Abby the Witch

by Odette C. Bell

  He nodded again, appearing to swallow a smile. 'Ah, you said that already. It's still okay.'

  'Oh… good,' she realised she was staring at him strangely, but he was just so familiar.

  'Yes?' The man proceeded to lick the end of his spoon.

  He was older than Abby, though not by much, perhaps in his late 20s. He was fairly plain-looking by most standards. He didn't have a chiselled jaw line, nor a droopy fringe. He didn't have muscles popping out from under his shirt, nor did he hold himself like he was a coiled spring.

  He seemed normal. His smile wasn't bent up at the edges, he didn't look up at people from under his eyebrows, nor did he allow his eyes to smoulder. He looked honest and genuine and his smile was… warm.

  'You're staring at me a little,' he pointed at her with his spoon.

  'S –sorry. Oh I… well you just look familiar, that's all.'

  'Oh. Well as long as that's all it is, we can sort that out.’ He hooked his bowl under one harm and held out his free hand. 'Prince Patrick.'

  Abby chocked. She hadn't been eating, but she'd swallowed so fast she'd somehow managed to close off her airway.

  He looked concerned and amused at the same time. 'I didn't mean you to choke like that. Are you alright?'

  She swallowed normally. 'I guess.' That was a lie, she really wasn't. She'd just bumped into the Prince of all people, in his own castle, and had had the gumption not to recognise him at all.

  'Feeling a little embarrassed, ha? Don't worry about it. If I'd been dressed in my finest suit with my official crown and riding my trusty white stead and you hadn't recognised me, it would have been an issue. In that situation I would have been forced to throw you into prison. But as I'm dressed quite plainly I shall reduce my sentence.'

  She hung on his words waiting for his good mood to end. Not that he seemed like the kind to suddenly turn angry… but she had just run into the Prince! 'To…' she played along nervously.

  'A cookie perhaps?'

  Abby blinked.

  'Oh, I see you were expecting something more,' he smacked his lips and appeared to think, 'two cookies then?'

  She laughed lightly.

  'Ah, I see you find my sentence fitting this time – very well, if you reach behind you into that tin, you will be able to carry it out yourself.'

  'Ah… thank you.'

  A cook bustled past them both, two great pumpkins squeezed under each arm. He nodded politely at the Prince, but did not stop to bow or kiss the Earth. The Prince gave him a small salute in turn.

  Well this was odd. Weren't Princes supposed to demand more respect than a brief nod? But then again, what kind of a Prince saunters into the kitchen and holes himself up in a corner eating chocolate icing from a bowl?

  Unlike the Princess, presumably his sister, this man did not act at all like royalty. He was laid back and cheerful, not arrogant and dismissive.

  'Tell me, what's your name, and do you like those cookies?'

  Abby took a thankful bite of one of the chocolate-chip cookies she'd pulled from the tin. She nodded concertedly; they were very delicious indeed. 'Abby,' she managed through a mouthful.

  'Oh yes, and what are you doing in my kitchen, Abby?'

  His tone had not changed, nor had the small friendly smile shifted from his face. It seemed like he meant it to be an ordinary question, but the fear rose through Abby's gut like steam.

  'I... I...' she took a huge gulp like a floundering fish, 'I'm here because...' what was she supposed to say? She could hardly tell the truth, what if that got Martha in trouble? But what exactly was she going to say if she did not tell the truth?

  The Prince was looking at her with a tilt to his head, amusement not far from his eyes. 'It's okay, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm not suggesting that you came here by unsavoury means. I was simply,' the Prince looked sideways for a moment as if he were trying to remember some half-forgotten lesson, 'trying to engage in civil conversation.'

  She smiled despite her nerves, but was no closer to coming to a conclusion. What could she tell him?

  But no sooner had the question began to wrap itself around her stomach, had Martha trotted along to save the day. 'There you are, Abby!' Martha dodged past two chefs who appeared to be arguing over cheese, and made her way to the corner of the kitchen.

  'Martha,' said the Prince warmly.

  'Pat,' she nodded, 'what you doing in that icing then? It's quarter-past-nine in the morning! This ain't no time for chocolate icing!'

  The Prince looked like a cheeky child trying very hard to swallow his grin. 'Well she ate biscuits,' he pointed to her.

  Abby froze.

  'Granted because I told her to,' the Prince clarified, 'but the crime still remains. If you are going to imprison me for my sweet tooth, then it only seems fair to drag Abby along too.'

  Martha crossed her arms and shook her head. 'What am I going to do with you then?'

  'Leave me to run the kingdom and usher in a new era of peace and harmony,' the Prince spread his free arm wide, 'with a pastry shop on every corner?'

  Martha tsked. She finally turned to Abby. 'I see you've met the Prince then. Not like the rest of his family this one,' Martha gestured to the Prince with one shoulder.

  'I shall take that as the very best of compliments,' the Prince went back to licking his spoon. 'So this Abby must be the guest you were talking to me about then, Martha?'

  'That'd be her. Not many other Abbys staying in the servant's quarters at the moment.'

  'Ah indeed. Well, Abby, it is a pleasure to meet you – again.'

  'Ah, yeah. I mean, yes, your highness.'

  Both Martha and the Princes laughed at this.

  'Don't you be putting ideas into his head ,Abby,' Martha tsked again, 'that boy don't be needing someone telling him he's higher than other people.'

  'Well I am taller than you, Martha.'

  The tattle between Martha and the Prince drew on for a while. Abby found it quite heartening, especially after her rocky night.

  After a while the Prince finished off the icing in his bowl, patted his belly, and offered Abby a tour around the Palace. Martha, who wouldn't be finished in the kitchens until the afternoon, thought it was a wonderful plan, and shooed them out the door with a bag of cookies to sweeten the deal.

  Abby quite enjoyed the company of the Prince. He seemed the most normal person she had met in the past.

  Whether it was from her poor night's sleep, or from only eating cookies for breakfast, or the residual confusion over her dealings with Pembrake – it took Abby a while to remember something important. Something very important indeed.

  Prince Patrick was to be assassinated.

  ~~~

  He had woken up early. There had been no point in lying in bed for longer. As soon as he'd opened his eyes, his mind had begun racing.

  Pembrake had pushed himself out of bed and dressed quickly. There was much to plan and so much more to do.

  But where to begin?

  He was alone on this one. There was no one he could rely on except for himself. It was clear that Abby wanted nothing to do with it, so he could not drag her into this business against her will.

  It was up to him, and him alone, to kill the Colonel.

  Pembrake would have to stake out the man, assess the security that protected him, and identify any weaknesses could be exploited. Within the Palace, surely, there would be less security, and what forces that were dispatched within the Palace walls, would be more attuned to the protection of the Royal family.

  Shouldn't this be easy?

  Having direct, inconspicuous access to the Palace was the key to Pembrake's plan. No one would expect an attack from within. All he had to do was stake out the Colonel's movements and decide on the correct time and place to do the deed.

  It would be simple.

  He would steel himself, he would control his fear and guilt. This was the only act that would decisively change the future.

  Pembrake would do it.


  All that morning, Pembrake planned, assessed and watched.

  ~~~

  Charlie was sunning himself on the Palace wall. It really did get a good ray of sun and the stone was just perfectly wide enough to stretch out on.

  He would spend the whole morning up here. He would ignore the birds and trees and grass, and simply sleep through the day. For nature, on this supposedly peaceful morning, was being downright rowdy.

  There was something on the wind: it was racing through the leaves of every tree, rattling the bows and shaking the branches. It was low and sharp – a strange note of caution. It was as if Mother Nature herself was warning the world that something was afoot.

  It was not cold or urgent enough to completely block out the warming light of the sun, though it did crackle annoyingly along the ends of his whiskers.

  The birds were picking up on it too – flying around squawking like the sky was going to fall in or something. And a pair of rabbits had just run for their burrows shouting something about the apocalypse.

  Charlie forced out a purr and pressed his eyes shut. The apocalypse? Stupid plecking rabbits. The world would not end on such a fine morning. Yes, there was a warning in the air, but that was more of a general note of caution than a prelude to the earth splitting up into a burning ball of death.

  Still, it was annoying, Charlie admitted with a sigh. All he wanted was to sit here and sleep, but it seemed that nature had other plans for him. Mother Nature wanted him to jump up and go and do something useful. She wanted him to race around and save the day as usual. Above all, she wanted him to warn Abby.

  A witch's cat has many tasks assigned to them. While a witch may be responsible for more of the mundane activities of magic like flying brooms and having visions, the real workings of wonder came down to her cat. Cats were attuned to the natural world. They could sense and interact with it much more than a witch. They were like a door into the realms of nature, giving their mistress access to the vast reality of the animal and plant kingdoms. While a witch reads tea leaves and the haze of a crystal ball, a cat can read the weather, understand the movement of animals, and ask a passing bird what the pleck was going on.

  And right now Charlie was getting his fair share of warnings from nature. Nature was ganging up on him and hassling him something rotten.

  With a sleepy stretch Charlie sat up.

  He did have a lot to do, didn't he? He still had not warned Abby about the Colonel's plans, though he was still certain that it was not the best thing to do.

  At that very moment a friendly face chose to walk past. Pembrake, looking more mutinous than a deckhand deprived of rum and dry biscuits, was walking off along the grounds. Wherever he was headed, Charlie could not tell, but by the devilish look on Pembrake's face, the boy was planning to break something or someone.

  Charlie bounded off the wall.

  Was this a good time to tell Pembrake that the Colonel was looking for a scapegoat witch?

  Would there be a better time?

  Charlie had to run, in the end, to catch up to the stalking Commander. He eventually skidded to a halt just in front of Pembrake's stamping boots and gave a little hiss lest the troll feel the need to stamp on him.

  Pembrake looked annoyed. 'What are you doing here?' he said quietly with a quick look over his shoulder to ensure that no one was around.

  'I could ask you the same question. I was sunning myself on the wall – which is a perfectly respectable past time for a cat. You, on the other hand, seem to be stalking across the grounds looking for someone to kill, and I'm not sure how respectable that is really.'

  Pembrake twitched at his words. 'Get lost, Charlie, I'm busy.'

  'Wow, aren't you the most polite of boys? I wouldn't have thought you'd be so rude to me, what with me having such an important morsel of information to share.'

  Pembrake's narrowed eyes blinked. 'What are you talking about? What could you possibly know?'

  Well wasn't this troll being rude today? Charlie sat back on his hind legs, trying to look as obviously affronted as was possible for a cat. 'Well, I'll have you know that unlike you, Pembrake, I go everywhere and see everything. Rather than run around like a headless pleck, falling from problem to problem, I strut along the rooftops of the city watching as everyone plays out their secrets. What don't I know, Pembrake, what don't I know?'

  Judging by the sallow, flared-nostril look Pembrake was offering in response, he didn't care for Charlie's tone. 'I don't have time for this. Either tell me what you know or get out of my way.'

  Rude! The troll needed a good biting clearly. What Abby saw in him, Charlie couldn't even begin to guess. 'Well, I don't know why I'm going to tell you this, but it seemed a better idea than telling Abby.'

  Pembrake didn't shift, though he did appear to flinch at the mention of her name. 'What, Charlie? What couldn't you tell her?'

  'Well, I was sunning myself on a wall the other day when I happened to see two birds flying past-'

  'Charlie, what the pleck is it already?'

  'Alright! The other witches have left town. Something about the Head Crone having learnt that the Colonel is up to something and needs a witch for it. I don't know what the plan is exactly, but I'm guessing it ain't pretty.'

  Pembrake's expression hadn't changed much, which was worrying. If anything, it had grown slightly warmer, as if his circulation had ramped up a bit. Shouldn't he be marching off to grab Abby and get her the pleck out of here?

  Shouldn't he be doing something other than standing here?

  'Thank you for the information.' With that Pembrake pushed off along the grass again, looking even more determined than he had before.

  Charlie felt like clutching a paw to his churning stomach. Is this what regret felt like?

  ~~~

  The Princes' tour had been fun. He was quite possibly the most genuinely nice man Abby had met. He was honest, funny, and warm... but he was also about to die.

  And that thought had never been far from Abby's mind as she'd followed him around. This man, if he had lived, would have ushered in an age of peace in Bridgestock, surely. But no, history would dictate that his death would bring about the Witch Ban and the moral death of this city.

  He could have changed history for the better… if only he'd lived.

  As the Prince walked before her, Abby had found her eyes darting over the back of his head, imagining how different history would have been... would be if he were to live.

  It was like walking in the presence of a ghost: a fully alive, warm, friendly ghost.

  When the tour had finished, when the Prince had been called away on some matter, Abby had been left in a more conflicted mood than she had ever experienced.

  What had been clear to her this morning, was now lost in an impenetrable fog. She knew that the Colonel must not be killed in a misguided effort to save the future. But she knew, with perhaps more certainty, that the Prince should not die either.

  For a while Abby walked through the halls of the Palace, wandering towards the kitchens in a haze of thought.

  There didn't seem to be anyone she could turn to, anyone she could trust to discuss this reasonably with. She knew Pembrake's position... and knew that she could not stomach talking it through with him again.

  The Prince was just so nice.

  Before Abby had reached the kitchens or indeed a conclusion – she ran into an unexpected, but friendly face.

  Walking along one of the great halls, head turned towards her feet, was Lilly. She looked even more defeated than she had the night before. She may not have been crying, or hugging herself tightly, but the way her face hardly moved and her eyes stared blankly at her feet made for a much more touching picture.

  When she finally looked up, Abby was barely several steps from her. A quick change flew across Lilly's face and she smiled warmly.

  Though Lilly shared the same bubbly effervescent attitude of the Princess, there was a genuine warmth behind Lilly's action that Annabelle’s lacked.
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br />   'Oh, Abby, I'm so glad to see you!'

  Abby felt almost overpowered by the sorrow reaching out from Lilly. She put out a hand and patted Lilly's arm. 'Likewise.'

  'Oh no, Abby, you don't understand. It's so lucky I ran into you!'

  'It is?'

  'Yes,' Lilly plunged a hand into her pocket, 'I need you to deliver something to Pembrake for me.'

  Abby bit her lip from confusion. It took her a moment before she realised who Lilly was speaking of. 'You mean Karing?'

  Lilly nodded and held out her hand.

  Abby held out her own hand and Lilly placed something in it. As Abby looked down and recognised the object, tendrils of energy snaked through her back with thrilling speed.

  The bracelet. Or more accurately, the bracelet of 28 years ago. Abby still had the bracelet from the future in her pocket.

  'It is a family heirloom.' Lilly looked at the ground, eyes dazed. 'It has been passed down for generations. It is a tradition to wear it when... we get married.'

  Abby gave Lilly a sympathetic look, trying not to let her mind be bent to studying the bracelet just yet.

  'I want you to give it to Pembrake....'

  'But why can't you?' Abby was still staring at the bracelet. This could change everything. This bracelet was not broken: it was in perfect condition....

  'No,' Lilly said bitterly, 'he's been called away... and I have to leave in the morning to meet... one of the suitors Franklin has lined up for me…. Look, Abby please just find him and give it to him, please.' The emotion coming from Lilly was palpable.

  Abby nodded.

  Lilly tried for one last smile before running off down the corridors, her face buried in her hands.

  Abby stared down at the bracelet in her hands, feeling the weight of the other bracelet in her pocket.

  She now had two powerful talismans. This had to change things, this had to get her and Pembrake closer to the future.

  Abby let her eyes drift up and through one of the tall windows set into the wall. They offered a wonderful view of the grounds, and marching across the grass at that very moment was a very familiar form.

  Pembrake was stalking away to the west wing of the Palace, and she had never seen him walk with more determination.