Abby the Witch (25 page)

Abby could
just see Pembrake rescuing the Princess from bears and trekking
into the mountains, for some ridiculously heroic reason, and
succumbing to the weather. Who else could possibly do such a
thing?

Dashing heroes
like Pembrake are meant to marry the Princess. In no one's mind
should they end up with a witch.

What? She
didn't just think that, did she? The past was messing with her
mind. Abby crossed her arms defensively and continued to
listen.

Still, after a
time, Abby found the conversation and speculation to be tiring. At
first she was keen to talk about Pembrake for some reason, but as
Martha's tattle drew on, Abby became weary and withdrawn. Every
single theory, whether it was tragic or fantastic, always involved
the Princess and Pembrake. The perfect couple, the dashing hero and
the beautiful Princess, such was the stuff of fairytales.

There was only
so much you could take, Abby assured herself, of bedtime stories
and myths. The average person should have a clear saturation point
that would help them to avoid obsessing and over-fantasising
reality. And Abby had hit that point. So the source of the edged
frustration that was fidgeting through her stomach, must be her
fatigue with the conversation. It was nothing more, she told
herself, than boredom with the fantasies of others.

When it had
become clear to Martha that Abby was passively, despondently
listening to the conversation, she'd switched topic again,
informing Abby of the next exciting news. Apparently there was a
ball to be held on the following Friday. It was an annual thing
that was held to celebrate some anniversary Martha had never
bothered to note. According to gossip, the Princess had demanded
Pembrake attend even though her father had been reluctant, because
it was widely known the King had lined up several eligible suitors
for the night.

Though Abby
had heard Martha talk of this ball before, she found the news that
Pembrake was definitely going to be totally uninteresting. It
seemed exactly like the thing he would do, so why should she be
surprised, Abby had thought bitterly.

Though the
Ball was barely a week away, the Princess apparently had scheduled
all her time, which should have been set aside to meeting her
suitors, for spending time with Pembrake. She'd lined up a Royal
tour and a picnic and even a carriage ride through the city.

Abby had
almost gagged at this, but had instead clung tightly to the sleeves
of her dress. Spending a week gadding through the town sounded
truly dangerous. What was Pembrake thinking? Every second he spent
with the Princess was another moment to ruin the future, didn't he
care?

When Martha
had realised that even that topic was starting to wear thin with
Abby, she'd moved onto a much more boring point, as she'd put it.
Apparently, Abby was not invited. Abby had nodded pointedly, to
prove that she'd suspected as much, but Martha had just tutted
loudly.

But apparently
'not being invited' was code for 'get out of the Palace'. Abby had
overstayed her welcome. While Pembrake would be put up in the guest
rooms until the Ball had furnished, with the best clothes and
service the Palace could offer, Abby would have to leave before
lunch.

Abby had tried
to brush this off, pretending she had plenty of places to go, but
Martha had taken her by the hands, 'you are coming to stay with me
and Alfred,' Martha had assured her, 'and I won't be taking no for
an answer.'

'Now, it's not
that I feel sorry for you,' Martha had said, 'it's that I want
Pembrake to know exactly where you are staying, dear; in case he
find he needs you.'

Abby had been
confused by that comment, but had let it pass. Why should Pembrake
even care? Still, it was a good idea; this way, though they would
be miles apart, they would still know where one another were.
Whether Abby liked it or not, as the witch, it was her duty to
ensure both of them made it back to their own time, no matter how
hard Pembrake made it for her.

Martha had
told Abby to spend the afternoon wandering around the city, but to
be back at her house by sundown.

'You don't
want to be caught in the city at night,
dear, especially near the Cross Roads. I've been hearing
strange things recently, so you be back in before it gets dark, you
hear?'

Abby had
heard, and had nodded her head in firm agreement. Sound advice
that. Ms Crowthy had often impressed on her the need not to court
trouble. Because, as she'd put it, trouble courts further trouble,
and before you know it you've got the whole Trouble family trashing
your house and eating all your food.

So Abby had
found herself walking the familiar cobbled streets of Bridgestock
by lunchtime. The fresh scent of salt in the light breeze and the
constant call of the gulls were refreshing after the stuffy Palace.
It wasn't done for a witch to be cooped up too long. She needed to
see the sky at regular intervals just to convince herself that it
was still there.

The sky was
beautiful too – a light blue with blobs of fluffy cloud lazily
floating on by. Everything was just so pleasant, and it was nice to
be alone. Though the further she walked from the Palace and
Pembrake, the more she seemed to think of him. Every other thought
was of Pembrake. What he was doing and if it would be foolish
enough to ruin the future completely. She would need to have a
conversation with him about the things she'd learnt and, of course,
their mission to return home, but that could wait until after the
Ball. She could last a week on her own.

It was not
long before Abby became tired of her random ambling, and set
herself down on the edge of some steps.

'Well hello,
young witch!'

Abby jumped,
and turned to see the Gov plodding down the steps behind her. 'I
heard you got kicked out of the Palace. I hope you aren't thinking
of setting up camp on these stairs, though,' his voice was loud but
jovial: even Abby could tell it was a joke.

'No, sir, I'm
just resting here before I go on.'

'Of course you
are, ma'am. You do have a place to stay, though?' the Gov's eyes,
though considerably overhung by his jutting brow, were touched with
concern.

'Yes,' she
nodded, 'Martha has kindly taken me in.'

'Martha!' the
Gov roared, because he seemed incapable of simply speaking, 'she's
a good woman and no mistake. But what about that boy you were
travelling with, the one what reckoned he saved the Princess? Have
you two parted ways?'

Abby ran her
top lop through her teeth, unsure of how to answer. She decided it
was best to ignore it for the moment. 'So you know that I'm a witch
then?' Strangely, she found the notion of being found out as a
witch much less confronting than discussing her current situation
with Pembrake.

'Oh yes, I've
seen enough in my time. You've got a level head between your
shoulders and you've got that keen look in your eyes. That, and I
don't see how that boy could have caught the Princess without being
squished. What with her being a relatively heavy object, and the
broom free falling – she would have impacted the ground with what
you might call killer force.'

Abby blinked,
trying to follow. The Gov, though coming across as real salt of the
Earth stuff, obviously had knowledge beyond how to deal, recover
from, and dodge a fist to the face. It would be something to do
with all that interest in weapons, Abby thought.

'No, that
broom must have been slowed somehow. And the only thing what could
have slowed that broom is a witch. And look: you is a witch.'

Abby nodded.
'I guess that makes sense.'

'So, what are
you going to do about that Pembrake, then? Word is he's booked in
to spend some quality time with the Princess while you walk the
streets. He's getting the full deal up at that Palace,' the Gov
leaned in conspiratorially, 'we could always expose him, if you
want?'

Abby smiled,
that sure would burst Pembrake's balloon. 'No, no, I'm fine. It's
much better this way. I don't think that Colonel would have been
too happy if a witch had saved the Princess. I think he saw what he
wanted to – a fairytale hero who would be a perfect distraction to
the Princess and the rest of the Palace…' Abby trailed off, aware
that she was thinking out loud. Though she was sure, from the
conversation she had overheard, that the Gov was not on the side of
the Colonel, it was still not a good idea to give too much
away.

The Gov did
not accuse her of treason, on the contrary, he nodded his head very
quickly. 'I said you have a good head on those shoulders, and I
wasn't wrong. You witches always know how to give a good bit of
advice. That Colonel definitely is up to something, he's a slimy
little pleck and I don't mind telling you so,' the Gov narrowed his
eyes and appeared to stare at a patch of grass poking through the
cobbles, 'but I hadn't thought of it like that – I hadn't thought
of him creating a distraction. He was steaming after the incident
with the Princess, but then he'd calmed down by the time we'd
returned to the Palace. And he ain't denying the Princess her
wishes with this Pembrake either – which is odd, let me tell you.
Usually he's in there advising the King to throw the Prince and
Princess off a cliff, though not in so many words.'

Abby flushed,
realising the importance of what she was hearing. So the Colonel
was virtually a criminal, distrusted by the Guards and whispering
venom in the ear of the King. And now, if the Gov was right, or
rather if her random association had been on track – the Colonel
was allowing Pembrake to play as a distraction. But a distraction
from what? What was the Colonel up to?

'So, like I
said before, you not travelling with that Pembrake anymore?'

This time Abby
viewed the question from a new angle. 'No. We are still travelling
together. But I can't very well go into the Palace to check on him.
What if you are right, or I'm right, or we're both right – and the
Colonel really is using Pembrake as a distraction? How am I
supposed to do anything about it?'

The Gov
shrugged his shoulders. 'As an officer of the law, I wouldn't
suggest breaking into the Palace. Plus, though I reckon that
Pembrake is a bit too sure of himself, he ain't that stupid. Do you
trust him?'

Abby was taken
aback and blinked quickly as if the Gov had swung a strong light in
her eyes. 'I don't know…' she'd never really thought of Pembrake
like that. Sure she spent half her time hating him, but did that
equate to not trusting him? Ms Crowthy used to say that trust was
the only currency worth trading. Trust, she'd say, can grow things,
enable, stop, and destroy. It was like trading in pure energy or
potential. If you could trust someone, really trust them, then it
was like you had another version of yourself – another world of
possibilities. Did she trust that Pembrake would come to her aid if
she was in trouble? Well he'd tried to warn her off the Captain –
did that count? And did she trust that Pembrake would help her
achieve her goals? He hadn't run out on her, even though he'd had
the opportunity. It seemed as if he was committed to helping them
find a way home… but did this mean she
could trust him?

The Gov
cleared his throat. 'I reckons you'll find out soon enough. My
advice to you, young witch, is to find yourself an invite to the
Ball. I think, what with me and Martha in the Palace to look after
Pembrake this week, he shouldn't get into too much trouble. But I
think the Ball is going to be different,' the Gov had a far-off
look in his eye, almost as if he were catching a vision from the
clouds above, 'I think you should be there for that.'

'Okay,' Abby
conceded. She could sense the Gov was not giving her some frivolous
suggestion – it seemed to be genuine foresight on his part. 'But
how am I going to find an invitation to the ball? Where do I even
begin to look?'

'I think a
smart girl like you should be able to figure that out. But
unfortunately I have to be off now. You keep that head straight and
it'll all work out.'

The Gov had
left Abby thoroughly confused and a touch exasperated. Find an
invite to a Ball at the Palace? Where was she supposed to look? In
the gutter? Or maybe break into some house on Esquire street and
help herself? She'd need a dress too, unless she was planning on
spending the whole night on the roof blending in with the
chimney.

Eventually
Abby managed to calm down. She had a whole week to find an invite,
after all. And even if she didn't, couldn't she just find some way
to sneak in with Martha? Did Abby really need to arrive at the
Palace in a full-length golden ball-gown with jewellery and
pearl-white shoes?

She would just
have to wait and see. Which is a terrible notion for a witch.

Charlie licked
his paw and settled down onto the warm stonewall. There was not a
lot to be said about going back in time really. Not much changed,
the people essentially stayed the same, they were just preoccupied
by different little stories.

Take that fish
monger over there, Charlie thought as he sniffed at the violent
smell of old seafood in the air. He's just trying to make a buck
selling his dodgy wears. Same thing would happen in the future. And
that merchant over there, the one with the surprised red-rimmed
eyes. He had clearly been up all night drilling holes into the
bottom of his rival's ship. They did that in the future too.

There were
some differences, granted; a couple of stones out of place, a
couple of trees smaller than they should be. But none of these
differences were worth mentioning.

It was all a
bore really.

Charlie winked
one eye closed and kept the other open the barest slit to watch the
mundane happenings of the town below him. As he ignored the town,
the town ignored him in turn. But Charlie was getting used to being
ignored. Abby had ignored him ever since he'd gotten here.