George, who had drunk the least of all
of them, was dressed and downstairs first. The bar staff were all gone but they
had left a wide selection of food for breakfast. He pottered around smiling
quietly to himself, found the largest teapot in the pub kitchen and made a huge
pot of tea. He then began to fry up some
bacon and eggs.
‘You still have the
stamina then, John’ he said without turning round. John laughed as he walked
into the kitchen. The purple shirt had gone to be replaced by a rather short
white dressing gown.
‘That’s a good trick,
Papa George’
The older witch
turned towards him.
‘How to attract a
greedy witch – fry some bacon’
John sat down at the
wide kitchen table. He savoured the smell.
‘It’s true – although
‘greedy’ seems a bit harsh’
‘Would you prefer
‘voracious’?’
‘Not really – that
sounds rather risqué…’
George grinned. ‘Well,
you always were that too, of course…’
George flipped a
rasher of bacon. John poured two mugs of tea and then cut some slices of bread.
Outside, the sun had been up for a long time.
‘I don’t suppose
we’ll see the two couples this side of lunch, will we?’ said John
‘I hope not’ murmured
George, ‘in fact we might well not see Owen and Celia for several weeks…’
‘Thank the gods for
that – them, I mean. Things looked very bad for a while, but it looks like it’s
worked out very well. They belong together’
George nodded. There
were now two cooked breakfasts on plates and he took them to the table, passed
one to John and then sat down himself.
‘If you’re so
romantic, my president, why haven’t you found anyone yet?’
John frowned. The shape
of his breakfast had suddenly become very interesting indeed.
‘For the same reason
that you live on an island with thirteen cats… lack of candidates and
circumstance. Do we have to have this conversation every time that we meet?’
George was patient
but insistent.
‘I thought we agreed
that you should try to do things differently’
A brief flurry of
irritation blew across John’s face.
‘Well, I will, but
no-one has turned up yet, and so the opportunity hasn’t arisen’
‘You live in Kinspit
– surely your amatory preferences are no problem there…’.
‘Of course they’re
not, but I haven’t met anyone. When I do I shall have a banner made with his
name on it and I will parade through the streets waving it, but until then the
point is moot’
George smiled sadly.
He touched John’s arm for a moment.
‘Just don’t make the
mistakes that I made. Thirty years is a long time to have to hide the fact that
you loved someone’
‘I know… And I
sympathise, of course I do… But at least you had someone for all that time even
if you had to pretend that you didn’t…’
Bronwyn tottered into
the room. She seemed to find each step forward rather painful and was holding
on to her head. The two men looked at each other and sniggered. George
reproached her.
‘Miss Preece, do you
have a hangover?’
‘Well that’s a first’
laughed John
Bronwyn looked mildly
affronted.
‘No it’s not – I have
been tipsy before, I’m sure of it… And I’m not really hung over now… I’m sure…
well, I think ’
‘Shall we make you
some bacon and eggs then?’ asked John, ‘I can fry them in a big lump of lard…’
Bronwyn made a face. ‘Actually,
I’m not really very hungry’
‘Have some tea, then’
suggested George, gently steering her into a seat.
‘It’s the first time
I’ve seen you sing folk songs so loudly, too, Bron’ said John, ‘while dancing...’
Bronwyn glared at
him. She wasn’t certain if that was meant as a joke and she didn’t want to find
out.
They sat eating and
drinking, and talking about the coven.
George made another pot of tea; Bronwyn sat nursing her headache. They
began to emerge from the afterglow of the party.
‘So, is Celia quite
well now?’ asked George
‘I’m not sure’ said
Bronwyn, ‘but she must at least be feeling a lot better today’
John was sure that
this must be so, but the urgency of the threat that Celia had articulated was
beginning to prey on his mind. One more slice of toast and he’d have to go and
whisk them back to Neman and safety. He could explain the details to everyone
later.
‘She’s a very strong
witch’ murmured George, ‘I’ve never seen a stronger one. To confront Kratos and
come out on top – absolutely extraordinary…’
‘I know’ said John,
feeling the need to act growing. Sometimes after something wonderful had
happened it was best to get away and start on something else, just in case.
Stephen strode
through the kitchen doorway dressed in an old tweed jacket and trousers and a
scarf.
‘It’s still a little
chilly out there’ he said, ‘but a bracing walk around the harbour is always a
good start to the day’
The others, who had
been tucking into their fried breakfast and who were all dressed in their night
clothes, murmured their support for sea air and exercise. George laughed, but
it was a friendly laugh.
‘You’ll have worked
up an appetite then, old warhorse?’
Stephen looked down
at the sad yellow stains of fried eggs and long worms of bacon rind sitting on
the plates. He shook his head.
‘I’ll have some tea
and toast’
George found an extra
seat and placed it next to his by the long kitchen table. He gestured for
Stephen to sit down and then began slicing the bread. Stephen made noises that
might have been implying that George shouldn’t put himself out, but he didn’t
actually move to help him. Soon Stephen was buttering some thick toast and he and
George were chatting. They had not always got on so well, but shared adversity
had made them grow closer over the long years.
Tom and Kathleen
appeared in the doorway; Tom was dressed and Kathleen was engulfed in one of
Tom’s dressing gowns, it would have been easy enough to fit two of her inside
it. She looked happy and sleepy, but he looked a little concerned.
‘I’m really sorry’ he
said, ‘I should have been up to prepare the breakfast’
‘That’s my fault,’
grinned Kathleen, her pale face reddening slightly, ‘we were… talking’
‘Katy!’ hissed Tom
‘Have some tea’ said
George, pretending not to have heard anything, ‘I love your teapot’
Tom bustled around,
flustered by his shortcomings as a host. He walked over to the larder, opened
the door and stepped inside.
‘I have some
Crumbling Rydale here somewhere, John. Katy told me that it was one of the
things you miss in Kinspit’
John’s face lit up.
‘It really doesn’t travel at all well’ he said. He turned to Kathleen, ‘you are
so kind and thoughtful’
Tom brought out a
huge slab of cheese on a rough wooden board and placed it carefully on the
table. It was a white cheese that looked like it would crumble if you blew on
it. Every other thought faded away – John had to crush some of the delicacy on
to a hunk of bread and devour it.
‘I’ll have some of
that too, if I may’ murmured Stephen.
They sat and ate (and
drank) a second breakfast. It was a long one, as every time they thought the
food had been finished Tom would bring out something even more delicious. Finally, it was all over and John felt able
to get up from the table.
He had only gone
three steps when there was a brilliant flash of blue light and a massive tremor.
Everyone and everything was thrown from the table and all of the pots and pans
hanging above them fell among them like metal hail. John was the first to struggle to his feet. He
made for the door and ran up the stairs, shouting for Celia and Owen as he
went. Where were they?
There were shouts and
yells from below and above but no more tremors. However, John could now see
clearly a blue flickering light coming from one of the rooms on the fourth
floor. He ran towards it and burst through the door.
Owen was sitting on
the floor, staring at a space just in front of him. Faint blue clouds were curling around
themselves and dissolving.
‘It’s taken her’ he
said. John could see nothing where Owen was looking but there was a strong
smell of rotting apples.
‘Who? Celia?’
‘Yes… she said it was
coming for me’
‘What was?’
‘Something from the
Outer Void’
‘What happened?’
Owen looked up at him
with wild eyes.
‘She killed it but
she fell through the hole it had made in normal space. I couldn’t reach her’
‘Where was it?’
‘Just there’
‘Can you see her
trace?’ shouted John, his hands grasping in empty air.
‘I don’t know’ said
Owen, beginning to sob, ‘I can’t tell where she is… she saved me and now I can’t
see where she’s gone’
John had no time to
comfort him.
‘Concentrate. She
knows the drill – if she’s still alive she’ll cast an alwa spell and you’re the most likely one to pick it up’
‘Why?’
‘Because you love her
the most, why else? ’
‘Does it work like
that?’
‘Probably…I don’t
know – just keep concentrating’
Owen looked at him as
if he were trying to deceive him.
‘Look for the trace,
Owen, focus!’
‘She must be dead’ he
moaned, ‘no-one can survive in there’
John summoned all his
reserves of courage and bravado. Sometimes when things looked terrible all that
was left was bluff.
‘Of course she’s not
– you can’t kill Celia that easily. Stay here and look for her trace’
‘But what are you going to do?’
‘Call the coven –
there is no way that we’re going to lose her without a fight’
John was already off,
running down the corridor towards the stairs. He was devastated. Celia had
fallen out of the world, and he knew that it was all his fault.
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