Coble was nowhere near the quiet lagoon
of the estuary where the bird was in pursuit of the slippery anguilla, the yellow-beaked predator still felt the need to give vent
to the sailor's affront.

The last Witch of Underhill opened one squinting eye and took stock of her brightly-lit surroundings. Ignoring the faint cries of
the fish-buzzard, Peggy took a guess by the place of the sun in the clear sky that it was late morning and as her awareness
took full-hold, she also realised she was laid on her satchel.

Sitting up, she noticed a small well-stoked campfire nearby with a kettle hanging from two branches jammed in the soil on
either side of the glowing chunks of wood. The small fishing boat passed by and Peggy felt the realisation that nature was
somehow creating book-ends to her recent adventure at St. Martin's O' The Green.

"Fair travels" the fisherman called and still feeling a hint of weariness, Peggy merely waved back this time and allowing
the peaceful location to wash over her, she watched the sailing-skiff move off further down the dune grass-covered beach.
Tradition had been a fellow-traveller with Ms Powler on many of her experiences and so she felt the need to retain the
custom to reply to the seafarer's acknowledgement.
"Enjoy a clear wake, Sir" the Witch muttered and offered a single nod.

It was just as the warm breeze kissed her sleep-sagging face and Peggy caught the whiff of fresh chicory-coffee riding the
sea-draft, that her internal-radar suddenly told her that she wasn't alone. Turning her head back to the mini-bivouac, she
spied Treacle Thistle busy pouring a mug of the brew without burning his little hands. Hands that were bound with cloth.

"G'mornin'" Peggy mumbled and immediately felt her muscles scream as she began to stand up. "Oh my...!" she croaked
as she forced her back to straighten, "...the years are catchin' me up!" she added and refused the need to yawn. It wasn't
until she was at her full height that she also could smell her own body-odour and hesitated to approach the Yetun with the
dented tin-cup.

"Your bath awaits... and you're not getting your coffee until you've been in the water" Treacle said in a faux-stern voice and
pointed one of his bandaged hands towards the estuary. His cheery smile assured his friend that everything was okay and
last night's ordeal held no residue to spoil the current situation.

Seawater holds a magic all of its own, who knows what elements it picks up and carries as it travels the world to serene
havens like the one Peggy Powler waded into. Stripping off the soiled clothes of Maggie Bretton, the grinning Witch soaked
in the warm tidal-creek and washed herself of the previous evening's nightmare.

"Is everything okay?" Peggy called up to the tall screen of beach-grass that saved Treacle's bashfulness of seeing his friend
naked. The answer that came was accompanied a mug-holding hand coming the through the high strands and the Yetun's
friend accepted the coffee gratefully. "Everything is just fine" the hidden voice replied confidently.

And it was. As Peggy gobbled-down her breakfast of fried bacon, a brown biscuit almost as big as a certain Elfin's head and
plump tomatoes -that the ravenous sorceress guessed were from a villager's garden, Treacle Thistle disclosed his findings
since Peggy had fainted last night.

Simply put, what the blistered Bogle had said as he had supplied his coastal guest during her briny ablutions with a hot brew,
was an accurate summary. Now in her familiar poncho and hat, Peggy listened intensely as her host laid it all out.

Maggie Bretton rose from her bed this morning and after her usual quarrel with her younger sister, begrudgingly assisted her
mother with washing the family's laundry in the back garden. This morsel of news brought a glance towards the drying clothes
from the listening theurgist.

Becky Caldwell had scrubbed her knee when she'd ran too-fast during the early-morning deliveries of her parents' bakery fare.
Right now, Arthur Caldwell was recounting the biscuits he made only that dawn and coming to the conclusion that his daughter
fancied one of his oven-baked treats. Mr Thistle's cheeks seemed to take on a slight rosy-hue as he related this part of his report.

Adjusting his bandages, Treacle had added other accounts that showed that time had been reversed to a point before the harridan
known as Gwydionel had began her collection of children. Peggy mused to herself if the ogress actually knew that the girls were
Chimers. She left the pondering for something the little Witch felt was more important.
Fixing Treacle's well-earned wounds.
...................................................

"I have to see someone soon" Treacle said warily as he peeked his face out of Peggy's satchel. The countryside belonged
to those like the Bogle, but they were getting close to St. Martin's now and it would be prudent to maintain the perspective
most villages adhere to, that Fae-folk may exist, but they don't walk their streets in broad daylight.

The smiling enchanter placed a mental wager that Treacle's engagement had something to do with Juno and his friends.
Clicking Farmer Bulmer's gate closed, Peggy's grin widened as she realised her little Yetun had  been accepted back with
his people.

"Then 'Ah'll drop yer' off and be on me-way, okay...?" she replied easily and waited for Treacle to rush with an explanation.
However, the contents of her trusty canvas bag remained quiet.
...................................................

Juno took some time to lure out the shadows of the hawthorn bush where Peggy had first encountered him, but his timid
companions never left the gloom of the foliage. With the events of the previous night occurring right before their eyes, the
carefully-moving Witch mentally agreed the cautious creatures had every reason to be circumspect.

Checking quickly towards the dry-stone wall that separated the rarely-used thistle-ridden meadow and the field where sheep
lethargically grazed, the little Fae in the same blue blouse his visitor had first met him wearing, stared up at the Witch that
they believed had vanquished the Snatcher. Peggy resisted the need to meet the wide eyes in the bush's undergrowth and
kept a smile on her face throughout the meeting with Juno, their elected leader.

"The sun will be startin' his trek south soon and 'Ah'll be on me-way too..." the poncho-wearing Witch began "...The evil
that fed off this village has gone and 'Ah have a boon to ask of you good-people" Peggy added and slowly reached for her
nap-sack.

Juno's eyes tracked her movements and as the satchel's flap was raised, she announced "this is the real hero that saved
the humans last night and I would like you to look after him in case the hag returns". Treacle's hat-less head popped out of
the opening and meekly grinned at his own kind. "Hello" was all he offered.
...................................................

The marshes look so peaceful as Peggy Powler stood on the gravelled path that led to the treacherous bog, the noon-day
sun cast no ominous shadows amongst the tall rushes that occasionally moved in the coastal breeze. Soaking in the warm
solitude of the place, the Witch took off her wide-rimmed hat and bowed her head and softly, cleared her throat.
With a deep breath, Peggy readied herself to pay her gratitude to 'Those Of The Marshes'.

Gazing at the flints of stone that mixed with the short grass next to the life-taking quagmire, she pondered on what the future
held for such elemental creatures. The times were changing and as the drunkard fisherman Elijah Cole had hinted at, majick
was becoming a gift that humans only entertained when all else failed and snorted at by those who lose their spirit of awe at
the world they cannot see or touch.

Peggy smiled sadly at the little chunks of aggregate and unkempt sod, but accepted her lot with grace. For good or ill, the last
Witch of Underhill would carry on and if her supernatural skills would be no longer needed, then she'd be happy to spend out
her days with those who dwelled within the fenland waterways and who managed the coastal morass.

"You have my eternal respect and favour..." Peggy pronounced in Elder-Speak, "...For the courage you displayed and the
succour you submitted to those who cannot perceive your presence. May your times be of peace" she concluded and turned
back towards the woodland that hid the lonely wetland from St Martin's O' The Green.
...................................................

The sound of punished iron clanged out from the shadows of the Blacksmith's mill and as Peggy Powler peeked past the
big door, her thoughts were on the range of the time reset. Had Hattie Marney returned to her former life of Harriet Heron
or had she been spared and now still cleaved to Daniel the farrier?

"Can I help you Ma'am?" the big-muscled Smithy asked politely as he wiped sooty-sweat from his brow, the handsome man
placed his hammer down beside the cartwheel he'd been working on and faced the little visitor from out of town. Poking her
head discreetly into the warm interior of the barn, Peggy answered that she was just passing by and wondered what the noise
was.

"Well, I'm kind of busy, so I'll get back to my work" Daniel said agreeably and with a tip on an invisible hat, went back to forging
a rim for somebody's conveyance. Peggy nodded and had just begun to turn back to the bright sunlit-track that led into village,
when she saw a recognisable figure entering a door near the back of the foundry.

"Grannie said she'd be expecting us at seven for supper" Hattie Marney -nee Heron called to her burly husband and got on
with supplying wind to the embers in her man's hearth. "Oh, hello" the pleasant-faced woman said absently and went back to
pumping the bellows.
A wave was all the little Witch offered and left with a huge grin on her face. Treacle was right, things were going to be okay.
...................................................

It was late afternoon and St. Martin's O' The Green soaked in the summer sun. Jane Bowman watched her little girl chase
a red butterfly along the path of their cottage and thought about the visit she'd suggested to her husband. Alice was hoping
to get married soon and the her beau was a Durridge fisherman that her man was sure he knew.

May-Bell's attention waned from the fluttering bug as she now stood at the gate looking out at someone beneath a tall hat
and grubby-looking poncho. Jane's maternal instincts clicked upwards as the stranger waved to the girl.
"Fair travels" the little woman chirped and began to rummage in a bag that hung from her narrow shoulders.

Jane quickly covered the space between her doorstep and little May-Bell, you can never be too careful when these outsiders
wandered into this peaceful village. Bad things kept away from St. Martin's and vigilance was one of the reasons.
"Good elements to you-too" Jane replied with a smile that never reached her eyes and without thinking, placed a hand on her
daughter's warm head. 

"A sunflower for yer' little lass..." the stranger said and produced the large flower from her satchel, "...something to bring a smile
to the kiddie's face" she added with a wink. Mrs Bowman muttered a thank you and without another word, the little bare-footed
woman was on her way and that was fine with Jane.
You can never be too careful, she thought again and ushered May-Bell back towards the cottage.
...................................................

"That's a Delphinium and they are Foxgloves..." Kittie Bretton brightly informed the odd-looking stranger looking over the gate
of her mother's well-kept garden. Peggy had resisted the urge to slow her pace back towards where monolith-strewn lawn was
waiting, but seeing the girl crouched down investigating the world of a sleeping snail, she now happily acknowledge her failure.

Kittie squinted in the sunlight at the woman in the tall hat and Peggy could only wonder what thoughts were rattling around in
that beautiful head of the little girl that had saved her from the evil force and had stolen one of her family.
"...Me and Maggie -that's my sister, helped my Ma to plant them" she added with a note of pride.

The Witch wiggled her toes and fought the need to invade the Bretton property in order to hug the lass, it took some willpower,
but she just managed it. "Aye me-darlin', it's a fine garth... a fine one indeed" Peggy exclaimed and fighting off a bout of tears,
she waved and went on her way.

"You be careful out there among the little-folk..." Kittie called cheerfully from the gate, "...and stay clear of toadstool-rings and
crooked sixpences" the tinkling voice added. With that, the youngest of the Bretton clan went back to figuring out that if a snail
wears its home on its back, why weren't there any windows on its shell.

As her shadow leaned ahead of her on the cobbled lane, Ms Powler who had fought countless demons, expelled unruly ghosts
from family homes and slain Werewolves that had really been the belle of Bander's Edge, let her weeping of happiness come.
'You've done good' she heard a certain clairvoyant of a carnival say.

The familiar path to the Green sparkled in the jewels of her own tears as Peggy made her way to her last destination before
leaving St. Martin's, the home of Turnip Mudd. Passing the collection of standing-stones and the rabbit-grazed terrace they sat
on, the floppy hat-wearing wizard noticed that all the equipment from the Summer-Eve Fete had gone.

For a moment, Peggy thought she saw a shadow in the cedars move and then decided it was probably just a snooping bird
looking for a blind grub to have for a late lunch. Still, those who had long ago inhabited the swathes of forest of this part of the
county had also helped in the banishment of Gwydionel, the Bitch O' the Hill.

If a ghost of a Hider had been looking, they'd have seen a little woman in a tall hat bowing low towards the cedars and who
knows, maybe that sap-daubed phantom may have bowed back.

And while we're deliberating on likelihoods, maybe Farmer Bulmer's mermaid had left his dreams too?
Peggy ruminated on this as she wiped the self-induced kaleidoscope from her eyes and collecting herself, she scolded her
manner and advised her sentimental side that the day was getting on and she had places to be.

...................................................

"So yer'll be Peggy Powler, the scourge of the Haunters and the bane of Banshees?" the bearded Gnome asked sarcastically
from the top of the dry-stone wall that accompanied Calder's Way. It was obvious to the approaching Witch that the little Yetun
sitting beside him would make a poor thespian if his future required it.

The sea-bricked highway waited patiently for the recipient of the question to decide which direction she would take and with a
glance towards further down the coast, Peggy kept her choice to herself.

Around a grin of delight, the lonely road-walker responded to the rude hermit that went by the name of Turnip Mudd and his smile
-stifling partner. "Aye, me-good Gents, that'll be me and fair travels to yer' both" Peggy snapped off with a tone of well-enjoyed
merriment and she even tossed in a doffing of her hat for good measure.

Turnip -one that rarely showed such features of goodwill, began to chuckle, it was one of those simple acts of euphoria that is
contagious and difficult to ignore. So much so -that if anyone had cared to wander up the little lane from St. Martin's, they'd
have observed a crouching bare-assed-revealing Witch on all fours with spittle dribbling from her guffawing mouth, a scruffy
-looking Gnome rolling around on a flat piece of wall-granite and a Bogle making wheezing sounds and holding his privates
to stop an accident. A trio of nincompoops braying with laughter like donkeys at the seaside.

But nobody did and for almost a minute, another type of magic enjoyed the late-warmth of the day.

After the hilarity drifted away and left their respective bodies feeling weak -but content, Peggy stepped towards the pair of Fae
who'd help save the village and embraced her favourite friends. They looked good sitting there on their lichen-covered craggy
thrones.

Peggy Powler gave a beguiling look to Turnip and Treacle respectively and then nodded without comment, enough had been said.
In the quiet of the countryside and with only a far-off croak of petulant pheasant, the little sorceress turned towards her destiny.

Another season awaited along Calder's Way and probably another spooky episode also tarried there for the last Witch of Underhill
called Peggy Powler.

The End.

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 - 10-05-2021, 01:16 PM

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