Chapter I
A Yuletide Visit Part I
by Faith McCann
The sun glinted off the gazing ball slanted at an angle in the hard, frost covered soil of the garden, which skirted the 'Ol' Rag and Bottle' shop. It was better known in the small town of Castlewick as the witch's shop, as all knew her to be the local witch. Proud of it, she was too.
Ahh, speaking of which, the witch pushes open the door and was then seen sweeping the doorstep. She was careful to sweep the stiff broom bristles sweeping across the threshold back and forth, sideways so as not to sweep away the profits that day. Sweep, sweep away from the door until she reached the edge of the small porch. She fished about in her pocket, took out a chunk of white chalk and bent down to freshen up the chalked talisman scribed on the floor of the porch. It kept most of the harmful ones away.
She glanced up, the wind was getting bitter as the Solstice was nigh, and she drew her bright blue shawl closer around herself. What the shawl didn't cover was a shock of bright red skirts which swept the ground beneath her feet, as she walked. Small, flat shiny black shoes peeped from beneath her skirts. Her auburn brown hair, long and waved was held back with pins shaped like crescent moons with drops of crystals falling from each, gracefully swinging against her chin.
She straightened and looked out at the garden, glancing up and down the street. A mother walking down the sidewalk with her two small children, clutching a bag of groceries looked at her, and when their eyes met, the mother grabbed the youngest and with a curt word hurried them along. The youngest, a boy with big brown eyes looked back with wide eyed curiosity
at the big, old Victorian house, at the brightly dressed pretty lady on the porch. She smiled at him. He smiled back.
Catsandra walked into her shop. 'You do know that small, smelly human will find his way here as soon as he is old enough to sneak away from his mother? Sticky fingers, touching everything, pulling ears, pulling tails, grrrrrrr" a low growl followed the rant from the old, furry cat lounging in the shop's front window.
He was tiger striped, a grey and brown big cat, licking his paws and glancing with disdain at the sight of the mother and her children as they faded from view.
"They always do Balthasar." She chuckled. " You'd think if their parents wanted to make sure that their children never came here in the future they would simply let them come in, rummage around. If their parents showed little interest their children would follow suit, but no. They insist on keeping them away as if we house the greatest of treasures, forbidding them. . . And we all know how well that works!! Until all they can think of, all they desire, is that which they cannot have. Then when they are older, they find themselves walking through the door, looking for . . . whatever treasure they can find."
Catsandra went through the shop, waving her hand, turning on ambient hidden lighting, moving pieces of items brought in by local people who dropped them off in exchange for the coins they needed to live. Maybe getting a bit more, maybe a bit less, depending on the item.
You see, it matters not the era, the year, the country, the nature of the government, two things remain the same everywhere. There will always be extreme wealth upon the earth, and there will always be more poverty than the earth ever needs at any given time.
So the Rag and Bottle Shop exists in this time and place. Rag and Bone men, also known as Rag and Bottle men, be they female or male, were just plain old poor people who picked up bits and bobs on the street. They bring them to the Rag and Bottle Shop. The witch takes the items, pays for them, then decides what she will do with the items. Sometimes the items only need a cleansing, both physically and spiritually and put back on a table for it's next owner to discover. Other items, such as bottles become spell bottles, witch bottles, magick wish bottles, potion decanters and she sells them or makes them as the client desires. Most importantly she allows an avenue for those with very few other areas to sell their meagre goods and to make a living as rough as it is.
Catsandra often felt pensive that she couldn't do more for the human condition, especially the part that suffered because of the lack of compassion from the other part. Yet, it occurred to her, that another two things existed at the same time also in the world, those who had the ability to help others who needed help, and those who could but chose not to help others.
She finished opening the shop for the day, lighting incense and placing out small plates of salt to keep the energy grounded and clean. She moved to the back room which was her kitchen and magickal work area. She noticed her other familiar, Abramelin a white, fluffy cat with distinctive black markings on his face sleeping by the front counter. She went into the kitchen and thought it felt like a quiet day, all the while knowing quiet didn't necessarily mean uneventful.
There in the center of the room was a large, old wooden table. The kitchen had a large, ancient fireplace designed to actually cook food. There was a medium sized black cast iron pot hanging from the hook inside the maw of the large chimney with a bubbling mixture inside. The bright red glow shown out.
The room smelled of cinnamon, orange peel, apples, green grass, all sorts of natural smells
blended together into an enticing aroma. Yet one wouldn't try to eat it. No, no! One needed to be careful of potions in pots in a witch's kitchen!
On the table was a large clear quartz crystal ball on a stand. Right in the middle of the table. Catsandra went over, placed both hands on the table, braced herself and peered down looking deep into the crystal sphere.
She saw the fog come, swirl, get denser. It filled the globe. 'Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle! The shops bells on the door rang out.
She stood stock still, drew in a deep breath and sighed. She allowed her eyes to clear and looked over towards the floor near the hearth. A slight movement caught her eye. A small gray house mouse was sitting up, on his tiny haunches. A small blue striped scarf wrapped around his neck. He was rubbing his tiny paws together for warmth.
"Ah, Sir Pip, greetings this morning" she smiled as she slowly straightened.
"It's a person, come to visit. Bringing goods." The tiny squeaks to most would sound like a mouse, but Catsandra spoke fluent mouse.
The witch closed her eyes, a shimmer flowed over her. Her dress straightened, her hair floated out and laid down as if freshly brushed and her makeup touched itself up. She put on a professional smile and went out to the front counter.
" Greetings Mr. Tanner! You are early this week! Oh goodness, your bag looks very full. Have you had a fortunate week? Show me!"
The man, neither young nor old, just tired and having forgotten what comfort felt like, put his sack on the counter.
He rummaged around inside then upended the bag, and with a clank and some clunks an array of items fell out.
A sad pile of meager items lay on the rich, brown wooden counter. A silver ring, two bluish glass bottles wrapped in dirty gauze rags, a wooden stick with a dull glass tip affixed to the top and a little wooden box. She held her hands over the pile not quite touching the items, and almost closed her eyes. The man was watching her face, and so neglected to see the dull glass tip of the wooden stick start to glow slightly, and she heard a slight snick as the box unlatched itself.
She looked over the items. Carefully opened the small box and after glancing inside, her eyes flicked up to his. She carefully closed the box. "I'll be willing to pay you 25 for your wares today"
"Thank you Ms. Cat. That's really good of you." He started to take back the sack but she put her hand out, stopping him. He looked up with a questioning glance. She took his stained, threadbare sack and reached down under the counter and placed a new, fresh, heavy duty, large sack replacing his old one. When she took her hand away there were the coins so desperately needed by those of his peerage to survive in these hard times.
He gave a shadow of a smile and turned to leave. "Oh Mr. Tanner, help yourself to some hot cocoa and some fresh cookies, before you leave. It's going to start getting cold." The quiet, sad man stopped and looked up, a bit startled at the array of cookies, steaming cocoa and pretty china cups set out almost at his fingertips. How could he not have seen them before? But he knew better than to wonder. This place, he had come to know was full of wonder. Ms. Cat took care of those like him. The unseen ones, as they called themselves. More and more joined their ranks daily. If it wasn't for the kindness of the few like Ms. Cat who chose to see them, and to care about their welfare, well. . . he shook his head as he poured a cup of cocoa with a slight shake to his hand. He didn't want to think where he might or might not be at this time.
He placed his new sack carefully down onto a pretty Victorian tea chair but stood aside as he didn't want to get it dirty with his old clothes. He took a cookie. "Oh goodness, take a seat. I'm sure you could do with a bit of rest before you go on your way. The chair will be fine. Sit, sit! I insist, Mr. Tanner!"
As he was debating the wisdom of taking a bit of rest on the pretty chair, the bells of the front door tinkled again. Tinkle!Tinkle!Tinkle!
He looked at Ms. Cat and saw her smile at him and move her hand through the air quickly. Suddenly he saw a waver in the air. As if he were somehow looking through water. He could hear and see perfectly well, but the strange little man who entered, looked around, and looked right through him! Mr. Tanner was positive he did not see him at all! But he knew Ms. Cat was not embarrassed by him, rather she wanted to give him some privacy and anonymity. He also felt well protected in this place, as she would protect all within from harm from those possibly intent on mischief. He appreciated it and forgetting his dilemma regarding the chair, he slowly took his seat, enthralled at watching what was happening. Ms. Cat's attitude had changed. She was more like a feral cat. Her eyes narrowed, as she looked at the newcomer carefully, sizing up the strange little man. He seemed normal enough, with a hat, pulled down over his ears and a large coat. Balthasar, lying in the window gave a low growl and he saw the witch look at the cat and give a slight nod of her head.
"I don't like the way this one smells, not at all. He smells of blood, and death. You will decide as you wish but I'd get rid of him quick like. He will not spend any money here." The cat said quite distinctly. To anyone not fluent in cat, all that was heard was a growl and hiss.
"How may I help you?"
"Do you carry any goats heads?"
Catsandra inhaled sharply. The man came up close to the counter, and even though she felt the strong need to back away she stayed right up against the counter where she had been. "No, no I don't carry such items."
"Any animal parts?" he continued to peer expectantly at her.
"No, again, I don't carry anything from animals. I don't care for the energy of dead creatures in my place. They carry a . . . " she looked at him closely "stench, which I abhor."
"Is there anyway you can get what I am looking for?" he persisted.
A growl was heard from the pillow in the front window "My, this one simply won't give up!" "Why don't you change his head into that of a goat! That should please him!!" Balthasar chuckled at his own joke.
Catsandra felt her lips twitch as she tried to keep from smiling at her cat's naughty comments.
"Perhaps you should try the butcher." She turned and started to walk away "I have nothing for you here. Have a good rest of your day. Mr. Cartwright"
The man had already turned to walk to the door, He stopped, "Hey! How did you know my name? I'm merely passing through, I have never been here before!"
"How indeed? I am the local witch. I know everyone in these parts, and it would be best if you continued to pass through. What you are looking for is not to be found in this village."
As she waved her hand in farewell, the goat desiring man, got a glazed look upon his face and turned and walked out of the shop. He stood on the porch, the wind suddenly cold and bitter. He drew up his collar in a vain attempt to ward off the unnatural chill and hurried away.
"So, Mr. Tanner. Are you feeling warm and a bit more refreshed than before?" The rag and bottle man looked up and saw the pretty witch standing before him with a welcoming smile on her face. "Yes, Ms. Cat. Thank you. Why do you think he wanted a goat's head?"
"By the Goddess, I have no idea!" I can pretty much assure you, he doesn't either. There are more pretend, magician wanna-bees out there, more harm to themselves than anyone. He won't be able to find himself back here. And for every step he takes outside of our village he will find himself driven to continue on his way. We have no need of someone only looking to cause harm, and seeking magickal power. Magick is only to be used to help mankind, not empower a single person. There is always trouble in that. What are your plans for later today? It's getting colder. Do you have a place to stay? Are you already set up at the home for the homeless?"
"Well, Mr. Tanner looked down and suddenly jumped to his feet. He looked very uncomfortable and he wouldn't look her in the eyes. "What is it Mr. Tanner?" "What's wrong?"
He reached for his new sack, felt the coins in his pocket. Took a deep breath and the words came blurting out. He felt like a child, embarrassed, foolish, angry and helpless. "There's serious talk about the Home for the Homeless being closed. Shuttered up for good!! Many are in desperate straights, with winter approaching fast, we are all scouring the alleys, the trash tins, even going knocking at doors asking for items people might wish to discard that we can turn into coins to somehow help us find room and board."
"Are you serious Mr. Tanner? She took the place on the pretty tea chair he had vacated, her legs feeling as if they had given out from under her. "How, Why" "There are so many, so many who need the help of the Home . . . for without it, where will you go?" She didn't need an answer. She knew, the many down on their luck, forced to try and survive on the bitter cold streets, no walls, no roofs, nothing to shelter them from the elements. She didn't need to look into the future and to imagine the dead littering the streets, the alleyways.
"But only one person can authorize such a thing. The village magistrate Mr. Diffyc. Why would he do such a thing?" With a sudden motion, Catsandra rose to her full height, which while only a hint over 5'5" she seemed to fill the entire space, imposing, awesome and terrifying in her intensity. Her hands came out in front of her, and she reassured Mr. Tanner who had shrunk back a bit from her force, the power he could feel emanating from her.
"Mr. Tanner, please, do not worry. Please let the others know that there is nothing to worry about. You will have your home, your place to stay during the night, as rough and crude a shelter as it is. You will not be thrown out amongst the wolves. Or, at least not for long." deep inside, knowing the hard nature of some of humanity, she hoped she would be able to make the Magistrate see reason. It would be a shame if she had to employ magical means, but that was what she did best.
"I promise you this. Go along, now. I may have to close the shop a bit early to attend to some errands."
"Oh, yes, yes ma'am. Thank you, I'll, let the others know . . but how? No, I don't need to know how you do what you do, I'll let the others know." He turned to leave the shop. He glanced back with a slight smile, and touched the brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell. He left the Rag and Bottle shop with the tinkle of the bells sounding his departure.
Catsandra stood in the middle of her ancient shop, a feeling of anger and determination coursing through her. She was a pretty woman, not overly beautiful, but with a pleasant smile. Neither too large nor too frail of build, with long auburn hair that flowed in natural waves around her face and sown her shoulders. her eyes were a earthy brown. Yet when she felt strong emotions flow through her, a curious thing happened. Working magick made her eyes change to a green hue. And when incensed to the point of anger her hair streaked with a white stripe of hair, as long as all of her hair, as if it had always been there. She often wondered if it would one day simply come and never leave.
This moment, after Mr. Tanner had left, she knew not only was her hair streaking in stripes of white, along her face, but her eyes would be flashing green. she stood stock still, breathing in and out heavily, trying to keep her emotions in check. Her fingers flexing. Her toe tapping a staccato rhythm on the wooden floor of the old shop. She folded her arms and glanced around. She saw Balthasar staring at her, and turning her head she saw Abramelin awake and also staring at her. A scampering sound, along the sales counter brought her attention to Sir Pip.
"Well, my friends. You all seem to be caught up with the latest. Now, it is a matter of what to do to keep the poor and destitute in our village from being displaced by a fat, privileged, uncaring tyrant."
She sat down in a embroidered chair, not noticing the softness, and with a flick of her hand the door to the shop clicked locked. The closed sign fell into place outdoors and she sat there and pondered, and pondered. Her fingernails tapping on the small table in front of her.
"Your magick could turn that magistrate into a frog, then the poor would not have any problems." Balthasar said.
"Hmmm, My magick may indeed be helpful, but eliminating him would only allow for another to come in, who may be worse than him. But I appreciate your suggestion."
"I say we strip him of any valuables and make him live in the home for the homeless for a while!" Sir Pip cried out triumphantly, as he was small so he often cried out in a very strong voice.
"That is a good idea also, but no. I have a feeling . . . I need to take a short visit. I can see for myself, exactly what will be the key to the weakness of the magistrate and how we can 'convince' him of the errors of his ways"
"Keep an eye on the place my friends, I'm off to the crystal ball, I'll be back soon. And she strode to the kitchen, with a definite idea in mind.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Magistrate Dominic Diffyc strode across his spacious office to stand looking down upon the town of Castlewick through the large plate glass windows which lined his office. He could see children playing in the park, bundled up against the cold. People hustling along the walkways heading here and there. He heard the door sound a soft knock, knock behind him.
"Enter" he replied absentmindedly as his attention was caught by a group of people gathering in a small cluster a bit further down the town's main thoroughfare.
"Magistrate, Sir. Your daily agenda. I'll place it on your desk." Ms. Peppercorn, the Magistrate's personal assistant walked over to his desk. after laying the papers down, she went over to wall nearest his desk, where a full length mirror was hung. It had a wide gold embossed frame and seemed too dominate the large imposing space. She carried with her a small spray bottle and rag. it was a daily, morning chore to spray clean the mirror and polish it until there was not a smudge, nor the slightest streak. It was so clear it looked as an optical illusion, as if one could walk through the large mirror into the next room.
"Thank you, Ms. Peppercorn. There will be big changes in Castletown this Yuletide." he spoke to her without ever turning away from the window, his back to her and the room.
"Yes, Sir?" Ms. Peppercorn said with a polite questioning tone to her voice, knowing he wanted to share his thoughts with her.
"Yes, indeed. I have plans, to clean the streets! To add culture, and the added income to this office will allow me to refurbish the work area where you and the other staff work. It will look most impressive, when others come to see me."
"That sounds very exciting Sir. We will all be better off for your efforts." she finished polishing the mirror and stood listening to him. She was simply happy to be in his presence. Even if he had never noticed her admiration which went far beyond an assistant towards her employer.
"Oh, . . . of. . . ,of course. . Yes, Sir." she scurried out of the room, quietly closing the door.
He turned when he heard the satisfying sound of his heavy office door snick shut. He walked over to the large mirror which was too large for the grandest hotel ballroom, but he needed the biggest, the best. He then adjusted his tie and rand a comb through his hair. At his age of late 50's he was still a handsome man, so the ladies at the local tavern told him often. He was proud to have all his hair, all his own teeth, and he walked with a slight swagger knowing he was one of the richest and most powerful men in this town, if not the entire region.
A sharp piercing scream stopped his self admiration and he rushed to his window. He saw a horse and carriage, with the driver struggling to get control of the large animal, powerful but deadly when overcome with panic and fear. Underneath it's flailing hooves was the body of a prone man, a large red gash upon his forehead and dirty ragged clothes on his thin frame. Laying in the snow which had started to fall lightly, covering everything as if powdered sugar was being sifted by a giant hand over all.
A sharp rap, rap on his door and Ms. Peppercorn came rushing in "Mr. Diffyc! A man has been run down in the street, right in front of the Home for the Homeless! Should we send aid, somehow do something? What should we do Mr. Diffyc?"
"Ms. Peppercorn, please calm down. Compose yourself, it is not as if the wretched creature was an sort of relation to you, is he?"
"well, no, Sir. I don't suppose he is." She looked confused, perplexed and unsure of what to do.
The magistrate went back to his desk, straightened out some papers and sat down. He started to write some notes and when he sensed Ms. Peppercorn's fidgeting he looked up pointedly "Is there anything else ? No, then please close my door as you leave, there's a good girl"
- - - - - - -
Catsandra stood in her kitchen, Sir Pip on the table next to her. Abramelin, the white cat with black marking had come in to, while Balthasar decided to stay out front and guard the front locked door while he kept the cushion in the window safe and warm.
She peered deep into the crystal ball, raised her palms up and held a foot or so away from the ball, never touching it. She felt the connection of the power between her hands and the ball and then the ball lightened and she could see clearly inside. Exactly where and what she needed to see.
"There you are, you rat! Let's see how you like a visit from one of your constituents!"
A blue fog enveloped her along with swirls of silver which wrapped around and then she was gently pulled into the crystal ball. Sir Pip squeaked and adjusted his spectacles and looked deep inside, he waved his tiny paw at her. Safe travels, my lady!! We'll be here when you return. He went over to Abramelin who had laid down next to the ball and snuggled deep in his fur and decided too take a nap.
- - - - To be continued look for the next link for 'A Yuletide Visit Part II'
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