Abby the Witch (18 page)

'You've had a
stressful couple of days,' he tightened his hands around her bony
wrists, as if searching for flesh that wasn't there, 'you shouldn't
exhaust yourself.'

She was trying
not to listen to him, the concern on his too-close face was
distracting her. He shouldn't be concerned for her, he shouldn't
care.

In her effort
to avoid eye contact she directed her gaze to the wall behind him.
There, along the top high above, she saw several figures. Then a
cheer and two figures on a broom began to gently rise above the
rest.

Pembrake
turned to follow her gaze and the surprise spread across his face
like a virus.

The broom
slowly began to arc about, the figure at the back excitedly waving
their arms, obviously enjoying the ride. But then the broom began
to descend in choppy motions, and the figure behind had to reapply
their grip quickly.

There were
several shouts from above.

'What the
pleck?' Pembrake was staring up transfixed, probably never having
seen a witch fly in his life.

As both
figures descended, the shouts grew louder. Now that the broom had
flown out of sight as it hugged the wall, Abby could make out the
figures that flew on it. The one at the front, who she had assumed
to be the witch, had a long black scarf over her head, obscuring
her face. Abby felt cold just looking at her. The girl at the back
though, and she did look to be quite young, looked terrified. She
was wearing a large, fluffy pink and white dress, her loose brown
locks jumping around her face with the ever choppy twist of the
broom.

As the broom
descended yet further, drawing level with the rooftops, something
unimaginable occurred, the witch flying it jumped off, rolling onto
a sloping roof and disappearing. Her agility was catlike, her
movement so quick and strong, so terribly unwithcly.

For a moment
the broom hung there, suspended in thin air for as long as it took
for the wood and bristles to realise they could no longer fly.
Which was just enough time for Abby to run underneath it and will
them to last longer. Though she could not command the broom to
levitate again without actually touching the wood, by focusing her
mind hard enough, she could will the magic that was fast leaving
it, to hold on that little bit longer.

It worked to a
fashion, the broom tilting, but not plummeting towards the earth.
But the girl on top, when she was just two meters from the ground,
Abby reaching her hands up to catch the broom, chose that moment to
faint.

She landed on
Abby and knocked her flat to the ground.

When she awoke
it was not to find Pembrake hovering over her, his oft angry face
transformed with concern. In fact, it wasn't until she had raised
herself on her elbows, ignoring the pounding pain in her head, that
she caught a glimpse of him. He was standing in a small crowd of
Guards and very official-looking people.

'You're awake
then, ma'am.'

Abby looked up
to see a man behind her, leaning against the wall, apparently set
there to watch over her. He had the red jacket of a Guard, though
it was unbuttoned and the sleeves were rolled high.

She felt the
old sense of dread rekindle at the sight of that red jacket, but
within a moment she'd damped it down. She was in the past, after
all; she should wait around to see if the Guards were going to
chase her before she ran for the hills.

That's benefit
of the doubt, that is, as Ms Crowthy would say. And only someone
with faulty second sight would bother with it, Abby realised.

'Your man was
worried you'd got conked right hard from that broom.'

Abby nodded
mutely, not following anything.

'The Gov said
you'd be alright in a while, he knows a hit to the head our Gov.
Said you'd be out for five minutes and he's right on the dot.'

'Oh.' Abby's
head was swimming and she felt like she was standing on the prow of
a swaying ship navigating a violent sea.

She sleepily
looked over to the crowd of people, Pembrake in the middle. That's
just where he should be, in a crowd of people, she thought
slowly.

Beside him,
looking up into his face with obvious admiration, was the girl from
the broom, Abby realised. The look on her face would have drawn a
firm whack across the shins from Ms Crowthy; she didn't believe any
man deserved that much admiration.

The flush to
Pembrake's cheeks, and the kick to his lips, suggested he didn't
mind it all that much. Beside him was a tall, heavy figure with a
bushy moustache and a very hardened face. He looked like the kind
of man that would appear on recruitment posters. He looked like the
kind of man that would always get his way.

Various Guards
and other courtly-dressed people milled about them, talking
excitedly. Pembrake glanced over at her finally and, though she
couldn't be sure, looked momentarily guilty.

Then a
surprising thing happened. He pushed through the crowd and knelt
down beside her, placing a warm and steadying hand on her back.

'Abby.' Now he
was closer she could smell the guilt on him.

Ms Crowthy was
very adept at smelling guilt. She said it smelt like a mixture of
sweat, fear, and self-pity.

The firm hand
on her back pushed her up until she was sitting upright, blinking
hard at the sudden attention from everybody else.

'What an
honourable man,' one person muttered.

'So lucky to
have him here when he was.'

Was Pembrake
shuddering at their words?

'Saved the
Princess and now he's off to save another damsel, what a knightly
man indeed.'

The words
'saved the Princess' were like a quick slap across Pembrake's
cheeks and he winced painfully.

'Abby, I'm so
sorry,' he whispered quickly, 'really-'

'Alright,
let's have a look then.' A huge Guard with a massive pot belly
marched up to her.

She instantly
knew from his chronically crooked nose that this man must be the
Gov. By the looks of his nose and his dented face he must have been
in fights constantly since his birth.

With one
powerful hand, the Gov latched onto Abby and pulled her to her
feet. The sudden move sent a wave of nausea spinning through her
head, and the whole world seemed to be tipping back into her.

Pembrake shot
up stuttering like a mother hen.

The Gov
grabbed a hip flask from his belt and flicked the lid off with one
hand and forced it into Abby's mouth, tipping it back until she had
no choice but to swallow.

She spluttered
horribly as the alcohol seared her throat. But in a moment she
could taste the herbs and feel as her balance reverted to
normal.

That was a
witch's brew, her suddenly-sharp mind told her.

'It's powerful
stuff,' the Gov sniffed loudly, 'got it off the Crones up in
Pickard street.'

The man with
the moustache that could stop armies practically hissed at this.
'You would think, with the horrendous crime that has just been
committed, you would not talk of witches with such pride.'

The Gov, who
it seemed had nothing left to fear judging by the significant
brutal effort that would have gone into making his face so
misshapen, shrugged. 'Crones are nice ladies – make a fantastic
pick me up. And you should taste old Waterby's tea; it’s finer than
what they serve up at the castle, I have my men running on it,
Franklin, and it does them a treat.'

'Haven't been
sick in years,' said the man that had watched over Abby.

Franklin
looked like a man on the verge of ordering the firing squad. But he
seemed to back down, smiling so stiffly the tips of his moustache
shot out at right angles. He did not withdraw his comment, but did
not push it further either.

'Plus,' the
Gov sniffed, 'it was your idea to have the Princess go for a broom
ride.'

'It
was not my idea!' Franklin looked like the kind of man
who switched like a pendulum between apoplectic rage and withering
disdain.

'Well you
agreed to it then,' the Gov shrugged his shoulders coolly.

With Abby on
her feet, she could gradually see the scene for what it was – a
play. It looked like all the actors were assembled and playing
their parts with aplomb. There was the dirty old witch that had
escaped over the rooftops, the handsome brave young man that had
saved the day, the fawning beautiful Princess, and the ruddy
Franklin. Abby wondered for a moment where she fit in.

'It must have
been a surprise,' the Gov sniffed loudly and Abby noted it was the
kind of hearty sniff Ms Crowthy would approve of, 'when that broom
came out of the sky like that and stuck you on the head.'

What with the
powerful herbs pumping through her system and the usual brilliant
memory of a witch, Abby held her tongue. She remembered perfectly
what happened, thank you, right up to the moment when she'd reached
up and caught the unconscious Princess and had been squished for
her effort.

'Gosh,' was
all she could think of.

Pembrake was
squirming beside her, and she dearly desired to pull him aside and
ask him how exactly he had found the gumption to take credit for
this save as well. Was he going to make a habit of this?

The Princess,
who appeared to be in her late teens, fluttered over, her face
still locked into an adoring sickly-sweet smile. 'You're so brave!'
she actually clapped her hands together, 'how amazing.'

Abby had to
stop herself from shooting the Princess a withering look. No one
should be that chirpy.

Pembrake,
though he did seem to be trying not to, smiled appreciatively.

The Princess
looked ready to jump into her brave saviour's arms. She wouldn't
care a bit, Abby was sure, if the Princess found out Pembrake had
stood by dumbly as she'd fallen from the sky. Pembrake looked the
part with his muscles bulging from his shirt like that, and that
dazzling smile. Abby looked like a scrawny scarecrow with her wild
unwashed hair and baggy clothes.

'So brave,'
Abby finally decided to play along, tilting her head towards
Pembrake and blinking sweetly, 'my hero!'

No one, save
Pembrake, noticed the sarcasm in her voice. They simply nodded as
if that was the right response. Pembrake licked his lips nervously
and looked away.

If Abby was
more forthright, more sure of herself like Ms Crowthy, she would
milk this for all it was worth. She would try and throw herself in
Pembrake's arms like the fawning Princess and proclaim her undying
adoration of his heroics. Though she couldn't quite bring herself
to do it – to do something so confrontational to another person –
she realised with a frown that if she stayed with Pembrake much
longer, she'd lose such qualms. He was putting strange thoughts
into her head.

'We simply
must reward him!' the Princess declared with another clap. 'He must
come to the Palace to meet my father!'

This time
Pembrake did bother to look at Abby, and he looked triumphant. The
word 'palace' had been enough to push away any latent fear he might
have felt for lying about his heroics. They were trying to get into
the palace, after all: this was perfect.

Part of Abby
wanted to agree. Part of Abby wanted to celebrate the fact their
little adventure seemed to be moving in the right direction
finally. But the rest of Abby had a jaw-splitting headache and
wanted to bash Pembrake over the head with that broom over
there.

The Princess
latched one arm around Pembrake's and blinked from under her
eyelashes.

Abby felt cold
just watching them.

Franklin
cleared his throat and looked like he was drowning in the honey
dripping from the Princess' voice. A sentiment Abby could
understand, though she felt uncomfortable comparing herself to the
man. There was a distinctly sharp edge to his presence, like his
entire personality was directed towards slicing through anything
that opposed him.

'Oh, yes,'
Franklin blinked blankly, 'yes we should.' He flicked his eyes over
to her and quite unashamedly looked Abby up and down. It was clear
he was concerned that Pembrake might insist his ugly, dirty friend
come along.

Pembrake
hadn't answered yet and he appeared to be giving Franklin the
strangest of sideways glances. Abby hadn't known Pembrake long, but
admittedly she was starting to consider herself a bit of a Pembrake
expert. She knew what it meant when those green eyes were pulled
thin and he pushed his shoulders out as if he were trying to break
his shirt – it meant he was thinking of something dangerous.

Whoever this
Franklin man was, he was in trouble. What he'd done to irk
Pembrake, Abby did not know; all she could be certain of was the
undercurrent of suppressed anger Pembrake was shooting his way.
Pembrake looked for all the world like a man who was looking for an
opportunity, any opportunity to strike.

But as quickly
as Pembrake's features had stiffened with recognition and anger,
the look had passed. The Princess had bounded into his view again
and blocked Franklin from Pembrake's death stare.

'You simply
have to come,' the Princess was pulling on his arm, 'you have to
meet my father and brother!'

Abby waited
and, sure enough, Pembrake nodded.

'Of course,'
he said, voice hoarse.

Can't say no
to women, ha? Or rather, can't say no to a pretty face. Abby really
needed to get Pembrake back to his own time before he did something
simply awful to the past. A blush warmed her cheeks before Abby
could completely finish her thought.

'You can come
too,' the Princess nodded towards Abby, though it was more of a
repetitious bob than an actual nod. She seemed to blink quickly as
she took in Abby's clothes and generally bedraggled appearance.
'You are travelling together, aren't you?' she quickly checked with
Pembrake.