Abby the Witch (20 page)

'What a
surprise I had when I saws you walking through the kitchens like
that. With you all brushed and your hair all clean I had a bit of a
time recognising you.'

'It's good to
see you,' Abby interrupted quickly before Martha could squeeze in
another barrage.

'Then I heard
from old Sue, what gave you a good scrub, that you'd been brought
in on the Princess' request! She told me all about what that boy of
yours did. Oh, what a hero,' Martha clutched a pink hand to her
bosom and fluttered her eyelashes quickly, 'I hear the Princess is
smitten!'

Abby didn't
respond to this, though Martha had paused to heave in a breath.
Instead Abby found herself grinding her teeth though she couldn't
think why.

'And you
should have heard the maids talking when they had to prepare a bath
for him – I've never heard those girls giggle so much in me
life.'

Abby did not
want to blush or even show the least bit of interest in Martha's
tattle, so she shifted her eyes to the table and sniffed very
properly.

'Captain of
the Guard is a bit jealous I hear, we all thought he fancied her –
I mean she is such a belle!'

Abby trod a
fine line between pretending to be uninterested and appearing
mutinously indifferent. She couldn't quite keep the scowl from her
face as Martha continued. She just didn't care, she reminded
herself firmly, she didn't care at all what Pembrake was doing, not
one little bit.

'The Colonel
is up in a stink about the whole thing, can't think why. But it
really was so brave of Pembrake and so lucky that he was there at
the right time!'

'Oh, very lucky,' Abby's voice was so sarcastic, she was
sure Martha would pick up on it, but the woman’s enthusiastic grin
never faded.

'I reckon
she's going to ask him to the ball, that's what all the girls have
been saying. Show her brave hero to the whole kingdom, have him
hanging off her arm looking fantastic in one of the Prince's
suits...' Martha suddenly looked guilty and fixed Abby with a
sympathetic look, 'not that he'll go straying, I'm sure. A good boy
like him wouldn't leave his girl-'

'We aren't
together, Martha,' Abby said dejectedly, sure the conversation was
starting to wear on her already frazzled nerves. 'We barely know
each other.'

'Oh!' bomb
fires were going off behind Martha's eyes. It was clear she was
imagining the fairy tale wedding with white dresses and a giant
layered cake with a big old cherry on top, 'well in that case, I
think that Pembrake has met his match,' Martha paused and gave Abby
an odd look.

Abby stopped
for a moment. Though witches were usually adept at reading people,
she had no idea what Martha was thinking. 'I guess so.'

'You really
are a clever girl,' Martha said, cocking her head to the side
thoughtfully.

Abby was taken
aback and blinked quickly. 'Thank you.' She couldn't see why; she
hadn't done anything clever at all since getting here, quite the
opposite – she seemed to not be her usual calm self in this
time.

'Well anyway,
now that we've run into each other like this, it's a good
opportunity for me to return your things.'

'Oh yes, your
clothes!'

'No, no, don't
you worry – I've sorted all that out myself. I saved what I could
from your and Pembrake's clothes dear, but unfortunately they were
mostly damaged.'

Abby could
believe that judging from what they'd been through. Though damaged
seemed like a generous term – tatters was probably more
accurate.

Martha dove
into one of the big pockets of her white apron and placed the
contents on the table before Abby. One broken South Island charm
bracelet and two brass buttons.

'I think the
rest of the buttons were eaten up by the ocean, dear.'

Abby nodded in
agreement.

'So did you
ever find that ship of yours?'

Abby barely
heard Martha, her eyes fixing completely on the broken
bracelet.

The Crones had
said that it was vitally important that her and Pembrake find some
way to tie their destinies down. That if they were just left to
flap loosely in the wind, they would become hopelessly lost souls
with no chance of ever returning home again. And they said that
this bracelet was somehow important….

The enormous
power that she had once felt off the bracelet was gone. There was
barely a trickle of magic leaving it now.

Abby ran her
teeth over her bottom lip and brushed her fingers over the carved
beads, searching for imperfections, searching for clues. Between
the beads, the twine that held the bracelet together was almost
broken through. Many-stranded, whatever the string was made from,
strands of it had plucked loose, curling back on themselves like
frazzled human hair.

It was broken.
She may not know much about a talisman as powerful as this, but she
could tell that it was broken. But how could she fix it? Was it
somehow important in finding a way back to the future?

'Dear, you've
gone all thoughtful looking – you thinking about that Pembrake?'
Martha tapped her on the shoulder.

Abby slowly
looked up. 'Mmm.'

'I could see
it when I met you, I could,' Martha wasn't flapping about with
enthusiasm, just smiling warmly, 'you'll see it soon enough, I'm
sure. Right well, I best be off. You're to go up to the court, I
think, get a good seat to watch Pembrake while he's presented to
the King.'

Abby was still
busy frowning at Martha's previous statement to process what she'd
just said. 'Sorry? Presented to the King?'

'Of course, he
saved the Princess and all, what do you expect? I imagine the King
will want to reward him and all.'

Abby made a
face that she hoped clearly said she thought this was a bad idea.
'I really don't think-'

'Don't you
worry, dear; you won't have to do anything. You'll get a good seat
in the court with all them dignitaries.'

'Oh.'

'But I don't
imagine they'll do that till tonight. So I think you'll have a good
time to wander if you've got the energy. There's a lot to see.'

'Oh yes?'

'And I imagine
you'll be wanting to see your Pembrake again.'

Abby nodded
firmly.

That subtle
smile was back on Martha's face. 'If you're quick, you should be
able to make it to him before the Princess does.'

Abby nodded
again.

'And I'm sure
he'll be wanting to see you. It could be just the two of you, if
you like.'

Abby stopped
nodding and thought about what it was she was supposedly agreeing
to. 'Oh no, I don't think that will do,' she quickly backtracked,
'I'm sure he needs his rest.' Abby rose from the table, stowing a
hand full of nuts in her pocket, 'I think I'll just go for a quick
walk around the grounds, if that is permitted.'

'Oh well, suit
yourself.'

There was not
much to be said of walking around the grounds. It was a strange
moment. Abby wasn't quite sure whether she was indeed welcome to
mill about the gardens or whether a team of Guards would be
dragging her off before the next leaves of golden ash fluttered to
the ground.

She couldn't
shake the inveterate feeling of being the downcast witch. Who cared
what the time was? Abby had a whole lifetime of memories to whet
her pallet with tingling fear. Perhaps it was because she didn't
have Pembrake's annoying presence to distract her, but walking
along in the mid-afternoon sunshine was strangely sending a chill
down her spine.

The grounds
were of course beautiful. But not in the same way as you might
appreciate a dazzling sunset or a storm-filled sky - they were
austere and manicured with miniature rows of hedges and ornamental
plants. Here and there along the wide field that surrounded the
castle at the back and the sides, were large old trees though. Abby
found herself drawn to these over the peculiar, exposed gardens.
Trees meant shade not just from the sun, but from prying eyes
too.

Abby looked up
at the dimpled bark of the tree she sat beneath and ran her eyes up
into the golden and green leaves. If she could just stay under this
tree until everything went back to normal, then she would. But by
her calculations that would take a little under 28 years and she
would be fairly old by that time. Trading the best bit of her life
for a little freedom from this insane situation did seem a little
over the top.

At least,
she'd concluded to herself, she would like some peace and quiet
until stupid Pembrake had to be presented to the King. A little
sunshine and some birdsong would surely calm her nerves enough to
be able to withstand his totally irritating nature for a few more
hours.

She of course
did not get her way. After only 15 minutes of resting under the
tree, a call came out from somewhere behind her. It was deep and
rumbling like the blast of a fog horn and it sent a bolt of shock
through Abby who had just been nodding on the edge of sleep. She
clutched the trunk of the tree with fright and stood up.

A muffled cry
met in answer to the first, and Abby peered around the side of the
tree to see what on Earth was going on. She saw a Guard marching
towards her and a hunting dog snuffling at his side.

She panicked.
And, without stopping at all to think about what she was doing,
climbed the tree in a scramble. Trees like witches, as Ms Crowthy
had assured Abby from a tender age. Whether it be broom handles or
handy healing fruit - witches always needed to be on good terms
with trees. And so, as per the old Crone's advice, Abby was always
sure to be very polite to the trees in her neighbourhood - giving
them a drink or a prune should they need it. And trees, in turn,
were equally as polite to her. To this date she had never had a
branch fall on her, or had been shaken free of a bow when resting
her head.

Trees,
according to the witch code, helped a witch's balance. It was to do
with the special magic a witch employed to make a broomstick fly.
It wasn't simply levitation on the witch's behalf with a stick to
hang her bag from - it had a lot more to do with the wood than the
woman. The wood brought the witch into balance, and different woods
were used for different types of balance. A birch tree, with its
long and thin branches used to smacking together in the wind,
allowed a witch to travel fast, while the wood of a giant sturdy
oak allowed for a smooth, steady ride. Whatever the wood though,
within its presence a witch always felt at ease. And as Ms Crowthy
often pointed out, that made for extremely flammable houses.
Witches have long favoured the all-timber kitchen, after all.

So it wasn't
any real wonder that when pressed, Abby did the first primal thing
that came into her witchly head - head for wood and head up. And
between the leaves and large branches of this golden ash - Abby had
achieved both of those.

Of course she
was now stuck in a tree.

Which posed
problems.

'What do you
mean there is no sign of her?' the booming voice of the Guard only
grew more menacing as it approached. Now Abby could feel it
virtually rattling the leaves like a gale.

'We've looked
everywhere, sir; no one is sure where she went.'

'Well go and
look again!' the first Guard roared.

Abby was
terrified. They were after her, they had to be. Why had she trusted
them? Why had she let herself be taken to the palace?

In another
moment the first Guard was upon her, or more literally underneath.
The dog began scrabbling at the tree and whining. Abby just stood
in the bow of the tree, clutching onto the trunk with one arm and
willing the full canopy of leaves to protect her from sight, if
only the dog would let up that terrible whine.

Too late,
though she could only see a snippet of his red jacket, but she knew
that the Guard was looking up into the top of the tree. Granted she
was wearing a gray dress, but-

'And what are
you doing up that tree?' the Guard had an incredibly officious tone
that reminded Abby of Pembrake in full arrogant swing.

She swallowed
hard, forcing back the tidal wave of fear till she could make room
for her tiny voice. 'Climbing it.'

The man moved
around the tree until the large branches that had mostly obscured
Abby no longer impeded his view. 'I see,' he said.

Abby forced
herself to look at him, forced some kind of sweet innocent smile
that probably looked like the grimace of a death-seeking warrior.
'Mmmm,' she said, because she felt the need to offer some more
compelling evidence of her innocence.

'Yes.'

Abby found
herself meeting the Guard's intense gaze with a sheepish, blinking
one of her own. The man was older than she was, though probably not
by all that much. He had long enough hair that a thick wisp of
fringe hung over his dark blue eyes. He was handsome in a fancy,
hoity-toity way Ms Crowthy would definitely not approve of.

'Are you going
to come down from there, madam?' he said after a moment, clearly
growing tired of looking at Abby trying to fake her innocence, 'I
am quite busy and don't have time to rescue damsels from
trees.'

Okay, thought
Abby, not exactly the welcoming she'd been expecting. Something
more along the lines of 'die witch' and a sharp prod with a
pitchfork had been on her mind.

'Well?' the
man flicked his hair from his eyes, which seemed to have a habit of
creeping right back again. 'Here, you can jump into my arms, if
you'd like.'

Abby's face
felt like it had stretched all the way to the back of her head from
shock. Oh yes, Ms Crowthy really wouldn't like this man. 'I-'

'Oh I can see
you are shocked, little mouse, but I really must be going,' he put
his arms up, 'come on.'

Abby found
herself laughing and patting her gray dress down absentmindedly.
This was fine because, as a witch she was perfectly capable of
keeping steady in the nook of the tree with just her feet. The
Guard did blink in surprise though.