by Robert Evert
Becky thrashed and barked, crazed with excitement.
“D-do … do you know him?” Edmund asked when Fatty and Becky had gone.
“Oh, sure. Everybody does. Thank you for helping him, by the way. I wish somebody would have taken him in years ago.”
Taken him in?
She approached Pond. “You must be the one called Thorax.” She held out her gloved hand like a man.
Pond shook it, looking sidelong at Edmund.
“A-actually,” Edmund said, “he’s … he’s Pond. Thor, Thorax … Thorax died.”
“My mistake. And terribly sorry for your loss. Still, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pond.”
“At your service,” Pond said, bowing. “And at your family’s.”
“Oh, to hell with my family.” She snorted. “May I sit?”
Not waiting for an answer, the woman sat on the settee, her billowy skirt overflowing around her like she was sinking into a bathtub full of silk bubbles.
Edmund stared, mouth open.
She smells like Lily of the Valley.
“So, how did you lose your eye, Edmund? May I address you by your first name? Or is it just ‘Ed’? I hate all that ‘Master’ this and ‘Baroness’ that. It’s so tiresome. And it consumes far too much time.”
Edmund and Pond exchanged glances.
“Since you haven’t asked,” she went on, smoothing out her skirt, “my name is Abigail Marie, though most people generally call me Abby—when they have cause to call me anything nice, that is.”
Abby crossed her legs.
Edmund spied the hint of a creamy white calf appearing from underneath the mountain of lace and fabric. He forced himself to look away.
“So?” she prodded.
“I’m … I’m sorry, Miss … Miss Abigail, was it?” Edmund drove his hands into his pockets. He pulled them out and folded his arms awkwardly across his chest. Seconds later, his hands were fumbling into his pockets again. “Wh-wh-what … what … what exactly was your question?”
“I think I’ll leave you two alone,” Pond said.
“What? No … no. Stay,” Edmund said.
“Nope!” Pond winked as he headed for the door. “I’d better check on our large friend and your little monster.” Bowing to Abby, he added, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Please stay as long as you like. Ed doesn’t have any plans for the rest of the evening.”
Edmund’s eye narrowed at Pond.
Bastard!
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Pond,” Abby said. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
“I hope so,” Pond replied, bowing again. He winked one last time at Edmund as he closed the door behind him.
Edmund and Abby stared at each other for a moment.
“You can sit if you like,” she said.
Edmund lowered himself into the chair across from her.
“So,” she began, when it was evident Edmund wasn’t going to say anything, “tell me about your eye. I’m guessing goblins did it, am I right?”
“What? Wh-why … why would you say that?” Edmund crossed and then uncrossed his legs.
“Because I noticed some marks when you adjusted your patch. Your eye was burnt out, rather than cut out or damaged in some other way, such as by a sword blow, which means you were probably captured by goblins at some point.”
Edmund touched his eye patch and stared at the space Pond had just vacated.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I hope this isn’t an inappropriate conversation.”
Inappropriate? Being alone with me in my suite is inappropriate!
“I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” she went on, “but I find you fascinating.”
Say something. Ask her a question. Do something other than sit there slack-jawed!
“S-so … so why do you think I was captured by goblins?”
No! Ask her about herself, you idiot! Change the subject!
“You don’t strike me as being a peeping Tom, which leads me to believe your eye was burnt out by goblins rather than cut out by a jealous husband. They wouldn’t do that sort of thing on the battlefield, not while the battle was ongoing, you understand; therefore, you must have been captured.”
She’s smart!
“So, tell me …” Abby leaned forward, dark brown eyes exploding with delight. “What’re they like? And how did you escape? Tell me everything. I want to hear it all!”
Edmund opened his mouth and blinked.
“I, I … I … I would rather, rather not, if it’s all the same to you,” he sputtered. Then, after shaking his head, he asked, “What … what exactly do you want?”
“I want to go with you,” she said.
Edmund rocked back.
“Go?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “Go where?”
“To wherever you and Mr. Pond are going. You’re leaving; I heard you through the door. You’re leaving tonight.”
“Eavesdropping!” Edmund huffed. “Well, I, I … I never!”
Abby laughed. “Yes, yes. It’s horrible of me. So is asking you about your eye so directly. But I can’t help it. Honestly, if we can’t get past a few minor personality flaws—”
“Minor personality flaws?” Edmund repeated in disbelief.
“Look, I’ve found it’s always better to enter a room knowing beforehand what’s being discussed. It’s served me well thus far.”
“Served you well?” Edmund glanced around, hoping he wasn’t the only person hearing what she was saying. “Who are you?”
Abby grunted.
“Fine! We’ll do this the long way.” She got to her feet and curtsied. “Hello, Master Edmund. I am Abigail Marie, youngest daughter of His Highness, Borstson, chief judicial official for the Havenar providence of the Kingdom of Havendor …”
Her father is a judge! I have the unescorted daughter of a judge in my suite!
Edmund felt sick.
Get her out of here!
“… and I want to get out of this shit hole of a town.”
Edmund looked up at her abruptly. Molly had said exactly the same thing about Rood ages before.
Abby plopped onto the sofa with a muffled thud.
“What?” She fluffed out her skirt. “Shocked by my language? Well, I won’t apologize. It’s how I feel. I want to see the world. I want to explore. I want out of this godforsaken town! And nothing you say will stop me.”
She’s crazy.
No, she has a fiery spirit, that’s all.
We’re in danger! Somebody knows where you are! Kravel is probably on his way this very moment. We have to get out of here. Tell her whatever she wants; just get her out of this room before somebody thinks something improper is going on.
“L-look … look, Abby.” Edmund tried to force his mind to stay on one perilous issue at a time. He rubbed his forehead. “You’re a beautiful woman …”
He froze.
What did you just say?
Edmund’s face burned.
Abby sneered.
“Go on. You’re about to tell me how women aren’t capable of adventuring. That we’re not smart enough or strong enough. That we have no legal rights. Is that it?” Her tone hardened. “Well, I bet I can beat you two out of three falls. Being short has its advantages, you know, leverage being one of them; I could knock you on your ass more often than you could me.”
She probably could.
“And I bet I know a great deal more about things than you do,” she shouted. “Like about botany, and the topography of this region, and, and … not grabbing a constable like you did!”
Edmund lifted his finger, trying to interject. “Ab—”
“Why, I’m surprised you didn’t take Fatty’s place in the stocks! And don’t be surprised if they come for you soon. They’ll put you away for a week, no matter how much money you have!”
Edmund raised his finger again.
“And another thing: you don’t know diddly about that wedding ring you gave away. It wasn’t the Ri
ng of Hildegard or whatever nonsense you were spouting on about—”
“Ab, Ab … Abby—”
“For your information, it belonged to Hinrich the Second, King of the Hildorim, and it’s worth a bloody fortune. I have a book that proves it!”
“Ab … Abby—”
“It’s a damned relic! And when people learn what you’d done, giving it away like that, they’ll either beat you silly for your stupidity or rob you blind! You stupid, foolish—”
“All right!” Edmund yelled, jumping to his feet.
She’s right, you know. You are an idiot.
He wandered around the room, rubbing his throbbing temples.
I need a glass of wine.
“All right, what?” Abby asked. “That you’re a fool, or that you need me?”
“I don’t need you.”
Edmund moaned. He was exhausted just listening to her, and his head hurt. Putting distance between him and Dardenello before sunrise was becoming less likely by the minute.
“Will … will you just listen to me? Just for a moment? Please?”
He paced.
Abby crossed her legs and laid her gloved hands patiently across her lap. Edmund tried not to look at the soft curve of her calves but failed on several occasions.
“I … I would love to have you …”
What? What did you say?
Edmund waved his hands.
“I … I mean … think about these p-points for a moment, will you? F-f-first … first, you can’t just go about with, with a bunch of middle-aged men you just met! We could be brigands, for all you know, or worse!”
“I can handle myself. And if I need any assistance, I’m sure Fatty will crush you to a bloody pulp if I bat my eyelashes and ask him like a girl.”
She’s crazy.
She smart! I can see it in her eyes. They’re as bright as the Morning Star …
“Just listen, all right? Think about it from, from, from everybody else’s perspective. They … they might believe we’ve abducted you or something. Your father … your father is a judge, for crying out loud! What would he say if—?”
“I’ll tell him we’re running away to get married,” Abby said. “He’d like that. He’s been trying to marry me off for years.”
“Married!”
Edmund’s face grew even hotter. A knot had formed in his stomach, though it wasn’t a completely unpleasant sensation. Abby was staring up at him with smoldering dark brown eyes. His heart brightened.
She’s going to follow us as soon as we leave this room.
Not in that dress. She’ll need time to prepare.
“Abby,” Edmund said. “I like you.”
He was surprised to hear himself say such a thing and even more surprised that the voices in his head didn’t correct him. Looking at her, something in him seemed to click, like the iron door of the wet cells swinging open.
He breathed more easily.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said with a tenderness that wasn’t entirely contrived, “if you get permission from your father, permission to come with us—in writing; I want it in writing just in case anybody questions my intentions—if you can get his written permission … I’ll let you come.”
Are you serious?
I don’t know.
Abby rose and looked at him sidelong. “You’re placating me.”
Damn, she’s perceptive.
Edmund shook his head.
“Yes you are, I can tell! You’re going to leave as soon as I step out of this room. Your bags are all packed and hidden in the bedroom! I heard you.”
“Abby—”
“You’re a liar and a fake, just like all those other men at that stupid—”
Edmund grabbed her shoulders. Warmth from his face fluttered into his chest. He felt like he was glowing.
“Go talk to your father,” he said.
She has exquisite eyes.
“I’ll, I’ll even meet with him, if he has a mind to. And then we’ll go. We’ll tell him I have a home somewhere and I want you to meet my elderly parents who can’t come here.”
Her face softened.
Don’t kiss her! You’ll ruin everything if you try. Don’t even think about it!
Abby’s cheeks flushed, but her doubtful expression remained.
“I want your word of honor that you won’t disappear as soon as I leave, that you will take me with you. Promise me.”
Terrific! Make it convincing.
“I promise,” Edmund said without a hitch in his voice.
Abby’s defiance waned.
He let go of her.
They stared at each other for another moment before turning away to study the floor.
“Well then,” she said, smoothing out her dress, “I’m … I’m terribly sorry for bothering you like this.”
“It’s no bother,” Edmund replied, meaning every word. “But you can’t stay here alone with me. It isn’t proper. Go home and speak to your father.”
Abby tugged at her white gloves absentmindedly. “You’re a gentleman.”
Am I?
“I like that,” she said. “Thank you. I never thought I’d ever escape from this place. I thought …” Anguish crept over her fair face as she frowned. “Never mind. Just … just thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my impetuous soul. And I’m sorry for yelling. I’m sorry about everything.”
“Don’t be.”
She opened the door.
“You did a nice job telling your story, by the way. It couldn’t have been easy for you, being put on the spot like that. Perhaps someday you’ll tell me what really happened.”
I’ll tell you anything you want to know.
“Well then,” she said again and stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll … I’ll see you soon.”
Edmund smiled, heart racing. “I look forward to it.”
She closed the door behind her.
He sighed.
Now get the hell out of here!
Chapter Thirteen
Edmund searched for Pond, Fatty, and Becky across the expansive front lawns of Baroness Melody’s estate but found no sign of them. It was close to one o’clock in the morning. The damp coastal breezes were gusting, making Edmund’s dress cloak flutter and snap. From the main hall of the manor house came joyous music and the twinkling of lights, as though the entire mansion was filled with dancing fireflies. Out to sea, lightning flashed and a dull clap of thunder rolled over the land.
By the time he had reached the eastern rose gardens, Edmund’s mind was no longer thinking about finding his friends or the fat droplets of rain that periodically struck his head and shoulders. Instead he envisioned the gentle curves of Abby’s legs and the sharpness of her dark brown eyes.
As he wandered, he touched one of the statues lining the gardens and sniffed the fragrant, windswept air. He tried to unravel his many thoughts and emotions, but mostly, he was content to just walk in the darkness.
She can’t come. You know that, right?
Perhaps I can send for her. Maybe once we get situated and find a safe home somewhere.
Thunder rumbled closer. Somewhere in the blackness below the cliffs, waves rose and crashed upon the exposed rocks.
Don’t be a fool. She’s not really interested in you! She only wants to adventure.
Still …
He realized he was humming.
More long droplets of rain pelted the neatly trimmed grass.
Pond’s right. There’s something magical about spring rain by the sea.
He felt like singing.
Something rustled nearby.
Off to his right, Becky pushed herself through a row of sculpted rosebushes.
“Hey, girl!” Edmund called to her.
Becky dashed to him, mouth chomping at the wind.
“Hey, Beck! How’ve you been? Been good?” He scratched her neck playfully. “Where’re Pond and Fatty, eh?”
The fur around her muzzle was damp. Edmund examined his hand. In the
faint starlight, blood glistened on his fingertips.
“Blood?”
Carefully he picked thorns and twigs out of Becky’s coat.
“Did you cut yourself going through those roses?”
Blood dripped from the fur around her mouth.
This isn’t from a simple scratch …
Becky snapped at the air.
“What is it, girl?”
She raced back to the spot she had crawled through, rooted around for a few seconds, and then reappeared with something hanging limply from her mouth. Edmund took it.
“Fabric?”
Bloody fabric …
Edmund examined Becky again. The blood didn’t seem to be hers.
Then who—?
Pond!
“Becky, bring me to Pond! Do you understand? Bring me to—”
White lightning split the sky.
Thunder shook the ground.
Becky sprinted back the way she had come.
Running after her, Edmund pushed between the rosebushes, tearing his new dress cloak and tunic.
Grey sheets of heavy rain started to fall.
In the dimness ahead of him, Becky shot between two towering topiaries.
“Becky?” The gusting wind threw Edmund’s voice back at his wet face. “Pond? Fatty?”
He stumbled after her, running into wrought iron benches and tripping over raised flowerbeds now muddy with rain.
“Pond?”
Through the storm, the ocean roared around him.
He crashed through a wall of swaying evergreens.
Lightning flashed.
There!
In a clearing surrounded by high hedges, two figures lay sprawled on the ground. One had to be Fatty Moron; lying on his back, his enormous belly rose like the silhouette of a distant hill. Edmund couldn’t tell who the other figure was, but he feared the worst. Becky stood before them, chomping silently on the whipping wind.
Edmund reached for his sword but found he wasn’t wearing one. “Damn it!”
He ran and slid to Pond’s side.
“Pond!”
Thunder answered him.
Frantically he glanced around. Shadowy topiaries loomed like assassins in the night. Again his hand felt for a sword that wasn’t there.
“Pond!” he shouted again.
Unable to see much in the growing storm, Edmund swept his hands over Pond’s head and body. He was wet, but there didn’t appear to be any wounds.
