Abby the Witch

by Odette C. Bell

  Abby pressed her lips together a little guiltily. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't explained to Pembrake the mysterious happenings surrounding this charm – how it had flickered with magic, licking up her hands when she'd taken from Mrs Hunter, allowing her the briefest glimpse into Pembrake's mind. The thing was powerful, too powerful to be kept as a simple family heirloom. 'Umm… well, yes it is. I think it is a very important clue as to why we are here.…'

  'How did you get your hands on it?' Pembrake's voice had an undercurrent of accusation: as if he believed that Abby, the treacherous little window cleaner, had snuck into the fine home of Mrs Hunter and snuffled it right out from under her nose.

  What little understanding she had begun to build of him, what little sympathy she had for his world turning upside down in the past, was slipping. He couldn't really believe she was capable of theft?

  'I found your mother on the night of the storm and she was… well, she was having a vision. I think she was connected to your mind somehow, and I think this,' Abby hefted the bracelet, 'is what was doing it,' her words were sharp and defensive. She wasn't a thief: how could he even entertain that as a possibility?

  Pembrake regarded the bracelet for a moment and sighed. 'There's no need to get defensive, Abby; I'm not accusing you of anything. Plus, that little thing is just a trinket. It looks like nothing more than a child's bracelet sitting in your hand like that. Do you really think it was capable of creating the storm?'

  She clicked her tongue onto the top of her mouth. 'Not the storm… but something. Do you know anything about it?'

  He shrugged his broad shoulders, which shifted comfortably in the smart suit that he was wearing. His new clothes suited him far more than the tight outfit he had borrowed from Alfred. The line of the sleeves sat just right on the tips of his shoulders, the collar of the shirt sitting smartly against his trim neck.

  'It's an heirloom from my mother's side. Apparently it's given to the eldest child when they marry, not that I'll be wanting a bracelet of course.'

  Abby tried to sit on her conflicting emotions: her anger at his implied accusation, her pity at the memories of discrimination. Being with Pembrake was never a simple emotional journey for her; she always had to find ways of hiding uncomfortable sides of her personality that rose from unbidden and uncharted depths.

  But right now this seemed like a clue, so Abby needed to roll up her sleeves and act like a professional, objective witch. 'Do you know where it came from?'

  He shrugged his shoulders again. 'No. To be honest, I never really paid much attention to it; it is just a bracelet, after all.'

  'Well that's not very helpful; it could be the key that we are looking for!'

  'And it might just be a bracelet.'

  'Why do you always have to second guess me? Do you think, as a witch, I don't know what a magical talisman looks like?'

  Pembrake was momentarily withdrawn, as if thinking about something. 'Look, I'm sorry. I'll concede this one. If you think it is important, then it's a good idea to study it. I'll try and see what I can remember.'

  Silence.

  He had just conceded the point to her.

  'Oh… thank you.'

  Silence.

  'So what do we do now?' Abby tried, bitting her lip for some annoying reason.

  Pembrake seemed to be coming around from whatever spell he had placed himself under. Whatever momentary openness he had displayed, was clearly returning to its ground state of repression.

  'Only there's a lot of stuff we need to do. We have to search for the Key for one, and find out why the Palace is so important in all of this-'

  'It will all have to wait, I'm afraid; I have to prepare to go and be presented to the King,' Pembrake was back to smiling that roughish grin, 'then I shall spend the evening being introduced to the Princess' friends,' as Pembrake spoke he stared at Abby intently waiting for his words to make her explode.

  Though, strangely, the jibe seemed softer this time, more controlled.

  'Very well then, Pembrake. I shall spend the evening with the Captain of the Guard-'

  Now Pembrake's smile froze.

  'He said he found me quite clever,' she couldn’t quite stop the smile from tugging at her lips.

  Pembrake now looked alarmed as if 'clever' was the worst possible thing the Captain of the Guard could think of Abby. 'I see. But I think, in the interests of our keeping a low profile in this time, you should have as little to do with the Guards as possible.'

  'Okay, this coming from the guy who's off to meet the King and gad with the Princess. If anyone should be getting the "don't go destroying the timeline speech", it's you Pembrake.'

  'Just stay away for him,' once again the Commander was giving orders.

  Abby was so flabbergasted at his tone she just stared at him. What was he going to do next, order her to always walk one step behind him? Who the pleck did he think he was? 'What? You can't be serious?'

  'Abby, I'm taking us stuck 28 years in the past very seriously, I think maybe it's time you do too. I'll talk to you after the reception,' and with that he turned for the door, 'and go and get some food from the kitchens.'

  'I've already eaten.'

  'Then eat some more. I have to go; the Princess will probably have sent out a search squad by now.' Pembrake left without another word.

  Abby picked up the pillow and threw it at the door just as it closed and it thudded against it dully. She opened her mouth and screamed silently. She really had no idea what to think about that man. Pembrake Hunter was driving her crazy.

  Hot, cold, wise, and immature – couldn't he be anywhere in between?

  After she had calmed down sufficiently, Abby did indeed get some rest. But not before long Martha came into get her, fussing terribly over the preparations for Pembrake's reception. She ran another brush through Abby's hair, which had frizzed to its usual state as soon as her head had hit the pillow. Martha was determined though, and she kept on tutting which probably helped somehow.

  After Martha had finished with Abby, she'd led her to the hall where dignitaries dressed in various different costumes were already milling about. Abby was surprised to find that it was already six o'clock, she must have slept quite steadily through the afternoon. Pembrake was to be presented at seven and then retire to the dining hall to have dinner with the Royal Family. Abby, apparently, wasn't invited, which was fine by her because the prospect of sitting within knife-throwing distance of Pembrake was not a healthy one.

  She was led to a seat right at the back of the Great Hall, virtually directly behind a huge white marble pillar. Her view of the pillar was fantastic, and she had a pretty good view of the toupee of the man in front of her. Apart from that, she couldn't see a thing. Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself over and over again. She didn't want to see Pembrake, especially together with the Princess; the whole sight would rot her teeth.

  So Abby sat mostly by herself, behind a pillar, grumpy at the world in general until she felt a soft tap on her shoulder.

  'What's my mouse doing back here?' the Captain shifted forward till his face was in line with Abby's shoulder as if to see whatever it was Abby could be looking at, 'are you that fascinated by the pillar? Because I can assure you that they are all alike.'

  Abby didn't laugh, but she did run her teeth over a grin. 'I'm sitting where I was seated.'

  The Captain flicked his fringe and smiled conspiratorially, 'then you must be a very lucky mouse to have such a good view of that man's toupee. It's quite extraordinary.'

  This time Abby did giggle, though stifled it into a sniff. 'You shouldn't make fun of those with less hair.'

  The Captain flicked his fringe deliberately. 'I think I should. It made my mouse laugh, after all.'

  'I'm not your mouse,' Abby found herself looking sideways at him while trying to tip her head haughtily.

  'Perhaps. Though if you were my mouse, I would be sure not to dress you in gray; it doesn't suit your eyes. Maybe sky-blue or bla
ck.'

  A shiver crossed over Abby's spine at the look in the Captain's eyes. It wasn't an unpleasant shiver, just a shiver.

  'Are you cold, little mouse? This hall is terribly draughty. Perhaps I should lend you my coat?'

  'Oh, wouldn't people confuse me for you then?'

  'Good point. Perhaps I should take you somewhere warmer then.'

  Abby swallowed very slowly and suddenly felt very flushed indeed. 'Oh no, I'm really not that cold.'

  The Captain of the Guard looked over his shoulder briefly and smiled again. 'You look cold.'

  'Really,' a voice said from behind them, and she turned to see Pembrake, 'because she looks flushed to me.'

  If Abby had been flushed before, now she was burning red at Pembrake's admission of it. He must have sneaked up behind them, and she'd always expected he'd had good hearing.

  The Captain of the Guard cleared his throat slowly so it almost sounded like a growl. 'Shouldn't you be waiting to be presented to the King, sir? I wouldn't think a busy man like you would have time to lurk around the back of the hall.'

  'I could say the same for you,' Pembrake was openly glaring, his neck straight and stiff.

  'I'm entertaining forgotten guests.'

  Abby shuddered at the terrible emphasis in the Captain's words. It was just like the over-the-top tone Pembrake would take with her when he wanted to annoy her, but something more.

  'You are cold, my mouse,' the Captain tapped her lightly on the shoulder. His hand did not linger long, but long enough to cause Pembrake to clear his throat. 'I simply insist that you come with me for a cup of coffee.'

  Pembrake looked angrier than Abby had ever seen. He looked ready to skin the Captain alive. The words 'come with me for a cup of coffee' had been like a whack across the head with a steel pipe. The duel was on.

  'I don't really drink coffee,' Abby said meekly, trapped between the squeezing enmity emanating from both men.

  'Really? Well I could always te-'

  'Don't say it,' Pembrake hissed like a snake readying to attack.

  The Captain chuckled and stood up straight, tugging down on his jacket smartly. 'Your tone is quite defensive, sir, nay aggressive. Is there something I can help you with?'

  Pembrake paused, clearly torn. He couldn't order the Captain to get the pleck away from her – he wouldn't dare. The Captain was a Guard, and in this time Pembrake was a nobody. A momentarily-famous nobody, but a nobody nonetheless. And if Pembrake did risk inciting the Captain, then he could wind up in a great big pile of temporal trouble. 'Actually, yes. The Princess wants you.'

  The Captain of the Guard smiled stiffly. 'Really? Cannot some other Guard fulfil –'

  'No, she specifically asked for you,' Pembrake was looking slightly pleased for himself, though the threat was still present in his ramrod back and wide squared jaw.

  'And she sent you to find me? How peculiar.'

  'Aren't we all loyal subjects to the Royal Family?'

  'Indeed,' the Captain said.

  Abby was shifting her eyes between both men as their verbal tit-for-tat drew on. If she was Ms Crowthy, she would have separated both of them with a bucket of ice-cold water to their faces. But as she was Abby, all she could do was fidget with the hem of her dress and smile nervously.

  'Well you really best be getting ready, sir; your reception will begin soon enough. And then, of course, there is the dinner,' the Captain shifted his eyes to Abby pointedly and then back to Pembrake, 'and that will last well into the night.'

  All sense of triumph gone, Pembrake's shoulders deflated. 'The Princess is waiting,' he shot one last time.

  'Well, I shall be going, for now. I will see you again, little mouse,' the Captain actually winked then sauntered off, finally leaving her alone with Pembrake, alone in a hall full of 100 people, that was.

  'I thought I told you to stay away from him, Abby?'

  'No, you ordered me. But he found me. I can't very well run away from him. He's a Guard; he'll just give chase.'

  'Oh he's already doing that,' Pembrake mumbled with a shake of his head, 'so for god's sake, Abby, stay out of his way.'

  She wasn't about to let Pembrake railroad her into a corner. Who was he to dictate who she could spend her time with? Some man she'd saved from a storm and had travelled 28 years into the past with? Precisely, and she wasn't about to let him advise her like a wise and trusted friend. Who was he to give advice on such matters, anyway?

  Pembrake was obviously watching what was happening on Abby's face, and he took a step closer, ducking his head in, his face serious but not angry. 'Trust me, Abby; I know what this guy is doing.'

  'Oh really? Are you clairvoyant, Pembrake? Do you have second sight? Are you a witch?'

  He laughed through an exasperated breath. 'I don't need second sight to know what this guy's up to.'

  Abby crossed her arms firmly, something she was finding she did a lot around Pembrake. 'Well forgive me if I don't trust your judgement.'

  'Abby,' all anger, in fact, was gone from his voice, 'please,' he said almost desperately, 'just trust me on this one thing.'

  If it weren't for his genuine tone, she would have continued her charade. She, of course, had no intention of meeting up with the Captain unless she had to. Ms Crowthy hadn't raised a foolish witch. Through Abby wasn't entirely sure what the Captain was up to, she could sense that she shouldn't approve. Martha had said he'd very much liked the Princess, and Abby was quite sure this whole charade had something to do with that. Still, Pembrake did look genuinely concerned, and just this once he deserved the truth. 'I have no intention of going anywhere with the Captain of the Guard, Pembrake; he is a total rogue.'

  Pembrake stood and laughed quietly. 'He was right about one thing, little mouse.'

  Abby made a face. 'Please don't call me that, it's very disturbing.'

  'It is, isn't it?' he laughed again.

  'Well what was he right about then?' she was curious as to what, if anything, Pembrake could find to agree on with the Captain of the Guard.

  'You are clever, Abby.'

  A butler dressed in fine clothes rushed up to Pembrake waving his hands, and with an almost friendly smile, Pembrake left her alone behind her pillar.

  The sounds of the other guests finally taking their seats subsided to be replaced by the sharp trumpet of several horns.

  In the ensuing scene, which Abby had simply listened to while staring at her pillar, she couldn't help but wonder something. If Pembrake had been worried that when the Captain had thought she was 'clever' that it really meant something else, then did Pembrake now think she was that kind of 'clever' too? Though the thought was complex and tiring, Abby couldn't stop it from whirling about in her mind.

  Chapter 12

  It was strange to have a moment to himself, to reflect. Ever since he'd gotten here he'd been pulled and pushed from situation to crisis without a moment to breathe.

  So he'd stowed it, submerged his misgivings, fears, and trivial feelings.

  But staring up at the ceiling of his room was just the pause his thoughts required. There was no stopping it now.

  Was he on drugs or something? Had he sustained a critical blow to the head? Had the storm frazzled his reasoning, his foresight, his control?

  There had to be something, some reason, some way to explain his behaviour.

  Pembrake put a hand up to his brow and swept away the sweat with a lazy movement.

  Even to the casual observer, let alone a companion, Pembrake's behaviour would appear irrational, over the top, and topsy-turvy. But did there seem to be any reason why? Any occurrence or circumstance that he could pin his change of behaviour on? Was he just going insane?

  Was this what happened when you went back in time? You devolved, you became a child again? You wiped away all the years of control, of wisdom, of experience? Leaving nothing but raw emotion, unbridled from reason and self-control.

  Everything was strange – this was strange. Lying in bed in the Palace 28 years
from his own time, possessed by thoughts of insecurity and indecision. A Commander, a good one, would not let trivial thoughts like these consume them. Sleep was necessary to allow one to effectively carry out their duty. And you can't sleep while you were staring up at the ceiling obsessing over nothing at all.

  There was a chill breeze coming in from the open window. It was rustling the corners of the curtains, lifting them up like the corners of sleeves. He could close it, but then he'd have to get up – it was just easier to lie here and think about it.

  The reception, the dinner, they were all starting to blur. For the first time in his life he was finding the doting attention of someone like the Princess annoying. It was getting in the way. At first he'd fallen into the old pattern, found her attentions a welcome distraction. But now they were an obstacle. There was no point to this. He just had to get home. He and Abby had to get the hell out of here – there was nothing else to it.

  A sharper wind caught the curtains and they shot up like puffs of smoke from a signal fire.

  But none of this was central to the problem that ate at his mind. He'd been aware of the thought forming ever since he'd known for sure that they had travelled back to the past. Now it was more like a force, propelling his thoughts towards one purpose, one question.

  What if they could change the future?

  Why were they sent to the past? He didn't buy that plecking crap about it being an accident. History didn't work like that. No, they were in the past for a reason, and that reason was to make the future better.

  They did not owe the current future their allegiance. They should not try and protect it, buffer it from whatever changes they made in the past. The horrible Bridgestock of 28 years from now was not worth preserving.

  Pembrake finally pushed himself out of bed and slammed the window closed, the once-flapping curtain becoming caught under the pane.

  All this posturing about the past wasn't going to get anywhere. Only action would make a difference. And there was only one action in particular that would be decisive enough to count.