'She had done something very terrible indeed.'
Abby frowned at his intonation of ‘she’, it was heavily loaded and sarcastic. 'Was it not a woman?' Abby had thought she'd heard him shout 'her', but she could have been wrong. What with being deathly frightened and stuck up in a tree, her mind may not have been that sharp.
The Captain paused and looked impressed, both his eyebrows raised this time, though it was hard to tell with one permanently covered by his floppy fringe. 'You are very quick, mouse.'
'You can call me Abby now.'
'I prefer mouse actually.'
Abby swallowed her frustration. She felt like the information she was squeezing out of this annoying man was important somehow, and she wasn't about to stop. 'Does it have something to do with the attack on the Princess?'
'You really are a clever mouse.'
He wasn't answering her questions, but he wasn't not answering them either. And all the time Abby was getting slightly more excited, like she was on the cusp of an important clue, and lord knows she needed one of those.
'Why was the Princess taking a ride on a witch's broom anyway? Not many witches would agree to take a passenger on a frivolous ride – they reduce stability and speed.'
If he'd looked impressed before, it was nothing on the school-teacher beam he now wore. He was almost like a proud father. 'My word you know a lot about witches, mouse. You might just be the smartest mouse I've ever met.'
Abby bit into her smile, but it grew regardless. She hated it when he called her mouse, but his charm was infectious. 'I know a little.'
'Indeed. Well I too am not sure why the Princess was on a broom. She's long been fascinated by witches, but as you say, none would agree to take her up.'
'So where did this one come from then?' Abby conjured up the image of the witch in her mind and remembered how odd and wrong she'd looked, 'there was something very off about her.' Abby had practically forgotten who she was talking too, and was well and truly caught up in the mystery.
'Odd indeed.'
Was that all he was going to give her? 'In fact, as I remember, she was the least witchly looking witch I've ever seen.'
'As you say.'
He really wasn't going to say more, was he? She was just on the cusp of finding out something important, and he was closing off all avenues of information. 'But why would you look for her here?' Abby cocked her head to the side, trying for maximum innocent curiosity and waited.
The Captain of the Guard had slowed down some, not retorting instantly with an arrogant quip. In fact from the look of reserve on his face, he was probably regretting having told her so much. 'If you will excuse me, Abby.'
'Ha! You called me Abby!' she was desperate to keep him in the conversation by any means.
'Well, even little mice need to rest sometimes,' he said very slowly and carefully.
Was that a threat? Was that the signal before bonking her over the head and dragging her off to the cells for spying? 'Oh.'
'Yes, well I must be off. Investigations never cease.'
'And you never tire?' her attempts to make him stay and keep him telling her more were getting truly pathetic, and she was starting to wince slightly at her words.
'Ha! You are quite a delightful mouse. I will be sure to stand right next to you tonight.' He winked and quickly turned on his foot and walked off.
Abby was left with a fast pulse and a warm face. What a strange man the Captain of the Guard was, very strange indeed.
Chapter 11
Abby had decided not to stick around to find Pembrake and wrestle him from the clutches of the Princess. She would have to find some other time to talk to him. But the more time they spent apart, the more she desperately needed to discuss.
And of course, at some point, Abby was going to have to broach the subject of Pembrake stealing her saves. Maybe if he'd only taken the glory once she would have understood, but twice was infuriating. Who did he think he was? Or, more importantly, who did he think she was? Did she come across as the kind of dippy mild-mannered girl that would be happy to surrender her achievements to a muscle-bound pleck?
Once she'd berated him sufficiently, she would move onto telling him what she'd learned from the Captain of the Guard, not that it was much. Still, Abby's gut feeling was that it was very important and was crucial to her and Pembrake furthering their obscure quest to tie down their destinies. Which would bring Abby to the final matter – the bracelet. She knew that it was important and that whatever adventures they were to get up to, the bracelet would have to come along.
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 sile
nce 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.
'A little,' she could elaborate, but didn't feel like it. This always happened when she had a conversation with Pembrake; he'd end up irritating her so much she'd no longer want to speak at all.
'Well what is it?'
'I ran into Martha and she returned the bracelet.' Abby sighed heavily as she produced it from the only pocket in her dress. 'I think it might be the clue we were looking for.'
'Bracelet? You mean the one the witches were talking about?' Pembrake looked down at the broken remains of the charm in Abby's hand. 'That thing? Isn't that my mother's?'
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