The Dowser's Discovery

“IF you don’t mind, sir,” said old Fiedler as he finished pouring our coffee, “I’d like to go into the village this morning with the others. It’s market day.”

- David Marcum

Our host, Squire Boone, belched politely and raised a good-natured eyebrow. “Whatever could tempt you to visit that cackling circus?” Fiedler looked sheepish. “It’s not so much the market, sir, as what’s happening nearby. There’s been work going on at Mr. Retford’s place, as you know, and today they’re going to be using a dowser—he’s that fortune-teller’s husband—to find some of the buried pipes.”

Holmes, sitting beside me and so far seemingly lost in his own thoughts, turned toward Fiedler with a sharp look of interest. “Really?” he asked. “So that’s still being practiced out here, is it? Ah, these charming West Country superstitions.”

Fiedler, unsure whether a response was required, stayed mute. Squire Boone, however, shifted in his seat with a smile. “Likely not just here, Holmes,” he said. “Scrape any of the settlements from Land’s End to John o’ Groats and you’ll find that our rickety civilization is only skin deep at best.”

“A curious way of putting it,” I said, “but true. To many, modern science is no more than a different way of trying to explain or justify those aspects of nature which just a few generations ago were credited to spirits and demons.”

“And angels as well, Watson!” said Holmes. “We mustn’t discount those advocates of the light!”

Squire Boone happily agreed that Fiedler could join the market party, and we were soon left with our coffee.