Abby the Witch (9 page)

'Well …'
Alfred put a gnarled hand on Pembrake's shoulder, ‘we best be
getting back, son. That girl of yours is probably awake by
now.'

Pembrake just
nodded. “That girl of his”, even though he had only seen her twice
in his whole life, was the only one he could think of that would
have some answers for him. She was the girl he'd seen outside his
mother's house and then again outside the pub where she'd told him
her name – Abby. She was the only reason he hadn't marched down
into town and demanded why the citizens and Guards of Bridgestock
weren't out looking for survivors.

He needed her
to fill in the gaps in his memory. What had he been doing on that
cliff? And more to the point, how had he gotten there? Last he
remembered he was letting go of the sinking mast, all vice in his
frozen hands lost to the churning sea. So where had she come
in?

'Yes,'
Pembrake took one last long look at the calm waters of the bay, 'I
suppose we had better get back,' he said quietly, his heart
heavy.

'We're both
men of the sea, son, I understand the storm in your mind,' Alfred
patted him warmly once more and, keeping his hand on Pembrake's
back, turned him away from the cliff.

~~~

Abby stood at
the window, the thick woollen blanket from the bed wrapped around
her shoulders, staring out at the sea below.

She chewed on
her lip distractedly, waiting for a solution to present itself to
her mind, waiting for any kind of reason or explanation that might
help her to understand what was going on.

Nothing.

Sighing
fitfully, she walked off around the small room ending up in front
of the tapestry. Up close she could see the seal of the Royal
Family and the familiar crown of the Queen. Except it was not the
current Queen, which was strange. Even staunch Royalists rarely
bothered to display pictures of past Queens and Kings.

Abby turned
from the tapestry, a strange confusion setting in, just as the
thick material that hung from the doorway – concealing her room
from the rest of the unexplored house – was pushed aside.

An old,
wizened face with a stupendous grey beared pushed through. He
blinked two small eyes at her then nodded sharply. 'Awake then.
young lass? Well that's good, isn't it? What say I leave you two
alone to catch up for a bit while I go and check on the missus?'
The old man retreated behind the curtain again and Abby found
herself nodding blankly at the empty room.

Then the
curtain was pushed to the side again and someone else stepped
through.

Abby found her
mouth clicking open as she recognised those broad shoulders, the
smooth light brown skin, and piercing green eyes. It was the man
from yesterday, the naval officer that had rescued her from the sea
of sailors. 'You!' she tried to keep the accusatory tone from her
voice, but her mind was racing. 'You're Pembrake?'

'Do you know
me?' His eyes locked onto hers hopefully. 'Do you know where we
are?' He took a sharp step forward as she recoiled slightly from
the panicked urgency in his voice. 'Look, I don't mean to upset
you, I know you've only just woken up but please, do you know
what happened last night?' His expression was a palpable mix of
confusion and desperation.

'I,' Abby
clutched at the blanket around her and found her eyes slipping to
the tapestry, 'don't really know….'

'They said
they found us on Knife Cliff. What were you doing there?' Pembrake
interrupted quickly, clearly dissatisfied with Abby's hesitation.
'Please, this is really important.'

Abby sniffed
quietly, the half-constrained panic rippling off Pembrake was
making her head hurt and lighting a fire under her own latent sense
of dread. 'I…' but how much could she tell him? She was a witch,
their surroundings may be unfamiliar, but she could count on the
world still hating her kind. 'I don't know,' she lied.

His eyes
searched hers with a keen ferocity that saw her blush creep back up
her cheeks. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'Then you
can't help me,' he said flatly and he turned abruptly away to stare
out the small window.

There were a
few seconds of strained silence before Abby broke it by asking: 'I…
do… do you know what the time is?' the question had pushed its way
from her mouth before she could stop it, and she put a hand up as
if to catch it before it reached him.

He shot her a
confused glance. 'What? Oh,' he seemed to come to his own
conclusion, 'we were both knocked out. I woke up around dawn and
you must have woken up several of hours after that.'

Abby found
herself shaking her head almost fitfully. 'No, what's the actual
time?'

Pembrake
shrugged his broad shoulders, the rough woollen shirt stretching
awkwardly. 'I'm not sure, around midday?'

No it wasn't,
her internal witchly clock assured her. Abby took a sharp breath
and patted the sweat away from her brow, trying to concentrate
completely on her feeling of unease. 'Are you sure?'

Pembrake's
eyes had fixed on her face, and he uncrossed his arms gently.
'Maybe you should lie down, you look a little unwell.'

'No, I don't
want to lie down,' Abby was surprised at her own frustration; she
sounded like a petulant child rebelling against her bedtime.
'Something is very wrong here.' She turned back to the tapestry on
the wall, 'nothing about this house fits. That woman said she'd
never even heard of the Royal Blue-'

A stiff,
twisted misery crept into Pembrake's expression, and it fuelled her
tirade.

'Where is the
ship? Where are the crew? Where are all the Guards and officers?
When that naval vessel went down last year, the whole of
Bridgestock was teeming with Guards for weeks, searching up and
down the coast for wreckage and survivors – but when I look out
that window I can't see a thing! I don't recognise the view at
all.' Abby stopped suddenly and took a deep breath. 'Something's
wrong, can't you see that?'

A shot of
anger flared in Pembrake's eyes and he glared at Abby. 'Of course I
can see it. I've lost my ship, my crew, my
Captain, everything.' His voice was bitter and sharp.

'S-sorry.'

'Look, Abby,
that's your name, isn't it?' She nodded, and he continued, 'I
understand what you're saying, I really do. I grew up in
Bridgestock, this should be home, but I've walked through this
house and I've walked along the cliff and I have no idea what's
going on.' Pembrake rested a hand on the old warped glass of the
window. 'Everything is familiar, except not….'

'I know.' Abby
was glad of his words of recognition and understanding. She may not
have grown up in Bridgestock, but she was its witch, and from the
moment she'd arrived she'd been attuned to it. Now it was like
someone had fiddled with the dial and she'd lost transmission.

'This house…'
Pembrake's voice took on a distant quality as he looked around at
the dated furnishings. And the cliff, I swear there were more
houses set along the path to it… now it seems practically
undeveloped. It's almost as if we've travelled back in time,
everything seems so.…'

Oh god. Abby
couldn't make out the rest of his words as a loud buzzing filled
her mind.

'-are you
okay? Abby?' Somehow he had crossed the room and was standing
before her, face thick with concern, 'Abby?'

Travelled back
in time. They couldn't possibly have… but that storm had been
powerful, so immensely chaotic.

'Hey, Abby?'
he shook her shoulders gently.

She blinked at
him, staring numbly up at his face. 'You're right; I think we've
travelled back in time.'

The words had
broken forth before she could stop them. After all, suggesting that
you'd travelled back in time wasn't something people usually did.
But Abby could feel it now, she could feel her internal clock
resetting – adjusting to a different time at a different pace.

This was
insane, this was totally insane and she could see Pembrake regard
her with a look of shocked disbelief.

'What?' His
face blanched. 'Don't be stupid-'

The curtains
parted behind them and the woman poked her head in, smiling
mischievously when she saw Pembrake's hands on Abby's shoulders.
'Oh you two must have had such a fright, I thought you'd like some
time alone – and I wasn't wrong, was I?'

Pembrake
seemed to follow the old woman's meaning quicker than Abby, and
took a discrete step backwards. 'No, we're not-'

'Now then,
Alfred's gone to get old Mr Pinkeye from the harbour – knows all
the ships that comes and goes does Mr Pinkeye. If your Royal
Blue docked like you said, they'll soon have it found. Now why
don't you two come and have a spot of soup, I've been dying to hear
your story.'

Abby looked at
Pembrake; after all, what was their story? But he refused
to meet her eye.

The woman
motioned for the two of them to follow her then led them into the
large open kitchen. A fire was burning in the hearth and a large
solid table was set in front of it.

With every
step, Abby knew with growing certainty that this was not her time.
Somehow, through the break in that terrible storm, she'd
travelled back in time.

If Ms Crowthy
existed in this time, Abby could be sure of one thing – she would
be travelling here right now to clap Abby around the ears for being
a terribly bad witch. For, not only had Abby clearly landed herself
in an adventure, but she'd gone and found a strapping male
companion to boot. But worse than both of those, Abby had taken on
the most powerful force in the universe – Time. Abby was a very,
very bad witch.

They sat down
at the table, the woman insisting on Abby sitting as close to the
fire as possible. Which of course meant Abby was roasting. She
wasn't sick, after all, just extremely strung-out at the prospect
that she'd somehow saved Mrs Hunter's son only to drag him back
through time to heaven knows when.

She was
relieved to note that Charlie was curled up by the fire. He looked
up as she sat down and gave her a very knowing look. It said 'we've
travelled back in time, but hey, look, here's a fire, so I guess
everything is okay for now'. Abby smiled at him and fought the urge
to scoop him up and hug him tighter than she'd ever done
before.

'Alright you
two, you can start by telling me what you were doing up on that
cliff in that terrible little storm? Weren't eloping, were you?'
Their host asked cheekily as she cut the bread into hearty
slices.

Abby blushed
into her bowl of soup all the more for the little laugh Pembrake
gave as he answered: 'No ma'am.'

'May I ask
what your name is?' Abby half-whispered, before the woman could
make any more insinuations.

'Oh you're so
polite!' the woman reached over and actually pinched Abby's cheek.
'It's Martha, dear. You've been lucky with this one, 'she winked at
Pembrake, 'right little sweetheart and no mistake.'

Pembrake
nodded, his expression neutral apart from the small curl at the
side of his eyes. 'Indeed.'

'So, what's
your story then?' Martha passed round the bread and then ripped off
a chunk of her own and dunked it into her soup. 'Bet it's a good
one.'

Abby smiled
nervously. 'Well-'

'I rescued her
off the ship,' Pembrake finished off her sentence coolly. 'She was
travelling with us when the storm hit.'

Martha's eyes
lit up with the sheer romantic possibilities of Pembrake's story.
'My word! What a lucky girl you are!' she turned to Abby and nodded
enthusiastically. 'Being rescued by such a handsome man!'

Abby just
nodded back at her mutely. It wasn't exactly the version of events
she remembered.

'Maybe you can
help us with a discussion we were having earlier,' Pembrake
interrupted Martha's twittering politely, but firmly, 'do you mind
if I ask you a question?'

Martha nodded
happily, probably sure that if she went along with Pembrake's
question, he'd fill her in on more details of his heroic rescue.
'Of course, ask away!'

'What's the
date?'

Abby shot
another quick look across at him, but he continued to look calmly
at Martha.

'The date?'
Martha's grey eyebrows flattened in surprise.

'Yes.'

'It's a
Tuesday.'

'Tuesday the
what?' Pembrake pressed.

'Tuesday the
1
^st
of April, the Year of the Pearl.'

'The Year of
the Pearl?'

'That's
right.'

'28 years
before the Year of the Rose?'

Martha
regarded Pembrake's observation with a confused sideways glance at
Abby. 'Well yes,' she mumbled.

Pembrake
slowly placed his spoon down on the table beside his steaming bowl
and finally met Abby's gaze. 'Oh.'

Abby waited
for Pembrake to speak again, a stream of witchly wisdom running
through her head. He couldn't just leave it at 'oh'; travelling
back in time was worth more than a muted exclamation.

According to
the kind old woman before them, they'd just travelled 28 years into
the past. How was this man she'd only just met going to deal with
this?

Abby watched,
unwilling to break his silence with a 'told you so'.

Sure enough
Pembrake's face seemed to be cracking under the effort of keeping
his cool. His brow was glistening, visible even under the pale
light of the crackling fire, and if he started clutching that spoon
any tighter, it would probably melt into a puddle of molten
metal.

Abby wasn't
sure where to take it from here. 'I-'

'If you could
just excuse us, Martha,' Pembrake's voice was disturbingly calm,
and Abby watched him wearily as he slowly stood up. 'There's
something I need to discuss with Abby,
something important.'

Abby
practically shivered at the hooded menace rippling through his
words. Okay, so he wasn't taking this well….