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.
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.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.