He shot her a confused glance. 'What? Oh,' he seemed to come to his own conclusion, 'we were both knocked out. I woke up around dawn and you must have woken up several of hours after that.'
Abby found herself shaking her head almost fitfully. 'No, what's the actual time?'
Pembrake shrugged his broad shoulders, the rough woollen shirt stretching awkwardly. 'I'm not sure, around midday?'
No it wasn't, her internal witchly clock assured her. Abby took a sharp breath and patted the sweat away from her brow, trying to concentrate completely on her feeling of unease. 'Are you sure?'
Pembrake's eyes had fixed on her face, and he uncrossed his arms gently. 'Maybe you should lie down, you look a little unwell.'
'No, I don't want to lie down,' Abby was surprised at her own frustration; she sounded like a petulant child rebelling against her bedtime. 'Something is very wrong here.' She turned back to the tapestry on the wall, 'nothing about this house fits. That woman said she'd never even heard of the Royal Blue-'
A stiff, twisted misery crept into Pembrake's expression, and it fuelled her tirade.
'Where is the ship? Where are the crew? Where are all the Guards and officers? When that naval vessel went down last year, the whole of Bridgestock was teeming with Guards for weeks, searching up and down the coast for wreckage and survivors – but when I look out that window I can't see a thing! I don't recognise the view at all.' Abby stopped suddenly and took a deep breath. 'Something's wrong, can't you see that?'
A shot of anger flared in Pembrake's eyes and he glared at Abby. 'Of course I can see it. I've lost my ship, my crew, my Captain, everything.' His voice was bitter and sharp.
'S-sorry.'
'Look, Abby, that's your name, isn't it?' She nodded, and he continued, 'I understand what you're saying, I really do. I grew up in Bridgestock, this should be home, but I've walked through this house and I've walked along the cliff and I have no idea what's going on.' Pembrake rested a hand on the old warped glass of the window. 'Everything is familiar, except not….'
'I know.' Abby was glad of his words of recognition and understanding. She may not have grown up in Bridgestock, but she was its witch, and from the moment she'd arrived she'd been attuned to it. Now it was like someone had fiddled with the dial and she'd lost transmission.
'This house…' Pembrake's voice took on a distant quality as he looked around at the dated furnishings. And the cliff, I swear there were more houses set along the path to it… now it seems practically undeveloped. It's almost as if we've travelled back in time, everything seems so.…'
Oh god. Abby couldn't make out the rest of his words as a loud buzzing filled her mind.
'-are you okay? Abby?' Somehow he had crossed the room and was standing before her, face thick with concern, 'Abby?'
Travelled back in time. They couldn't possibly have… but that storm had been powerful, so immensely chaotic.
'Hey, Abby?' he shook her shoulders gently.
She blinked at him, staring numbly up at his face. 'You're right; I think we've travelled back in time.'
The words had broken forth before she could stop them. After all, suggesting that you'd travelled back in time wasn't something people usually did. But Abby could feel it now, she could feel her internal clock resetting – adjusting to a different time at a different pace.
This was insane, this was totally insane and she could see Pembrake regard her with a look of shocked disbelief.
'What?' His face blanched. 'Don't be stupid-'
The curtains parted behind them and the woman poked her head in, smiling mischievously when she saw Pembrake's hands on Abby's shoulders. 'Oh you two must have had such a fright, I thought you'd like some time alone – and I wasn't wrong, was I?'
Pembrake seemed to follow the old woman's meaning quicker than Abby, and took a discrete step backwards. 'No, we're not-'
'Now then, Alfred's gone to get old Mr Pinkeye from the harbour – knows all the ships that comes and goes does Mr Pinkeye. If your Royal Blue docked like you said, they'll soon have it found. Now why don't you two come and have a spot of soup, I've been dying to hear your story.'
Abby looked at Pembrake; after all, what was their story? But he refused to meet her eye.
The woman motioned for the two of them to follow her then led them into the large open kitchen. A fire was burning in the hearth and a large solid table was set in front of it.
With every step, Abby knew with growing certainty that this was not her time. Somehow, through the break in that terrible storm, she'd travelled back in time.
If Ms Crowthy existed in this time, Abby could be sure of one thing – she would be travelling here right now to clap Abby around the ears for being a terribly bad witch. For, not only had Abby clearly landed herself in an adventure, but she'd gone and found a strapping male companion to boot. But worse than both of those, Abby had taken on the most powerful force in the universe – Time. Abby was a very, very bad witch.
They sat down at the table, the woman insisting on Abby sitting as close to the fire as possible. Which of course meant Abby was roasting. She wasn't sick, after all, just extremely strung-out at the prospect that she'd somehow saved Mrs Hunter's son only to drag him back through time to heaven knows when.
She was relieved to note that Charlie was curled up by the fire. He looked up as she sat down and gave her a very knowing look. It said 'we've travelled back in time, but hey, look, here's a fire, so I guess everything is okay for now'. Abby smiled at him and fought the urge to scoop him up and hug him tighter than she'd ever done before.
'Alright you two, you can start by telling me what you were doing up on that cliff in that terrible little storm? Weren't eloping, were you?' Their host asked cheekily as she cut the bread into hearty slices.
Abby blushed into her bowl of soup all the more for the little laugh Pembrake gave as he answered: 'No ma'am.'
'May I ask what your name is?' Abby half-whispered, before the woman could make any more insinuations.
'Oh you're so polite!' the woman reached over and actually pinched Abby's cheek. 'It's Martha, dear. You've been lucky with this one, 'she winked at Pembrake, 'right little sweetheart and no mistake.'
Pembrake nodded, his expression neutral apart from the small curl at the side of his eyes. 'Indeed.'
'So, what's your story then?' Martha passed round the bread and then ripped off a chunk of her own and dunked it into her soup. 'Bet it's a good one.'
Abby smiled nervously. 'Well-'
'I rescued her off the ship,' Pembrake finished off her sentence coolly. 'She was travelling with us when the storm hit.'
Martha's eyes lit up with the sheer romantic possibilities of Pembrake's story. 'My word! What a lucky girl you are!' she turned to Abby and nodded enthusiastically. 'Being rescued by such a handsome man!'
Abby just nodded back at her mutely. It wasn't exactly the version of events she remembered.
'Maybe you can help us with a discussion we were having earlier,' Pembrake interrupted Martha's twittering politely, but firmly, 'do you mind if I ask you a question?'
Martha nodded happily, probably sure that if she went along with Pembrake's question, he'd fill her in on more details of his heroic rescue. 'Of course, ask away!'
'What's the date?'
Abby shot another quick look across at him, but he continued to look calmly at Martha.
'The date?' Martha's grey eyebrows flattened in surprise.
'Yes.'
'It's a Tuesday.'
'Tuesday the what?' Pembrake pressed.
'Tuesday the 1st of April, the Year of the Pearl.'
'The Year of the Pearl?'
'That's right.'
'28 years before the Year of the Rose?'
Martha regarded Pembrake's observation with a confused sideways glance at Abby. 'Well yes,' she mumbled.
Pembrake slowly placed his spoon down on the table beside his steaming bowl and finally met Abby's gaze. 'Oh.'
Chapter 5
>
Abby waited for Pembrake to speak again, a stream of witchly wisdom running through her head. He couldn't just leave it at 'oh'; travelling back in time was worth more than a muted exclamation.
According to the kind old woman before them, they'd just travelled 28 years into the past. How was this man she'd only just met going to deal with this?
Abby watched, unwilling to break his silence with a 'told you so'.
Sure enough Pembrake's face seemed to be cracking under the effort of keeping his cool. His brow was glistening, visible even under the pale light of the crackling fire, and if he started clutching that spoon any tighter, it would probably melt into a puddle of molten metal.
Abby wasn't sure where to take it from here. 'I-'
'If you could just excuse us, Martha,' Pembrake's voice was disturbingly calm, and Abby watched him wearily as he slowly stood up. 'There's something I need to discuss with Abby, something important.'
Abby practically shivered at the hooded menace rippling through his words. Okay, so he wasn't taking this well….
Pembrake stood and held out his arm, motioning her to stand. The movement was delivered with the practiced ease of proper gentleman, except she'd bet her life that wasn't charm twinkling in his eyes.
She swallowed and stood, bowing demurely to Martha before following Pembrake from the house.
He was all but dragging her along with his stiff-shouldered strut. Sure he might not have her by the wrist, but the implication was there.
When they'd reached the outside world, the sea breeze racing up off the ocean and chilling the afternoon air, he'd turned to her. 'You knew about this? You knew we'd travelled into the past?'
She could see he was angry; it would be impossible not to the notice the fierce crease running across his brow. But he didn't have any right to be angry with her. This wasn't her fault, after all. 'No! Of course not! I only guessed!'
Pembrake grunted with disdain and took off down the well-trodden path that led from the house, winding up to the grassy cliffs beyond.
Abby started off after him, amazed that the charming, apparently caring Pembrake who had urged her to lie down when she'd appeared ill, was now storming off across the cliff, accusing her of having plotted some strange temporal trap. The exasperation brought tingling heat to her cheeks as she half-ran after the marching figure.
It took her a good few minutes of scrambling after him to realise where he was headed. The cliff, he was taking her to the cliff she had crash landed on only last night – the place where this whole thing had, presumably, gone horribly wrong. 'Where are we going?' she tried to prompt the truth from him, her breath catching with the sheer exhaustion of running after him.
'I don't trust you,' Pembrake's voice was blank, 'there's something about you, Abby….'
Abby suddenly felt sick. She'd heard that kind of tone before, that sharp accusation stabbing away at her like a knife. He couldn't suspect that she was a witch… could he?
They finally reached the base of the cliff, and Pembrake climbed it with a quick powerful stride that left Abby huffing meters behind.
'There's something I remembered from last night,' he cast his eyes around the still damp grass.
Abby slowed, her limbs freezing with the terrible thought that ran through her mind: he knows.
'It wasn't until you had that – turn in your bedroom…' Pembrake walked over to a low twisted bush and peered amongst the tangled twigs, 'that I remembered something about you.'
Abby was standing dead still, watching Pembrake with heart-pounding interest.
'Something was missing, I told myself,' Pembrake's face took on a satisfied smile and he plunged his hand into the bush, retrieving something. 'The last two times I saw you, you were holding this,' he brandished her broom, 'you witch.'
Abby gasped, instinctively putting her hands up as if Pembrake had struck her. 'N-no,' the drumbeat of her heart almost drowned out his words, and she could feel the panic threaten to engulf her in flames, 'I-I c-can explain.'
'Explain? Explain? Why don't you explain why you did this, why you took us back in time? Or is this all just a game? Have you just cast some curse on my mind? ' Pembrake seemed to grow bigger all the time, until his large form, dressed in the ill-fitting clothes of Arthur, seemed to fill the horizon completely.
Without her broom, she had nowhere to run – no hope of escape. But Abby was sure she couldn't will her numb legs to move anyway. For some reason Pembrake's turn had shocked her, for some reason she had grown to trust him. And now she felt the venom in his voice like a dagger in the back.
Pembrake's face suddenly changed and his eyes lit up, as if an illuminating thought had flashed across his mind. 'What am I doing here? Of course this is some illusion, some charade. You're trying to keep me here – trying to trick me into thinking that this is real, trying to keep me from my ship. Well I'm not going to fall for it, witch.'
'N-no, I…' the words wouldn't come. Abby couldn't break herself free of the net that Pembrake had thrown. In a moment she had lost all her years of experience and had morphed back into the 18-year-old naive child flitting through the streets, hatred at her heels.
Pembrake flung the broom behind him, sending it flying over the top of the cliff.
Abby yelped, clutching her hands to her mouth.
He walked past without a word, face set with anger.
'It's not like that,' she finally managed as he retreated, 'I'm not like that.'
But by now, Pembrake had disappeared down the path, headed, she was sure, for town and a big surprise.
For a moment she had considered sinking into the grass, to wallow alone in her fear and self-loathing. But with one look at the calm empty ocean below, a spark of defiance rekindled itself. She was stuck back in time – so she didn't really have the time to feel sorry for herself. Feeling self-pity was a luxury of people inhabiting the present, when they had all the time in the world to devote to such negative thoughts. All the time in the past, on the other hand, had already been swallowed up by history.
Whatever history, whatever destiny had in store for her, she was sure it didn't end with her sulking on a cliff top.
They were in the past; unlike Pembrake, she knew that. And she also knew that without her, he wouldn't be able to get back. They'd have to work together on this one or else be lost in the pages of a history book forever.
Determined, Abby set out to follow him.
~~~
He was mad, madder than perhaps he'd ever been. Though as Pembrake negotiated the beaten track, he knew that was a lie. His childhood tantrums were the stuff of legends.
What made his current gut-steaming fury all the worse though, was his own sense of proportion. He'd travelled years now in the Navy, and had years of training, years of discipline and control. And what had it amounted to? A rash outburst on some sodden cliff top.
He should have handled it differently, he should have maintained control. Shouting at her and throwing her broom off the cliff was the stuff of his childhood – not the hallmark of his manhood, or so he'd hoped.
He should blame her, after all, for casting this spell on him, for robbing him of his ship, crew, and captain – but he could only blame himself for losing control. An officer had once told him that a sailor’s control and discipline were all that kept them afloat on the treacherous oceans of the world. Which would explain the sinking feeling in his stomach now that he had lost it.
Within minutes Pembrake had walked the familiar path that led along the beachside to Bridgestock Port. He told himself that the minute differences in the track, the changes in the foliage by the wayside – were imagined rather than real.
This was Bridgestock, this was the present – nothing had changed. He'd cast off her spell, he'd be able to find his crew and Captain soon enough.
With the shifting feeling of unease only growing as he neared the city, Pembrake held onto that thought with all his might.
~~~
She'd run to the cottage,
mumbled a hasty excuse about Pembrake wanting to head off the city immediately and offered to come back as soon as she could to pay for the board and clothes. Martha's eyes had been glinting with what could only be described as enthusiastic interest. It was as if Martha was watching a play unfold around her and was amused at the actors' proficiency. Abby had just mumbled her apologies, grabbed Charlie, and run off, determined to catch Pembrake before he did anything stupid.
As the witch of Bridgestock she had a duty to the city and its people. So what if Pembrake was perhaps one of the most irrational, insane, frustrating people she'd ever met. She still had to help him where she could, especially considering their current historical position. She'd never forgive herself if she allowed him to run amuck in town and do something stupid. Ms Crowthy would roast her alive if she ever found out Abby had let Pembrake threaten the future. So what if Ms Crowthy thought time was stronger than one person’s efforts to change it; Abby could guess that didn't extend to petulant little Pembrake.
In fact, just thinking about Pembrake made her skin creep with anger. So what if she'd just met him and had all of two conversations with the man, there was just something about him. He oozed charm and sophistication. He angled his head up with a keen, bright-eyed determination that had obviously seen him through battles of all kinds, from gunfights with Elogian soldiers to slinging matches with young witches. He was just so annoying!
Abby had virtually flown over the rocky path that led into Bridestock, her hands two tight balls of firsts, her mind pumping along with anger. Charlie had, perceptively, stayed quiet apart from the occasional 'who does that guy think he is?'.
It was the arrogance more than anything. The way he held himself, the way he tilted his head to the side to look at you. Regardless of whether he was being angry or charming, his pale green eyes still had the same piercing, searching quality. You just couldn't relax in the same room with him, because you knew those eyes were just a flick away from staring right into your soul.
Abby the Witch Page 7
