Abby the Witch (22 page)

And then there
was the whole 'Key of Time' thing. The witches had considered it an
integral part of their quest. That's why they were in the Palace,
after all. Somewhere in this huge caste was the Key and,
apparently, that would help them unlock the chains that kept them
separated from their own time.

There was so
much to discuss, so many important details of their quest that they
had yet to broach together. At some point, if Pembrake's arrogant
inner child could be stowed at the door, they were going to have to
have a very serious discussion about the future and how they saw
themselves getting back there.

But as for
facing Pembrake right now, well, she just didn't have the patience.
Not after the way he'd treated her when the Captain of the Guard
had snatched her up. He had hardly looked at her, barely
acknowledged she was there. So why should she go out and actively
seek his company?

Still, there
wasn't much to do around the castle when one was trying to stay out
of everyone's way and not cause a disturbance. There were so many
people that Abby didn't want to run into, that she had barely made
it through one of the back entrances without stopping stealthily
behind a door to check for Captains, Commanders, Princesses, and
Colonels.

She eventually
made it to the servant's quarters where Martha had mentioned they'd
put a room aside for her, should she need a good lie down. With
nothing at all to do, and with a great desire to hit her pillow for
some reason, Abby headed for it.

She did hit
her pillow, repeatedly, but it didn't seem to improve her mood. So
eventually she just collapsed into it, waiting for sleep to come.
It didn't have a chance, though as there was a soft knock on the
door. Abby didn't respond, pretending she was asleep – not that
anyone was in the room to be fooled by her act.

The door
opened a creak and someone stepped in, closing it carefully behind
them.

Abby sat up,
alarmed at the intrusion. 'You!'

'Me,' Pembrake
took an apologetic step into the room, if it was possible to walk
with guilt, that was. He had his head tilted to the floor and was
looking up at her from under his eyebrows. Perhaps he was trying to
look like a loveable puppy, she thought mutinously.

'So,' she
crossed her arms, 'I think you have a lot to tell me.'

'Are you okay?
Did the guy… did he… are you… how's your ankle?' Pembrake was
taking an unusually long time to say anything, especially
considering his usual cut-throat nature. And she wasn't sure what
that slight waver to his voice meant either – was he worried the
Captain of the Guard would stand in the way of the Princess?

'Fine. It was
always fine. I really don't know what that-'

'It's just
that guy had a hold onto you pretty tight, so I figured you must
have really hurt it,' Pembrake didn't appear to be listening to her
at all.

She jut out
the bottom of her lip and tried again. 'Like I said, fine.
That guy was very strange-‘

'When he took
you away like that I figured you must really have hurt yourself.
Where did he-'

'Pembrake,'
she wanted to pull the pillow out from behind her and throw it at
him, 'why won't you listen? I told you I'm fine!'

'Oh,' he
looked sheepish. 'Only the Captain of the Guard was… well I'm not
sure I liked him.'

'Oh really,'
it was all she could come up with, because for some reason she no
longer felt like explaining the situation to Pembrake. There was
clearly something wrong with him at the moment, maybe too much sun
and excitement.

An itchy,
uncomfortable silence spread between them where Abby wanted to
climb under the covers and pull them over her head and tell
Pembrake to go away at once.

'I had to lie
to get away from the Princess; I don't think she would be happy if
she knew I was off to see you.'

Abby found
herself glaring. 'Congratulations.'

For some
reason Pembrake wasn't picking up on her usual bate and biting back
with equal anger. He still looked sheepish and unsure of himself,
or maybe she was making it all up; she couldn't tell in her current
mood. She sure wanted him to look that way, she sure
wanted him to be sorry for what he'd done, but would the arrogant
Commander ever really have those feelings?

'Look, Abby,
I'm sorry for what happened,' he took a further step into the small
room, virtually cutting in half the distance that separated them,
'I really am. Once the Guards had arrived and they'd found me
standing over the Princess, well they'd just assumed that I was the
one who'd saved her. I could hardly tell them that you'd run half
way across the city in some kind of trance and snapped her out of
the air, could I?'

Abby bunched
up the covers in her fists. She dearly wanted to escape underneath
them, all the more now that Pembrake was closer. 'You didn't bother
setting them straight, did you though?'

'Abby, I
couldn't; I didn't want you to get in trouble. You heard how the
Colonel spoke about witches – I didn't want you to get hurt. Plus,
you know what that man does!'

So it was the
same Colonel then…. But that wasn't the point right now. The point
was Pembrake wasn't about to get off so easily.

'Hurt? Hurt? Haven't you changed your tune! One minute
you want to throw me off a cliff and the next you want to save me
from prison!'

'We talked
about this, we decided that we both needed to work together,'
Pembrake licked his lips, a touch of desperation colouring his
words, 'Abby, please.'

'Why? Why
should I? You've been nothing but trouble ever since I met you. I'm
never sure where I stand. You spend half your time ignoring me and
the other half berating me. I'm sorry I'm a witch, but do I really
deserve this kind of treatment?' her face was getting terribly hot,
but she didn't care right now.

'I said I'm
sorry-'

'Sorry?
Before, in the garden, you hardly noticed me! You didn't care so
much that I may have been in trouble, you just cared that the
Captain was stealing your save. Well I'm sorry,' she sniffed so
loudly her nostrils rattled, 'but I don't want to be the damsel to
your hero. You'll have to find some other way to impress the
Princess.'

Pembrake's
face went the full gamut of emotions between guilt, sadness, and
humour. He eventually gave an exasperated chuckle and rolled his
eyes. 'Oh, Abby, you have no idea, do you?'

If she had
been red in the cheeks before, it was nothing on the molten heat
that now took them. 'Why do you always treat me like some child? I
may not know the world of Pembrake Hunter, but rest assured,
Commander – I know Abby Gail better than you ever will.'

'You are
unfathomable, I agree. And you
are unreasonable and selfish and wild,'
his cheeks were starting to colour too, 'have you forgotten that
only this morning you made me have breakfast with the father I
never knew? '

'You… never
knew?' Abby said very weakly, suddenly very uncomfortable with
where she'd pushed Pembrake. She had no one else to blame for the
cold surrender in his eyes other than herself. It was true that she
did not know the circumstances of how Mrs Hunter had remarried Mr
Hunter, why Karing had left, and why Pembrake was brought up as Mr
Hunter's son. Knowing Pembrake, there was a whole world of
repressed hurt bubbling under the surface, and she'd gone and
prodded the volcano until it had rumbled like the gods.

'Do you think
it was easy for me?'

'Well… I'm
sure he loved you… he seemed like a nice man….' She wasn't sure
which route to take – whether to console Pembrake or agree with
him. Just what had happened 28 years ago, just what had
happened now? How did Mr Hunter fit into this? Mrs Hunter
never really spoke fondly of the late Mr Hunter, but never bitterly
either, just without passion and fervour. Whatever had happened
between now and then had changed Mrs Hunter into the kind and sober
dame that she was in the future. Abby was quite sure there was no
trace left in her old friend of the bubbly youth that had hung off
the words of Karing.

But was that a
story of growing up, or a narrative touched with sadness and
suffering? Had the transition between Karing and Mr Hunter been one
of a young woman simply getting older, or of somebody losing
someone essential to them?

'Love? Do you
think I care? Him not being there wasn't what made it difficult
growing up….' Pembrake appeared to be on the edge of saying
something important, something hidden. What with one thing and
another – with time travel, with witches, with impossible quests
and rescuing princesses – she was sure the Pembrake she had grown
to know was not the Pembrake that inhabited the past. Her Pembrake
was about to say something revealing.

The future's
Pembrake was a Commander of a ship, smart, dashing, and
independent. Whatever bitter anger and painful memories operated
underneath the surface, the Pembrake of 28 years from now would
have effective coping strategies in place. He would be dignified,
capable, and commanding. He wouldn't be the arrogant,
unpredictable, seesaw of a man that stood before her on the cusp of
revealing some hidden truth.

Going back
into the past had changed him, she was sure. It wasn't that she was
simply getting to know the man who had rescued her from that sea of
sailors in front the tavern on the morning of the storm. That man
had been Changed (and oh yes, with a capital C).

Going into the
past had changed them both, in ways that neither could have
predicted. It wasn't equivalent to any conflict or adventure they
could both have had in the future. In the past they were physically
running into significant moments, foundational moments in
their lives.

Running
alongside them – undermining their decisions, interactions, and
plans – was the knowledge that what they did here could change the
future. It undermined everything, not overtly, but as an
undercurrent of responsibility.

Being beholden
to time was plecking hard.

And it was
changing her just as much as it had changed Pembrake. In the
future, in the past now, she would never have confronted a man like
Pembrake, never bothered to find a way around him, to negotiate his
intentions and desires, foibles, and follies. She just wouldn't
have bothered; she would have just found some way of escaping.

But she
couldn't escape here. She couldn't escape from the look in his
eyes.

'My father was
a Northlander, my mother is a Westlander, and yet I'm…' Pembrake
looked very harassed, the edge of whatever uncomfortable thought he
was on the verge of saying was pulling at the edge of his face.

If it were
anyone else, Abby would prescribe they sit down and have a cup of
sweet basil tea, but Pembrake wasn't about to take advice from her.
Plus, the idea of comforting him was strangely… awkward.

'I'm not-' he
took another exasperated breath, 'like them.'

She could see
the pain and confusion behind his eyes, his usually proud head
bowed to the side. He looked different when he was sad – a little
more real, a lot less like the Pembrake monster in her mind.
'You're a what?' she encouraged, not wanting to say the words for
him.

'I'm a South
Islander,' he was almost wincing, as if he expected Abby to hit him
for his admission.

'And I'm a
witch, what's your point?'

Pembrake was
staring at her from under his brow again, this time with a stiff
wariness. She knew that look; she'd given it many times before. It
was the look you gave when you were waiting for someone to change
their mind, to suddenly realise that the secret you have just told
them is worth your life. 'Growing up I could never admit that, I
could only ever have a tan. I knew my real father had been a South
Islander, but for everyone else… they had to believe it was just a
tan. Bridgestock… my friends – they all had to believe…' he looked
up at her, eyes minimised by the crushing weight of his furrowed
brow.

'They'll hate
you for anything in Bridgestock, Pembrake, anything,' Abby
maintained the keenest gaze she could, 'who cares where your
parents were from? You have your mother's eyes and, apparently,
your father's determination. It doesn't change who you are now, and
it doesn't change in the least your future, unless you let it.'

Pembrake
laughed derisively, 'it's easy for you to say that. People don't
look at you and see who you are-'

'Excuse
me? People don't look at the broom and the cat and the massive
skirt and conclude ‘dirty witch’? That's funny, because I've been
chased by the Guards for less. You think whatever you look like is
a problem, Pembrake? Are you telling me that if you could change
your perfect skin and build you would?' Abby looked away from the
flicker of interest in Pembrake's eyes. 'Of course you wouldn't. I
don't know you well enough to be certain, but I'm sure you would
not trade who you are.'

'I don't
exactly have the option.'

'Neither do I.
I can't change the fact I'm a witch, and I don't want to. It
isn't my fault that society hates me, but I can't change that by
hating myself.'

Changes were
going on behind Pembrake's eyes. He appeared to be thinking hard,
perhaps not at her words; she doubted she could affect him that
much. 'I don't hate myself. It was just a shock, that's all.'

Abby tried not
to become defensive as he tried to wipe away the last several
minutes of their conversation and pretend he'd never been
distressed. That was his prerogative, however annoying and childish
it was. 'Oh.'

'But it
doesn't matter, does it? We're stuck in the past.'

'Yes, I
guess.'

'So are you
any closer to taking us back?' Pembrake's voice had returned to
normal and he was back to ordering her around like a little ship
hand.