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.
Chapter 6
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
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.
Chapter 6
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
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