Peggy Powler & The Kaffajinn

[BIAD]

Mary Bottle came to the conclusion that if her pen-friend hadn't arrived at their agreed rendezvous by the time
the winter sun went behind the nearest of the two tall posts of the Fessel Cloud Walkway, she'd call it a day
and return to her mundane life in Munderville via the more safer route than this rickety-looking platform. Mary
and Dorothy Cobb had been corresponding with each other for almost four summers since they'd first met
during the seasonal time of Tattie-picking Week and the young woman in the light-blue gingham dress was
looking forward to seeing the only person she could truly call a friend.

Mary would always smile as she recalled those couple of harmonious days where they gathered the farmer's
root-crop and chatted across the imaginary boundary that divided Dorothy's designated picking-area and her
own. As the pair collected the potatoes left in the plough horse's wake, they found that they had an affinity
with lots of things and the warm days had been full of amiable chattering and an appreciation for each others
different lifestyles.

Dorothy was a seamstress and was looking forward to starting her own business of Cartwheel and Ten-Spoke
Yarrel button-making, a skill slowly declining due to changing fashions. But the always-grinning tawny-haired
girl from Bowe-Denton assured her tattie-plucking acquaintance that in the world of dressmaking, fads come
and go and people would always needs clothes.

When Dorothy had mentioned their chance-meeting was merely due to her temporary situation of visiting her
Aunt Agatha living on a small-holding just outside of Munderville, Mary -who had sewn her own garments since
she'd been only knee-high, had dared to ask if they could continue their rapport through the use of the Midnight
Mail and the blue-eyed young lady with the muddy knees had agreed. Somewhere on the horizon, the blonde
stripling from Munderville believed an opportunity to leave her humdrum village awaited and now -if her friend
shows up, that time may be closer.

Alas, with the unenthusiastic sun drawing a faint long shadow from the heavily-rope-wrapped upright, Mary's
heart sank and breathing out her melancholy into the cool air, she turned to head towards Calder's Way. That
was when she saw the faint shape in the late-afternoon mist upon the bridge.

With a sudden rush of elation, Mary realised it was Dorothy and she must have merely come to their meeting
place by the other less-used route past the almost-redundant Dry-Goods store. With a smile on her face that
threatened to reach her ears, Mary absently glanced down at the wide lumber of the platform and raced towards
her soul mate in the foggy centre of the Fessel Cloud Walkway.
But it wasn't Dorothy.
.................................................................

The Vampire known as Otis Susan smiled sardonically to the open-mouthed crowd that watched the scene and
prepared to feast on the blood of the tenacious woman standing before him wearing the stupid big hat. It had
been six whole weeks of feeding here in Starlingbush and now with the slaying of their recently-arrived aspiring
law-enforcer, Otis reckoned he might even get through to next winter before having to move off to another venue
to banquet.

The figure standing inside a small circle of stones raised her arms and in doing so, showed bare thigh to match
her bare feet. With a mumble of incoherent words, the little woman looked ridiculous to the Vampire who had
been maurading this part of the countryside since the beginning of summer. "Git yer' gone, yer' foul ogre and
leave not a pong of yer' exit" this poncho-wearing newcomer cried out in far-too-dramatic tones and it was at
that precise moment when Otis noticed the audience had began to giggle.

The more-cynical among us sometimes state that honey can catch flies, but allow the wasps go free. In the case
of this natural syrup -when mixed with certain herbs and incantations, it is not true. Everything becomes attained
and that includes the slowly-comprehending Otis Susan. The knee-high boots he'd been buried in were cemented
fast to the dried earth beneath the layer of brewed amalgam and no matter how he tried, he could not further his
intended assault.

He'd come in from the south side of Starlingbush and been surprised by the absence of residents in their homes
during his perusal through their little windows. With the means of his stealth, Otis has crept along the unpaved
thoroughfare until he spied the citizens of this backwater hamlet gathered as a jumbled congregation in a rarely
-used corral listening to an unknown orator with -what the Vampire believed, was a poor dialect.

"...Aye, these buggers might fink' they have the right te' just come and tek' what they want, but Ah'll show yer'
that majick will always tek' the day" this bantam female under a far-too large hat announced proudly during
his silent approach. Adorned in a grimy garment that had seen better days and a weathered satchel hanging
limply from her shoulder, this unshod pontificator stood within a bracelet of rocks that Otis believed had been
gathered by the peasants who worked the land in these parts and announced to her audience that their place
on his menu was no more.

Slowly creeping from the shadows of the forest that circled the dusty stockade, Starlingbush's visiting Vampire
sniffed his incredulity at the little woman's cocky sermon and licking his long fangs, Otis decided that the scruffy
newcomer would make a grand appetiser. For one fleeting moment, a name fluttered across the blood-sucker's
fevered mind, but he failed to snatch it.

Out here in the nowhere boondocks, Otis had heard all the lurid tales of conjurers of spells and grand illusionists
who inveigled the hillbillies with their so-called sortilege. But he knew they never came this far off the regular
roads and certainly never carried a less-uncultivated vernacular.

Yet here he was, only a few steps from his rough-sounding prey and his feet suddenly frozen to the ground.
"Five steps, iff'n' yer' the Last Witch of Underhill" Peggy Powler whispered through her antipathetic smile and
after nodding to a waving Midnight Mail Carrier in the crowd, began the ceremony of purification. It didn't take
long as some of the men of Starlingbush had brought their axes.

[BIAD]

Earnest Heinz glumly turned the 'Open'-sign around on his door and gazed sullenly out of his store window at
the reason for the lack of footfall to his Dry-Goods Store. The ridiculously-named Fessel Cloud Walkway was
still there, the massive pair of four-hundred year-old oak pillars wrapped in thick ropes and anchored down with
chains into the bedrock above the heavily-arboraceous chasm it was erected to traverse.

It was still too early in the day for the supposedly-mysterious cloud to appear on the wooden crossing and the
grocer wistfully realised the once-hoped-for notoriety of such a wonder had become as intangible as the rolling
vapour that engulfed the midpoint of the now-obvious burthen. The people from the surrounding villages had
failed to show with their purses ready to buy from his store, those of wealthy backgrounds had never arrived
in their swanky chariots to ogle at the useless pathway to nothingness and purchase away their desires in his
inherited establishment.

No, the swaying monument to absurdity was a duck egg and as Earnest watched the figure in the dark-brown
duster standing close to one of the bridge's pillars,

With a very old warm-water brook flowing down through the wide ravine on its way to the Great Sea, the midpoint
of the two-man-broad bridge would disappear every late-afternoon when clouds of balmy condensation rises from
the lush foliage. This natural phenomena was captivating enough to cause Percy Fessel -the owner of the nearby
Borax mine sited on the other side of gorge, to purchase the land from Earnest's now-deceased father and have
the planked-walkway built across the void.

Up to this point, Fessel's current mule-drawn vehicles had used the stone bridge that spanned a narrower part of
the deep chasm a full league to the east. The same conventional overpass that involved Calder's Way stretching
north. But now with a shorter passage available to the excavation of the highly-cherished salt-crystal, the wagons
would pass the Heinz's premises and Earnest gratefully accepted the occasional trade the journey caused.

However, when the mules began to violently protest at their journey across the slowly swinging platform, Fessel
reluctantly agreed with his employees to return to their original route and the fancy trestle was accepted as a folly.
But in regards of extracting any tourist-generated prestige from the nebulous cloud formation around the suspension
bridge's centre, this only lasted until winter came down over Bowes County and the inconvenient incidents of visitors
going missing.

Something that explained why the funereal grocer standing at his door spotted someone he recognised standing close
to the Walkway's entrance. It was Wilbur Delphi... Constable Wilbur Delphi.
.................................................................

"...And being an elected officer of Munderville and this shire, it is my task to solve the problem of the vanishings of the
four ladies that crossed yon transit" Constable Delphi assured his only audience to the statement. The single spectator
adorned in a scuffed pinafore nodded absently as he adjusted his sleeve garters and needlessly went back to tidying
a shelf behind his counter. "Well Sir, I'd say that you've certainly got your work cut out" Earnest replied and wondered
if the policeman would buy anything.

Wilbur Delphi raised his bushy eyebrows, features that matched his moustache that hung down on either side of his
mouth. Heinz's suggestion was accurate, but what the skinny shopkeeper hadn't grasped was that the proximity of
his establishment placed him in the paddock of suspects. "Nobody is beyond my suspicion and I'll leave no stone
unturned" Wilbur softly assured the owner of the failing business and stepped close to the front door in order to
gaze out at the assumed crime scene.

Nobody had ever lived in the gorge, a fact that Wilbur discovered from conversations with Fessel employees and the
mine owner himself. With the Borax carts now using Calder's Way again, Heinz would normally be a prime candidate,
but during two of the disappearances, a wholesaler with the odd name of Pudding over at Munderville had informed him
that the grocer spent the whole day purchasing stock at his place. "Maybe the Kaffajinn got 'em" Eugene Pudding
had quipped as Wilbur had turned to untie his horse and it was this dark badinage that had led him to next step.

Wilbur Delphi's appointment was fairly new and with the idea that local law enforcement was becoming more important
by those in positions of power and wealth, the middle-aged man had foreseen a fair future for himself as long as he kept
boffo options open when addressing a crime. The silly legend of the invisible demon had been around for a long time and
Pudding's boffo-notion that these strange evaporations may involve a possible paranormal aspect, the strait-laced officer
had thought it prudent to request a Midnight Mail carrier to seek out someone appropriate in this sort of business.
It was this person the priggish officer was now waiting for in the Heinz Dry-Goods Store.

The quietude that settled in the outlet was somehow pleasing to the stuffy agent of Bowes County waiting at the door
and yet he knew that vital counsel could still be gleaned from the thin-framed man humming to himself as he handled
wax-papered packages behind the counter. Delphi speculated his requested partner in solving these confusing atrocities
would ask such questions and so it may be prudent to have the answers when she turned up.

Clearing his throat, the conventional constable stepped stiffly up to the dark-grained barrier between himself and the
engaged grocer and coughed again to accentuate his need to begin his interrogation of Earnest Heinz. "Now listen
here my good-man, if you do have anything that could help us with the..." He paused to underscore his dislike on
implying the women were dead, "...with the exodus of these ladies, it may be now would be a better time to donate
such information."

"If its not the bloomin' Kaffajinn showin' up agin', Ah'll eat me-hat" a voice stated from behind the two men and
turning to see who had broadcast this unusual proclamation, they both showed signs of bewilderment. Earnest
Heinz's door was open and standing there was Constable Delphi's imminent companion, a woman with dirty feet
and a wearing the submitted meal on her head.

[BIAD]

It had been obvious from the few questions the Peggy Powler had asked Earnest Heinz that he knew very little
and she guessed it had something to do with a limited inquisitiveness simply born from his concern for the lack
of patronage. "They never came into my store and therefore their business remained their business" the sullen
merchant said without missing a beat from his tidying.

As the Last Witch of Underhill and the Constable of Bowes County watched Earnest's movements, both juggled
with their respective judgements of the man and unknowingly, their evaluations were contrasting -but not too-far
away from each other's assessment.

For the little woman aware of looking silly by standing too-near to the human-sized counter, she'd seen such folk
who trudged through life and subconsciously perceived those around them as carriers of constant negative effects
to their daily endeavours. In such cases, eavesdropping would only be something they performed if they deemed
it advantageous to their own private lifestyle and if not, such snooping was seen as a waste of time and energy.

Earnest Heinz was one of these folks. He may have clues to assist in Peggy and Officer Wilbur's investigation,
but the storekeeper will have already weighed the information and mentally disregarded it as worthless.

For the Constable Delphi, his perusal involved the notion that the chary owner of this out-of-the-way establishment
may be trying to to trick him in some fashion. Granted, he had an alibi when Lilac Featherstone of Lower Denton
and Dorothy Cobb went missing, but Wilbur wasn't one to just accept the nearest person to the scene of these
disappearances didn't have any knowledge that could help them in their inquiry.

Still, the stuffy policeman had to admit that Heinz didn't carry the manner of someone who stole women from
lonely bridges and kept them in his basement. In fact, Wilbur felt a little better when he realised that the building
didn't even have a basement. Both judicious results didn't paint Earnest Heinz in a good light, but the pair didn't
pencil him in as an abductor either.

However, when Peggy wished Heinz fair travels and turned towards the door, Wilbur's phrenic examination of the
situation evaporated and he simply followed the small necromancer out onto the flattened track that led to the
Fessel Cloud Walkway. Making sure the badge of office that the Blacksmith of Munderville had cast for him was
straight and in full view, he cleared his throat and prepared to probe the mind of the woman scanning the outside
of Heinz's forgotten outlet.

"It seems the fellow is no use to us, don't you agree, Miss Powler?" he asked as he copied Peggy's audit of the
building. The one-story structure was made of faded wood and to Wilbur, offered little in the clue-department.
The little Witch moved her eyes to his and seemed to be using the same study as she had on the storekeeper.

"Aye, it's just you and me" Peggy replied with a small smile that never reached her eyes. She would've preferred
to have conducted this odd situation on her own and not have to negotiate around this burly man with restrained
acumen. In a way -she thought as she sized her priggish partner up, Earnest Heinz and Wilbur Delphi were a lot
alike. "Mebbe' we should tek' a gander over at yon bridge and see what what we can see, eh?" the little Witch
offered the elected policeman of a job Peggy had guessed nobody wanted in Munderville.

Wilbur peered down at the wide-eyed little face looking up at him. "I concur, we should move our investigation
along with more haste as we have no idea what distress these four ladies are enduring at this moment" he said
sedately. Somewhere inside, Peggy inwardly sighed her opinion on her newly-enlisted companion of the law and
with a vague nod of consensus, the pair set off towards the mist-wraithed bridge.
.................................................................

It was during this short walk over to the Cloud Walkway that Wilbur felt the need to explain why he'd called upon
the services of the little woman beside him who was suppressing her toil to keep up with his long and determined
strides. "I feel I must thank you for your assistance in this troubling matter, Miss Powler..." the Officer said through
his thick soup-catcher of a moustache, "...I suspect this case will be merely the act of a common degenerate who
sought an intimacy with these poor females in a manner all respectable folk would find most foul and ungodly" he
added as Peggy suddenly halted her half-canter and stared down at the dried earth near her shoeless feet.

The tiny object was caked in mud from a few passing rains, but some of the white material it was comprised of
had avoided the effects of any recent drenchers. Carefully plucking the dirty item out of its semi-grave, Peggy's
mind rushed to attain a memory in order to identify the find she held towards Officer Delphi. It arrived almost at
once. "Back in the day before wood and metal became the trend, me-Ma used te' knaw' a lady who made these"
the little sorceress chirped. "...It's a button and grand one too" she appended and handed the delicate fastener
over to her clueless companion.

Officer Delphi examined the gift and with raised eyebrows he announced the owner was probably the seamstress
from Bowe-Denton, a revelation he felt was certainly important in his imagined competition to retain his position
of being in charge of the investigation.

"This shows that Dorothy Cobb arrived from this side of the Walkway and would have to pass by Heinz's store" he
furthered his reasoning and pocketing the potential evidence, the panglossian Officer Delphi asked the question the
petite Shaman been waiting for since arriving at this reclusive place.

"I've heard it said around Munderville that this might be the work of a Kaffajinn..." he suggested after rubbing a thick
thumb through his moustache. "...Although I have to admit that such creatures -although probably a regular character
in your line of work, tend not to be routine culprits when it comes to crime-solving". Beneath her wide-rimmed hat,
Peggy smiled to herself at Wilbur Delphi fondness of using ambiguous phrasing to ask a simple question or state
an obvious fact, but when you're handed lemons...

"Tis' a weird bugger, a Kaffajinn..." she began, "...some wizards say it's a Demon animating a dead animal's body
and others reckon it's a type of Illithid, a lower-being from behind the veil". Arriving at their destination, the bantam
-sized thaumaturge offered enigmatically to the wide-chested agent of the law "just think of a bad-tempered Tulpa,
but crafty".
.................................................................

The Fessel Cloud Walkway could be declared a celebrated feat of of engineering as its span across the forested
gorge must have involved many men and a keen mind to accomplish such a deed. With four huge ancient oak
posts embedded into the tops of the either cliff, the rope-and chain-bound abutments were the only parts of the
structure that always escaped the all-encompassing brume that rolled up from the humid crevasse later in the day.

The cart-wide deck of thick planks were made of Ash and coated in a Pine-sap vernix, From Peggy's viewpoint
at the berm of the bridge, she could see the weather from the nearby coast and the few vehicles that had used
it had made hardly any impact on the well-gilded boards. The handrails -if one could call them that, were twine
-bound lengths of Pine wood fastened to a single rope that traversed the gorge and offered little in the notion of
security. Holding onto her hat in case of any sudden up-drafts, the wary Wizard concluded that the design of the
bridge had leaned heavily on carriage traffic and not people.

Caressing the thick hemp of the uprights as she and Constable Delphi peered down onto the leafy canopy below,
the little Witch wondered how -if Mary Bottle had been at the far end of the Walkway and the shopkeeper hadn't
mentioned a stranger being on this side of the platform, how was this alleged Kaffajinn accomplishing the theft
of these young women?

[BIAD]

"Ah, there he is" Officer Delphi exclaimed with as much verve as discovering a caterpillar crawling along a leaf and
leaving the small necromancer to her own devices, stepped off the Cloud Walkway and approached a dull-looking
young lad holding a large bundle. Peggy Powler and the Constable of Munderville had walked the full length of the
mist-shrouded wooden suspension bridge and had found nothing connecting it and the disappearance of the four
women.

Now surveying the Borax mine-side of the platform, nothing offered itself as a possible clue for the vanishings to
the aloof blue-robed flatfoot and the Last Witch of Underhill. Peggy sniffed away the effects of the condensation
building up around her and gazed down at the dark-green foliage in the gorge in an attempted to piece the jigsaw
together.

"I instructed my eldest son to bring me a bedroll in case we need to bivouac..." Wilbur announced proudly as he
place a hand on the grinning boy's shoulder and tucking the string-wrapped bale under his other arm, the couple
approached the woman evincing her attention elsewhere . "...I also advised him to journey via the Calder's Way
route as currently we don't know what we are dealing with here". This said as the Constable escorted his first-
born issue back across the Walkway in order to take Officer-Delphi's horse back home.

"Fair travels, Miss Powler" were the only words from the tousle-haired lad as he wandered into the mist with his
father. Peggy nodded absently to the officer's self-involved twaddle and waved vaguely at the boy's farewell, it
was obvious some equine toil was required at the Delphi home, but such circumspection was unimportant for
the scanning Shaman leaning on the roped-handrail.

The deep impassive cleft had been formed due to the eroding minerals drawn up from underground and carried
along by the slowing-moving steam until their potency became diluted in The Great Sea. The cliffs were sheer
on both sides and appeared to offer nothing in the way of hidden cavities and the attentive sorceress wondered
what type of search had taken place down in the cramped forest of deciduous and evergreen trees.

Large ferns wainscoted the boundary where the dense greenery met the rock faces and there seemed no obvious
indication the area was used to house the quartet of stolen damsels. This -of course, was based on the idea that
Wilbur Delphi's report was correct. The studious little necromancer still clung to the idea this was the work of a
Kaffajinn and considering the demon's little-known craving of human hair, she strongly believed the sly creature
wouldn't be keeping its captures somewhere down in the woods.

It seemed only a few moments before Peggy heard the sound of a horse trotting away, a familiar backdrop of
rural noise to stuffy-urbane tones of the policeman. "Several men and I scoured the woodland below and we
found nothing to denote the ladies are being held down there..." the newly-elected lawman said softly when he
returned from convoying his son. "...They were taken from up here and probably exported from away down to
the seashore" he added.

Arriving at the end of the bridge furthest away from Earnest Heinz's Dry-Goods Store, he watched Peggy's stone
-like features for some type of clue to what she was thinking. "My guess would be the scoundrel tarried up here
and then took his swooned-prey towards the Cat Steps and made for the beach before absconding further along
the shoreline with his prize" Wilbur attached to his initial assumption.

Realising why the bare-footed Witch offered him a puzzled-look, Officer Delphi explained the Cat Steps was a
nickname for the carved stairway from the levated land on the Borax mine side down to the shingled beach that
lay further along the gorge where the warm-water stream met the The Great Sea. There were two sets of steps,
one on Earnest Heniz's side conveniently titled 'the Dog Steps' and the other just a small walk from where Peggy
and her explainer now stood.

"All around this area used to be a place families would spend a rare summer's day away from the drudgery of daily
life..." Wilbur continued. "...Then when Percy Fessel came with his men to tear out the borax, all that changed.
Old-man Heinz's Store saw less-and-less folks from the district ascending the cliffs to partake of his home-made
ice-cream and now his son... well, you've seen for yourself".

There was a moment on the bridge when all was quiet and to some, it may have been a time when both visitors
were calmly reflecting on the latest information or juggling with other options to the whereabouts of four women.
For Peggy, it was a respite she knew she had to utilise.

"Mister Delphi, will yer' do me a favour and stop yer' lips flappin' fur' a breath and hold me-hat?..." the little Witch
advised the aloof policeman as she offered him her wide-rimmed headwear and then carefully sank to her knees
in order to examine the underside of the Fessel Cloud Walkway. "...And Ah'd advise yer te' avert yer' eyes, iffn' =
yer' please" she warned the shocked constable accepting his abrasive partner.

Whilst Wilbur Delphi struggled to construct a response to the seemingly-uncultivated woman leaning precariously
over the wooden planks, Peggy examined the belly of the bridge for clues to endorse an idea she'd had during the
Officer's tiresome addresses. Approaching the Cloud Walkway from either end would alert any potential victim if
they too were stood at the same side of the platform. This naturally-assumed advance would also lend itself to a
Kaffajinn being seen by the Store owner witnessing an abduction if it occurred on his side of the gorge.

Resisting the nauseous feeling from checking the underside of the mist-shrouded Walkway upside-down, the Witch
without undergarments squinted her eyes and waited for the steamy droplets to accredit her suspicion. It wasn't long
before the tell-tale sign of a delicate filament could be seen coming from the lower clouds of haze and looping once
to the attached rope of one of the planks, returned down into the veiled jungle below.

Sighing to herself as she climbed back to her full height, Peggy conjured up an image in her mind how the crafty
culprit who'd stolen the lasses had done it. The thread would be connected to a string, the string was tied to a
thicker length of twine and then a rope could be hauled up to Fessel's folly. All this done in the slowly-rolling grey
soup that surrounded the bridge and if careful, an excellent way for a Kaffajinn to carry off its trophy.

"Sneaky little bugger" she announced cryptically to the tall man from Munderville and set off towards the Cat Steps.

[BIAD]

The night had finally arrived and on the sheltered shore of the Great Sea, Peggy Powler and Constable Wilbur Delphi
warmed themselves beside a campfire that the law-enforcer had built out of the abundance of driftwood along the
stony beach. The little half-Fae's input to the couple's source of heat was the strange flame that appeared from her
thumb, a trick that Peggy knew impressed the impersonal man sitting across from her, although he would never
admit it.

They had travelled down the carved stairway of The Cat Steps and after surveying the narrow foliage-thick cleft from
the shoreline, Peggy agreed with her partner that they should begin their search properly tomorrow. The early-evening
light -what there was of it, was hastily leaving westwards and though it wasn't uttered, neither of them would like to
spend the night in the foreboding woods that squatted between the ravine's cliffs.

Crossing the shallow estuary of the warm-water stream, Peggy spied the brother of the hewn stairs they had just
descended. The Dog Stairs led up to the Heinz residence and from the look of the sprouting bushes and long grass
taking advantage of the ledges, she could see that the sculptured escalier hadn't been used in some time.

By dragging two washed-up logs together, the pair prepared their bivouac and with Wilbur's bare-footed confederate
producing two large sandwiches from her satchel, the unusual brace of investigators settled down to wait for morning.

The curtain of twinkling stars were on full parade tonight and with the lack of clouds, the light sea breeze was chilly
as it arrived from the gloom of deep water. The Officer of Bowes County gazed up at the coruscant nebula and as
he surveyed the clinquant heavens, the last Witch of Underhill wondered if Delphi was capable of appreciating the
entire gamut of what was being displayed.

Realising she was emulating the fellow's time-wasting technique, she glanced one more time towards the shadowy
clump of brooding trees at the end of the gorge and then leaned forward nearer the flames. "Yer' know Ah think we're
bein' watched" Peggy muttered softly and moved her eyes to indicate where she believed the secretive monitoring was
coming from.

But instead of doing what the little sorceress guessed he would do and promptly stare in the designated direction, the
seemingly nonchalant Policeman turned his head and looked out to sea. Yet, as his pose returned to its original state,
she saw that he used the opportunity to glance towards the murky boscage. The act drew a smile from the woman
on the other side of the campfire.

"I believe you are correct..." Officer Delphi whispered and then added "...but since we're out in the open and the distance
would negate any opportunity of sneaking up on our surreptitious spectator, may I ask a question that I have been unable
to institute due to our recent busy activities?" The little Witch folding her hat and was depositing in her satchel stayed her
action as she peered at the man in the dark-blue tunic, "Aye, yer can me-lad" she answered flatly.

Wilbur adjusted his rump on the marooned log and prepared himself for an explanation that may threaten to untether his
usual settings of pragmatism and rationale. Quietly clearing his throat, he asked "just what really is a Kaffajinn?"
...................................................

If memory serves, it had been just after her twenty-fifth summer that a young sorceress called Peggy Powler had first
went up against the demon known as a Kaffajinn. The last of the travelling carnivals had moved southwards the day
before to avoid whatever weather may roll down from the mountains around the village of Crickledale now that the
seasons were changing.

The leaves of the trees were yellowing as the little Witch with the shapely legs wandered into the picturesque hamlet
and spying a plaster-clad tavern titled 'The Lost Traveller', Peggy smiled as she grasped the reference the name was
making. Crickledale was built on a crossroads and because of its location, roaming fairs and carnivals would regularly
visit here with hopes of attracting customers from several regions.

Stepping across the threshold of the alehouse and quickly checking no twisted-sixpences or knotted horse-hair had
been tacked to the door's lintels, the wandering Witch went in to whet her whistle. The half-breed had grown-up
interacting with humans in their own settings and so ambling through the clouds of pipe-smoke and gawping faces
as she approached the too-high counter, Peggy Powler ignored the scenery and focused on a brew.

"Fair travels up there, would me-money buy me a flagon of yer' fine mead, barkeep?" the floppy hat asked from over
the bar and leaning forward, Amos Brearly gazed down at a pretty smiling face and a small hand holding two frollis.
"Iff'n yer not too busy, that is" the tiny customer added and cast her best winning wink. The hairy-cheeked Amos
couldn't help but grin back at the small figure, the bare-footed newcomer was a bonnie lass and she had tender too.
It only took a moment before a large pewter tankard of froth was being passed down and the coins gratefully accepted.

If Peggy had remained next to the scarred and boot-dented panelled counter, Officer Wilbur Delphi would be now sitting
on a washed-up log peering at a shrugging necromancer under a canvas of dazzling stars. However, wanting to rest her
weary legs, the bantam-sized curiosity of the eight-or-so patrons of The Lost Traveller inn stepped daintily over to the
front window where an old man beneath a long white beard sat balefully gazing out of the lead-lined glass.

It was this hirsute ancient with an empty jug who eventually asked the small woman across the table from him for help.
Help with an unwanted resident of a barn at his farm and if his description was correct, Peggy recognised that this fellow
had a problem with a Kaffajinn.

[BIAD]

When Peggy Powler had remarked to Wilbur Delphi that a Kaffajinn was a lower-order demon bound in a carcase
of some unfortunate animal, she was only skirting a full depiction. What she'd read in one of Myrddin's books and
what she'd witnessed at the old man's barn was of a miserable creature who used such deceased vehicles, but not
necessarily one at a time.

Now with the Policeman's anticipating attention on her, the Last Witch of Underhill felt her account of her interaction
with the thing dwelling on the outskirts of Crickledale should be given a full-airing and Officer Delphi could take from
it what he will.
.................................................................

As the little necromancer had listened to her new customer over her welcomed-brew, Peggy discovered the ancient
farmer's name was George Putters and he worked a small homestead not far outside of the village. George's two-girl
family had all grown up and now with their own futures to build, only he and his wife Hannah had remained at their
home and did what they could to maintain the place.

One morning in mid-summer, George had tottered out to check on a pregnant cow he'd temporarily brought in from
a meadow and arriving at the out-building, found the doleful bovine mooing up at the rafters of his barn. Entering the
straw-scattered barn, the old man saw the target of the wannabe-mother's anxiety.

There crouched on a beam was the lifeless body of the calf... except it wasn't alone and it wasn't truly lifeless. Tilting
his head in an attempt to understand what he was viewing, George saw that the object had somehow been combined
with another animal he recognised at once. The twisted and flinching shape -all gangly hooved-legs and snatches of
stinking fur was a mixture, a hideous amalgam of a veteran faithful dog he'd buried a while ago and the corpse of the
cow's stillborn freemartin.

"Binjee-Binjee tootah" the tangled mutant mewled from its roost and keeping his eyes on the horror up in the rafters,
George expeditiously urged the cheerless cow out of the barn and closed the paint-flaked Dutch-doors as fast he could.

It would be seven whole church candles before the bristly farmer dared to venture back to that out-building and when
he did, he found the horrid creature had added the remains of a rooster to its fabricated form. A wattled dead-eyed
head now protruded from the shoulder where his long-dead sheepdog's skin-ribboned skull resided and through -either
the bird's beak or the rotting detritus that had once been a canine's muzzle, the alloyed monster sitting in a silage-bare
manger spoke its evil language once again.

Maybe the strange words had something to do with the pitchfork George had harmed himself with or even the simple
fact that he was visiting the horror's new-found den, but which ever it was, the comment had enough of an effect on
the old man that he'd find his beard had turned completely white the next morning and his crusade to empty his barn
of the misshaped demon manifest into a fleeing of a building his grandfather had erected when he was but-a twinkle
in his own Pa's eye.

"Ooh-ma cibus" George told his only audience in The Lost Traveller tavern, these were the words he'd heard before
running away and taking his wife with him to his eldest daughter's cottage. Peggy had patted the worried-eyed old
man's arm and gently whispered "It means bring me food and that's just what we're ganna' do".
.................................................................

Wilbur Delphi's eyes were wide and as a chunk of driftwood crumpled to its inevitable station of being an ember, the
resulting sparks wafted up from the flames like tiny fairies taking to the night. "Aye, a Kaffajinn has nay shame in what
it wears to get around" the Policeman's companion warned her audience and carefully fed the campfire to continue the
blather.

The sea honoured the quietness that sat between the two shore-dwellers and kept its hypnotic sounds of movement
to a minimum. The darkness around the home-made billet waited for the next part of the colloquy, but this time it
came from the man in the blue kirtle. "Janie Beesley was from a farm" Wilbur offered, but he knew as the words
left his lips that the fact had no bearing on what they were currently dealing with and so feigned he found something
interesting in the campfire. Janie -a nineteen year-old blonde from Munderville, had been the first to go missing.

It would be two flicks of a badger's tail before Peggy spoke again and this time it was a reluctant question. The reason
for the query was known to a very few of those who conjure with majick and great heed had been done to keep it that
way. The mannerisms of those who penetrate the curtain between this world and the other can become absorbed into
a society and with it, its potency is diluted. Sometimes, it's best to keep one's wheels in the well-worn wheel tracks.

With another quick look-see towards the dark shadows within the gorge, Peggy used all her theatrical ability to idly
ask "Did... de' yer knaw' if the Beesley lass had long hair?" and saw her attempted act of a thespian had failed.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, the little Witch reasoned the word 'bugger' should be hissed around now.

[BIAD]

With the campfire well-stocked with driftwood and both individuals wrapped in their respective bedding, they slept.
The Great Sea continued its eternal pursuit of absorbing itself from the land and offering it back to the sky above.
Somewhere a needing crop was quenching its thirst and elsewhere, a child felt a tug on a fishing pole and in the
dozing mind of Peggy Powler, it was the latter in a half-dream that drew her thoughts into a dragoon formation.

In the warm darkness of her satchel, the Last Witch of Underhill wondered where the Kaffajinn had obtained the
idea of using an almost-invisible cord to utilise the rudimentary pulley-system in order to sneak up on its prey.
The actual acquiring of the thin thread was also a deliberation to visit -Peggy mused, as sleep called to her like
a lover's arms.

For Officer Wilbur Delphi, his meeting with the sandman was a more formal approach. For the recently-elected
Constable of Munderville, his regimented mind would always struggle to stray into the ambiguous provinces of
his companion's reflections on how this life functioned.

Of course, he'd heard the little female laying inside the weathered tote across the fire from him had relatives who
were supposedly of the Fae world, but since Wilbur had never encountered such supernatural beings, he contented
himself that such tales often became attached to such acclaimed people of Miss Powler's standing.

Pulling the blanket further up to his chin, Wilbur's final thoughts on the matter of the grotesque creature the Witch
had described was that when the time came, the small crossbow his eldest son had deposited in his bundle would
make short thrift of the Kaffajinn's further abductions. And so they slept.
.................................................................

The Carnival was in full-swing and the little girl in the green dress ceded to herself that her mother would be busy
well into the afternoon with customers wishing to know their futures. Making sure the chunk of bread she'd taken
from the communal breakfast was stuffed firmly in her only pocket, little Peggy Powler felt a fleeting pang of guilt
for hiding her pilferage from those she shared a meal with.

Mister Volcano, Maria the Backwards-Lady, Oliver the Bat-Boy and some of the roustabouts that breathed life into
the massive canvas tents were her folk... her anchor in a safe environment that moved like the a ship at mercy to
the wind and tides of the Great Sea. With a thin line for a mouth, Peggy vowed to the bright summer sky that if
she caught a fish in the narrow stream near the Carnival, she would donate it to be a supper-dish for those she
held so dear.

With the glob of dried crust languishing on the slow-moving surface of the excuse for a waterway, the ten-summers
-old Peggy was reluctantly arriving at the design to use her fishing pole today may have been a poor one. Maybe it
was the bright sunlight that deterred her quarry from searching the stream's upper-level or -as the small bare-footed
girl noticed a stranger walking her way along a footpath, this stream had no fish in it.

"The prey you seek live further up the beck..." the old man in the straw-woven hat called out and raising the stick he
used to limp along with, absently pointed away to Peggy's left. "...Me-thinks the buggers got wind that people only
use this path for catchin' 'em and so they cleared-off to where yon banks are steeper" he added affably with a smile
only grandfathers can perform and a wink that tells you the world isn't completely full of monsters.

Peggy beamed back and nodded, advice from one's elders -especially from old elders, was valuable and when
reproduced to one's peers, always beyond contestation. Not that the little girl pulling her fishing line ashore knew
anyone of her own age. "Ah' thank thee kindly, Sir" she responded as her eyes returned from wrapping the wet cord
around her little fingers and sought the location of the seasoned sage to young novice anglers.

The nobbled cane was now a deer's leg that became a long unknown wart-covered limb up to a hunched shoulder.
Where once friendly eyes gazed out onto a quiet creek reflecting the sunshine, unintelligent dusty orbs set in a doughy
concoction of blistered and twisted animalistic features now watched its next victim with loathsome relish.

The once-bowed-legs clicked backwards in their joints like a feral dog's hind-quarters as the horrified lassie from the
Carnival observed a swarm blow-flies suddenly race for the best sitting on the remains of his headwear. It wasn't an
old man anymore and the kind words of counsel had fled from the deformed maw that masqueraded as a mouth.
"Binjee-Binjee tootah?" the Kaffajinn burbled and Peggy suddenly jerked awake, it was morning again.
.................................................................

There were a couple of cinders in the fire that were willing to ignite new offerings and slipping quietly out of her satchel,
the little necromancer tip-toed away from their camp to gather some of the kindling near the Dog Steps. The light from
the dawning hadn't quite arrived on the beach, but the gloom hadn't totally left the shingle-and-sand space between the
dark waters of the Great Sea and the elevated land it abided with. Approaching the cliffs, Peggy yawned and noticed at
that moment, a slight movement above. Lifting the brim of her hat, she squinted to get a better eye-full.

The roaming thaumaturge had noticed the small buildings behind Earnest Heinz's establishment when she'd first arrived,
but paid them no heed. One -Peggy had guessed, was an outhouse and the other possibly a storage shed for whatever
the apathetic grocer wished to keep in there. Now, from the limited appearance the little Witch could grab in the faint
light of a new day, those unsaid items seemed important enough for Heinz to retrieve at such an early hour.

But whatever intrigue may be derived from such a glimpse into the Store-owner's world, with an armful of driftwood
and a need to make water, the poncho-wearing wizard smiled to herself as she watched as Earnest Heinz carefully
made his way down the Dog Steps brandishing what looked like a fishing pole.

Peggy acknowledged the early-morning angler with a hushed tone of "Fair travels" and saw that Earnest had realised
the situation of the sleeping policeman near the dying campfire by nodding in a particular manner. "I'm hunting for a
fish supper" he answered unusually jokingly for the sullen man and the little Witch offered a too-wide grin that hid her
need to pee. "Aye, good luck" Peggy whispered in response and moved quickly away to relieve her attention-seeking
bladder.
.................................................................

If asked, the seated Witch sipping a sugar-lace tin mug of chicory would agree that Officer Wilbur Delphi's son deserved
a big mothering kiss on his lips for including an appropriate pot and the makings for a brew in his father's parcel for camping.
The flames of the campfire seemed to struggle to offer the blaze they had the previous evening, but the heat was welcoming
for the warming of water and staying the residue of of last night's chill as well.

From her position on the log nearest the cliffs, the grey shape of Earnest Heinz could spied far up the beach in the Munderville
direction and casting his rod in hopes of getting a free meal. Smiling to herself and the Fates that toyed with her ruminations,
Peggy wondered if the skinny man in the apron had ever noticed the theft of his fishing line from his shed. That was how the
Kaffajinn had made his scheme to take the females and the little sorceress would lay frollis down that other items had gone
missing without Heinz noticing. Namely, rope.

It was only when Peggy had gratefully accepted a replenish of her metal cup that Mister Delphi asked the question she didn't
want uttered. She should have kept it to herself and stayed with following the clues as they arrived, but now it was too late.
"I seem to remember that you asked if one of the missing ladies had long hair, Miss Powler..." Wilbur solicited easily and
kept his gaze on the little face under the large hat. "...Is that relevant to our case?" he enquired like a veteran professional
Policeman he hoped to become.

There were no gulls aloft to distract Wilbur's attention, the woodland between the cliffs of the gorge looked the same and it
was obvious the law-enforcer recognised Earnest Heinz trying his hobby along the shore. The uneasy-warlock sipped away
a few moments before she released the rare information regarding the Kaffajinn's predilection. "It likes te' smell long hair...
it likes te' smell and chew on long hair" Peggy hissed and attempted to hide her shame inside the empty mug in her hand.

[BIAD]

Peggy Powler wiggled her toes in the tepid clear water trickling from between two gnarled elms that gave the impression
they had resigned themselves to being dwarfs of their top-side brethren. All the trees hunkered in the gorge seemed to
have adjusted to their cramped space and now the mini Witch was looking at her own mini wildwood.

The sun was attempting to heat the day, but being so close to the Autumn, its rays failed to bring the warmth many had
enjoyed earlier in the year. Still, it was enough to cause Officer Delphi to loosen the top button of his cobalt-hued blouse
and warily stepping up beside the little sorceress enjoying the stream's passage, he wondered if he should press her some
more on the strange disclosure regarding a Kaffajinn's penchant. However, his target countered a question with her own.

"De' yer' ken if anythin' was left behind by this Beesley-lass?..." Peggy murmured absently as she surveyed the underside
of the wooden suspension bridge ahead of her. "...Cos' Ah think we know now a Kaffajinn has peculiar tastes" she added
and sloshed her way towards the umbrageous shrubbery. Wilbur Delphi's eyes narrowed in thought as he browsed the
memories of when he and his fellow Mundervillians had scoured the area above. Obviously, the Witch's comment hinted
at the promise he'd given when they had broken camp. Why was still a puzzle.

It was difficult going to start, but keeping low -or at least, to the same height as the bantam woman wading ahead, Wilbur
found he could avoid the eye-poking twigs that hung over the shallow stream. "I believe Miss Beesley abandoned a small
purse that we found near the midway point of yon... of the bridge above us" the crouching Constable corrected himself
during his toil.

With the trees thinning out a little as they passed beneath the object of Wilbur Delphi's exposition, Peggy took a wild guess
that the reason the young woman's forsaken pouch being left behind was due to the material of some purses were softened
with the use of purified coal-tar to deter attack from moths. In the Fae world, this smelly substance was deemed abhorrent
and one would presume a natural discouragement for Kaffajinns too.

Recalling the general direction of Earnest Heinz's stolen fishing line had faded into the surrounding mist, the Last Witch of
Underhill and Officer Delphi pushed forward to where the crevasse began to narrow and the stream deepen. "Me-thinks the
buggers got wind that people only use this path for catchin' 'em and so they cleared-off to where yon banks are steeper"
Peggy pondered as she recalled her earlier dream.

If her Fates were telling her anything during her forty winks, it might be that the Kaffajinn had stashed his cache of women
further towards the stone bridge that Calder's Way crossed. It wasn't much to go on, but the wading sorceress -reluctant to
raise her poncho higher from the water, guessed it would make sense. Looking for the rope that the cord would be attached
to was unproductive, Delphi's men would've found the Kaffajinn and its prey if it had been stupid enough to allow its covert
route to the Fessel Cloud Walkway to lead to its lair. No -Peggy thought trustingly, the artful bugger was hiding somewhere
ahead.

"Did yer' check this far in?" Peggy asked without looking behind her and the pause Wilbur offered before answering told far
more than the policeman wished to disclose. "As I declared before, our belief was that the ladies were taken from the bridge
and then moved away to a different location for whatever foul conduct these types of criminals prefer..." he slowly growled
absently. "One would sensibly assume that such acts take place in a more comfortable..." he added and allowed his confession
to trail off.

Wilbur's attention was now on the brooding cliffs of the narrow passage they were entering and his sham demeanour of
mature fortitude seemed to wane slightly as the couple moved forward. For the chosen servant of Bowes County, his belief
-structure on law enforcement was built on hard-headed disciplines designed to maintain control of a situation.

Here he was with a taciturn Witch who didn't care of showing the tops of her thighs, walking into a confined area for a
monster that took indulgence from smelling human hair and all his diminutive cohort seemed concerned about was whether
Janie Beesley had dropped her purse. "Ah'll tek' that as a nay then" Peggy mouthed to herself as she plonked her hat back
on her head and kept on against the stream's draught.
.................................................................

With the gloom being a good friend to the steep walls of the contracted crevice, the trees that enjoyed the warm irrigate
dwindled down to the occasional shrub that clung to the lower-parts of the gorge and endured the lack of light. If access
to the sun had been possible to the two determined demon-hunters, they would've agreed noon was fast approaching.
But it was the object that Officer Delphi plucked from beneath one of these hardy hedges that demanded their attention.

"Yer' got the eyes of a bloomin' hawk, me-lad" Peggy commended the tall man balefully gazing at the badly-daubed sliver
of wood in the palm of his hand. Wilbur knew what is was, but what was it doing here? Reaching up on her tip-toes to
examine the item, the wobbling wizard grinned as she too recognised it. "Tis' yer' grocer's fishin' float, it must've bin'
dropped by the Kaffajinn when he stole its ladder te' the bridge" she explained. However, the policeman's ongoing
puzzlement of what his companion knew and what he didn't, continued and he expressed his perturbation with the
eyes that had spied the home-made bobber.

Peggy's smile dawdled as she rolled-out the crafty scheme the Kaffajinn had performed to abduct the four women on the
Borax pit-owner's pointless platform. Wilbur nodded a couple of times, but the little Witch guessed he was faking it and
needed time to digest her words. But after putting the float into her satchel, the damp decoder of their expedition up the
stream wondered if the quartet of stolen women had the luxury of such chronology. They had to get moving.

[BIAD]

It looked like a thin fissure in the steep cliff until someone who felt the hankering to explore the sombre channel would
venture closer to see the irreflective disguise employed to hide its larger section. Peggy Powler had almost missed it
as her labour with the deepening stream disrupted her study to find the Kaffajinn's den, but it was the slight over-doing
of the dead hanging moss that tickled her fancy that she and Officer Delphi had detected what they'd been looking for.

"What is it?" the panting Policeman asked softly as he closed the space between himself and the woman unintentionally
showing the lower parts of her buttocks. Struggling pushing his heavy boots over the rubble-strewn bed of the warm-water
rindle was one thing, but avoiding the sight of the Witch's anatomy didn't help in his aquatic endeavour.

Without regard for the law-man's self-built constitution on necromancer's backsides, Peggy clambered out of the water
and like a lizard, scampered between the boulders on the stream's narrow bank. The design wasn't bad, she mentally
admired, the large blanket of dark-brown moss seemed to hang without any purchase to the surface of the cliff. But
if one peered closer -as the approaching necromancer was currently doing, they may notice a thin filigree of Earnest
Heinz's stolen fishing line connecting the mat of dried vegetation to roots dangling further up.

"Clever little bugger!" the Last Witch of Underhill mumbled to herself and carefully climbed nearer the hanging cloak.
.................................................................

After verifying her sneaky sally hadn't been noticed by whoever was in the cave, Peggy slid quietly slid back down to
where the confused Constable waited. He constantly monitored his companion's movements over his shoulder as he
sat on a large wedge of fallen cliff and emptied his sodden boots of water. "Are the girls up there?" he hissed softly
as the little panting sorceress arrived at his side. "It's definitely the Kaffajinn's cubbyhole..." Peggy gasped, "...yer'
can see it tried te' hide it wiv' that bloomin' moss" she added and removed her hat due to the warm atmosphere.

Wilbur eyed their target and fastened his laces, Peggy hadn't answered his question and he wasn't sure this was
because she didn't know if the four young ladies were alive and in the cave or whether they had come to a profane
end and she was being nebulous. "Are the girls up there?" the weary law-enforcer asked again and kept his gaze
on the woman fiddling with her satchel.

Wilbur knew Janie Beesley had gone missing in mid-summer and Topsy Cantrell had disappeared a few days later.
The Cobb and Bottle striplings were taken almost two weeks ago and the amount of time that had passed since the
first abduction tended to lend weight that a new victim was needed. This didn't bode well in Wilbur's mind, as it could
indicate the original abducted lady had perished. Still, he said nothing and waited for the Little Witch's response.

If Constable Delphi held a feeling of control due to his query at that moment, it fled when Peggy looked up from her
fidgeting. "Do yer' have yer' bolt-thrower handy...?" she asked flatly and offered the policeman's eyes a threatening
glare. "...Ah' need yer' te' stand ready out here and shoot whatever comes out of that hole" he said and he could see
it wasn't a request.

Turning to face the hidden lair of the Kaffajinn, the bantam-sized sorceress gave another warning, although it was
said slightly in jest. "And divna' lookup me-poncho as Ah'm climbin' up... Ah knaw' what you bloomin' fellas are like"
she added with a small smirk. Wilbur's adam's apple moved up and down and reaching for his bundle, nodded in
the affirmative. Peggy -nor anyone else, would never be sure if the serious-faced man was acknowledging he would
ready himself for whatever may happen or refrain from copping an eye-full.
.................................................................

The light became a coward almost at once and left the creeping enchantress to her own devices around three paces
into the cave. The curtain of moss was a fellow-colluder in keeping what little daylight visited the gorge from giving
effulgence to Peggy's wary venture and she silently cussed at herself for not asking the tall man from Munderville
to cut it down.

The walls of the narrow cavern told its latest visitor that it had been born when the slab that Officer Delphi had used
to empty his brogans of water, had fallen into the gorge long before Peggy or Wilbur were born. However, the depth
of the cavity still rattled her noggin and with leery steps, the little invader walked onwards. It wasn't until Peggy felt
the surface of dried wood beneath her fingers, did she realise this section had once been a mine. The sound of the
long-forgotten lantern she accidentally kicked added to her assumption.

Drawing a bright flame from her thumb, the annoyed shaman accepted that any surprising ambush she had hoped for
was now out of the bag and peering into the silent caliginosity, she also concluded that if nothing happens in the next
few moments, then the lair of the Kaffajinn was further inland. Quickly checking behind her, Peggy's mind whispered
the words she'd heard in her dreams and in a faraway tavern called The Lost Traveller.

"Divna' you start" she hissed to herself and passing by the crumbling beams that once held up the ceiling, she spotted
something that stopped her traipse. It was a shoe, a young woman's shoe laid like a dead dog in the disturbed dust of
the cave's floor. But the tracks beside it informed the squinting spellbinder that the wearer didn't sport feet that would
fit into such footwear. It was little solace, but Peggy took it and felt a little more confident than she had before.

The Kaffajinn was using this cave and her hunch of how it took its prey had been correct all along. Now came the hard
part... getting the women back. That's if they're still alive, that is.

[BIAD]

Constable Wilbur Delphi looked up at the narrow vista of the sky and breathed a sigh of chagrin that the daylight wasn't
going along with his and Peggy Powler's investigation. Occasionally, some sea-faring inquisitive clouds would drift over
from time-to-time in order to darken the gorge before making their way to hopefully water his mature carrot and tomato
crops down in Munderville. But the tall reserved man holding the crossbow had to cede that in general, the sands of the
day seemed to be draining away quicker than the warm-water stream tinkling beside him.

He wanted to creep up to the hole in the cliff and cut down the suspended curtain of moss that obstructed his view of
where the little Witch had gone, but his hesitation was sustained by his worry that at any moment, Peggy, the tetrad
of terrified women or the mongrel-bodied Kaffajinn would burst out of the fissure and he wouldn't be ready. The stoic
law enforcer shuffled in his seated position on the collapsed slab of stone and produced a kinsperson for his original
respiratory lament.
.................................................................

What could loosely be called a tunnel took a slight turn to Peggy's left and with it, offered the Last Witch of Underhill
a scene that would cause the little woman to extinguish the small flame flickering from her thumb. Somewhere above,
a crack in the earth allowed a beam of daylight to illuminate a cramped area by glittering its lustre across embedded
Borax crystals along the walls.

Normally, such a hidden tableau might bring a smile to someone who ferreted about in such a dark location, but the
additions to the forgotten burrow would certainly cause the average explorer to turn-tail and scarper. Peggy kept her
breathing steady has she slowly reached into her satchel and removed her hat at the same time.

Quickly checking behind her before moving forward with her plan, the canny sorceress tugged the long peruke of
sheep's wool from her bag and plonked it on her head. It wasn't the best of disguises -she mused as she adjusted
the hairpiece, but in this poor light a Kaffajinn may think its gullible trespasser had long hair. if the corrupt sniffer of
ladies long locks came now, she would race towards the cave entrance and hopefully lure the bastard out to where
Wilbur was waiting.

But for now, Peggy figured if the twisted monstrosity was close, it had probably heard her unintentional punt of the
lantern and was skulking somewhere devising a way of adding to its collection. This was exactly what she wanted...
for now.

Even though the four bedraggled and suspended young women were not moving in their constraints, Peggy guessed
that there was a fair prospect they were all still alive. The whole cave resembled a spider's lair with slender threads
of fishing-line latticing the space between the walls. The unconscious females were bound to wooden cross-members
in the ceiling of the excavated grotto and even though their bare feet were in the dust that made up the floor of their
prison, Peggy's features transformed from a shocked expression to a signal of her anger as she speculated on the evil
torture these innocent lasses had endured.

And it would have been this surge of emotion that ruined the warlock's stratagem, if it hadn't been for another miner's
lantern laid close to where her own unshod foot was about to step. For a moment, a bird-like thought fluttered into her
head reminding her that stealth would still be a fine policy and with her rage subsiding at the sober realisation, Peggy's
eyes alighted on other objects constrained within the Kaffajinn's web. On some of the nearest filaments, empty tin-cans
and pieces of broken glass dangled like shiny catkins on an Autumn day, but for the wig-wearing wary Witch, they were
certainly not ornaments.

Mary Bottle slowly lifted her head from the torn remains of her dress-front and seemed to be about to show her relief at
seeing a salvation to her nightmare. Even though she was only semi-conscious, Peggy knew any sound or movement
would foil such a rescue, so by holding her finger to her lips, the bantam-sized shaman sent a visual message across
the gloomy cavern that silence would certainly be golden at this particular moment.

The letter-writing girl with a dream of holding down a business with her pen-friend and fellow captive blinked twice,
managed a vague nod and then went back to tolerating the stinging tautness of the fishing line fastened to her wrists.
Scanning the darkness behind her once more, Peggy Powler got down to another type of business.

[BIAD]

How Peggy Powler had rid George Putters' farm of the Kaffajinn roosting in his barn had been simpler than the situation
the Little Witch currently found herself. But when confronted with limited options, Myrddin -the greatest of Wizards, had
informed his waist-high student that if one puts their mind to it, one can be mercurial enough to get through the worst of
dilemmas that a necromancer's vocation can throw at her.

Crouched on the dirt floor of the dimly-lit cavern, the Last Witch of Underhill anxiously endorsed her mentor's words as
she quietly rummaged through her faithful satchel for an item that might just save the day. The four suspended young
women were alive, although Janie Beesley looked so thin that Peggy guessed another day would find the hebetudinous
girl beyond salvation. Topsy Cantrell had moaned once without opening her eyes and freezing in her position, the wary
Witch had waited for an appearance of the Kaffajinn.

The faint sunlight that slipped through the fissure in the cave ceiling was ebbing, a reminder that time was not the best
of acquaintances of the benumbed residents of the monster's lair and their hopeful rescuer. With nervous fingers finally
brushing the smooth surface of her intention, Peggy carefully reviewed her sombre surroundings and fleetingly visited
her memories of George and Hannah Putters' unwanted lodger.
.................................................................

She knew she looked silly in the crudely-made woolen hairpiece, but since the wide-eyed farmer constantly assured his
would-be emancipator as they ambled back to the Putters farmstead that he was still far-too terrified to approach the out
-building since discovering the Kaffajinn, Peggy Powler had surrendered to the idea that she'd have to do this one alone.

Adjusting the grubby laniferous postiche as they approached the soulless demense, the frowning spell-worker resignedly
agreed with the sad-faced soil-breaker that her height would put the mutated demon at ease and so facilitate her scheme
to nab the monster. Now standing with her back to the Dutch-door of the barn, Peggy reappraised their accord and still
didn't like it. "I mean no disrespect Ma'am..." George had asked quietly as he closed the remains of the five-bar gate gate
they'd just passed through, "...but why do you need to pretend you have hair all the way down to your heels?"

The Witch with the wig watched his actions through dangling strands of wool before turning to scout her field of play. The
Putters' residence was a squat thatched cottage with an extra room on the side. The commorancy of the Kaffajinn stood
beside a fenced-off meadow a palm-sized stone's throw away from where they both now stood.

"It's a disguise, Mister Putters..." Peggy grumbled "...The thing'll think Ah'am a little girl and the bugger'll be nay-so careful
when it comes out te'' get me" she added. It was a poor excuse, but better than relating to the miserable yokel of the real
need of displaying long hair. With that said, she put her best un-shoed foot onto the dried-mud path that led to the barn
and prepared herself to defeat her latest foe. How...? Well, she hoped Putters owned a pitchfork, at least.
.................................................................

"Come on yer' bugger" Peggy whispered to the Spooklight, its sluggish glow stuttered through lack of use and resisting
to need to shake the head-sized sphere, she leaned close and offered a tender charm of Majick. The orb's faint effulgence
slowly improved as the spellbinder's words fell across his its glassy surface and with them, the Spooklight began to float
from her cupped-hands and hover unsteadily in the air in front of Peggy's face.

"Siddum Bey Whinnie" the little Witch added as she stood up and pulling the itchy hairpiece from her own head, delicately
placed onto the volant object wobbling before her. With her own style of allurement ready, Peggy hoped Officer Delphi was
still on guard outside and the Kaffajinn would fall for the ruse. Now... to find the cursed creature.

[BIAD]

The contorted carcass of the Dog-Cow-Demon that had entertained the Putters' barn looked nothing like the approaching
chaos of anatomy that cautiously shambled out of the shadows behind where the young women were being held and with
wide eyes, Peggy Powler took stock of the hodgepodge shape that was the Kaffajinn. From its awkward mannerisms, the
gloom-swathed Shaman believed her workings of her plan had not alerted the mongrel-demon and this assumption kept
her breaths shallow.

No, the crouching creature hadn't seen her and the relieved little Witch hugging the cave wall concluded that this was
due to the unusual position of the Demon's head, or what some might assume was its capitulum. To some extent, it
looked ape-like in the murkiness and contemplating a Kaffajinn's necessity to gather any cadaver in order to exist in
this world, Peggy wondered if the hirsute dull-eyed head belonged to a Woodwose. Glancing quickly in the direction
of where the women hung in their fishing-line bindings, she suspected the dead Wild Man's hands may have also been
appropriated.

Keeping her own caressing appendage on the floating Spooklight, Peggy could see this particular malignant spirit held
other parts of critters rarely seen by humans. The dark shaggy hair of the Woodwose head conflicted with dirty cardinal
hue of the main torso and squinting for a better look, the Last Witch of Underhill -at a push, would suggest the creeping
Kaffajinn had also acquired the remains of a Pukwudgie somewhere in its travels.

These heavyset half-trolls were known to keep to the deep forests and like their biped cousins, avoided interaction at all
costs. But it seemed that somewhere in the timberland they called home, a grave was violated. The familair hooved leg
of another woodland creature could be spotted dragging behind the hybrid from perdition as it emerged further into the
dim shaft of light coming from the cave ceiling and fleeting images of George and Hanna Putters driving their picthforks
into the mewling body of their resident Kaffajinn threatened to mitigate the bare-footed observer's concentration.

Keeping her breathing to small gasps of air, Peggy watched the cobbled-together horror slowly draw close to its captured
harem, lift its stolen head to sniff the hair of the thankfully-unconscious Dorothy Cobb and make a awful perverted sound
of satisfied indulgence. This was enough for the fuming necromancer in the shadows and with a squeak to imply shock,
released her glowing toupee-adorn lure towards the depraved scene.
.................................................................

"But why are you up here?" Earnest Heinz asked again quietly, his early-morning fishing enterprise had brought nothing
but seaweed and the remains of a shirt. Untangling the shredded garment, the disgruntled dealer in goods hoped that
somewhere out there on the Great Sea, a sailor was suffering sun-burn. Accepting the Grunt-Gudgeon weren't biting,
Earnest's nosiness had caused him to leave the beach and follow the trail of the pompous Policeman and the picayune
augurer up the warm-water stream.

Officer Wibur Delphi offered the skinny grocer a look of narrow-eyed annoyance and whispered "Hold yer' gob" and then
quickly corrected his warning. "We're about to apprehend the bounder who has been abducting young ladies, Mister
Heinz... it would be prudent if you would kindly keep your voice down" the aloof law-enforcer hissed and went back to
monitoring the fissure in the cliff wall.
.................................................................

The words came again and this time Peggy barely caught the basic connotation of what the Kaffajinn in the wrenched
body was requesting. "Koom tootah vey?" it burbled towards its latest guest as the damaged mess shuffled through
the transparent strands of cordage that formed its web. The wary Witch turned at once and began her theatre, she
knew a spell of majick wouldn't work until the Kaffajinn was contained. Just as in the Putters' case.

"Go Mary... run towards the light" Peggy said with a melodramatic tone of fear and raised her hands as if releasing the
imaginary youngster with the long flowing hair, the Kaffajinn's interest in the bare-footed woman instantly changed to
the moving shape disappearing into the shadows. With a nightmare attempt of a locomotion that would draw digested
food from the hardiest of folk, the desirous demon slumped passed Peggy and hurried to procure the escaping child in
the tunnel.

"Manji Mary dor-dor" the Kaffajinn called sociably to the fleeing locks of aroma and measuring the fading light seeping
through the jalousie of moss, the humped and crooked creature urged its collection of hijacked corpses to move faster.
With the grotesque hellion distracted, the little sorceress flicked her thumb and a flame that almost blue in its potency
appeared on her digit. The fishing lines soon melted and the suspended inmates of the low-order Beelzebub's prison
sank to the floor in exhaustion. Peggy hurried to them and unwrapping the last of their bindings, she kept her eyes on
the shadows of the tunnel. It was only moments later when her concerns eased a little.
.................................................................

Spooklights can not exist in daylight and approaching the fissure entrance, the lambent sphere of glass began to lose
cohesion and its solidness raced to nothingness. But just as the dead limb of an exhumed Woodwose reached for the
sweet-smelling vibrissa of a young girl, the Kaffajinn's suddenly found its haste to entertain its addiction was to be its
downfall. An abandoned braid of dirty wool lay on the crevice's floor as the deformed demon screamed in its tumbling
into the early-evening air and into the mouth-opened view of the two men below.

Yet the stolen anatomy came to the Kaffajinn's aid once more as blindly grabbing at the pendant curtain of lichen, the
cross-breed of revolting consternation swung outwards instead of down to the rubbled stream where the Constable of
Bowes County was now aiming his crossbow and his new assistant fed out the fishing-line attached to Delphi's bolt.

They had hatched the plan as the night had crept across the Great Sea and evaluating the positives of having a such
a fastening to whatever dwelled in the cliff's cleft, the two men had arrived at the conclusion that it was a productive
idea. Now, as the dangling Demon's pendulation eased and the furry composite of deceased beasts slumped to the
sheer wall of the precipice, Wilbur squinted behind the weapon and pulled the trigger.

[BIAD]

The midnight hour had come and long gone before Earnest Heinz returned with some men from Munderville and under a
dazzling sky of chatoyant diamonds, the twelve burly natives of the village -including Eugene Pudding, carefully removed
the exhausted and traumatised young women from the Kaffajinn's subterranean refuge with barely a word said during the
pensive salvation.

A solemn and weary Peggy Powler and Officer Wilbur Delphi oversaw the slow recovery from a position near the entrance
to the crack in the cliff and continually advised the men to take heed of the unreliable terrain and get the girls to medical
care as soon as possible.

For Nate Burdock - a labourer who occasionally worked on Wilbur's land in the spring seasons, he felt that the supervision
was superfluous and when they were out of earshot, even pondered to his fellow-rescuers about the extent of toil that the
Witch and his periodic employee had undertaken to find the lost colleens. The Great Sea watched on with disinterest as
the circumspect cadre of men gently carried their benumbed burdens back to the sanctuary called Munderville and ignored
the doubts of a human who enjoyed his bed too much.
.................................................................

The gorge was quiet again and for the store-keeper in the dirt-smudged apron, the shadows of the thick jungle offered a
fair reason for not returning to the comfort of his home. The gloomy narrow area containing the warm-water stream didn't
do any better in allaying Earnest's uneasiness of what he believed was to happen next, but at least he wasn't alone.

"Have the' gone?" the Last Witch of Underhill whispered as she returned from auditing the Kaffajinn's den and hoping the
lack of light would shroud her immodest climb-down from the demon's nest, Peggy readied herself for the second part of
ridding Bowes County of malignant monsters.

Wilbur put his arms out to help the clambering spell-binder get back onto the steep stone-littered incline below the cavern,
but catching a glimpse of the necromancer's uncovered posterior, the elected law enforcer's enthusiasm to assist his basal
-cultured partner suddenly waned. "Yes, the maidens will be cared for in Munderville" Wilbur replied for no other reason as
to re-establish his own sense of gentility.

Peggy breathed in deeply and then turned her gaze to the skinny man standing beside a large slab of fallen rock, the third
member of this devil-battling knot stared timidly back for a few moments before swivelling his wide eyes towards a hidden
location of his fishing pole. "It's time, me-fellas" the weary Witch muttered resignedly and followed Earnest's stare towards
a clump of rocks resting in a large bed of Michaelmas daisies. Both the weather-worn aggregate and ground-hugging asters
sporadically twitched as the trio scanned the tenebrous scene. The Kaffajinn was still alive.
.................................................................
Epilogue.

The bare-footed wanderer of Calder's Way stood on the top hewn ledge of the Dog Steps and sighed contentedly into the
warm azure sky of the last day of Summer. It had been two days since she'd had dispatched the sordid blackguard that
had dwelt beneath the Percy Fessel Cloud Walkway and the subsequent sleep had been well embraced. Peggy squinted
in the bright sunlight and watched two seabirds spiral and dash in their efforts to steal food from a large-pouched Pelican
bobbing on the water beneath them. A quest more complicated than the one the midget-wizard and the two men behind
her had undertaken, she mused.

"It'll be grand to get some customers back this way, now the bad feeling of the place has gone" Earnest Heinz said as he
mimicked Peggy's perusal of avian-hijacking and the act of coveting of a chosen cuisine. Wilbur Delphi nodded and went
back to stroking his horse's muzzle.

Mary Bottle and Dorothy Cobb had recovered quite quickly from their recent ordeal at the stolen hands of the Kaffajinn and
before the first day was out, the resilient pen-friends were sitting besides the Bottles' fireside with distracting blather about
building a sewing business. Jane Beesley and Topsy Cantrell were still bed-ridden, but seemed to be responding positively
to the care from the female faction of their fellow-Mundervillians. The indigo-wearing officer of Munderville had rode out to
the lonesome store to inform them of these developments.

"Aye..." the wistful warlock wheezed huskily, "...Yer' owed a livin' considerin' the bugger that came te' stay fur' a while"
and with a straightening of her large hat, set her mind towards leaving Bowes County. But reaching the spot where both
men watched her purposeful approach, the pair felt a strange twinge of dolor for the little woman who would never know
a home.

"Yer' both saw the execution of the thing in the gorge... Ah' tek' it yer'll nay mention te' anyone what yer' witnessed or what
yer' heard?" Peggy said with a tone of commanding menace that even Wilbur Delphi nodded as robustly as the shopkeeper.
"We all have our tasks te' keep our young uns' safe from the monsters and majick -just like yer' badge Officer Delphi, is just
one of the weapons we have te' carry" she appended and imparted the smile of the damned up at her fellow-slayers.

The two humans and the half-Fae standing on the side of the land became statues for a few moments before they broke their
parley and went about doing what they had always done. For Earnest Heinz, this meant a new scheme to draw folks back to
the beach and ergo, through the door of his retail establishment. This would involve some work, but as he walked briskly back
to the building in question, Earnest feverishly scoured his memory to recall where the piece of paper was that held his father's
old ice-cream recipe.

The big mare snorted from the unaccustomed handling from her rider and expanded her display of pique by turning around in
order to hinder Wilbur Delph's mounting. The big plough-horse didn't mind the rituals of farming and being fed the odd carrot
from her owner's children, but this new patrolling malarkey...? Well, there's no orange-coloured vegetables growing along the
road to Munderville, that's for sure.

For the smallest member of the disbanded Kaffajinn-killing crew, her enduring quixotic future lay in the land of the peculiar,
the alien and the hidden. Peggy Powler's small shadow would once again sundial across the ancient sea-stones of Calder's Way
and maybe -if we're agreeable enough, we can take that walk with her again.

The End.

[VioletDove]

This was so good!