Chapter thirty-one

The Anchor, Fanemouth

 

Tom walked back to the bar with the empty glass.

‘He’s getting used to it’ said Kathleen.

Bronwyn still felt ragged but was rallying.  This was the first time that she’d left Neman since Jacantha had come back and she felt relieved to be away.

’Must be tough for him, though’ she said, ‘his pub full of conspiring witches...’

Kathleen frowned.

‘Who says we’re conspiring?’

‘You did, when you sent me a message to come and meet you here alone and to tell no-one...’

Kathleen shook her head, but it wasn’t very convincing.

‘Just a precaution’ she whispered. She couldn’t help but sweep her gaze round the bar, like a theatrical spy.

Bronwyn laughed, despite herself.

‘I’m not sure you’d be a very good conspirator, anyway, Katy; you’re not the best person I’ve ever met at hiding her feelings...’ she paused for a second, wondering if that was rude, and then added ‘...but that’s mostly a good thing...’

Kathleen narrowed her eyes and sipped her latest pint.

‘Are you discounting my bouts of kelemeia and drunkenness?’ she asked

To Bronwyn both these states seemed rather exciting – she’d never experienced either. Her white wine remained almost untouched on the table in front of her.

‘Which of those states are you in now, then?’ she asked.

Kathleen’s flashed a look at her.

‘Neither’ she said, ‘anyway, sorry that I said that – this isn’t really a joke – this is important’

Bronwyn tilted her head to say ‘I’m listening...’

Kathleen looked around again. She seemed a little embarrassed.

‘What are you looking for?’ Bronwyn asked, intrigued.

‘Not “what”  but “who”...’

Bronwyn was a patient person and she knew her friend very well. Kathleen was essentially bonkers.

‘Who are we waiting for, then?’ she asked, gently

‘I can’t really tell you...’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the person asked me not to tell you before the person turned up...’

‘And?’

‘Well, it’s a bit irritating that the person hasn’t turned up...’

Bronwyn was beginning to get bored. She sipped her wine.

‘It’s a good thing that I can make a drink last a long time...’

Kathleen was already halfway through her third pint. Tom came wandering back to their table.

‘She’s got hollow legs’ he said, proudly.

Bronwyn was taken aback.

‘That sounds painful’

Tom stared at her. Kathleen hurried to explain.

‘He means that I can drink more than you’d expect...’

‘Given her size...’ grinned Tom

Bronwyn felt like she had lived the most sheltered life of anyone in the country. Maybe she had. Neman wasn’t exactly the centre of things.

She spotted someone out of the corner of her eye. She shouted out.

‘Oh look – it’s Owen! What a coincidence!’

She stood up and waved to him.  Owen didn’t look particularly pleased.

‘Not so loud’ whispered Kathleen, shooing Tom away. He took his grin with him and settled down to talk to a gaggle of fishermen on a far table. The bar staff carried drinks to and fro.

‘We’re waiting for Owen? Why didn’t you say so?’

Bronwyn stood up to embrace him. He hugged her and then turned to Kathleen, who waved vaguely at him. He looked contrite.

‘Sorry I’m late’ he said softly, ‘I lost track of time...’

‘So you should be...’ said Kathleen, half-seriously, ‘after all, this is your idea...;

The cogs in Bronwyn’s brain finally slipped into gear.

‘Oh’ she blurted out, ‘we’re the conspiracy: Owen and you and me’

Kathleen looked up as if the pub were about to go suddenly quiet. No-one stopped yapping – the tide of din continued to wash over their table, diffuse but covering up completely their whispered conversation. She looked mildly disappointed.

Owen ignored the noise and Kathleen’s strange behaviour. He got straight to the point.

‘I need your help, Bron, to find Celia’ he said, in a normal voice.

Bronwyn had been expecting something a bit more secretive. She couldn’t think of useful anything to say.

‘Well, yes, of course – we’re all very willing to help...’   

‘Owen means something more specific’ said Kathleen

Bronwyn felt her skin prickle. She had a twinge of worry; what could they want her to do?

‘Yes, I do’ said Owen, gravely, ‘I need you to distract your sister for about half-an-hour’

Bronwyn frowned.

‘Distract her? What do you mean?’

Kathleen gulped at her pint.

‘Tell her, Owen, while I get you a drink...’

Bronwyn assumed that she got as many free drinks as she wanted now, which wouldn’t be much use to her, but was obviously a boon to Kathleen.  

Kathleen wandered off to the bar. Owen, whose dark features often made him look brooding, appeared, for once, actually to be brooding.

‘I’ve seen Gwyneth’s font’ he said

Bronwyn’s heart jumped. That was the last thing she was expecting.

‘No!’ she exclaimed , ’how did that happen?’

‘John told me about it’

Bronwyn felt a wave of shame overcome her. I shouldn’t have allowed her to create it.

‘How did he know about it?’

‘Gwyn showed him when we were under attack’

Bronwyn wasn’t really listening to his answer; she had already gone somewhere else in her mind.

‘I’m not willing to have anything to do with it...’ she said

Owen had to trace this new course.

‘I know’ he said, nodding his agreement, ‘none of us are. I’m only doing it to try to get Celia back’

Bronwyn was startled by this. She would be willing to do almost anything to get her back, too.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, feeling her determination not to get involved weaken a little.

‘John said that he thought it might be possible to extract some sort of trace signal from Celia’s patch of colour in the font’

Bronwyn looked blank.

‘I’ve never seen the font’ she explained. Owen looked surprised. ‘I didn’t want to see it – and Gwyn is very strange about it... Just thinking about it disturbs me’

For some unexplained reason tears began to well up in her eyes. She felt so fragile, and now people were making new demands on her. Owen reached over and held her hand.

‘I have to try this’ he said, ‘I know that Celia is back in this world and if I can get a recent trace then I may be able to blink to her’

Bronwyn ignored this for a second, and returned to something that had really disturbed her.

‘John told you...’ she said, ‘...he really shouldn’t have. Gwyn will be furious when she finds out’

‘Then we won’t let her find out’ said Kathleen, returning with a double whiskey and a big cob loaf of bread. Owen let go of Bronwyn’s hand.

Owen took the whiskey and held it in his hand without drinking it. Kathleen began to munch on the bread. Every now and then she was distracted by the sound of laughter from the gaggle of men around Tom. She couldn’t hear him but she knew what sort of jokes he was telling – the kind that no longer made her blush. She loved that he was so good at his job.  

‘There’s why we need you’ Owen said to Bronwyn, ‘Katy and I will sneak down to the font. All you have to do is find some excuse to take Gwyn somewhere out of the way for half-an-hour or so...’

Bronwyn felt entirely torn – between her loyalty to the coven, her loyalty to her sister, and her loyalty to her friends.  She shook her head slowly, from side to side.

‘No, no... Please don’t involve me in this; I have enough to worry about. And I’m not the right person to trust with something like this at the moment’

‘But it has to be you’ said Owen, pressing her, ‘you’re the only person she completely trusts’

‘Until I do this’ muttered Bronwyn, ‘then she’ll trust no-one’

‘She’ll never know’ said Kathleen, ‘all we need is to see if we can extract the trace from Celia’s essence’

Bronwyn felt backed into a corner and she was determined not to give in.

‘I won’t do it, and you should never have asked me to. It’s not safe and you might damage the font or yourselves. It’s madness and it may not even work. I wouldn’t do it for all the elfrounds in the Emperor’s mint’

‘Do it for love then’ whispered Kathleen, absentmindedly. She was staring down the room at her own love, who was now listening intently to some long-winded story of the sea. ‘Do it for Celia and Owen. Look at him – he’s heartbroken’

Owen looked away, embarrassed. Bronwyn had no intention of examining his emotions anyway.

‘For love?’ she snapped back at Kathleen, ‘why would I do anything for love? All that love is to me is people leaving me or being taken from me... How do you know it won’t be the same for both of you? The beginnings are easy but it will get harder, I promise you. And eventually – even the hardest places crash down into smoke and ash’

Owen nodded solemnly at her.

‘Don’t fret Bron, I know that that is true; I’m no love-stricken youth’

Kathleen’s face crumpled.

‘I’m sorry’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. And I know that you...’

She stopped abruptly; Bronwyn was grateful that she did. She had no desire to talk about specifics.  There was a heavy silence, during which the happy din around them engulfed them.

‘Things are simpler than yearnings for love’ Owen said, calmly, ‘without Celia we will fail. Without her we will not defeat our enemies’

‘You know that’s true’ said Kathleen, softly.

Bronwyn weighed all this in her mind, but she knew there was no escape. And also in the back of her mind a petty thought was rising – if Celia comes back then maybe Jac will go away again. Maybe everything will go back to how it was.

‘I’ll do it’ she said, finally, ‘but not for friendship, not for Celia and definitely not for love...’

‘Why then?’ asked Owen

‘For the coven’ she said, ‘what other reason would I have to do anything?’

Owen and Kathleen both sighed with relief. Owen finally put the whiskey glass to his lips. But Bronwyn hadn’t finished with them.

‘However, I am not happy with this at all’ she said, her voice unusually steely, ‘and I have a price for my co-operation’

Owen put the glass down again, the spirit still undrunk. He looked up at her. His eyes fully acknowledged this debt. Bronwyn knew that despair had driven him to this extreme action, and she knew all about despair.

‘Of course’ he said, ‘name your price’

Bronwyn swallowed – this was a hard thing to ask but it had to be done.

‘I need you to help me find my son’