"Yer' a piece of work, Ah'll give yer' that..." Peggy Powler snarled as she held out her arm towards the confused coy-wolf. "...and Ah'd
be grateful if yer' control yer pet" she added, swivelling her gaze from the man laid on the floor and the growling mutt in the fur coat.
Duckworth Bowe retained a smile to his long-lost friend as he checked his nose for bleeding and without taking his eyes off Peggy,
snapped one word and the fanged beast suddenly became the playful fur-ball from the trek across the desert. The tongue-lolling
wolf took up its tail wagging again and retreated to an old rug in the corner of the room.
"Still my best girl, Peggy" Duckworth smirked as he got to his feet and speculated if she'd found it in her heart to forgive him.
However, there was no such single locution or exculpation from the daughter of the man wiping dust from his denim pants, when she
suddenly slammed a chair across the back of Peggy's head and felled her like a tree. A small tree, mind you.
...................................................
Sarah peered into the canvas satchel and wondered why the wandering Witch would carry it around considering it was empty.
The woman's perplexed features brought a smile to her father as he looked up from his reading. "It's a magic bag, my dear daughter...
only Peggy holds its power" he said and glanced towards the bedroom where the unconscious owner of the pouch was laid.
After carrying the subdued sorceress into Sarah's quarters at the rear of the hut, Duckworth had struggled to scold his only issue for
the actions of her temper and when asked why Peggy had lashed out at him, the retired Doctor of the occult had merely returned to
his books without answering. The young Bowe woman guessed -just like many facets of her father's mysterious past, it would be a
long and complicated explanation.
...................................................
It had been only weeks after leaving the Carnival when a seventeen year-old rain-soaked Peggy Powler had arrived at a small wood
near to the village of Hatton in the Corn. The summer shower had caught the girl unawares as she'd taken a short-cut across a field
that displayed why the small community had gained its name and with most of the day still ahead, she ceded that a few minutes under
some heavy foliage would allow her single item of attire to dry off.
Peggy had enjoyed her solitude and used the quiet journey to recollect the spells and charms that her mother had given her. The little
teenager had taken Madame Powler's certitude that her future would bring further opportunities to acquire more and hopefully, a better
-fitting hat than the one Mr Volcano had donated her.
"It suits you, lass..." the fire-eater had assured the prospective poncho-wearing necromancer beaming outside of his tent and adjusted
it to keep the sun out of the new owner's eyes. "Your Ma told me it has magic, but it's never revealed it's hocus-pocus to me" he said
and smiled back at the girl he considered one of his kin.
Peggy stared up at the tattoo-covered Carnival attraction and whispered "Ah'm gonna miss you". She'd hugged him then and smelling
his familiar scent of brimstone and cooling lava, she hoped the wide verge of his gift would hide her tear-filled eyes.
Now standing in the breeze-cool copse, the occasional raindrop evaded the leaves and drummed a single beat onto her big hat that
brought back good memories of her time before this backcountry quest to improve her powers of majick. The shower would be over
soon -Peggy thought to herself and then she'd ply her trade in the hamlet that waited down the road. Maybe a place to spend the
night might present itself -she convinced herself buoyantly and smiled up at the dripping folioles.
It felt good to be alive.
...................................................
Back in the desert, an older Peggy Powler moaned softly as she opened her eyes and peered at the reason for the wakening.
Unlike the fresh rain she'd felt on her face as a fledgling Witch, she now endured a wolf's long tongue licking moisture across her
nose and lips. "Gah, yer' mutt" she whispered and noted the dull ache from the back of her head.
Remaining where she was, the last Witch of Underhill gently pushed the coy-wolf away and contemplated her situation.
Duckworth Bowe was alive after all, he had a daughter -and probably the one that walloped her from behind. There was also the
fact that either Duckworth or his daughter wrote the poem and from the last words the Doctor had spoken, the verses had been
scribed to draw herself or Myrddin to this godforsaken place.
But for what purpose...? Had the harrowing spectre of the Dancing Dead reappeared or was it just a cruel piece of bait to entice
a fellow-magician to this cabin in the desert? Questions that need answering and a bruise that needs healing, Peggy thought as
she listened to the occasional descant in the next room.
With only the sound of a large tame lupus panting next-door, the wincing Witch slowly moved her hand to inside of her poncho
and felt around for what she needed. The candy-less candy-stick was still there, but Peggy was confident enough of the treat
remained on the sliver of wood to perform its function. "Maltose" she murmured to herself and began the spell.
...................................................
"...And I can assure you good people of Hatton in the Corn, that such a pathosis will not come here" the middle-aged bearded
man in the long gown proclaimed to the crowd standing around the village well. There were two of them -Peggy noticed as she
neared the centre of hamlet. The younger figure alongside the composed announcer standing on the wall of the watering place
was offering the same congregation a winning smile and the young Witch noted that he was also nodding in the right places.
" But Mr Mirror, what's pathosis?" someone in the twenty-or-so keenly-listening assembly asked and the man who had made the
claim emulated a grin similar to his cohort. "I'm sorry, I meant curse or your assumed worry..." he explained with a tone of courtesy
and added "...and my name is Myrddin".
After giving his assurance that he and his colleague would locate and destroy this unknown dilemma, the sanguine man called
Myrddin advised the congregation to return to their homes and feel confident their woes are unfounded. Peggy stood beside a
snoozing mule and patted its nose as she watched the scene before her. Maybe it was her young callow years, maybe it was a
hidden envy of having such sway of a group that bothered the rookie Witch or maybe she was right on the mark... but her initial
thoughts were that the two men were just full of...
...................................................
"How's your head, Peggy?" Doctor Bowe asked softly and pulled the reminiscing sorceress from her memories.
be grateful if yer' control yer pet" she added, swivelling her gaze from the man laid on the floor and the growling mutt in the fur coat.
Duckworth Bowe retained a smile to his long-lost friend as he checked his nose for bleeding and without taking his eyes off Peggy,
snapped one word and the fanged beast suddenly became the playful fur-ball from the trek across the desert. The tongue-lolling
wolf took up its tail wagging again and retreated to an old rug in the corner of the room.
"Still my best girl, Peggy" Duckworth smirked as he got to his feet and speculated if she'd found it in her heart to forgive him.
However, there was no such single locution or exculpation from the daughter of the man wiping dust from his denim pants, when she
suddenly slammed a chair across the back of Peggy's head and felled her like a tree. A small tree, mind you.
...................................................
Sarah peered into the canvas satchel and wondered why the wandering Witch would carry it around considering it was empty.
The woman's perplexed features brought a smile to her father as he looked up from his reading. "It's a magic bag, my dear daughter...
only Peggy holds its power" he said and glanced towards the bedroom where the unconscious owner of the pouch was laid.
After carrying the subdued sorceress into Sarah's quarters at the rear of the hut, Duckworth had struggled to scold his only issue for
the actions of her temper and when asked why Peggy had lashed out at him, the retired Doctor of the occult had merely returned to
his books without answering. The young Bowe woman guessed -just like many facets of her father's mysterious past, it would be a
long and complicated explanation.
...................................................
It had been only weeks after leaving the Carnival when a seventeen year-old rain-soaked Peggy Powler had arrived at a small wood
near to the village of Hatton in the Corn. The summer shower had caught the girl unawares as she'd taken a short-cut across a field
that displayed why the small community had gained its name and with most of the day still ahead, she ceded that a few minutes under
some heavy foliage would allow her single item of attire to dry off.
Peggy had enjoyed her solitude and used the quiet journey to recollect the spells and charms that her mother had given her. The little
teenager had taken Madame Powler's certitude that her future would bring further opportunities to acquire more and hopefully, a better
-fitting hat than the one Mr Volcano had donated her.
"It suits you, lass..." the fire-eater had assured the prospective poncho-wearing necromancer beaming outside of his tent and adjusted
it to keep the sun out of the new owner's eyes. "Your Ma told me it has magic, but it's never revealed it's hocus-pocus to me" he said
and smiled back at the girl he considered one of his kin.
Peggy stared up at the tattoo-covered Carnival attraction and whispered "Ah'm gonna miss you". She'd hugged him then and smelling
his familiar scent of brimstone and cooling lava, she hoped the wide verge of his gift would hide her tear-filled eyes.
Now standing in the breeze-cool copse, the occasional raindrop evaded the leaves and drummed a single beat onto her big hat that
brought back good memories of her time before this backcountry quest to improve her powers of majick. The shower would be over
soon -Peggy thought to herself and then she'd ply her trade in the hamlet that waited down the road. Maybe a place to spend the
night might present itself -she convinced herself buoyantly and smiled up at the dripping folioles.
It felt good to be alive.
...................................................
Back in the desert, an older Peggy Powler moaned softly as she opened her eyes and peered at the reason for the wakening.
Unlike the fresh rain she'd felt on her face as a fledgling Witch, she now endured a wolf's long tongue licking moisture across her
nose and lips. "Gah, yer' mutt" she whispered and noted the dull ache from the back of her head.
Remaining where she was, the last Witch of Underhill gently pushed the coy-wolf away and contemplated her situation.
Duckworth Bowe was alive after all, he had a daughter -and probably the one that walloped her from behind. There was also the
fact that either Duckworth or his daughter wrote the poem and from the last words the Doctor had spoken, the verses had been
scribed to draw herself or Myrddin to this godforsaken place.
But for what purpose...? Had the harrowing spectre of the Dancing Dead reappeared or was it just a cruel piece of bait to entice
a fellow-magician to this cabin in the desert? Questions that need answering and a bruise that needs healing, Peggy thought as
she listened to the occasional descant in the next room.
With only the sound of a large tame lupus panting next-door, the wincing Witch slowly moved her hand to inside of her poncho
and felt around for what she needed. The candy-less candy-stick was still there, but Peggy was confident enough of the treat
remained on the sliver of wood to perform its function. "Maltose" she murmured to herself and began the spell.
...................................................
"...And I can assure you good people of Hatton in the Corn, that such a pathosis will not come here" the middle-aged bearded
man in the long gown proclaimed to the crowd standing around the village well. There were two of them -Peggy noticed as she
neared the centre of hamlet. The younger figure alongside the composed announcer standing on the wall of the watering place
was offering the same congregation a winning smile and the young Witch noted that he was also nodding in the right places.
" But Mr Mirror, what's pathosis?" someone in the twenty-or-so keenly-listening assembly asked and the man who had made the
claim emulated a grin similar to his cohort. "I'm sorry, I meant curse or your assumed worry..." he explained with a tone of courtesy
and added "...and my name is Myrddin".
After giving his assurance that he and his colleague would locate and destroy this unknown dilemma, the sanguine man called
Myrddin advised the congregation to return to their homes and feel confident their woes are unfounded. Peggy stood beside a
snoozing mule and patted its nose as she watched the scene before her. Maybe it was her young callow years, maybe it was a
hidden envy of having such sway of a group that bothered the rookie Witch or maybe she was right on the mark... but her initial
thoughts were that the two men were just full of...
...................................................
"How's your head, Peggy?" Doctor Bowe asked softly and pulled the reminiscing sorceress from her memories.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.