Abby the Witch (11 page)

Pushing
through with all her witchly importance gathered around her like a
ram, Abby eventually made it through a wall of burly men who had
gathered before a fish monger and were haggling over the price of
one the ugliest fish Abby had ever seen.

Finally, her
cheeks flushed with the effort and her forehead sticky with sweat,
Abby reached the statue, or rather where the statue should have
been.

What was in
fact there was a bell set between two huge iron polls. And standing
next to it, staring up at the structure, the corners of his mouth
pulled thin, was Pembrake.

Abby marched
right up to him, her headache making her head swim, but her anger
at Pembrake's sheer irrationality, pushing her forward like a
sprinting lioness. Charlie gave an encouraging hiss to back up her
general mood.

He'd thrown
away her broom, lied to Martha about saving her, run off into the
past looking for a ship that wouldn't be built for another 20
years, and let's face it, he was rude to his mother. Abby had every
reason to be annoyed with Pembrake Hunter.

'So,' she came
up behind him and fell just short of jabbing him hard in the ribs
as Ms Crowthy would have done, 'do you believe me now, or
what?'

Pembrake
reached out a large hand and touched the tarnished surface of the
bell, apparently ignoring her.

'Do you
honestly think I have the power to send us back in time? Or control
people like Martha and Alfred – to make them trick you? I mean,
what would be the point?'

Pembrake
finally turned to her, and she could see that her words were
registering. There was a distinctly annoyed curl to his lips. 'What
are you doing here?'

'What am I
doing here?' she paused for effect, or rather to allow her addled
brain to catch up to her whip-crack tongue. 'I'm here to stop you
from making a huge mistake-'

'I told you to
leave me alone, witch,' Pembrake raised his voice slightly,
his eyes dark with warning.

Abby flinched,
expecting his words to echo through the crowd like the ring of the
giant bell beside them… except nothing happened. No one turned
around and called for the Guards, there was no hastily-assembled
mob to chase her from the town, or group of farmers with pointy
pitch forks ready to push her into a cave somewhere.

'How dare you.
I save your life and this is the thanks I get?'

Pembrake stood
silently watching her with his head cocked to the side, arms flexed
across his middle. 'You saved me-'

'Yes, I saved
you. I found your mother on the verge of tears, frantic with fear
that something might happen to you. Then I flew through that
godforsaken storm until I found you sinking into the ocean like a
lump of coal. I plucked your from the sea and got you to that cliff
– that was me, Pembrake. And this is the thanks I get.
Useless, baseless prejudice, you –' Abby cast around for the
correct word, 'hypocrite.'

Pembrake was
pale, either from the mention of his mother or from her accusation
that he of all people should understand the hypocrisy of prejudice.
'You're a witch,' he repeated the words, his voice unsure, but his
face still locked with dark menace.

'Yes I'm a
witch,' Abby virtually shouted, 'and you're an idiot. I think we're
even.'

An old woman
who had paused by the bell to sort out her purchases looked up with
interest. 'A new witch in the city! Oh well, isn't that good news!'
She nodded appreciatively at Abby. 'You'll be going to go and see
the Crone, I'm sure. I've heard she's been seeking out new recruits
ever since that business with the Colonel. And you look as if you
know your trade sure enough,' the old woman nodded again then
twisted her head into a shake when she looked at Pembrake, 'and
you, young man, should learn to show proper respect around
witches.'

'I-' the edge
of Pembrake's anger dissipated and he looked at the meddling old
woman with confusion.

'You should be
learning your place. You don't go harassing witches around these
parts, me lad, not if you know your proper place.' The woman took a
moment to glare at him from under her thick woollen hat and then
muddled off, her packages held awkwardly between her spindly
arms.

Pembrake
turned back to Abby and shook his head slightly. 'Don't think this
changes anything.'

'No, of course
not, why should a little thing like public opinion influence
someone like you.'

'And what does
that mean?'

'It means that
before this morning you'd never met me, Pembrake, well not properly
anyway. Then, when you found out I was a witch, you had sufficient
reason to blame all your problems on me and treat me like some kind
of wasp. Just because you have seen other people do it, just
because to the rest of society I am a convenient scapegoat. I bet
I'm the only witch you've ever met.'

Pembrake
narrowed his eyes but didn't interrupt her.

'But now we're
in the past, suddenly it's okay to like witches again. Suddenly
it's okay to treat us like actual people. So if you allowed
yourself to be so swayed by public opinion in the future, what the
hell is stopping you now?' Abby finished her sentence hotly, not
really knowing if it made any sense, or if the argument that had
been bubbling away in her head could convince even the stupidest of
Naval Commanders, but she still felt the tingle of victory at
having said her piece.

Pembrake faced
her but did not look at her fully, instead allowing his eyes to
settle on the bell beside them. 'So what if you're right…' his
voice was quiet, 'and we are back in the past… what does that even
mean?'

'It means we
have to try to get home before we get stuck here for good,' she
scaled back her anger, not wanting to scare off the flicker of
reason she saw in his eyes.

'How did we
even get here though?'

'The storm…
there was something different about it, the way those clouds were
circling above you – I've never seen anything like that
before.'

Pembrake
seemed to frown at a memory, his eyes moving around gently as if
tracking some mental ghost, 'I see.'

She was pretty
sure he didn't see, but wasn't about to tell him during this random
break in his irrational petulance. 'Okay.'

The small
muscles around Pembrake's forehead moved slightly as if he were
trying not to frown. 'So what do we do now?' he asked
eventually.

Abby was
surprised at his sudden change in allegiances. So was this him
trusting her now? Or was this some kind of prelude to another
fight? She decided to play it safe. 'I guess we find out…' Abby
found herself staring at the bell too, not sure, when pressed, what
it was that you did when you were stuck back in time. Try and get
home again was an easy one to figure out, but how exactly
was she supposed to do that? 'I guess we look for…
information?'

Though it was
clear he still hadn't forgiven her for whatever transgression he
blamed her for, he smiled wanly. 'Good plan.'

Abby bit into
her lips and returned the wan smile with, she hoped, friendly
hostility.

'We could,'
Pembrake pulled on his too-small shirt, trying to make it stretch
further over his shoulders, 'go and ask someone.'

'That's your
plan,' Abby chuckled sharply, 'good plan. Let's go and ask someone
in the past how it is that you get back into the future. Do you
know what the inside of a prison cell looks like, Pembrake? Because
I'm pretty sure that's where they'll stick us if we go around
spreading crazy stories.'

'They don't
take you to prison for being insane, they take you to an asylum.
And yes, it is a good plan, because what other option do we have?
You said yourself that the storm was strange, that the break in the
clouds was the likely cause of our current temporal
displacement-'

Abby frowned
at his easy transition into scientific language, another reason to
hate him she was sure.

'So why don't
we go and ask if it's ever happened before? If something as benign
as a storm with unusual meteorological phenomenon can send you
skipping back in time, then don't you think we might not have been
the only people to succumb to it?'

Abby tried to
follow his words through the dull thump of her headache. He was
annoyingly arrogant, how on Earth was he Mrs Hunter's son?

Pembrake was
looking at her expectantly, obviously waiting her for 'oh of
course, you are so smart'.

'Hmmm,' was
all she could manage.

'I mean,
because it doesn't seem to be so hard to go back in time, don't you
think it's happened before? And if it has happened before, there
may well be someone in this city who knows something about it, who
can help us out.'

Was he
deliberately using small words so her apparently small mind could
catch up? Gah! Who did he think she was? 'Yes, Pembrake, I
understood you the first time,' she lied, 'but we can't very well
just go around asking people if they've ever gone back in time, and
if they have, could they possible give us some pointers on how you
get back home again. They'll think we're crazy!'

Pembrake gave
her a look that quite obviously said people would already think she
was crazy, then rolled his eyes in exasperation. 'I wasn't
suggesting we go up and ask the fishmonger for his theories on
temporal displacement. I was thinking more along the lines of
a witch actually.'

She stared at
him. He always said that word with dripping resentment, and it made
her want to pull his eyes out. She didn't go around saying Naval
Commander like it was the scummiest, dirtiest insult to ever reach
the back streets of Bridgestock. 'And how are we.…'

Ms Crowthy had
always told her that the best scientist was the one who never
bothered to experiment or run around plucking new theories out of
the ether like they were daisies from the paddock. The best
scientist was the farmer tending his livestock or the wanderer
bracing the storm – people stuck into doing what they were doing
without trying to abstract any thought from it tended to do a darn
good job. You need someone practical if you want a solution, Ms
Crowthy had always said, not someone who stares at their books all
day and looks for new ways of making powder go bang.

Abby hadn't
been quite convinced, sure that there was room enough for both
kinds of people in this world. But as she stared at her feet,
mulling over Pembrake's suggestion, she knew that both he and Ms
Crowthy had been right. When you are really stuck on a problem, the
best place you can head is somewhere where you'll get a strong cup
of tea and an even stronger clap around the ears. And a witch could
give them both.

'Are you
dumbstruck with the brilliance of my suggestion?' Pembrake raised a
scornful eyebrow and shook his head at her silence.

'Okay, okay,'
she couldn't take anymore of his smug face, 'we will go and see a
witch. Good suggestion, Pembrake!' she faked a smile.

'You witches
sure are stupid creatures,' his voice wasn't pumped full of anger
like before, but his words were still delivered with the same
scorn. 'I hope whoever we find is more helpful than you.' Pembrake
pulled on his shirt one final time and brushed past her.

Was that a
smile on his lips? Because he wouldn't be smiling when she was
through with him.

Abby marched
off after Pembrake, sure that past would not mind too much if the
side of his head had an accident with the palm of her hand.

They had
walked through the market until they'd reached the relatively quiet
side streets, Abby several steps behind Pembrake, so she didn't
have to run into the back of him every time he stopped suddenly to
let some lady walk in front of them. She'd caught the end of a
couple of the dazzling smiles he flicked the young girls, and it
made her sick to her stomach. Was Pembrake really that stupid to
charm the women of 28 years ago? Fast forward to the present, she
felt like shouting to the back of his head, and they'd be old
enough to be your mother.

By the time
the crowd pushing past them had thinned to the occasional sailor
marching to the port, or plainly-dressed middle aged woman bustling
along with her arms full of groceries, Abby was sure she knew
exactly the kind of guy Pembrake Hunter was. She was also sure that
if Ms Crowthy were present to the see the rakish wink he offered a
passing portly, middle-aged woman, the old Crone would whack him
over the head with her broom.

Boys like
Pembrake kept the rest of the world blushing when it should be busy
going about its daily business. But Abby was immune; she could see
through the handsome strong sailor to the total fool
underneath.

'If you frown
anymore, you're going to give yourself wrinkles.' She looked up to
see him walking beside her, green eyes centred on her mouth. 'And
trust me,' he continued, 'a girl like you doesn't need
wrinkles.'

What a total
and complete pleck. 'And if you keep smiling at all the young
girls, the next thing you know you'll be your own father.' She
turned her face to the side, trying to stop him from staring with
those horribly piercing green eyes.

'You think I
don't know what my mother looked like 28 years ago? Plus, there's
no harm done in making friends.'

'Making
friends? You call winking at every woman you see in the street
making friends? How do you think their husbands feel, ha? How do
you think your mother would feel?'

'Firstly stop
bringing my mother into this, and secondly, it doesn't matter,
Abby; it's only a harmless wink,' he said her name with the kind of
off-the-cuff officious tone a teacher would use on a student. It
was obvious he felt like he had to teach the naive Abby a thing or
two about the workings of life.

Abby was
livid. What a complete and total plecking idiot he was! And for
someone who never felt the need to swear, screaming obscenities in
her head at him was like slapping him fitfully with a white glove.
'Oh really? Is that how it works, Mr Commander?'