Spell Stories: Sympathetic Magic

Tags

flash_fiction, magic, romance, story

This is the first of a set of stories featuring regular characters, all inspired by a book of Romany spells I happened across. Who knows, by the end of lockdown, I might have a book-full of stories!

Sympathetic Magic

‘Think on it, Agnes,’ said her mother. ‘Robin dotes on you, you know it. And he has a steady trade.’

There followed a long and profound silence, broken only by the spitting of twigs in the fire. A steady trade, Agnes thought. I should think it is! A grave-digger. A grim and grimy trade, too.

‘Oh, but Mother,’ said Agnes at last, ‘what a life! Think of the melancholy – think of the laundry!’

‘Think of the steady income,’ said her mother, a woman of immense practicality.

But Agnes saw only Robin’s long face, the inevitable mud on his clothing. ‘I don’t want him,’ she said.

‘Try a spell to find your true love, then.’

‘Oh, Mother!’

‘Get a sprig of bay leaves. Tie a pink ribbon round it. I know you have some. Put it under your pillow. When you wake, look out of the window and you’ll see your true love.’

Agnes snorted. But, well, who knows? It might work. She said nothing to her mother, but went out for a sprig of bay, tied on the ribbon and slept on it.  She awoke to the scent of the leaves and peered through the window.  Smiling up at her was Robin the grave-digger. Quite nice-looking with a smile on. And he did have a steady trade.

Robin had had his instructions. ‘Be outside her window before dawn. Wear clean clothes and in the name of Heaven wipe that grim look off your face. A smile will work the spell.’

 

Look out for another Spell Story next week

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Ancient Wisdom

Tags

fairytale, fiction, magic, writing

This is the first of a set of stories written in recent weeks, all of them inspired by a book of Romany spells I picked up by chance a week or two before lockdown began.

He was found in a field. Entirely dead.

‘Oh, such a state he was in!’ said the ale-wife who found him. ‘Gave me an attack of the vapours!’ And indeed, she still looked a little green round the gills.

‘Never mind the vapours,’ said the town constable, making enquiries. ‘How did he get in such a state?’ The ale-wife shrugged.

‘He said he had a headache,’ volunteered the blacksmith. ‘Was going to the doctor.’

‘Call in the doctor, then.’

The doctor looked shifty. ‘Yes, he came to me. With a headache. I sold him a pill.’

‘What sort of pill?’ The constable doubted anyone could end up in such a battered state from taking a pill, but due consideration had to be given.

The doctor looked cornered. ‘It… could not have harmed him.’ The townsfolk turned on him, frowning. ‘No – no, it was a sugar pill. It’s all I ever sell! Red for indigestion, blue for headaches, green for female troubles.’ The doctor seemed to be shrinking. ‘I am a quack, you see,’ he breathed. I am finished in this place, he thought.

‘Very well,’ said the constable, ‘off with you then. The deceased took a sugar pill for a headache. What else?’

‘He visited the wise woman in the woods,’ said the smith, ‘since that pill didn’t work.’

‘Call in the wise woman.’

‘Well?’ said the constable, when she finally appeared. ‘What did you do? None of your funny spells, I hope?’

The wise woman, behaving with rather more dignity than the quack doctor, looked everyone in the eye. ‘I gave him advice,’ she said. ‘Good advice, too. And I charged him only a farthing for it.’

‘And this advice was?’

‘Trade secret!’ said the wise woman.

‘Tell me,’ said the constable, ‘unless you want to be tried as a witch.’

The wise woman caved in. ‘I advised him to rub his head with a horseshoe. Sure cure for a headache. Ancient wisdom.’ She folded her arms.

‘And did he take this advice?’

‘He said he would, directly. Went to seek a horseshoe. Very grateful.’

‘So how do you account for the battered state, indeed the very dead state, in which he was found?’

The wise woman drew herself up. ‘He died of stupidity,’ she said. ‘And I will amend my advice in future to take account of it. You’re not supposed to rub your head with a horseshoe while the horse is still attached to it.’