In skipping youth, Abby had missed out on several important lessons. Lessons that, if she knew now, would equip her to put Pembrake in the place he deserved. If Abby had spent even half her teenage years doing what she was supposed to, then she wouldn't find that arrogant thug of a man so intriguing. She wouldn't catch glimpses of him as he walked beside her, or have that open-faced honesty after she fought with him.
Charlie knew precisely what was happening, even if Abby was still convincing herself that she hated the very sight of him. Eghh, it was so hard being so right sometimes. He could see what would happen, even if both of them were dumb to the truth.
What a bother it was being a sharp-eared, clear-eyed cat. He may not have the precognition of a witch, but sure as pleck a bit of common sense would suffice in this situation.
So there she was, staring at some strange sky-blue dress with more puffs than a forest fire, her eyes round with interest. He half felt like jumping on her feet and biting some sense in her.
'So,' he settled for a simple startle, 'where exactly have you been, young lady?' She hated it when he called her that; it was the ultimate insult in her books.
Abby took a startled breath and swung her head down to see him sitting right by her feet. Her head must have been firmly in the clouds if she hadn't even noticed the approach of her cat.
'Charlie!' she bent down to pat him, 'I'm so glad to see you!'
'Glad?' he looked up at her slightly flushed face and spoke with a stiff mouth, his whiskers twitching with the movement.
'Of course I am!' she tried to pick him up.
'Of course you are,' he dodged out of her way.
'Oh, Charlie, you can't be upset with me! There's just been so much going on at the moment... there's just been so much on my mind,' she got a certain kind of look in her eyes, a look that if she was half as wise as she'd like to believe, she would have know exactly what it meant.
'Oh really, temporal disturbance getting to you? Can't sleep at night due to worry over how our very presence in the past could alter the nature of time itself?'
'What?' Abby's eyes had drifted back to the dress. 'There's just a lot that has to be done. According to the Gov, I have to get into the Ball – and how am I supposed to do that?' Abby put her thin fingers around her thin wrist and stared back at the dress in the shop window. 'And now it turns out that the Colonel is using Pembrake as some kind of distraction and that the Gov and most of the Guards are against the Colonel and are sure he's up to something. Really, Charlie, there's just so much going on!'
Abby wasn't usually the most eloquent of speakers, but even for her the shopping list of thoughts she was blurting out represented a new low in coherence.
'Thank you for asking,' he wasn't about to ease her headache yet, 'I have been having a wonderful time fending for myself. It has been just great following you around at a distance and watching you getting into ridiculous, childish situations with that buffoon. You are so kind to have wondered about me these last several days, so kind.'
Was that little wince and gulp Abby finally picking up on his disdain?
'Oh, Charlie, I'm so sorry,' she leant down and bunched up her horrible grey skirt in her tight hands, 'things have just been so... different. I just don't know what to think or do at the moment. I mean,' she lowered her voice even though there was no one else on the street, 'I've never been stuck back in time before – I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. I'm just so fraught with worry over changing the timeline! I mean, Charlie, we don't have any destinies anymore, what am I supposed to do? I'm just so confused!'
You would have to be a half-dead crab not to pick up on the subtext in that statement, and a stupid half-dead crab at that. Never been stuck back in time? Or never been stuck in the sights of an allegedly handsome man?
Charlie would play along for now. If she wanted to discuss time, then that's what they would do. 'You could always start by stopping and thinking about what you are doing. I thought Ms Crowthy taught you all she knew about time?'
Abby rocked back on her feet slightly. 'I-'
'I thought she told you over and over again that time was a tricky bugger that was hard as pleck to stuff around with, let alone stuff into a clock.'
'Well she did-'
'I remember she said time was the hardest substance in the universe. It can be pushed, pulled, and contorted. Twisted like twine and tied like rope. Stacked like bricks and carved like stone. It can support civilisations and see them topple to the ground. It can create life and destroy it. What with time being so tough and all, do you really think you can ruin it by a simple bit of time travel?'
Abby opened her mouth, her bottom lip jutting out as it always did when she was racing to catch up to a complex thought.
'But I don't mean time will be ruined, as such..,I just mean that our time will be ruined. That the Bridgestock we know, that the people we have left in the future – that it will all be destroyed. That we will stop it from existing at all!'
'You assume that time has not already accommodated you. Time can see forward, backward, and straight ahead. Do you really think you travelling back in time and poking around a bit has ruined time's plan for the future? Do you really think the most powerful force in the universe would allow a skinny little witch from the future to destroy its plans so easily?' As Charlie berated Abby, he kept an eye on the street to ensure no unsuspecting Bridgestockian came across them arguing about time travel, responsibility, and temporal change.
'But I'm responsible –'
'You're responsible for doing the best you can, with the resources you have, with the time you have. If time has sent you backwards, then it has merely changed the location of the game, not the rules. You are still a witch, you are still Abby – how would you deal with this? What would you do if you were sent back in the past? What would a witch do? Would she allow herself to be paralysed by the fear of destroying the timeline, of creating a world more horrible even than the one that preceded it? Or would she play the same game, and challenge time to create a better place?'
Abby was huffing, her cheeks blotched red and her grey eyes drawn thin. It was clear she didn't like the track of the conversation, but she'd needed to have this discussion ever since getting here. The first thing a smart prepared person would do, or a cat rather, upon going backwards in time would be to discuss the rules of engagement.
Do you try to change the past to make a better future, or do you try to do as little as possible, leaving what shape the future will take up to chance? If the mere presence of his whipping black tail and rakishly smooth fur in the past was enough to change the timeline, then he would be damn sure that the other changes to the future would be ones he approved of.
You act or be acted upon. That is a constant rule no matter where you are. A rule Abby would have to take to heart before she could find a way to take them all home.
'Look, Charlie, I'm trying my best, I really am,' her voice was quiet and distant. She always withdrew when she was thinking hard. She wasn't one to admit that she was wrong, but it was clear Abby was thinking over his words. Even if she did not accept his advise, at least it would force her to think harder about why she was actually here and what she could do. 'I'm just not sure what to do from here.'
He hated himself for thinking this, and he would hate himself even more once he'd said it. But it was the only logical suggestion. 'Find Pembrake and ask him.'
Abby was shocked, her eyes were wide and lips open a crack. She hadn't expected that. 'Pembrake?' the blotches on her cheeks grew redder, 'but why?'
'Because you're both stuck here together. Neither of you are smart enough or capable enough to get home on your own, let alone open a can of sardines without quibbling. So the both of you are going to have to work together.'
There he'd said it.
'But Pembrake is,' her eyes flickered back to that dress. Damn she was easy to read.
'Probably formulating the wrong kind of plan of action as we speak. He needs you, Abby, he n
eeds you to stop him from fathering future time paradoxes and from making an arse out the past. But more than that, he needs you to bring a bit of common sense, or as little as you can bring anyway. Because trust me, Abby, while you've been roaming the streets worried about stepping on the world's most important bug and ruining the future, he's been planning how to fix it all along. And the plan of a muscle-bound, arrogant little pleck of a Commander isn't going to be a pleasant one.'
'You don't think Pembrake would do something to change the timeline?' Abby asked breathily, 'he wouldn't!'
'That's exactly what he'd do. That boy would whack time over the head with a stick and kick it in the shins if he knew it would make a real difference to the future. I may not like the pleck, but at least he knows what he wants and tries to get it.'
Abby tipped her head upwards, her eyes drifting towards where the castle would be behind the houses and shops.
Charlie watched the way her face flicked open a notch, like a door being taken by the wind.
Mentioning Pembrake had taken her back into that dreamy state, even though she'd never admit it. And it wasn't something he was proud of, but it was something that he needed to do.
A cat, especially a witch's cat, should be skilled in many things. Balancing on a broom was one, hissing at ghosts was another. But over the years Charlie had found that he needed another skill in the service of his mistress – manipulation. She would never do what she was told, nor what would be the most sensible thing to do. So Charlie, as the wisest of the pair, would have to shove her in the direction of right until she took the path with her own gusto.
If he came right out and told her that the Colonel was trying to capture a witch and that, what with all the other witches leaving town, it seemed like a great idea to get the pleck out of Bridgestock, she would do the opposite. She always found a way to find herself right in the midst of trouble despite her good intentions.
Tell Abby that the Colonel was after a witch, and she would probably fly a broom right up to him and declare in a happy tone that 'hey, I'm a witch!'. No, if Charlie wanted Abby to be free from the Colonel's dastard trap, then there was only one thing he could do. Get her to Pembrake.
The boy was a buffoon, the boy was a troll, the boy was exquisitely irritating. But he wouldn't let Abby fall to the Colonel, no matter how much of a pleck he was.
Charlie didn't like what he was being forced to do. In an ideal world he would lock Pembrake in a trunk and pretend he'd never existed at all. But Bridgestock of 28 years ago was not an ideal world, and he was being forced to make uncomfortable compromises.
It was lucky really, for everyone else, that Charlie was so very smart and mature.
With the thought of meeting up with Pembrake still swilling around in her head, Charlie suggested to Abby that they head back to Martha and Alfred's to work on a plan for Abby to get into the Ball.
While, on the face of it, going to the Ball seemed like an atrocious plan, it seemed to be the only viable move. Abby was hell bent that they had to go, what with the witches predicting it and the Gov mentioning it also. Walking back into spitting distance of the Colonel was inviting trouble, but at least it would reunite her with Pembrake. And that was the essential part of the plan. Pembrake could mitigate Abby's insane urge to find trouble. Even if they didn't plan on going to the Ball, Abby would find some way of accidentally finding herself there at the fancy of the evil overlord. No, it was better to plan ahead and push Abby towards the single most destructive force she'd ever met – Pembrake Hunter. Around him, Abby just wasn't the same trouble-seeking, unfortunate, drawn girl.
It was at times like this that had Charlie feeling like a shepherd leading his flock.
As they left, Charlie finally allowing Abby to move closer and pet him across the tail, a shadow moved along a side alley. For an allegedly empty street, the shadow moved fast, pointedly, and obviously back in the direction of the palace.
Perhaps Charlie was not as smart as he'd hoped.
Chapter 14
Pembrake found it weird to wake up in a proper bed. It was hard to sleep too, without the gentle sway of the waves. And the air in this room was stifling. Though he had grown up not a stranger to opulence and comfort, his years in the Navy had been a radical change. And now he found himself missing the salty biting air and the ever-present creak of the ship. This bed, four poster and fit for the guest of the King with carved posts and embroidered covers, was so heavy he doubted it would move even in an earthquake. The windows too were so fancy and gilded that it was almost impossible to open them and harder again to get them closed.
It was funny how things changed like that, how you could grow up loving one thing then gradually find that what brings you joy is the complete opposite. But it was true, and now Pembrake found himself longing for the lap of the ocean and the frugality of a voyage.
As he rose to dress, Pembrake's mind slipped right back to what he had been trying very hard not to think about. It had been a week now, and he was still yet to see Abby. Martha had told him that she was safe and staying with them near the coast, and Charlie had reaffirmed this the other day. Still, each day they'd been apart he'd added another ten items on his list of things to tell her.
She was irrational, irascible, foolish, and naïve, but she was the only thing that reminded him of home, and the only person he could trust to help the both of them return to the future. Regardless of all her faults – the fact she was a witch included, which he was still getting used to – Abby did seem genuine. She was honest and painfully proper. She didn't seem to be the kind to have a hidden agenda, no matter how much his distrust of witches told him otherwise.
Because that was the other thing – despite her broom, drab taste in fashion, and at times severe glare – Abby didn't remind Pembrake of a witch at all. Where were the warts and bad temper? Why hadn't she killed him and used his liver to tell her future? Why wasn't she going around rounding up children for her oven?
No matter what stereotype Pembrake could conjure, Abby didn't seem to fit any. Even the Crones that had read their destiny, though confronting and unnerving, didn't seem to be the monsters Pembrake had expected. He was reluctant to trust witches as a whole, but Abby wasn't a threat.
He needed Abby to get home, he reminded himself again, that's why he needed her. That's why he'd looked for her when Princess Annabelle had taken him for a carriage ride through the city; straining his neck out the window and pretending to be fascinated by the architecture. It's why he'd persistently asked Martha how Abby was, not giving her a message to pass on, simply ensuring that Abby was still in the one place and hadn't wandered off to find trouble somewhere. That's why he'd been so gladdened to run into her little devil of a cat. Charlie may have been unhelpful… but he had given Pembrake food for thought.
He needed to see Abby to discuss the next step in their quest to return home, that's why he was dressing so quickly and clumsily, why he'd missed the same button hole three times now. After tonight, after this stupid ball, he should be able to return with Martha and put this whole Palace fiasco behind him. The Princess had asked him to stay for the Ball, and by 'ask' she'd done it in front of the King. And even though every bone in his body had told him it was a bad idea, he'd had to accept; it was a Royal decree of sorts, after all. Plus, the witches had said that being in the Palace was important. He just wished he had the time, and Abby, to explore it with. But the Princess was a massive hindrance to both those conditions.
However, with the Ball out of the way, the Princess would be hard placed to find another reason to make him stay around, and hopefully by then he would have outstayed his welcome anyway.
Pembrake glanced again at the carriage clock ticking away on the mantelpiece. The ball was in several hours and already he could hear the sounds of hustle and bustle trickling in from his open window. He'd asked for the Princess' leave in the afternoon, on the excuse that he understood she needed to prepare for the Ball. For some reason she'd been thrilled, perhaps becaus
e he'd sealed his request with a smile.
He'd wanted some sleep, but he'd barely dozed. He'd stayed up most of last night, fitfully turning, incapable of clearing his mind, trying to resolve the trouble in his head. He so very desperately needed to talk to Abby. There was just so much he needed to say. The Colonel, the Prince, and the witches.
If she already knew, then she hadn't let on. But from the moment he had recognised the Colonel, even under his bustling moustache, the heavy weight of history had settled on Pembrake's shoulders. He had an obligation, that was clear to him; a duty to change what should never have been.
What a rare opportunity being thrown back in time was. He had the chance to change the future for the better. With one swift move he could wipe the pain from Bridgestock in an instant.
At first he'd thought that he and Abby had chosen, if it had been a choice, the very worst destination for their travel through time. The year, the month, the place – it was the origin of the Witch Ban. Unless Pembrake had completely forgotten his history from school, the Witch Ban came into effect after the shocking assassination of Prince Patrick. It had galvanised public opinion against the witches and, according to Pembrake's teacher, had enabled the mist of deception that the witches had cast over Bridgestock to be lifted. When evidence had escaped that the witches of Bridgestock had been planning yet further assassinations, with aims to take the throne – the public had been moved to oust them and take back their city. A defining moment in the history of Bridgestock and the Westlands as a whole.
Pembrake wasn't sure how romanticised that version was, but there did seem to be a grain of truth. Though the witches he'd met seemed to have a greater desire to sit around and drink tea than rule the kingdom, the assassination was fact and the ban itself too. Soon the Prince would die, the witches would be blamed, and the ban imagined.
Abby the Witch Page 20