Abby the Witch (34 page)

Abby chocked.
She hadn't been eating, but she'd swallowed so fast she'd somehow
managed to close off her airway.

He looked
concerned and amused at the same time. 'I didn't mean you to choke
like that. Are you alright?'

She swallowed
normally. 'I guess.' That was a lie, she really wasn't. She'd just
bumped into the Prince of all people, in his own castle, and had
had the gumption not to recognise him at all.

'Feeling a
little embarrassed, ha? Don't worry about it. If I'd been dressed
in my finest suit with my official crown and riding my trusty white
stead and you hadn't recognised me, it would have been an
issue. In that situation I would have been forced to throw you into
prison. But as I'm dressed quite plainly I shall reduce my
sentence.'

She hung on
his words waiting for his good mood to end. Not that he seemed like
the kind to suddenly turn angry… but she had just run into the
Prince! 'To…' she played along nervously.

'A cookie
perhaps?'

Abby
blinked.

'Oh, I see you
were expecting something more,' he smacked his lips and appeared to
think, 'two cookies then?'

She laughed
lightly.

'Ah, I see you
find my sentence fitting this time – very well, if you reach behind
you into that tin, you will be able to carry it out yourself.'

'Ah… thank
you.'

A cook bustled
past them both, two great pumpkins squeezed under each arm. He
nodded politely at the Prince, but did not stop to bow or kiss the
Earth. The Prince gave him a small salute in turn.

Well this was
odd. Weren't Princes supposed to demand more respect than a brief
nod? But then again, what kind of a Prince saunters into the
kitchen and holes himself up in a corner eating chocolate icing
from a bowl?

Unlike the
Princess, presumably his sister, this man did not act at all like
royalty. He was laid back and cheerful, not arrogant and
dismissive.

'Tell me,
what's your name, and do you like those cookies?'

Abby took a
thankful bite of one of the chocolate-chip cookies she'd pulled
from the tin. She nodded concertedly; they were very delicious
indeed. 'Abby,' she managed through a mouthful.

'Oh yes, and
what are you doing in my kitchen, Abby?'

His tone had
not changed, nor had the small friendly smile shifted from his
face. It seemed like he meant it to be an ordinary question, but
the fear rose through Abby's gut like steam.

'I... I...'
she took a huge gulp like a floundering fish, 'I'm here because...'
what was she supposed to say? She could hardly tell the truth, what
if that got Martha in trouble? But what exactly was she going to
say if she did not tell the truth?

The Prince was
looking at her with a tilt to his head, amusement not far from his
eyes. 'It's okay, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm not suggesting
that you came here by unsavoury means. I was simply,' the Prince
looked sideways for a moment as if he were trying to remember some
half-forgotten lesson, 'trying to engage in civil
conversation.'

She smiled
despite her nerves, but was no closer to coming to a conclusion.
What could she tell him?

But no sooner
had the question began to wrap itself around her stomach, had
Martha trotted along to save the day. 'There you are, Abby!' Martha
dodged past two chefs who appeared to be arguing over cheese, and
made her way to the corner of the kitchen.

'Martha,' said
the Prince warmly.

'Pat,' she
nodded, 'what you doing in that icing then? It's quarter-past-nine
in the morning! This ain't no time for chocolate icing!'

The Prince
looked like a cheeky child trying very hard to swallow his grin.
'Well she ate biscuits,' he pointed to her.

Abby
froze.

'Granted
because I told her to,' the Prince clarified, 'but the crime still
remains. If you are going to imprison me for my sweet tooth, then
it only seems fair to drag Abby along too.'

Martha crossed
her arms and shook her head. 'What am I going to do with you
then?'

'Leave me to
run the kingdom and usher in a new era of peace and harmony,' the
Prince spread his free arm wide, 'with a pastry shop on every
corner?'

Martha tsked.
She finally turned to Abby. 'I see you've met the Prince then. Not
like the rest of his family this one,' Martha gestured to the
Prince with one shoulder.

'I shall take
that as the very best of compliments,' the Prince went back to
licking his spoon. 'So this Abby must be the guest you were talking
to me about then, Martha?'

'That'd be
her. Not many other Abbys staying in the servant's quarters at the
moment.'

'Ah indeed.
Well, Abby, it is a pleasure to meet you – again.'

'Ah, yeah. I
mean, yes, your highness.'

Both Martha
and the Princes laughed at this.

'Don't you be
putting ideas into his head ,Abby,' Martha tsked again, 'that boy
don't be needing someone telling him he's higher than other
people.'

'Well I am
taller than you, Martha.'

The tattle
between Martha and the Prince drew on for a while. Abby found it
quite heartening, especially after her rocky night.

After a while
the Prince finished off the icing in his bowl, patted his belly,
and offered Abby a tour around the Palace. Martha, who wouldn't be
finished in the kitchens until the afternoon, thought it was a
wonderful plan, and shooed them out the door with a bag of cookies
to sweeten the deal.

Abby quite
enjoyed the company of the Prince. He seemed the most normal person
she had met in the past.

Whether it was
from her poor night's sleep, or from only eating cookies for
breakfast, or the residual confusion over her dealings with
Pembrake – it took Abby a while to remember something important.
Something very important indeed.

Prince Patrick
was to be assassinated.

~~~

He had woken
up early. There had been no point in lying in bed for longer. As
soon as he'd opened his eyes, his mind had begun racing.

Pembrake had
pushed himself out of bed and dressed quickly. There was much to
plan and so much more to do.

But where to
begin?

He was alone
on this one. There was no one he could rely on except for himself.
It was clear that Abby wanted nothing to do with it, so he could
not drag her into this business against her will.

It was up to
him, and him alone, to kill the Colonel.

Pembrake would
have to stake out the man, assess the security that protected him,
and identify any weaknesses could be exploited. Within the Palace,
surely, there would be less security, and what forces that were
dispatched within the Palace walls, would be more attuned to the
protection of the Royal family.

Shouldn't this
be easy?

Having direct,
inconspicuous access to the Palace was the key to Pembrake's plan.
No one would expect an attack from within. All he had to do was
stake out the Colonel's movements and decide on the correct time
and place to do the deed.

It would be
simple.

He would steel
himself, he would control his fear and guilt. This was the only act
that would decisively change the future.

Pembrake would
do it.

All that
morning, Pembrake planned, assessed and watched.

~~~

Charlie was
sunning himself on the Palace wall. It really did get a good ray of
sun and the stone was just perfectly wide enough to stretch out
on.

He would spend
the whole morning up here. He would ignore the birds and trees and
grass, and simply sleep through the day. For nature, on this
supposedly peaceful morning, was being downright rowdy.

There was
something on the wind: it was racing through the leaves of every
tree, rattling the bows and shaking the branches. It was low and
sharp – a strange note of caution. It was as if Mother Nature
herself was warning the world that something was afoot.

It was not
cold or urgent enough to completely block out the warming light of
the sun, though it did crackle annoyingly along the ends of his
whiskers.

The birds were
picking up on it too – flying around squawking like the sky was
going to fall in or something. And a pair of rabbits had just run
for their burrows shouting something about the apocalypse.

Charlie forced
out a purr and pressed his eyes shut. The apocalypse? Stupid
plecking rabbits. The world would not end on such a fine morning.
Yes, there was a warning in the air, but that was more of a general
note of caution than a prelude to the earth splitting up into a
burning ball of death.

Still, it was
annoying, Charlie admitted with a sigh. All he wanted was to sit
here and sleep, but it seemed that nature had other plans for him.
Mother Nature wanted him to jump up and go and do something useful.
She wanted him to race around and save the day as usual. Above all,
she wanted him to warn Abby.

A witch's cat
has many tasks assigned to them. While a witch may be responsible
for more of the mundane activities of magic like flying brooms and
having visions, the real workings of wonder came down to her cat.
Cats were attuned to the natural world. They could sense and
interact with it much more than a witch. They were like a door into
the realms of nature, giving their mistress access to the vast
reality of the animal and plant kingdoms. While a witch reads tea
leaves and the haze of a crystal ball, a cat can read the weather,
understand the movement of animals, and ask a passing bird what the
pleck was going on.

And right now
Charlie was getting his fair share of warnings from nature. Nature
was ganging up on him and hassling him something rotten.

With a sleepy
stretch Charlie sat up.

He did have a
lot to do, didn't he? He still had not warned Abby about the
Colonel's plans, though he was still certain that it was not the
best thing to do.

At that very
moment a friendly face chose to walk past. Pembrake, looking more
mutinous than a deckhand deprived of rum and dry biscuits, was
walking off along the grounds. Wherever he was headed, Charlie
could not tell, but by the devilish look on Pembrake's face, the
boy was planning to break something or someone.

Charlie
bounded off the wall.

Was this a
good time to tell Pembrake that the Colonel was looking for a
scapegoat witch?

Would there be
a better time?

Charlie had to
run, in the end, to catch up to the stalking Commander. He
eventually skidded to a halt just in front of Pembrake's stamping
boots and gave a little hiss lest the troll feel the need to stamp
on him.

Pembrake
looked annoyed. 'What are you doing here?' he said quietly with a
quick look over his shoulder to ensure that no one was around.

'I could ask
you the same question. I was sunning myself on the wall – which is
a perfectly respectable past time for a cat. You, on the other
hand, seem to be stalking across the grounds looking for someone to
kill, and I'm not sure how respectable that is really.'

Pembrake
twitched at his words. 'Get lost, Charlie, I'm busy.'

'Wow, aren't
you the most polite of boys? I wouldn't have thought you'd be so
rude to me, what with me having such an important morsel of
information to share.'

Pembrake's
narrowed eyes blinked. 'What are you talking about? What could you
possibly know?'

Well wasn't
this troll being rude today? Charlie sat back on his hind legs,
trying to look as obviously affronted as was possible for a cat.
'Well, I'll have you know that unlike you, Pembrake, I go
everywhere and see everything. Rather than run around like a
headless pleck, falling from problem to problem, I strut along the
rooftops of the city watching as everyone plays out their secrets.
What don't I know, Pembrake, what don't I know?'

Judging by the
sallow, flared-nostril look Pembrake was offering in response, he
didn't care for Charlie's tone. 'I don't have time for this. Either
tell me what you know or get out of my way.'

Rude! The
troll needed a good biting clearly. What Abby saw in him, Charlie
couldn't even begin to guess. 'Well, I don't know why I'm going to
tell you this, but it seemed a better idea than telling Abby.'

Pembrake
didn't shift, though he did appear to flinch at the mention of her
name. 'What, Charlie? What couldn't you tell her?'

'Well, I was
sunning myself on a wall the other day when I happened to see two
birds flying past-'

'Charlie, what
the pleck is it already?'

'Alright! The
other witches have left town. Something about the Head Crone having
learnt that the Colonel is up to something and needs a witch for
it. I don't know what the plan is exactly, but I'm guessing it
ain't pretty.'

Pembrake's
expression hadn't changed much, which was worrying. If anything, it
had grown slightly warmer, as if his circulation had ramped up a
bit. Shouldn't he be marching off to grab Abby and get her the
pleck out of here?

Shouldn't he
be doing something other than standing here?

'Thank you for
the information.' With that Pembrake pushed off along the grass
again, looking even more determined than he had before.

Charlie felt
like clutching a paw to his churning stomach. Is this what regret
felt like?

~~~

The Princes'
tour had been fun. He was quite possibly the most genuinely nice
man Abby had met. He was honest, funny, and warm... but he was also
about to die.

And that
thought had never been far from Abby's mind as she'd followed him
around. This man, if he had lived, would have ushered in an age of
peace in Bridgestock, surely. But no, history would dictate that
his death would bring about the Witch Ban and the moral death of
this city.