The night lay before Mister Fawkes and the strumpets awaited his deliverance of reformation. In his coat pocket lay the
special reminder of the cold continuance that lay ahead in the fire and brimstone for the fallen women if they continued
their wretched ways. An inked plume also lay beside the container of ice, a quill to illustrate the sorrow they would endure
for eternity. The occasional slate tile clicked beneath his feet as he traversed the rooftops towards his place of ambuscade
and a chilly breeze accompanied the Cold Caller's passage.
"We have hunters on our spoor..." said the voice and the man who'd cleansed villages across the land of these wanton
women peered around at the silhouettes of indifferent chimneys and saw nothing. "...It is the woman who sees beyond
the shroud and a man of the laws" Fawkes' companion warned just as he spotted the two hunched shapes huddled
beside the tallest of the brick vents. The lodger of Sergeant Jim Burrows and his wife who lost her mother to The Cold
Caller's hands became a statue and waited for the dark figures to make the first move, the crepuscular heavens above
them all tarried too.
"The lady I do not fear for she is an ally in seeking a resurrection of the old ways..." Mister Fawkes hissed to the orator
in his head as he absently reached for the long blade beneath his coat. "...But the bluecoat is incapable of fathoming
the reasons why we must continue in our quest" he added. The stand-off continued as the Whyte Chapel's mysterious
antiseptic weighed his options on what to do next. He had no intention of withdrawal, but at the same time, slaying the
lawman and warlock would bring its own problems.
.................................................................
Inspector Abernethy breathed slowly through his nose as he appreciated the situation. Here he was, witnessing the
prowl of the famous Cold Caller and yet, he had heeded the words of the little so-called sorceress beside him to
remain in the shadow of the Baker's chimney. "He's right in front of us, woman... we've got him" George whispered
and felt all his muscles flinch and caper in his urgency to catch the murderous monster. Peggy Powler was aware
of her companion's jitters to do his job, but placing a hand on his forearm, she hushed "let the bugger stew in his
own head fur' a while, besides... he knaws' we're here".
George shot the bare-footed shaman a look of incredulity and failed to see what her plan could possibly be. They
were here, alone and without any defence against a determined killer and the Last Witch of Underhill certainly
didn't give-off the aura of someone capable of tackling such a tenacious predator.
.................................................................
"There's a building for storing coal and a outside water closet just below..." the voice volunteered after waiting for
his host to initiate a plan of action. "...We could bypass this botheration by dropping down from the guttering and
continue our campaign". Mister Fawkes moved his eyes from the doublet of ambushers and peered down at the
blackness beyond the sloping roof. It would be quite a leap of faith, but his need to expurgate this site of squalor
demanded he should progress and save those who wallow in the hollow words from the those of the new religion.
.................................................................
Peggy estimated they only had two shakes of a badger's tail before The Cold Caller would make his next move
and her mind raced with what type of spell would be appropriate. The motionless figure had a secret, something
surpassing the trivial need to kill women.
She'd felt it before when she'd ambled into Palmer's Corner where a young woman with a strange tattoo scrawled
across her face and her neck sliced open had been found and the angry crowd were demanding from each other
some sort of retribution for the slaying. The pandemonium was at odds with the quietness the little Witch had just
come from and standing next to the village's water-pump, Peggy suddenly felt a need to peer over the noisy crowd.
Several great oaks abetted the swathe of trees around Palmers Green and a good Summer had urged their foliage
to hang heavy on their branches above its riotous residents. Well into the cloak of greenery, something caught the
eye of the poncho-wearing wanderer, a movement high up, a shape adjusting its position. Squinting to garner any
further clues from the unusual sight above the brouhaha, Peggy saw a doubling of the figure that wasn't an effect
of her vision.
There were two of them only for a instant and the slower-moving one offered features of realisation to the startled
woman standing outside of the mayhem. Not for being seen by the keen-eyed witness visiting Palmer's Green,
but due to recognition of a kindred spirit, a disciple of the old ways.
Now, that same invisible sycophant and its accommodator were transfixed on the roof before her and time was
tapping its foot. "Nema Kayet fae..." Peggy began and then the unthinkable happened. The Cold Caller jumped.
special reminder of the cold continuance that lay ahead in the fire and brimstone for the fallen women if they continued
their wretched ways. An inked plume also lay beside the container of ice, a quill to illustrate the sorrow they would endure
for eternity. The occasional slate tile clicked beneath his feet as he traversed the rooftops towards his place of ambuscade
and a chilly breeze accompanied the Cold Caller's passage.
"We have hunters on our spoor..." said the voice and the man who'd cleansed villages across the land of these wanton
women peered around at the silhouettes of indifferent chimneys and saw nothing. "...It is the woman who sees beyond
the shroud and a man of the laws" Fawkes' companion warned just as he spotted the two hunched shapes huddled
beside the tallest of the brick vents. The lodger of Sergeant Jim Burrows and his wife who lost her mother to The Cold
Caller's hands became a statue and waited for the dark figures to make the first move, the crepuscular heavens above
them all tarried too.
"The lady I do not fear for she is an ally in seeking a resurrection of the old ways..." Mister Fawkes hissed to the orator
in his head as he absently reached for the long blade beneath his coat. "...But the bluecoat is incapable of fathoming
the reasons why we must continue in our quest" he added. The stand-off continued as the Whyte Chapel's mysterious
antiseptic weighed his options on what to do next. He had no intention of withdrawal, but at the same time, slaying the
lawman and warlock would bring its own problems.
.................................................................
Inspector Abernethy breathed slowly through his nose as he appreciated the situation. Here he was, witnessing the
prowl of the famous Cold Caller and yet, he had heeded the words of the little so-called sorceress beside him to
remain in the shadow of the Baker's chimney. "He's right in front of us, woman... we've got him" George whispered
and felt all his muscles flinch and caper in his urgency to catch the murderous monster. Peggy Powler was aware
of her companion's jitters to do his job, but placing a hand on his forearm, she hushed "let the bugger stew in his
own head fur' a while, besides... he knaws' we're here".
George shot the bare-footed shaman a look of incredulity and failed to see what her plan could possibly be. They
were here, alone and without any defence against a determined killer and the Last Witch of Underhill certainly
didn't give-off the aura of someone capable of tackling such a tenacious predator.
.................................................................
"There's a building for storing coal and a outside water closet just below..." the voice volunteered after waiting for
his host to initiate a plan of action. "...We could bypass this botheration by dropping down from the guttering and
continue our campaign". Mister Fawkes moved his eyes from the doublet of ambushers and peered down at the
blackness beyond the sloping roof. It would be quite a leap of faith, but his need to expurgate this site of squalor
demanded he should progress and save those who wallow in the hollow words from the those of the new religion.
.................................................................
Peggy estimated they only had two shakes of a badger's tail before The Cold Caller would make his next move
and her mind raced with what type of spell would be appropriate. The motionless figure had a secret, something
surpassing the trivial need to kill women.
She'd felt it before when she'd ambled into Palmer's Corner where a young woman with a strange tattoo scrawled
across her face and her neck sliced open had been found and the angry crowd were demanding from each other
some sort of retribution for the slaying. The pandemonium was at odds with the quietness the little Witch had just
come from and standing next to the village's water-pump, Peggy suddenly felt a need to peer over the noisy crowd.
Several great oaks abetted the swathe of trees around Palmers Green and a good Summer had urged their foliage
to hang heavy on their branches above its riotous residents. Well into the cloak of greenery, something caught the
eye of the poncho-wearing wanderer, a movement high up, a shape adjusting its position. Squinting to garner any
further clues from the unusual sight above the brouhaha, Peggy saw a doubling of the figure that wasn't an effect
of her vision.
There were two of them only for a instant and the slower-moving one offered features of realisation to the startled
woman standing outside of the mayhem. Not for being seen by the keen-eyed witness visiting Palmer's Green,
but due to recognition of a kindred spirit, a disciple of the old ways.
Now, that same invisible sycophant and its accommodator were transfixed on the roof before her and time was
tapping its foot. "Nema Kayet fae..." Peggy began and then the unthinkable happened. The Cold Caller jumped.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.