With that thought in his mind, Pembrake went back to bed.
~~~
Avoiding the Captain of the Guard did not prove to be that hard. All Abby had to do was slip away from the reception early. It was not as if anyone would miss her. She was only a very peculiar side attraction, after all.
She went straight back to the servant quarters to talk to Martha. Martha had assured her, with barely disguised humour, that Abby wouldn't be the first girl who'd wanted to avoid the Captain. He had a reputation apparently, and it wasn't for being an upstanding, dignified servant to the King.
Abby was confident of her ability to haughtily ignore the Captain's advances, but still, she had to agree with Pembrake's advice – there didn't seem to be any point of tempting time. Even being in the same room as a Guard was a bad idea. If she couldn't get out of the palace until Pembrake was done gadding, then she would stay well and truly out of everyone's way. Plus, she really needed some quiet time to study the charm bracelet.
Martha had agreed to let Abby swap rooms to a barely-used broom cupboard that had a rollup mattress. It was out of the way, even though it did smell horribly of damp. That, Abby could live with though; in a way it reminded her of her musty attic back in the future.
The broom cupboard had thin walls and although the entire servant wing was separated from the Guard quarters, Abby's broom cupboard seemed to eat into that demarcation. Martha had assured her it was the only other room available, and that if she were quiet, there would be no problem at all. No one would expect to look for her there.
Abby spent the first several minutes trying to regulate her breathing to a whisper, but eventually gave up as the general raucous noise coming from beyond the wall was enough to damp down even the most thunderous of snores.
With a witch's natural keen hearing, Abby eventually found herself listening to the conversations filtering through the wall, unable to concentrate on the bracelet through the noise.
'You should have seen his face!' a deep voice rumbled. 'I recon I punched it so hard I left his nose on the pavement.'
This drew several deep laughs, but Abby just made a disgusted face. What a horrible man, she thought, bragging about violence like that. And she'd thought the Guards in this time would be different. Apparently not, they were still aggressive and foolhardy, just without the wish to kill witches.
Further inane, somewhat disturbing chatter continued to filter though the wall, and Abby was running out of disapproving glares to give the ceiling. But then a deeper voice joined the conversation, and things became a lot more interesting indeed.
'What are you doing here, Gov? Shouldn't you be at the City Guard House?'
'I came up to report to our pretty-boy Captain that his useless search has resulted in nothing but the wearing down of my lad's boots.'
A roar of laughter erupted at the Gov's words, and Abby joined in with a quiet laugh of her own. It was refreshing to know that the Captain had his detractors.
'They got you looking for that witch then, Gov?'
'If you can call it a witch. That was the strangest looking witch, nay woman, I ever did see,' the Gov said severely.
The men appeared to agree.
'Give me 20 men, I said, and I'll take them into the Cross Roads and I'll get you your witch,' the Gov said.
The Cross Roads were the formal name for the slumps. Abby hardly ever heard it called that these days, though technically, these days were future days and she couldn't comment on the use of the name in the past. Still, the word grabbed her interest, and she moved closer to the wall.
'You don't think it was one of them, do you?' said a man with a quick whip of a voice, 'surely the Colonel would have known?'
'I'd say he knew well enough, though I wouldn't catch any of you telling him I'd said so. It makes sense, I told the Captain, I knows some of them has magics.'
'But they're men? What they doing on a broom? Ain't that against some magic code? I thought only witches were supposed to ride brooms?'
'I reckon those Turn Abouts would have trouble respecting their own mother, let alone the rules of magics.'
There was a murmur of agreement.
By now Abby had her ear pressed against the wall and her heart was pounding. A Turn About? The witch had been a Turn About? That would explain the terrible vibe she'd received from it, and the way it had lithely jumped from the broom and run across the roof. But who on Earth would confuse a Turn About for a witch? Surely someone would have noticed?
'Something very strange is happening, you mark my words, boys. We are on the cusp of something big here, so we all has to keep our eyes open,' the Gov commanded with his booming friendly voice.
On the cusp of something big? Turn Abouts, assassins, and witches? This didn't have anything to do with the Ban, did it? Wasn't it some time around now that it had come into effect?
Abby did not know the historical context of the Ban, because there was no one to ask who she trusted sufficiently to tell her. All she knew was that it had been in effect for almost 20 years before Abby had come to Bridgestock and it began due to an assassination. But it was clear, from the existence of the Crones, to the friendly attitude of the Gov, that the time her and Pembrake had stumbled into, was still free from the Ban. Still, Abby had a horrible sinking feeling that she'd just walked into something very, very important indeed.
If only she'd had the opportunity to learn more about the history of the Ban, the reason that it had come into effect. The real reason that was, not the usual bigoted muck she had picked up from her general life in Bridgestock. There must have been some incident that had taken the witches from the favourable position they apparently enjoyed in this time to the horrible ban in the future.
But for the life of Abby, she did not know, or could not remember, what that was. It couldn't all have been the assassination, could it? No one would believe that a witch was capable of murder?
'You mark my words, boys, this won't be ending here. Somebody is up to something, and they ain't about to stop after one try. Keep alert, and for god's sake, keep your eyes open.'
But whatever situation her and Pembrake had just stumbled into, Witch Ban or not, it sure did seem serious.
'What about that guy what saved the Princess, sir, you think he's in on it?'
Abby could not press her ear any closer to the wall without pushing herself right through.
'What saved the Princess? Oh I don't recon it was him, son; I'd say it was the witch what was with him what saved our Princess.'
The blood drained form Abby's face and she barely stopped herself from yelping in surprise. He knew?
'She does look a bit witchy, doesn't she, sir?'
'Wise of them not to pipe up in front of the Colonel though; that man is on a vendetta. Still, poor girl deserves more than a feed for her good deed – but that's the way of the kingdom these days, isn't it? Reward those that you are most comfortable rewarding. But that Colonel is a piece of work and no mistake,' the Gov's voice did not reach a whisper, but it did become shallower, underscoring the menace in his words.
Abby could hear her own heartbeat racing away through the pressure of the wood against her ear.
Unfortunately after his most illuminating discussion, the Gov appeared to lose interest in intrigue and began discussing the latest shipment of weapons from the South Islands. Though the rest of the Guards found this a much more engaging topic, Abby quickly became bored.
Soon after, when her whirling thoughts had abated, Abby fell off to sleep. On the edge of sleep, she had one final thought: in the morning it was time to find out what was going on around here.
Abby managed to make it through most of the morning without running into anyone she shouldn't. Martha brought her breakfast and filled her in on the gossip that the servants waiting on last night's dinner had already spread through the kitchens. Apparently Pembrake was proving to be a hot topic on everyone's lips, and Abby was soon party to a whole host of theories. Most of them revolved around the
devilishly handsome Pembrake eloping with the Princess to the anger and resentment of the Captain. Some of them had Pembrake, who was apparently super human in the eyes of the maids, saving the Princess from wild bears and winning the favour of the King only to be killed tragically in a snowstorm. Abby had found most of them, especially the snowstorm theory, to be so wildly fantastical that they could actually possibly happen. For, as Ms Crowthy had once pointed out, it's true what they say about fairytales seeping into the real world. But they seep in, not through reality itself, but through people's minds. Sometimes people find that the fairytale ending to a circumstance is so unbelievably invigorating that that is all they believe in, discuss, and hope for. And what with all that attention, the fairytale ending is bound to pop up.
Abby could just see Pembrake rescuing the Princess from bears and trekking into the mountains, for some ridiculously heroic reason, and succumbing to the weather. Who else could possibly do such a thing?
Dashing heroes like Pembrake are meant to marry the Princess. In no one's mind should they end up with a witch.
What? She didn't just think that, did she? The past was messing with her mind. Abby crossed her arms defensively and continued to listen.
Still, after a time, Abby found the conversation and speculation to be tiring. At first she was keen to talk about Pembrake for some reason, but as Martha's tattle drew on, Abby became weary and withdrawn. Every single theory, whether it was tragic or fantastic, always involved the Princess and Pembrake. The perfect couple, the dashing hero and the beautiful Princess, such was the stuff of fairytales.
There was only so much you could take, Abby assured herself, of bedtime stories and myths. The average person should have a clear saturation point that would help them to avoid obsessing and over-fantasising reality. And Abby had hit that point. So the source of the edged frustration that was fidgeting through her stomach, must be her fatigue with the conversation. It was nothing more, she told herself, than boredom with the fantasies of others.
When it had become clear to Martha that Abby was passively, despondently listening to the conversation, she'd switched topic again, informing Abby of the next exciting news. Apparently there was a ball to be held on the following Friday. It was an annual thing that was held to celebrate some anniversary Martha had never bothered to note. According to gossip, the Princess had demanded Pembrake attend even though her father had been reluctant, because it was widely known the King had lined up several eligible suitors for the night.
Though Abby had heard Martha talk of this ball before, she found the news that Pembrake was definitely going to be totally uninteresting. It seemed exactly like the thing he would do, so why should she be surprised, Abby had thought bitterly.
Though the Ball was barely a week away, the Princess apparently had scheduled all her time, which should have been set aside to meeting her suitors, for spending time with Pembrake. She'd lined up a Royal tour and a picnic and even a carriage ride through the city.
Abby had almost gagged at this, but had instead clung tightly to the sleeves of her dress. Spending a week gadding through the town sounded truly dangerous. What was Pembrake thinking? Every second he spent with the Princess was another moment to ruin the future, didn't he care?
When Martha had realised that even that topic was starting to wear thin with Abby, she'd moved onto a much more boring point, as she'd put it. Apparently, Abby was not invited. Abby had nodded pointedly, to prove that she'd suspected as much, but Martha had just tutted loudly.
But apparently 'not being invited' was code for 'get out of the Palace'. Abby had overstayed her welcome. While Pembrake would be put up in the guest rooms until the Ball had furnished, with the best clothes and service the Palace could offer, Abby would have to leave before lunch.
Abby had tried to brush this off, pretending she had plenty of places to go, but Martha had taken her by the hands, 'you are coming to stay with me and Alfred,' Martha had assured her, 'and I won't be taking no for an answer.'
'Now, it's not that I feel sorry for you,' Martha had said, 'it's that I want Pembrake to know exactly where you are staying, dear; in case he find he needs you.'
Abby had been confused by that comment, but had let it pass. Why should Pembrake even care? Still, it was a good idea; this way, though they would be miles apart, they would still know where one another were. Whether Abby liked it or not, as the witch, it was her duty to ensure both of them made it back to their own time, no matter how hard Pembrake made it for her.
Martha had told Abby to spend the afternoon wandering around the city, but to be back at her house by sundown.
'You don't want to be caught in the city at night, dear, especially near the Cross Roads. I've been hearing strange things recently, so you be back in before it gets dark, you hear?'
Abby had heard, and had nodded her head in firm agreement. Sound advice that. Ms Crowthy had often impressed on her the need not to court trouble. Because, as she'd put it, trouble courts further trouble, and before you know it you've got the whole Trouble family trashing your house and eating all your food.
So Abby had found herself walking the familiar cobbled streets of Bridgestock by lunchtime. The fresh scent of salt in the light breeze and the constant call of the gulls were refreshing after the stuffy Palace. It wasn't done for a witch to be cooped up too long. She needed to see the sky at regular intervals just to convince herself that it was still there.
The sky was beautiful too – a light blue with blobs of fluffy cloud lazily floating on by. Everything was just so pleasant, and it was nice to be alone. Though the further she walked from the Palace and Pembrake, the more she seemed to think of him. Every other thought was of Pembrake. What he was doing and if it would be foolish enough to ruin the future completely. She would need to have a conversation with him about the things she'd learnt and, of course, their mission to return home, but that could wait until after the Ball. She could last a week on her own.
It was not long before Abby became tired of her random ambling, and set herself down on the edge of some steps.
'Well hello, young witch!'
Abby jumped, and turned to see the Gov plodding down the steps behind her. 'I heard you got kicked out of the Palace. I hope you aren't thinking of setting up camp on these stairs, though,' his voice was loud but jovial: even Abby could tell it was a joke.
'No, sir, I'm just resting here before I go on.'
'Of course you are, ma'am. You do have a place to stay, though?' the Gov's eyes, though considerably overhung by his jutting brow, were touched with concern.
'Yes,' she nodded, 'Martha has kindly taken me in.'
'Martha!' the Gov roared, because he seemed incapable of simply speaking, 'she's a good woman and no mistake. But what about that boy you were travelling with, the one what reckoned he saved the Princess? Have you two parted ways?'
Abby ran her top lop through her teeth, unsure of how to answer. She decided it was best to ignore it for the moment. 'So you know that I'm a witch then?' Strangely, she found the notion of being found out as a witch much less confronting than discussing her current situation with Pembrake.
'Oh yes, I've seen enough in my time. You've got a level head between your shoulders and you've got that keen look in your eyes. That, and I don't see how that boy could have caught the Princess without being squished. What with her being a relatively heavy object, and the broom free falling – she would have impacted the ground with what you might call killer force.'
Abby blinked, trying to follow. The Gov, though coming across as real salt of the Earth stuff, obviously had knowledge beyond how to deal, recover from, and dodge a fist to the face. It would be something to do with all that interest in weapons, Abby thought.
'No, that broom must have been slowed somehow. And the only thing what could have slowed that broom is a witch. And look: you is a witch.'
Abby nodded. 'I guess that makes sense.'
'So, what are you going to do about that Pembrake, then? Word is
he's booked in to spend some quality time with the Princess while you walk the streets. He's getting the full deal up at that Palace,' the Gov leaned in conspiratorially, 'we could always expose him, if you want?'
Abby smiled, that sure would burst Pembrake's balloon. 'No, no, I'm fine. It's much better this way. I don't think that Colonel would have been too happy if a witch had saved the Princess. I think he saw what he wanted to – a fairytale hero who would be a perfect distraction to the Princess and the rest of the Palace…' Abby trailed off, aware that she was thinking out loud. Though she was sure, from the conversation she had overheard, that the Gov was not on the side of the Colonel, it was still not a good idea to give too much away.
The Gov did not accuse her of treason, on the contrary, he nodded his head very quickly. 'I said you have a good head on those shoulders, and I wasn't wrong. You witches always know how to give a good bit of advice. That Colonel definitely is up to something, he's a slimy little pleck and I don't mind telling you so,' the Gov narrowed his eyes and appeared to stare at a patch of grass poking through the cobbles, 'but I hadn't thought of it like that – I hadn't thought of him creating a distraction. He was steaming after the incident with the Princess, but then he'd calmed down by the time we'd returned to the Palace. And he ain't denying the Princess her wishes with this Pembrake either – which is odd, let me tell you. Usually he's in there advising the King to throw the Prince and Princess off a cliff, though not in so many words.'
Abby flushed, realising the importance of what she was hearing. So the Colonel was virtually a criminal, distrusted by the Guards and whispering venom in the ear of the King. And now, if the Gov was right, or rather if her random association had been on track – the Colonel was allowing Pembrake to play as a distraction. But a distraction from what? What was the Colonel up to?
'So, like I said before, you not travelling with that Pembrake anymore?'
This time Abby viewed the question from a new angle. 'No. We are still travelling together. But I can't very well go into the Palace to check on him. What if you are right, or I'm right, or we're both right – and the Colonel really is using Pembrake as a distraction? How am I supposed to do anything about it?'
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