'Don't you lose heart, dear,' the head witch peered at her keenly, 'you have to find it on your own, but trust me, dear, there is something you can tie your heart to.'
'But she's got to find it on her own,' another witch finished.
They weren't about to tell her what it was, though she was sure they probably knew. As Ms Crowthy had said, you had to appreciate a good narrative sometimes. The point of story, after all, was that you don't tell people what's happened till you show 'em how to get there. Otherwise you don't have a story, you only have an ending, and life would not be worth living if all it was was ending.
The witches had felt free to tell Abby her broken destiny, because it could no longer be the end of her story. But to tell her the new end, or the easy route to get there, would be too rewrite what little story Abby had left.
'Once you figure it out, should be easy to come go back home, dear,' the head witch nodded carefully, 'once your time is right again, you'll return back to the right time, you mark my words.'
'But if you don't figure it out, you'll be stuck here as wandering souls…' the witch that had grinned at Pembrake drifted off ominously, letting her eyes go unfocused and stared at the two of them.
With a large sniff that signalled the end to their session, the head witch stood. 'I don't envy you, child, but at least your future is now in your hands,' she briefly looked at Pembrake, 'in both of your hands. Now,' she walked over to Abby and took up her hands, squeezing them firmly but warmly, 'don't go splitting up till it's all over and don't go getting yourself into extra trouble.'
'You won't be needing extra trouble,' interrupted another witch.
'No, you won't,' the head witch nodded again, 'but if you keep your head on your shoulders, it should be fine.'
Abby couldn't even sniff, so she sucked in a breath, trying to calm her nerves enough to speak. 'Is there… anything else that you can see?'
'Ohh, I sees a ball with lots of fancy dresses.'
'And I sees a prince and a princess!'
'Yes I sees the palace,' said the head witch with a far off look, 'and it's very important. You have to go getting yourself in the palace, children.'
'Most of their story lies there,' another witch mumbled.
'That's where they'll find the key,' confirmed the head witch with a sharp nod.
'The key?' Abby's voice had a distinct waver.
'The Key of Time.’
Abby shared a momentary look with Pembrake. The Key of Time sounded like a pretty useful tool in figuring out how to get home again – why were the witches only mentioning it now?
'It's not what you think though,' the head witch looked unblinking at Abby.
'Oh,' Abby was rapidly running out of cool, and she could feel a slick of sweat trickle along her brow. Broken destinies, key's of time, the palace? This was insane. This was insane!
The witches then grew silent, many of them turning back to their cups of teas and mumbling incoherently at each other. With a happy flick of his tail, Charlie trotted back to Abby and leapt into her arms, signalling that the quorum was over.
Abby turned to leave, barely able to flick her eyes towards the door to tell Pembrake that their time was up.
'One last thing, child,' the head crone looked up, 'where's that bracelet of yours? You'll be needing that, you will.'
The bracelet, the bracelet! She'd forgotten all about it!
Abby patted a hand to her pocket but realised, with a heavy swallow, that she was not even in her original clothes, she was dressed in the large dress and smock which Martha had leant her.
Abby could feel the eyes of everyone turn to her again.
'You'll find it again,' the head witch assured her, 'but you be careful with it, child. Now off you go to find the rest of your story, you've stayed here long enough.'
Abby had stammered a yes, and with that had left the witches, feeling such a strange mix of cold dread and… possibility. The bracelet, her destiny, their omens – it was just so much to take in, so much to think about in her already frazzled state.
But her mind honed in on her destiny – the one that could have been. To know what could have happened to her and to now know that whatever lay before had yet to be properly decided – well, it was frightening and exciting all at once.
The witches had assured them that they needed to keep moving, needed to keep searching the city for clues and leads, whatever that meant. But the head witch had told Abby to return, should they need assistance, and had smiled at her with the strict firmness of a boarding school matron, before sending her out the door with a pat on the shoulder and a reminder that their story wouldn't progress until they found themselves in the palace.
They were to search the city, to search the land, for some clue, some way to tie down their destinies, to rebuild broken futures, and to find a way into the palace to boot. Abby really had no idea where to start, but Pembrake, she was sure, had even less.
They had walked from the witches shop in silence, sharing each other's company in presence only. She was sure he was mulling over the words of the witches, imagining himself in the life they had seen. Happily married with a beautiful wife and three children, dying at sea in the job he loved – what a life he had lost….
For her part, she tried to keep the colour in her cheeks, but her mind kept flirting with the terrible destiny she had once been headed towards. Dying alone and starving – had she always known that was where she was headed, had she always suspected?
'You know,' Pembrake broke the silence when they'd walked several blocks away, 'I've always hated sharks.'
Abby, beside herself, smiled.
Chapter 7
Though Pembrake had tried to lighten the mood, there was no dragging Abby up from her miserable lull. It was sweet of him in a way, but she was sure it wasn't genuine, what with Pembrake Hunter the boy he was, he was likely to have some kind of rotten agenda.
'Three kids? I hate kids, what kind of a future is that?' he'd commented as they'd walked the streets looking for whatever it was the witches said was out there.
Abby hadn't even smiled, not wanting to encourage him further.
Then as they'd mounted the steps that would lead them to the more well-to-do areas of Bridgestock, he'd tried again, not even bothering to wink at an attractive young lady that walked by.
'Shark attack, I mean really – what a rubbish life I would have had,' he spoke with fake enthusiasm; she could tell his heart wasn't in it.
A beautiful wife, three adoring kids, and a successful career? Oh yes, what a bother.
'I mean at least you get to go out with your man, Charlie – I'm eaten alive by sharks, presumably while my crew watch and cheer.'
Abby had blinked slowly as they'd carefully taken to the new clean cobbles of upper Bridgestock. Pembrake was persistent, she'd give him that. But there would come a point, surely, when he would realise Abby wasn't interested. She didn't want cheering up; she deserved to be miserable. He'd gone and lost the perfect life because of her, and where had she been headed? Death, misery, and starvation – that's all Abby of the future was worth. And as far as she could tell, she hadn't changed any, so the same future was probably still lurking on the horizon.
'I mean at least you aren't alone, right? At least you get to go out with the man you love. I'm eaten by sharks far, far away from my family, all of whom I probably hadn't seen for years,' Pembrake just wouldn't let up.
For someone who wanted to throw her off a cliff only this morning, he sure had changed his mind about her quickly. Or was this part of the way Pembrake operated? Pull people up when they are down and bash them to the floor again once their up?
Abby set her jaw against the bitterness whirling across her mind. Some part of her knew she wasn't being fair to him, but blast that part, it had no place here. 'Charlie is my cat. So yes, I get to die alone. Because that's all a witch is good for,' she turned from him and spoke her bitter words to the cobbles, patting Charlie with a warning hand lest he took this
opportunity to introduce Pembrake to his new-found voice.
'Cat, ha… okay well you're still not alone,' he ended weakly, trying a smile on Charlie which quickly died in the fierce cat-scowl Charlie offered in return.
She turned on him, face mottled by the filtered light streaming in through giant leaves of an oak above. Why wasn't he taking this more seriously? She had just robbed him of the perfect future! Why wasn't the irascible Pembrake angry at her? 'Why are you laughing this off? You had the perfect life, the perfect wife, perfect children, perfect job – why aren't you angry that you lost it? Ha? Why aren't you threatening to throw me off a cliff?' she pointed dramatically at herself, the frustration and anger making her movement snapped and sharp, 'because I ruined your future. And because I’m a horrible little, worthless witch.'
Pembrake took a step back from her, glancing up and down the street to confirm no one was watching their little charade. Always the gentlemen, right?
'Seriously, why don't you care?' she shook her head angrily, her hair cracking about like a whip, 'you were prepared to hate me because I'm a witch – and now you're perfectly fine with me ruining your future. I don't understand you!' she gave a large, desperate sigh and turned to storm off.
'Because it's just a story,' he remarked after her, 'it's just a story, Abby.'
She slowed slightly.
'Pearl, the kids, you dying in the street – it's all just a story. Nobody can tell you your destiny by looking in your cup of tea, no one. What those witches said was just a story – it wasn't real.'
Her face was crinkling from a strange mix of confusion and anger. Was he insulting her? She was a witch too, if he hadn't forgotten. 'It is not a story. It's where we were headed before this whole thing happened. If I hadn't meddled, if I hadn't saved you – then you wouldn't be stuck here in the past with me, you'd be off marrying Pearl and living happily ever after.'
Finally his light brown cheeks were starting to flush with anger; finally it seemed she was getting through to him.
'Listen to yourself – that doesn't make any sense! If you hadn't saved me, I would have drowned. There would be no wife, no children, and no job. I was going to die on that mast – end of story.'
Abby slowed for a second, taking this in. It had seemed quite final the way the ocean had swallowed him. He'd been unconscious and there was no one else around to claim his limp body from the waves… but did that really mean anything? Couldn't something else have happened, couldn't some other miracle have occurred?
Abby shook her head again, determined not to lose this one. 'That doesn't mean anything. I changed things when I decided to intervene. If I'd just left you, someone else could have saved you. Pearl could have rowed up in a plecking dingy and saved you herself.' Abby gave a little yelp when she realised she'd swore, but hardened her face at Pembrake's amusement.
'You don't seem the type to swear, little witch, nor do you actually seem that stupid.'
'Stop calling me that!'
'Then stop saying that I would have been fine. Listen to yourself, I would have died – there's no point in pretending that I wouldn't have.'
'No-'
'Yes, I would. And unless you made that storm yourself, then how exactly were you responsible for this?'
'I-'
'Can't be,' he interrupted again, 'in fact, if anyone is – it's me. I was the one who had to go and drown, if you hadn't had to rescue me – then neither of us would be here.'
Abby opened her mouth, annoyance constricting her throat.
'Look, just stop arguing for once. What exactly do you have to be angry about? If you believe those witches, then you have lost nothing by coming back in time. Starving to death on the streets isn't exactly what I call a fortunate life. So what have you lost in coming back here, ha?'
'Nothing!' she finally snapped, more at his sanctimonious face than at his words.
'Precisely, so why the pleck are you so angry?'
'I'm angry for you,' she conceded weakly, 'for all the things that you've lost. For us being stuck here with no destinies and no hope of returning home.'
'Well thanks, but I can be pretty angry on my own – I don't need your help.' He crossed his arms, Alfred's small shirt creaking ominously.
Defensive, argumentative, irrational Pembrake was back.
'Of course you can,' she said sarcastically, 'you can be angry enough for all of Bridgestock. And I am so sorry for feeling sorry for you. Trust me, I won't do it again.' All her misery and self-pity had dried up as the licking flames of anger heated her cheeks to a bright red.
'Good. Now we know it's my fault, we can all move on.'
'Okay fine, it's all your fault then.'
They both paused and looked at each other with mutual loathing.
But it was strange, Abby conceded after a moment, after she finally broke their death stare. They were coming to a conclusion that they both agreed upon, an important conclusion that they needed if they were going to continue together. It wasn't Abby's fault, and there was no point in blaming her. Their only option, despite their tendency to argue and berate each other, was to travel together. They couldn't do this alone, so they'd just have to learn to get along.
Pembrake set his jaw hard against this, as if he were only realising what he had agreed to. It was clear that he didn't like her. Whether it was because she was a witch, or for some other reason, but the little mutinous glint in his eye told Abby this wasn't going to be an easy journey. The arrogant, argumentative Pembrake was not about to hang his attitude up at the door and settle in for a peaceful journey. She was sure along every step of the way he would be winking at the girls and sniping at her. Oh well, at least that was something.
'So we're going to go now, find some way of tying down our destinies,' he said, voice trilling with sarcasm.
'Yes.'
'Okay then.'
The two of them had walked the streets of Bridgestock for the rest of the afternoon, Pembrake trying to breathe in his tiny shirt and Abby trying not to trip over the huge clothes Martha had leant her. If Abby had thought Pembrake was rotten company before, then she had truly underestimated him. Once, it seemed to her, he had happily convinced Abby that she should not hang herself from guilt and leave him all alone in the past with no way of returning home, he had returned to the aloof, indifferent man she'd grown to hate.
She may have only known him for all of a day, but she was sure of her feelings. Yes they had probably been coloured by her still vivid conversations with Mrs Hunter, but knowing how the boy treated his mother was surely the most clinching evidence of all.
As the afternoon had drawn on, it had become clear their efforts were fruitless. What exactly were they looking for? The witches had been so vague. Abby half expected, what with her years of experience with Ms Crowthy, the old girls were setting them up. If Ms Crowthy had ever wanted Abby to do something that she might not agree to, she'd just construct a scenario that would ensure Abby was at the right place at the right time and would have no option but to carry out the Crone's wishes.
Whatever the old witches of this time were up to, it really did smell dangerously of a set up. Just go out and look for clues – it was as if all they wanted was for Abby and Pembrake to be on the streets waiting for something. Wether that would be a terrible storm, a visit from the Guards, or a rain of herrings – it made Abby's skin itch just to think of the possibilities.
They had both decided, for better or worse, not to go back to Martha's that day. For some reason, for some witchly reason, Abby did have the feeling that they were supposed to be in the city for the time being. When she'd tried to explain this to Pembrake, he'd snorted and waved her off. It was clear he had about as much respect for her gut feelings as he did for everyone else on the planet.
But by the time night started to fall around them, both were equally fed up with their impossible task. They could not simply find a way to 'tie down their destinies' by walking aimlessly through the city, nor could they realistically find a
way into the palace. They were stuck.
Pembrake displayed his frustration by walking several steps ahead, staring moodily at his shoes, rolling his eyes whenever Abby came up with another place to check. And it was hard thinking of places to look for 'clues' to finding their destinies again, so she didn't really appreciate his mood. She'd tried any public monuments she could think of or famous buildings and taverns. There was nothing of course, because neither had any idea what they were looking for. So when Pembrake would triumphantly pull a lost necklace from the dust, Abby would laugh it off as trinket, and vica versa when Abby would point excitedly at half-faded graffiti on a wall.
But with night came the clouds and wind, and soon a gentle but steady drizzle had set in from above, forcing both of them to walk along faster, searching for whatever shelter they could find.
'I can't believe you hadn't thought of this before,' Pembrake spat angrily, a dribble of rain cascading off his lips, 'where are we supposed to stay tonight?'
'I don't know, Pembrake,' Abby had taken a leaf out of his book and rolled her eyes, 'and why exactly is this my fault?'
'You're the one who's dragging us along on this witchly mission of finding our rotten destinies. You're the one who didn't bother to ask for the forecast before you set off. You're the one-'
'And you're the one who threw away my broom, Pembrake. If you hadn't done that, I could have flown us to one of the sea caves. But oh no, you had to have a tantrum.'
Pembrake's face went very dark at the mention of tantrum, and Abby almost shivered at the concentrated loathing behind his eyes. She wasn't too sure what he was going to do until a cascade of water flew off the top of the wall above and drenched Abby completely. Pembrake laughed into the back of his throat and stepped out of Abby's dribbling path.
'AHH!' the water had saturated every last dry inch of her clothes and was trickling down her back making her skin tight and tingly. Charlie scattered, running, treacherously, behind Pembrake's legs. 'Stop laughing!'
'I have a plan, little witch: why don't we get out of the rain? You're little cat here is getting cold and wet.' He did not bend down and pet Charlie but he did share a look with him that set Abby on edge. He wasn't supposed to be looking at her cat, and certainly not exchanging meaningful glances with him.
Abby the Witch Page 10
