Constable Jim Eckles mentally agreed with the donkey borrowed from the grocer next-door to Bishopsgate Police Station
that his quest to find this mysterious woman was a waste of time. The animal had related its opinion with its eyes as it
watched the young man in the unbuttoned uniform resting against a dry-stone wall and waiting for feeling to come back
to his rump. Even though he'd left Blackfriars back when summer was just beginning and seemed to be getting on with
Inspector Abernethy and his motley crew, Jim wondered if this fool's errand was some sort of rite of passage.
It had been two days since he had left Thameston on this useless mission and now sat staring at a junction where
Calder's Way allowed its occasional traveller of the sea-cobbled highway to wander down a muddy track to another
God forsaken bunch of hayseeds. Grey rainclouds huddled together in the east and the leafless surroundings implied
better weather was still a long way off. "Waste of time" he reiterated with a whisper and groaned to Mister Pincher's
half-asleep beast of burden as he rose from the damp grass, one more village and that was it he thought to himself.
The now-familiar aroma of woodsmoke and fresh manure greeted the young policeman leading his donkey into the
small community of Rollright. It was early afternoon and Jim suspected the lowbrow residents would be out in the
fields ploughing or whatever these bumpkins do to pass the day. It was then he saw the blood and a furrow in the
damp earth that looked something -or someone, had been injured and then dragged away.
.................................................................
Peggy Powler rubbed her aching shoulder and gazing around at the grave faces watching from outside the ring of moss
-strewn standing stones, she wondered if they were now wishing they'd called for Reverend Bigelow. The foul-smelling
River Worm was dead and even though one of the villager's pitchfork was sticking out of its tail, the little Witch hoped
the open-mouthed people of Rollright would realise it had been majick that had brought the slimy beast's demise.
"Ah' be on me-way now..." Peggy said quietly after a few moments of silence in the chilly clearing, the men and women
seemed to have become like the ancient waist-high megaliths that gave their neighbourhood its name and remained silent.
"...Fair travels te' yer' and if yer' need me agin', tell one of the Midnight Mail men" she added lamely and bowed slightly
to the old menhirs before leaving.
They'd been quite chatty when the diminutive necromancer had first arrived and their woes regarding the river-serpent
and its nasty antics had come in a cascade of voices. All in earnest and all with a tone that smacked of desperation,
now just stony faces and only a far-off cawing rook offered any indication that their saviour hadn't gone deaf.
"Aye" Peggy mumbled her assumption at their mute gratitude and walked back to the village square alone.
.................................................................
The lad who'd only ever known pavement beneath his feet, the little Witch in the big hat sat beneath a large oak tree
and waited out the latest downpour. The grocer's donkey stood with one hind-leg pitched to indicate another siesta
was being performed. Peggy rummaged in her satchel and after finding what she was looking for, offered Jim Eckles
a wrapped hoagie kindly donated by the fisherwomen of Shellport.
"So yer' gaffer sent fur' me, yer' say?..." the crouching sorceress said as she prepared her own sandwich for eating
and realising the donkey was watching them both with edacious eyes, produced a carrot from her always-faithful
tote. "...Are yer' sure yer' got the right person, cos Ah've never heard of anyone called George Abernethy?" she added
around a mouthful of bread and mutton.
Peering down at the dried-out fare, Jim wondered if they'd remember him fondly back at Bishopsgate after he'd died
of food-poisoning. "The Inspector was adamant that you could possibly assist him in our current crime and along with
your name, described you..." he answered with a baleful eye at the necromancer's soil-covered feet. "...He said you
are the Last Witch of Underhill and could be found helping others with certain problems rarely conducive with the
average police issues" he supplemented and bit down on the sandwich with a leap of faith.
The half-Fae-half-human's eyes narrowed as she flicked through her memories again, the name meant nothing to her
as the hundreds of folk she'd interacted with often never told her who they were and more often, her vocation didn't
require such information. "Well, what seems te' be the problem wiv' this Mister Abernethy?" Peggy asked jovially as she
passed over a half-full canteen of water to the semi-handsome young man in the indigo tunic. "It concerns a phantom
that is wreaking havoc in Thameston..." he answered during his mastication "... he's known as The Cold Caller"
.................................................................
To the small-in-stature poncho-wearing woman with the strange accent, Calder's Way had always been an villatic
thoroughfare, a quiet roadway in the countryside that occasionally offered scenic glimpses through agrestal trees
of more countryside. As the trio walked down this sea-stoned turnpike, Peggy Powler realised what she had taken
for granted was slowly slipping away in favour of something she'd have preferred to steer clear of. Myrddin had
once told her about such places during their wanderings, he had called it 'a Metropolis' and described it as a site
where people such as herself should avoid. "That is where..." the venerable Wizard had warned his young pupil
walking beside him down a leafy lane of long-ago "...is where the true monsters live"
"So that is Thameston?" Jim Eckles' companion asked as the trees and arable fell away to offer a dearth of what
the little Witch had grown accustomed to. As a child in the Carnival, she had witnessed large communities, but
nothing that compared to what now she was seeing. High chimneys spewed out smoke into the sky and created
a dirty haze above the grey slated roofs and the whole tableau of tall buildings looked like it been painted with
grime. "Yep, somewhere in there The Cold Caller is currently doing his killing" the Constable replied as he urged
the donkey to follow them in.
Peggy glanced at the lad from Blackfriars, but kept her silence. Officer Eckles had explained the situation during
their two-day trek to where he and his law-enforcers were stationed, but the bare-footed woman with her weird
ways had heard of this mysterious malefactor before. In fact, she was at the scene of his first killing.
that his quest to find this mysterious woman was a waste of time. The animal had related its opinion with its eyes as it
watched the young man in the unbuttoned uniform resting against a dry-stone wall and waiting for feeling to come back
to his rump. Even though he'd left Blackfriars back when summer was just beginning and seemed to be getting on with
Inspector Abernethy and his motley crew, Jim wondered if this fool's errand was some sort of rite of passage.
It had been two days since he had left Thameston on this useless mission and now sat staring at a junction where
Calder's Way allowed its occasional traveller of the sea-cobbled highway to wander down a muddy track to another
God forsaken bunch of hayseeds. Grey rainclouds huddled together in the east and the leafless surroundings implied
better weather was still a long way off. "Waste of time" he reiterated with a whisper and groaned to Mister Pincher's
half-asleep beast of burden as he rose from the damp grass, one more village and that was it he thought to himself.
The now-familiar aroma of woodsmoke and fresh manure greeted the young policeman leading his donkey into the
small community of Rollright. It was early afternoon and Jim suspected the lowbrow residents would be out in the
fields ploughing or whatever these bumpkins do to pass the day. It was then he saw the blood and a furrow in the
damp earth that looked something -or someone, had been injured and then dragged away.
.................................................................
Peggy Powler rubbed her aching shoulder and gazing around at the grave faces watching from outside the ring of moss
-strewn standing stones, she wondered if they were now wishing they'd called for Reverend Bigelow. The foul-smelling
River Worm was dead and even though one of the villager's pitchfork was sticking out of its tail, the little Witch hoped
the open-mouthed people of Rollright would realise it had been majick that had brought the slimy beast's demise.
"Ah' be on me-way now..." Peggy said quietly after a few moments of silence in the chilly clearing, the men and women
seemed to have become like the ancient waist-high megaliths that gave their neighbourhood its name and remained silent.
"...Fair travels te' yer' and if yer' need me agin', tell one of the Midnight Mail men" she added lamely and bowed slightly
to the old menhirs before leaving.
They'd been quite chatty when the diminutive necromancer had first arrived and their woes regarding the river-serpent
and its nasty antics had come in a cascade of voices. All in earnest and all with a tone that smacked of desperation,
now just stony faces and only a far-off cawing rook offered any indication that their saviour hadn't gone deaf.
"Aye" Peggy mumbled her assumption at their mute gratitude and walked back to the village square alone.
.................................................................
The lad who'd only ever known pavement beneath his feet, the little Witch in the big hat sat beneath a large oak tree
and waited out the latest downpour. The grocer's donkey stood with one hind-leg pitched to indicate another siesta
was being performed. Peggy rummaged in her satchel and after finding what she was looking for, offered Jim Eckles
a wrapped hoagie kindly donated by the fisherwomen of Shellport.
"So yer' gaffer sent fur' me, yer' say?..." the crouching sorceress said as she prepared her own sandwich for eating
and realising the donkey was watching them both with edacious eyes, produced a carrot from her always-faithful
tote. "...Are yer' sure yer' got the right person, cos Ah've never heard of anyone called George Abernethy?" she added
around a mouthful of bread and mutton.
Peering down at the dried-out fare, Jim wondered if they'd remember him fondly back at Bishopsgate after he'd died
of food-poisoning. "The Inspector was adamant that you could possibly assist him in our current crime and along with
your name, described you..." he answered with a baleful eye at the necromancer's soil-covered feet. "...He said you
are the Last Witch of Underhill and could be found helping others with certain problems rarely conducive with the
average police issues" he supplemented and bit down on the sandwich with a leap of faith.
The half-Fae-half-human's eyes narrowed as she flicked through her memories again, the name meant nothing to her
as the hundreds of folk she'd interacted with often never told her who they were and more often, her vocation didn't
require such information. "Well, what seems te' be the problem wiv' this Mister Abernethy?" Peggy asked jovially as she
passed over a half-full canteen of water to the semi-handsome young man in the indigo tunic. "It concerns a phantom
that is wreaking havoc in Thameston..." he answered during his mastication "... he's known as The Cold Caller"
.................................................................
To the small-in-stature poncho-wearing woman with the strange accent, Calder's Way had always been an villatic
thoroughfare, a quiet roadway in the countryside that occasionally offered scenic glimpses through agrestal trees
of more countryside. As the trio walked down this sea-stoned turnpike, Peggy Powler realised what she had taken
for granted was slowly slipping away in favour of something she'd have preferred to steer clear of. Myrddin had
once told her about such places during their wanderings, he had called it 'a Metropolis' and described it as a site
where people such as herself should avoid. "That is where..." the venerable Wizard had warned his young pupil
walking beside him down a leafy lane of long-ago "...is where the true monsters live"
"So that is Thameston?" Jim Eckles' companion asked as the trees and arable fell away to offer a dearth of what
the little Witch had grown accustomed to. As a child in the Carnival, she had witnessed large communities, but
nothing that compared to what now she was seeing. High chimneys spewed out smoke into the sky and created
a dirty haze above the grey slated roofs and the whole tableau of tall buildings looked like it been painted with
grime. "Yep, somewhere in there The Cold Caller is currently doing his killing" the Constable replied as he urged
the donkey to follow them in.
Peggy glanced at the lad from Blackfriars, but kept her silence. Officer Eckles had explained the situation during
their two-day trek to where he and his law-enforcers were stationed, but the bare-footed woman with her weird
ways had heard of this mysterious malefactor before. In fact, she was at the scene of his first killing.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.