Peggy Powler & The Metal Man.

[BIAD]

When a very cold and hungry Jasper Forster finally climbed down from from his place of refuge, he reminded himself
that he would be better off not mentioning to anyone in Mornington and especially nobody in his family of what had
witnessed last night.

The village was abundant enough with tales of ghostly visitations and night-time strangers being glimpsed from twitching
curtains, to relate his story of the weird thing he'd seen during his time up in the large oak tree might just bring questions
of why he was up there in the first place.

For a few years, Glaston County had become famous for those with a bent towards maintaining the old ways. With the
new religion slowly seeping into the rustic way of life, the change from old to new was a slow process. For many who'd
adhered to abiding with nature and a semi-coactive partnership with the land, such a notion was being eroded and the
brand 'Pagan' wasn't too-far from becoming a slur.

The annual Pumpkin Festival and the Spook Lantern Parade had already been frowned upon by the magisterial Elders of
Mornington. This year, the sole reason of why the sheltered little settlement sitting below a man-made hill still could draw
some pre-winter income from the meteorological event, appeared on the committee minutes of those who enacted laws
for those who elect them.

Maybe it was time to move on, maybe the eternal clock of life ran on the need to change and kept the spider-webs of
social-hebetude from holding back better ways of living? But even for the ten year-old tree-climber listening to his stomach
growling, he knew Mornington would feel the impact of such adjustment. New religions meant new styles of worship and
Jasper's village drew income from purely being situated in a place where those who followed the old ways came to see
an example of what they believed in.

However, the cloud-phenomena hadn't happened last year or even the year before. The medium-sized crowds of those who
had believed that the celestial reflections were connected to a dying culture that involved folklore and Fae fables had now
dwindled down to some bare-footed vagabond that Jasper had seen wandering into the village yesterday afternoon.

Making sure Mrs Goodwin -or Herne-forbid her daughter Rosalie, wouldn't catch sight of him wandering through the brush
at this early hour, Jasper Forster pulled his coat-collar up to his chin and made for home and a much-needed breakfast.
.................................................................

If it hadn't been for a nosy stoat and her need to make water, Peggy Powler would have slept on in her satchel and the
Last Witch of Underhill may have gone on her way oblivious to the problem that had taken-up home in the greenwood
around Mornington.

The button-eyed weasel realised that the dark hollow of what it had thought might be a bird's nest contained something
that snored like a predator and so discreetly moved off in search of similar style of nourishment a certain tree-climbing
Peeping-Tom was currently seeking.

A few moments later, the owner of the canvas bag arrived at a comparable conclusion after she'd squatted beside the
tree she'd slept in and after resetting her large hat on her head, Peggy believed a nice bowl of unsalted porridge would
be just the ticket right around now.

If the need for sustenance isn't deemed a connection between the lonely Jasper Forster leaving the leaf-littered woods
of Mornington and the poncho-wearing Witch fulfilling one of her favourite pilgrimages, then maybe their similar thought
-processes during their respective travels might imply some-sort of signpost showing that their morrows could well meet.
Not quite Peggy and Jasper sitting in a tree -as the schoolyard rhyme goes, but certainly musing instead of kissing.

The legend behind Mornington's financial gains is that every so often in a twenty-league area of Glaston County and at
a particular time of the year, a large formation of rain-heavy clouds gather and offer a performance of nature that is not
only breathtaking, but is said to fortify the spirit of those fortunate to witness the event.

As Summer transmutes into Autumn, the fading sun can afford -for just two or three days, to shine on the bellies of these
gossamer bundles of water particles and create a type of mirror that reflects the countryside below. Those who follow the
variegated myths of the old ways believe that this rare spectacle reveals a mishmash of a design that is said to lead to
secrets that humans and Fae alike, are never meant to know.

But what none of the residents of Mornington or the wayfarers to the little hamlet knew was why this village below an
artificial tor was the prime location to observe the aerial experience. Peggy Powler did and also she knew it explained
the reason that soil had been gathered together in ancient times in order to create the manufactured hill above young
Jasper Forster's home. The answer is Calcite.

Many alchemists have gushed with ebullience about the commonly-found mineral and for many of them -in Peggy's
opinion, divna' know their arses from their elbows. Maybe in the future, such auditors of chemicals will stumble across
Myrddin the Great Wizard's scrutiny of the supposedly-bland crystal and learn that a large deposit of Calcite lay beneath
the village of Mornington.

Through Myrddin's earlier investigations of the cloud phenomena and why it seemed devoted to the region, such hopeful
modifiers of base metals would discover that this off-white mineral holds the ability to attract salt particles held within the
moisture of clouds.

Due to this rare alluring, a faint effulgence is manifested between the droplets of water and the reacting mineral, this is
known in mystic-circles as a 'Sky Mirror'. By the way, Calcite is also a major ingredient in the magician's famous cloak
of invisibility, an item still scoffed at by those who prefer a different doctrine and maybe a tale for another time.

Nevertheless, two people for entirely different reasons, glanced up to towards the high green mound of clipped-grass and
wondered if Mornington would be blessed by the appearance of the Sky Mirror.

[BIAD]

As the tall fir tree eventually agreed with Stanley Tundy's Shire horse that the spot it had sat in for twenty summers should
be turned over to cultivable land, the audible snapping of most of the conifer's moorings echoed between the other trees
awaiting an assumed similar fate. Tundy Senior looked over at his kid patting the huge beast's nose and waited for the nod
before he began to loosen the rope from the extracted evergreen. At the very least -Stanley thought as he tugged at the knot,
they'll have plenty of firewood when the bad weather arrived.

Gideon Tundy watched his father wrestle with the hemped-ligature and thought about his possible good fortune of meeting
Sarah Danvers next week. The first born of three children had overheard his mother this morning tell his Pa that the Elders
of Mornington were confident the weather was looking favourable for an appearance of the Sky Mirror and such a decree
meant a gathering. And a gathering meant -if his father said it was okay to get his chores done early, being with Sarah.

Edmund Danvers had a lot of acreage and a lot of merit around Mornington, Sarah's father got on well with his own Pa and
for the Tundys, it'd be a match made in heaven. But Gideon wasn't interested in all of that. The girl with hair of finely-spun
gold and eyes that a boy could swim in forever, she was what meant more than any fields of of tillable soil and smiles of
goodwill in the community. Such is real-life for a fifteen year-old lad in bib-and-braces.

"Take Sam in and get him fed, son" Stanley said without looking up from his task. The knot was well dug-in and he was
reluctant to take the knife to it. Usually, Gideon would reply with some half-hearted response, but only a magpie cackled
somewhere far off. "Now eh, get yer' head out of yer girlfrie..." the farmer began and then peered over to where the large
shaggy-legged horse idled in the muddy ground created by their morning's labour. Gideon wasn't there.
.................................................................

Peggy Powler smiled politely at the fawn-haired lassie and dropped another numma in her dainty pink hand. The coffee
was lovely and so had been the plate of bacon and beans, the second mug of sugar-laced java was pure indulgence.
"Will yer' tell yer' Ma Ah' think she's a wonderful cook" the little Witch said softly and ignored the curious glances from
the other patrons of Margie Goodwin's quaint home-cooked restaurant.

Rosalie Goodwin smiled back with pride and attempted a curtsy to the nice lady who didn't wear shoes. She seemed
nice and Rosalie believed that appearances can often fool the heart. "Yes of course and thank you, Miss...?" the pretty
ten year-old answered with a voice of a meadow lark and the customer's response caused the clientele who were still
eaves-dropping on the stunted conversation between the grubby-looking stranger and the graceful stripling, to rein their
nosiness in quickly. "Powler me-darlin', Peggy Powler".

She'd been to Mornington twice before and had preferred to keep away from the main centre of the village because of
past situations where Peggy believed she struggled to fit in. Last year, the little Witch had accepted the hospitality of
Gumby Gingerpot, a Gnome with a home that any Fae would envy.

On the far-side of the tor, the forests raced away for many leagues and it wouldn't be the first time that someone got
lost in all that thick woodland. Recently, there'd been some clearing done for farming and Gumby had remarked to his
guest that he was confident such destruction shouldn't effect his abode.

Not a bad conclusion Peggy had thought to herself as she'd sat beside his fire-hearth and sipped on her rose hip tea.
Gumby Gingerpot's subterranean dwelling lay among a cluster of boulders left behind when the soil was first scraped
away to make the artificial hill and it's doubtful any sod-buster would want to plough on a steep incline littered with
blade-blunting rocks.

Stepping out of Mrs Goodwin's eatery, the Last Witch of Underhill wondered if another visit to the boastful Gnome
would be a good idea considering the looks she was getting from the regulars of Mornington. Peggy was half-Fae
and it seemed that the other half didn't give her a free-pass in some places. "Bugger 'em" she muttered to herself
and watched the dead leaves of a dying season ride the breeze into the village square.
.................................................................

"I'm tellin' yer, Mister Forster, the footprints were size of me hoss' hooves..." Stanley Tundy said loudly and clutched
the recently-elected Councilman's sleeve for emphasis. "...One flick of a lamb's tail Gideon was there, the next he's
gone... snatched by an unseen hand" he appended and Chester Forster not only had faith in the farmer's words, the
ruddy-faced barber-cum-dentist also believed Tundy's eyes would fall out of their sockets very soon.

"Yer've got to get-up a posse, a search-party to help me look for me-boy" Stanley implored and waited for his elected
official to storm into action. Chester Drake gulped and wondered how to explain his new position could only muster
the idea of adding Mr Tundy's concern to the minutes for the next meeting. But it was during this short silence, a little
woman in a big hat stepped up beside the two men to ask if any word about the Sky Mirror had been offered.
Again, just another attempt to be accepted as a regular visitor to Mornington.

Setting the strap of her satchel on her shoulder, Peggy listened as the fellow with his shirttail hanging out, reiterated
his woes of his missing son and the strange markings he'd found on his property. Somewhere in the great ethereal,
a wheel of wager began to turn and lady-luck placed her bet. "Can Ah' be of assistance, Mister?" the little Sorceress
asked softly.

[BIAD]

The eight-man search-party had scoured the surrounding woods of Mornington for two days and apart from a the strange
marks left near where Stanley Tundy and his missing son had been working, the group and the rest of the villagers were
at a loss to what might have happened to Gideon.

Some suggested it was a passing family of Gypsies who grabbed the lad for nefarious reasons and others had reminded
those willing to listen that the weird sightings of shadowy shapes in the night may have something to do with the boy's
disappearance. Peggy Powler kept away from the gossip and cleaved to what she knew best, on-the-ground investigation.

It was a couple of hours before sunset and the melee to find the boy had quietened down to mere theorising over dinner
tables. Mary Tundy would be still be in the stage of frozen hope and confusion, for her son, whilst her numbed husband
continued his day-to-day chores forcing his limited imagination to stay in its box.

This family funk demanded that all of the Tundys stayed close to their farmhouse and the hunt for their boy resorted to
being left to an odd-looking stranger who some of the search-party had said was an eminent Witch. Religious beliefs
were beyond Stanley Tundy's simple understanding, but his wife had commented over a nibbled-at supper that this
bare-footed woman belonged to the old ways and to the mother of two other children, it was a mental cordage that
gave her some faith that Gideon would be found.

In the well-trodden clearing where the vanishing had occurred, a small figure in a large hat ambled about with the sporadic
act of squatting as the late-summer sun began its decent behind Mornington's counterfeit hill. The mud in the area where
the Tundys had been hauling out trees was not due to a natural poor drainage situation, merely a result of the toil when
disturbing a settled place.

Peggy sighed to herself as she surveyed the ruined scene. Those looking for the fifteen-year-old had ran hither and thither
about the clearing and the small solitary woman crouching beside a rope thanked Herne for some small mercies that the
two egg-shaped footprints of the unknown suspect had been kept away from. The two marks were something, but Peggy
knew they hadn't just appeared on their own, somewhere was another track... a trail in and out of the man-made glade.

What daylight still resided there offered little to assist the Last Witch of Underhill's investigation and pondering on what
the residents of Mornington had said, a bright flame appeared on the end of Peggy's thumb to help her look for clues.

On the first day of the rudimentary search, the bantam-sized woman in the grubby poncho had overheard some the
bewildered throng that had scampered aimlessly about the area discussing contacting the part-time constabulary over
in Ravenstang. It was deduced that those from a large town would have the means to study the scene of the assumed
crime and maybe deliver a better outcome than the few bumpkins out here in the sticks. Peggy deliberated for a few
moments on this information and then wrote the word 'bollocks' on the roof of her mouth with her tongue.

Gently touching the oval-formed indentations in the dark earth, Peggy wondered again how the child-stealer had arrived
and left without Stanley noticing, a flick-of-a-lamb's-tail was how the distraught farmer had put it. A magpie warned the
creatures of the woods that they weren't alone and standing to her full height, a young voice asked a question.
"How do you do that, Ma'am?"
.................................................................

"Yer a peeper, me-lad..." Peggy said affably as she accepted back her canteen and wiped the neck of the flask, but her
light banter caught her flat as she noticed the change in the boy's features. Wishing to keep the atmosphere between
them positive, she quickly added "...Aye, tis' a fine footstep yer' carry there" and glugged down a mouthful of water.

Jasper Forster stared around the clearing and wondered what this strange woman was doing out here. By the look of
the place, it had been well picked over by the villagers and the farmer's son was still missing. He might have only seen
ten summers, but Jasper believed Gideon Tundy's disappearance had nothing to do with this part of the woods.

His present company wore no shoes and didn't even belong in Mornington and apart from her reluctance to explain the
little flame on her thumb, Jasper's mild pique came from his main quandary that he'd be hesitant to explain. The woods
at this time of the evening was his, nobody came out here after a hard day's work and his hobby of watching Rosalie's
house -even though he deemed it harmless, wasn't something he'd like to blurt out to this stranger.

The shadows became more corporeal as the pair absently peered around and occasionally checked each other for
what they might be thinking. Jasper wondered if Peggy would ask what he was doing out in the woods at this hour
and Peggy was wondering if Jasper was going to tell her why he wanted her to go away. Flinty eyes pretending to
be idle observance.

A half moon peeked over the tree-tops and a wisp of cloud as the last of the day gave up the ghost, sighing to herself
once more, Peggy spoke again at the closemouthed kid standing somewhere he shouldn't be. "Whey, Ah'll be on me-way
and Ah expect yer' Ma will be wonderin' where yer' at, care to accompany me?" Jasper eventually fell in beside the little
woman and assuming they'd part where the trail met the village, his young confidence hindered his vigilance.
He simply failed to see his bare-footed chaperon wiggling her little finger.
.................................................................

Jasper Forster held the answer to this latest mystery and even though he didn't understand what he'd witnessed, the
mesmerised boy had released a private secret and one he'd felt nobody would really believe. Peggy had seen men
dressed in armour for warfare and the sports some of the la-di-da enjoyed that involved jousting. What the stupefied
lad had reported was entirely different, a being who walked like a man, but totally sheathed in metal and breathed
from where his ears should be.

[BIAD]

Maybe there'll come a day when many who are not lamplighters or thieves will work through the night and society will take
it as standard that productivity outweighs the natural pace of what most people generally take for granted. The Farmer, the
Baker and Blacksmith like to be up early, milk-heavy animals awake due to natural light, breads need time to brown for the
customer and the hell-heat of a kiln isn't something one can just create with a spark from a flint.

But even these professions require sleep and the old adage 'early to bed, early to rise' seems to vaguely be adhered to
most and certainly those in Mornington. For a certain little Witch sitting on the summit of an artificial hill, she agreed
with this steady gait of life and believed that anyone working through the night must have an agenda not appropriate
for daylight hours and eyes.

So as Peggy Powler surveyed the dying canopy of of the surrounding forest from the grassy apogee, a far-off plume of
chimney-smoke drifting across the crescent moon told her someone else was awake. Someone else apart from herself
and the torpid boy sitting beside her, a boy who liked to gaze at Sarah Goodwin's closed-curtains.

After Jasper's entranced revelation of his metal man encounter, she asked the dazed lad if his parents were aware of
his nightly passion, but she may have not precisely use those words. His account was mind-boggling in regards of what
he'd witnessed when hiding up a tree, but his explanation of how he fooled his Ma and Pa and his reason for being up
among the foliage there, wasn't too-much of a stretch for the Last Witch of Underhill to appreciate.

The developing young dealt with all sorts of changes in their lives, their position in a family-setting and with their peers, the
weird metamorphosis of their bodies and the concept of who they believed they are to what they will be. A veritable jungle
of elusive elements. Most adolescents grow out of their fantasies, but there's a fine line that young Jasper Forster had been
walking for some time and Peggy's recent abracadabra had hopefully caused the boy to wane on his need to spying on his
secret love's privacy.

"Wh... Where am I?" Jasper asked with a tongue too large for his mouth, Peggy's enchantment was usually for grown adults
and she guessed this was the reason for his latter confession to come to light so easily. Smiling kindly, the sorceress patted
the hand on the dew -damp grass and replied "not far from home me-lad, but Ah've a query about who might be warmin' their
backside usin' that". A different digit that Peggy had attained the story of who -or what might had taken Gideon Tundy, pointed
towards the thread of exhaust floating across the curved rider of the night.

Jasper peered out across the greenwood and whispered one word. "Horton".
.................................................................

The sombre gloom beneath the reddening leaves of a forest is a world that many with an imagination suggests a microcosm
of creatures that shun the day, monsters who envy those who enjoy the sun and beasts that hunt for the sleeping. In reality,
Peggy found through her journeys that predators and fiends in the trees tended to steer clear of trouble that involved anything
that wore clothes or travelled in pairs. Accam Dey excluded, of course.

So with the ten-year-old in tow and a head of spells, the two small shapes brushed a wake through the browning bracken on
their way to the abode of someone Jasper had named earlier. Descending from the tor, the boy had related what he knew
about the reclusive man who rarely came to Mornington. "My Pa reckons he's a crazy old fool and boils kids in a big pot..."
Jasper hissed earnestly as they headed in the direction the Witch had gestured. "...Eh, you don't think he is the metal man
that grabbed Gideon, do you?" he appended towards the big hat wading among the dying ferns.

Peggy ignored the question, she'd been mulling over the plant around them and the nebulous link she'd heard regarding the new
religion. Bracken seeds collected on a certain date and beneath a particular moon phase can render one invisible, that date was
now named after an acclaimed holy person and the fern's magical allowance had been attributed to a hallowed event involving
this venerable adherent to the faith. The solemn disciplines of acquiring the seed without speaking, the diligence of patience to
let the grain fall naturally and catching the spores without touching them in a pewter dish, lost to a tale of make believe.
It's enough to make a person of the mummery-vein to say 'Bugger'.
.................................................................

Oliver Horton glanced at Boy-Boy Munce and Gideon Tundy beside him in the makeshift cage, but said nothing. The young Gypsy
had fallen asleep some time ago, but the farmer's son in the bib and braces was awake and all-eyeballs at the scene outside of
their prison. Steam hissed softly from the metal man's head as it stood at the spider-web-covered window and in that strange
warbling voice announced "Someone come". Oliver stroked his long beard and hoped whoever it was could run and run fast.

[BIAD]

The night had been very interesting for Peggy Powler on many levels, but the sight of a metallic-clad person creeping quietly
around the forest below her could be the best applicant for the most gripping of events. The little Witch and the boy had walked
for hours and twice they'd stopped to catch their breath and refuel via a sandwich and a drink from Peggy's magical satchel.

Jasper Forster had eaten his fare with gusto and looked puzzled at the bag on his companion's shoulder, it always looked empty
and yet here he was, picnicking in the wee-small hours in a forest with a strange woman hunting a metal monster. Now as dawn
offered the slightest of hints that it might appear, the enigmatic female in the grubby poncho and himself were sitting high up in
an ash tree hiding from their quarry sneaking about below them. The former of the roosting couple watching its every move with
great interest, the latter shaking with fear and wanting to go home.

Jasper believed his secret seat across from Sarah Goodwin's window ledge would be a better place right now and suddenly felt
a pang of guilt for thinking of it. No, he wanted to be back in his bed and comforted that his father and mother were asleep in
the next room. A plan he hoped to fulfil when the daylight finally arrived. For now, the quivering ten-year-old would focus on
not dashing his brains out on the leafy ground where the metal man scurried in his pursuit of its latest prey.

The thin ribbon of grey smoke leaking from its head left a slight scent and glancing up onto a higher branch where young Jasper
Forster sat shaking in fear, Peggy concluded that what the boy believed was steam, was actually marsh gas. Due to the poor light
the little Witch couldn't distinguish the colour of the figure currently hiding behind an elm tree. It didn't shine like the polished
metal of a serving dish or held a lustre to catch the eye for decoration purposes.

Peggy guessed that the footprints it left were the same as the ones found in the clearing. Whatever it was had a smooth domed
head that seemed to hold a flickering dull-green light somewhere behind the slits one might suggest were eyes. There was no
mouth or any other features to indicate a human presence and the metal man's behaviour hinted that nobody was inside the
metallic shell. Now -she thought as the figure darted behind a large bush of blackberries, if this wasn't a man in armour, what
else could be driving the awkward-roving device?

Placing a finger to her lips at the frightened boy, Peggy carefully plucked a seashell from under her poncho and mouthed a spell
towards the metal man skulking behind the prickly shrub. Leaning forward to discover if the bewitchment had worked, she settled
the carapace near her ear and smiled at the sound of the faint voice.

The sneaking creature couldn't completely stifle its clanking and the hiss Peggy heard was the occasional discharge from the
ashen-hued helmet, but what caused its lofty prey to grin under her big hat was the angry chatter from within the metal hood.
"They here somewhere... here in ferns..." the Lubber Fiend spat from within the bucket-head "...Jip-Jip knows, somewhere"
the angry Goblin softly ranted to itself and absently scraped its vehicle against the thorns of the bramble bush. Just for the
record, both Peggy and Jasper both winced at the sound of scratched metal.
.................................................................

Boy-Boy Munce murmured something as Oliver Horton's hand shook him awake, but went quiet when he saw the inventor
of his iron captor gesturing him to do so. "The metal man's gone outside and I think he's hunting someone..." he whispered.
"...I'm going to try and grab some more food".

Luckily the cage that housed the trio was near a window and the gypsy-lad had produced a silver whisky-flask from his pocket
after his incarceration that Oliver had used to acquire water from a rain-barrel behind his home. The groceries were in a sack
dropped when the metal man had gone crazy. The meagre provisions were from Ravenstang and almost a week old, they were
scattered across the floor when Oliver had returned to find the mechanical devil burbling and writhing near the door.

Oliver had built the automaton to help people. Using steam for power and copper plates for its outer-coating, he'd always felt
confident that a simple source to fuel his invention would aid even the most poorest to benefit from his gadget. The skin of the
metal man would never rust and Oliver believed the innards of his steam-powered appliance could lead off into directions never
thought of before.

Ploughing would become easier and heavy-lifting of haybales would no longer be a worry, all ran on burning wood and hot water.
But now as Oliver lay on the wooden floor and tugged at the Hessian bag, he accepted that all these hopes had evaporated when
his invention had become demented.

Gideon Tundy looked at Horton trying to pull the sack closer and then went back to watching the window for any movement to see
when the iron monster was coming back. Crossing himself, the scared farmer's son hoped whoever was out there had escaped and 
was now running to get his Pa.
.................................................................

The morning chorus came and the sound of singing birds added to the comedy of the frantic racing around of the metal man.
The Last Witch of Underhill had acquired the type of creature she was dealing with and regardless of its outer-shell, the Hob that
had taken up residence in clanking figure below her needed to be expelled. Jip-Jip was a Lubber, a type of Goblin that thirsted for
power over its hated foe, humans.

Traditionally, Lubbers tormented households and Peggy was willing to wager, this one had found the strange metal carriage in
Horton's home and that hinted at two things. One, the abode was close by and two, the Goblin's need to control those who it
deemed its enemy, were probably imprisoned in there. Stifling a yawn, the little sorceress peered up at the boy on the branch
above her and attempted tp read his thoughts. He shouldn't be part of this and it had been wrong to bring Jasper along in her
quest, maybe if Jip-Jip grows tired of his search, she could whip-up a spell and send the kid home none-the-wiser of the night's
weird experience.

"When are we going to stop the metal man?" Jasper whispered and blinked his tiredness away. Peggy smiled, patted his bark
scuffed knee and admired the boy's bravery, "...Reet now me-lad, reet now" she growled and began to carefully climb down
from her perch.

[BIAD]

It wasn't much, but as Oliver Horton tore off a chunk of the loaf he'd salvaged from his stretched acquistion and handed it to
Boy-Boy Munce, his victory-smile waned as he observed Gideon Tundy's chewing-grin fade due to the farmer's son staring at
the door. It was opening.

The inventor's stomach sank, his crazed-creation had captured another unsuspecting wanderer of the woods and now, the cage
that the metal man had fashioned with twisted iron would house another prisoner and the nightmare would continue. Three pair
of wide eyes waited for the inevitable and realising the full implications of what was to come, the unlikely trio quickly stuffed
their mouths with the recovered fare.
.................................................................

It's written somewhere that two Ash trees were turned into the first humans by a forgotten deity and Peggy Polwer had heard
there's many villagers who see the lean deciduous timber's seeds -or keys, as a fine item to deter witchcraft. The latter is partly
true, but only when combined with particular invocations. But isn't that a type of magic in itself?

The Last Witch of Underhill had even come across arcadian tales of woodsmen being transported away to an unknown place
because they felled one these trees and she knew well that some farmers would wall-up a live shrew inside its trunk in order
to heal their sick cows.

Many other legends have the Ash tree as their main character and all of them belong to the old ways, a manner of faith that the
little Witch believed held layers of subtle canniness that had stood in good stead for those who lived off the land. Now climbing
down from such a tall timber, Peggy wondered if this new religion would just sweep these myths all away and implant their own.
New for old, one season moving into another and an empty page to fill.

"You belong me..." the metal man said as it rose from its hiding place, "...You come here" it added and remained behind the
blackberry bush. Peggy smiled, adjusted her satchel strap and stood her ground, her time up on her perch with Jasper hadn't
been wasted and now she waited to see if she was correct. "Nah, yer' get rusty backside over here" she cooed mockingly.

Jip-Jip moaned inside the head of his chariot, what magic the Lubber Fiend had used to control the hollow puppet had waned
due to his search in the darkness and the legs of the metal man just wouldn't move. Being unable to look upwards, it had never
occurred to the Lob that his quarry would merely hide above him. "You belong mine... you come" he demanded again and Peggy
could hear frustration wrapped around every word.

But that's the way with Lobs and lubberkins, selfish creatures that have no concept of compromise. Down through the ages these
nasty little buggers have taken without a thought and ruined without responsibility. Such intrinsic lack of ethics would make a fine
reason to why the creature called Jip-Jip couldn't drive the metal man to capture the disparaging unshod sorceress.

To keep a fire going, one needs wood and to create steam, one needs a lot of wood and have the ability to apply the fuel to said
blaze. Jip-Jip didn't appreciate Oliver Horton's invention nor cared how it functioned, but if any solace is needed, the self-centred
Goblin could've asked Gideon Tundy and even though he was just a teenager, he'd remark that even a plough-horse will die if you
don't feed it.

As a pheasant croaked its exasperation at finding such a performance interrupting its foraging for breakfast, Jasper Forster came
into view in the narrow slits the Lob was watching from. A boy with a stick taken from where he'd been hiding, another bondman
for his control. However, the item that the female slowly revealed from her shoulder-bag suddenly grabbed Jip-Jip's attention and
mesmerised by the little woman jamming it onto the youngster's Ash-sprig, any thoughts of cunning and strategy slipped away like
quenched steam in the morning mist.
.................................................................

"You're a sight for sore-eyes" Oliver sighed as he gazed at the two silhouettes standing in the doorway. The three men all displayed
relieved features, but it was the inventor's face that altered slightly when he saw something wriggling on the end of a pole the boy
was holding at arms length. "Fair travels Mister..." the one in the hat said easily, "...Ah' think this bugger belongs to you".

[BIAD]

As the residents of Mornington stood in veneration and watched the rain-clouds slowly accumulate above their village,
Peggy Powler smiled down from her place on the ersatz hillside and wondered what the young boy was thinking as
he stood next to the light-brown-haired girl among the crowd. Jasper Forster flinched as Sarah Goodwin nudged him
affectionately and the lad who'd helped the little Witch capture the Lubber Fiend, probably believed nobody had seen
the fond bump from the girl, but the broadening grin under a certain sorceress' hat stated otherwise.

The lonely boy had left his home and had become entangled in a situation far beyond his imagination and returned a
hero for saving Stanley Tundy's son and the young traveller of Calder's Way. Now beneath the rolling theatre in the sky,
Jasper was reaping a reward that his innocent fantasies had never dared to render.

The subterranean Calcite was doing its work and the big thunderheads undulated and jostled in the late-morning air. The
pre-Autumn sun urged rainbow-hued sun dogs off the burnished bellies of the clouds and the diaphanous surface hinted
at the Sky Mirror's magic. For the Last Witch of Underhill, the phenomena was not only a awe-inspiring sight, but also an
interesting act of nature that offered clues to those who knew what to look for.

"Just so you know..." a freshly-shaven Oliver Horton quipped and leaned back on his elbows, "...this is something beyond
the ability of my workshop and myself" and gazed up at the forming spectacle. If the inventor's repartee amused the little
woman sitting beside him, she didn't show it, her true pleasure came from Jasper dealing with the reality of his secret-love
standing next to him. Noticing Sarah tentatively reaching for the nervous boy's hand, Peggy replied to the man who'd built
the stalled effigy now standing alone in the forest.

"Aye, tis' wonderment that belongs in the hands of our betters" she murmured and noticed the fluctuating reflections above
her were becoming more apparent. The mostly-annual Sky Mirror had arrived in Glaston County and the crowd's sigh of
amazement reflected their welcome of the marvel. Peggy eyed the shapes on the clouds and thought about how she and
the flustered lad below had out-foxed the thing who'd hidden inside the metal man... or to use the Hobgoblin's true name,
the Lob Lie-By-The-Fire.
.................................................................

It would be a stretch to call it a home, but the half-hidden cabin looked at-odds to the little Witch as she and Jasper had
quietly approached the wooden structure that had seen better days. Whoever was inside had lit a fire -which was obvious
from the chimney, and could presumably be awake and vigilant.

The boy had suggested the owner was a loner, someone who avoided contact with the closest community to this bedraggled
out-of-the-way shack. To Peggy, this hinted at a person who cleaved to a particular comportment that might not be altogether
conducive with a large selection of regular folk. Not being asleep in the dead-of-night could be an example of that debatable
manner and the cause of this after-the-sun behaviour intrigued the little Witch even more. Noticing a slight movement at one
of the dirty windows as she concluded her thoughts, the sorceress gripped Jasper's arm and hushered him away to where an
ideal haven waited and a place to gather her thoughts. The tall Ash tree.
.................................................................

"Even with this marvel above us, I cannot let it pass without thanking you once again for rescuing me from the horrible demon
that commandeered my invention..." Oliver said as he spotted a fuzzy shape amongst the Autumn redness displayed above.
With a slight grin, he guessed it was the roof of his workshop being reflected in the Sky Mirror and added "...I suppose we're
always learning and I -for one, had no idea such things existed".

Peggy surveyed the light-show under the clouds and recognised that the forest that encompassed Horton's home and partly
surrounded Mornington had grown into the shape of a bull. Her pedagogue of long ago -Myrddin the Great Wizard, had once
remarked to his young pupil that an ancient race had once created what they'd seen in the sky onto the landscape they lived
on. Clusters of stars that resembled animals they knew and deities they admired, shapes in the sky and their earthly likeness
here in the land. As Above, So Below.

The current summit that the bare-footed Witch and the inventor of the metal man were sitting on characterised a bull's horn
and with it, a signpost of very secret clue to a very secret treasure. A mysterious answer to the question we all ask ourselves,
an inquire that can haunt dreams and bring even the most exalted of kings to their knees. Up there in the strange Sky Mirror
lay a map, a fleeting diagram for a adventurer to undertake for such an answer. All one had to do was interpret where it led
and follow the signs.

Peggy tucked her legs beneath her poncho and smiled at the awestruck crowd down in the village square. The residents of
Mornington will be happy for a while before the rain came and really, isn't that a prize to truly value? "Aye, we're all learnin'
and fur' some of us, it just teks' a while before we get it" the little Witch answered cryptically.
.................................................................

Recalling her schooling from the long-bearded wizard, Peggy made herself comfortable among the branches and checked
to see if Jasper had found an agreeable perch to wait out the night. Her own position was no random act, finding the spongy
canker on the Ash's trunk could be deemed a stroke of luck, but the little Witch knew that such blight was regular on these
types of trees. Producing a dark piece of cloth from her satchel, Peggy went back to what she been taught about this ancient
member of the woods.

What few Magicians still existed, many of them carried wands made of ash and there are a great number of tales regarding
the tree's ability to cure warts and chin-cough. Ashen faggots were burnt to enhance the chances of a good marriage and a
baby's first fingernail pairings buried beneath an Ash tree is a warranty that the child would be a fine singer. For travellers
of the highways, to see an Ash tree growing beside a Sycamore indicated a crossroads lay ahead and with it, the concerns
of a vampire laid to rest at the junction.

Placing the cloth in position to accept the sap-dripping corruption from the lesion in the tree's bark, Peggy reverently mouthed
the words of the rhyme she'd heard Myrddin recite so long ago. "Under this gift, Ah' tek' the oath te' keep wer' bond unsaid.
Esset Peth Fraxin" she said softly and bowed her head to the dioecious donor of the oozing blister. With palms held open to
receive the unusual gift, the molasses-filled dollop slopped onto the cloth and was quickly interred into the Witch's bag.

After watching the metal man become stationary behind the bramble bush, Peggy and Jasper set off down the tree to rid
the bucket-headed kidnapper of its lodger.

[BIAD]

It's a common phrase that one can catch more with flies with honey than vinegar, but when dealing with Lubber Fiends,
the reverse is typically true. The sourness of Ash sap is irresistible to a Lob-Lie-By-The-Fire and one of the only things
that can convince the destructive little creature away from the hearth.

In folklore, a Lubber Fiend is said to occupy the kettle-holding iron trammel hook above an open fire, where it hangs by
its tail to enjoy the warmth and watch for opportunities to antagonise humans going about their day-to-day chores. It is
a little strange that one of their favourite sups is milk, an opposite taste from the brine-like savour of Ash-juice and yet,
many superstitious folk still attempt to placate a Lob's pernicious behaviour by leaving a saucer of cow's milk near the
fire-grate.

It's an ugly-looking thing, clumps of fur covering a mottled skin and a face only a mother- could love. Three dexterous
fingers and toes for gripping onto its prey and a prehensile tail to ensure a firm embrace. But it was how the loathsome
Lob could've been enticed to leave its traditional setting near the workshop's fire that intrigued the current captor of the
Hobgoblin.

As Oliver Horton stared at the wriggling creature sucking avidly on the spongy glob, Peggy Powler saw features from
the dishevelled inventor that supported a theory she'd been nursing ever since she and Jasper Forster had coaxed the
Lubber Fiend from the metal man's helmet.

The fire in the hearth was down to its embers when the last Witch of Underhill and the ten-year-old had opened the door
to the solitary ramshackle workshop in the woods. Who had lit it and who had maintained the flames during the night?
It was obvious from Peggy's initial viewing of the room, it seemed that two young men and and older one were trapped
inside a iron-fashioned cage that Horton would later say was constructed by the copper-plated maniac.

The workshop was in disarray and idly surveying the lodgings, one might be forgiven in believing it had all the hallmarks
of a creature going berserk without care for what it destroyed. But the adroit sorceress noticed the little things that would
tickle the brain of someone who'd spent their life being wary of the non-Fae, things like the bottles of un-spilled chemicals
on a long table near the fireplace and the supposedly discarded groceries laid on top of a sack near the cage.

After releasing the captives from their pen, Peggy and Jasper had watched as the three males drank eagerly from the
Witch's offered canteen and devoured the contents of the paper-wrapped parcels Oliver had bought from Ravenstang.
Their individual tales were of a simple kidnapping from behind and waking up in the metal coop with a terrifying giant
staring at them, this metal monster had blurted incoherent phrases that their fellow-prisoner with the long beard had
explained were instructions regarding some future employment.

Peggy listened to the testimonies of a young Gypsy called Boy-Boy Munce and the eldest son of Stanley Tundy as she
scanned the workshop's interior. Catching the owner of the out-of-the-way abode watching her scrutiny, the little Witch
portrayed a focused auditor of what the two lads had to say and noticed Horton didn't bother to relate his own account
of abduction.

As the morning blossomed, a nervous Gideon Tundy explained his need to get home and not long after, young Munce
said his goodbyes and left to continue his wanderings. By this time, Oliver Horton was back to tidying-up the little shack
he called home and the Lubber Fiend continued to gorge itself on the spongy canker it had been tempted with.
Although this took place outside and in the same sack Horton had used to conduct his shopping with.
.................................................................

It would be almost noon before the Elders and other residents of Mornington were updated with what had occurred and
when Jasper Forster's parents were reunited with their night-owl-of-a-son. Some of the men pushed to visit the area of
the forest where the debilitated headless metal man stood and others enquired about where the Hobgoblin was currently
being kept, but after assurance from the bare-footed Witch that all was in-hand, the villagers turned their attention to the
person who many spooky tales had been attached to.

Initially, a bedraggled and weary Oliver Horton was viewed with caution, but finally the natives of Mornington shook his
hand and jocularly warned him that some things shouldn't be dabbled with. The scruffy man agreed as many changed
their opinion of the stranger who kept away from their village and he was slowly accepted as one of their own.

The day moved along and with a mild general relief seeping into the usually-quiet hamlet, their attention returned to
preparing for the appearance of the Sky Mirror and its celebration.
.................................................................

Now sitting under the rain-heavy clouds with the creator of the kidnapping automaton, the little Witch decided to use
honey to draw the real Oliver Horton out of his hiding place and discover what that truly gone on out there in the woods.

[BIAD]

"So Oliver, what troubles will yer' be bringin' te' yer' door next?" Peggy Powler said as she rose from her seat on the artificial hill
and allowed the inventor a fleeting glimpse of some bare thigh. The little Witch's tone was flat, but for someone recently bathing
in the harmonious ambience of Mornington's welcome, Oliver Horton guessed it was just plain-speaking nuance of the sorceress'
societal-level supporting her jocular question.

The bare-footed heroine of the village was now peering out across the Autumn-kissed canopy of the surrounding woodland and
seemingly carried the same burden that most of those that the pioneer in science had come into contact with recently. Sheer
working-class crassness. Oliver lay on the hill looking up at the dying Sky Mirror and wondered about the small woman in the
big hat behind him. Did she know the real truth...? Could the wandering Witch's uncouth intellect really have the ability to see
through the complicated veil that he'd woven?

"I cede my recent imbroglio requires me to reset my goals in my lofty work, maybe creating mechanics to aid the drudgery of the
common man needs a new way of approach..." Oliver replied without sitting up from his prone position beneath the Sky Mirror.
"...But it will be such an undertaking after discovering the creature you thwarted, Miss Powler. Science and magic will always be
oil and water to most of the academics I've met" he added.

Peggy noticed the smoke stirring far off beyond the trees and glanced back at the man who believed in another type of religion,
a type that looked down on others with disdain. "Aye, them big words -if Ah' read yer' reet, make sense... yer've got te' be canny
enough te' watch out fur' the things that go bump in the night" she agreed and returned her surveillance as the cloudy day raced
to become early-evening.

Sighing softly to himself, the inventor continued to mentally revel in the benevolence he'd been given and his audacity of fooling
so many people. Oliver Horton felt good and surprisingly relaxed considering all that he'd recently been through. His work in the
upgrading of his clockwork-mechanisms had entered a vital phase where the simple tasks of running a workshop would hinder
such practices. After what he'd later found out about the Lubber Fiend, kidnapping the dullards for those menial tasks had been
a must.

But at the end of the day, the metal man had turned-out to be the ideal foil for the ignorant to blame and as long as he kept the
deception up, Oliver believed his work could advance under the guile of victimhood and an admired assiduity from the yokels now
gazing up at the fading weather phenomena below from where he sat. Worst-case scenario -he concluded, Mornington would have
to order-in his materials and it would be certainly less of a trek than to Ravenstang.

Oh, how it had all began -he thought and inwardly chuckled to himself, a chance episode at a time when his spirits had been low.
.................................................................

In a stoical experiment he partook at the beginning of Summer, a deflated and despondent Oliver Horton had fortuitously identified
a weird chemical extracted of a type of strange seaweed he'd purchased in Ravenstang. It was the acidulous aroma that had first
piqued his interest, a vinegar-type smell that caused him to suddenly feel lethargic and it was only after gathering himself in the
fresh-air outside, that he'd realised it was a sleeping-agent.

Further analysis had offered little in the way of being a fuel for his mechanical man and at a low ebb, he'd abandoned the drug
and left the sample sitting on a shelf near his fire hearth. It would be a week later that he made another discovery, something
that had crept down his chimney and attempted to obtain the syrupy liquid that caused humans to become unconscious. Oliver
now believed simpletons like the so-called sorceress behind him titled the little angry creature struggling with the bottle-stopper,
a Lubber Fiend.

Oliver's later quote regarding oil and water turned out to be not entirely true in his case, the inventor's deduction that the magical
Lob of folklore-fame would come in quite handy to animate his useless invention, didn't seem flawed. All had it taken was a simple
smearing of the vinegar-smelling chemical inside the helmet of the metal marionette and the Hobgoblin was trapped. Attaching the
head to the metal man's body, Oliver firmly believed that with some training of the bestial brute, he would have the perfect servant
to do the dreary tasks around the workshop that he -himself, detested.

However, his scheme didn't go quite as planned. It wasn't that the Lubber Fiend resisted any manner of taming, the ever-hungry
creature was unable to grasp the concept of subjugation for reward. The thing had just ranted incoherently inside the helmet and
discharged foul-smelling gas when ever Oliver attempted any kind of domestication. Just when he was at his wit's end, he found
a slight ray of hope. The Lob could make the metal man move, but only with the promise of the chemical and only movements
that were solely beneficial to locating the drug. It wasn't much, but it was something and meanwhile, Oliver decided on another
way to have somebody clear-up the mess the Lubber Fiend was causing and his own non-touched housekeeping.

Grabbing the Gypsy lad was much easier -Oliver had to agree later. He assumed Boy-Boy Munce's travels had demanded such
awareness that even now laying on the grass of the hill, Oliver could recall the coldness of the late hour as he waited for the
wandering youngster to fall asleep beside the campfire. Applying the seaweed compound had been a quick task and with less
struggle than he'd thought. But it would be during the conceited inventor's return to the workshop with the doped nomad over
his shoulder that he'd wondered of one would be enough.

The kid in the bib-and-braces was a doddle, a simple snatch from a simple father and son. But the showmanship required to
align the whole theatre would be Oliver's most worthy performance, the art of purveying a reality that wasn't true. The iron cage
had been prepared before the Munce kidnapping and with a few acts of disarray about the workshop, a pair of disoriented boys
had awakened to a raging metal monster that had overcome its inventor and was now collecting others for unknown reasons.

Glancing over at the female gazing down the boulder-strewn rear of the man-made tor, Oliver now priggishly wondered if his
future should've been on the entertainment stage.
.................................................................

"Whey, another season over and another bother broomed out the door" Peggy said seemingly absently as she spied the little
figure making his way back from his mission. The Last Witch of Underhill smiled to herself as Gumby Gingerpot nodded once
before slipping away into the foliage near his underground home and tugging the brim of her large hat to show she'd received
the Gnome's signal, she glanced at the rolling smoke in the distance.

Turning to watch the man getting up with a swagger off the elevated ground, Peggy wondered what heavyweight vernacular
Oliver Horton would express when he saw his burning home lighting the evening sky and all that bad ju-ju going-up with it.
Leaving the inventor to figure it out, the little necromancer buggered-off down the hill to see how Jasper was getting on with
his girlfriend.

Aye... Lob-Lie-By-The-Fire, indeed.

The End.