‘It’s simply a matter of logistics,’ Isobelle replied airily, removing the green dress from where it lay crumpled atop its fellows, and then – upon reflection – removing the others as well. ‘And skill, of course. There’s a particular way of folding tailored dresses.’
‘Is there indeed?’ Gwen mused. ‘So how did you manage it last time without Olivia?’ This drew a snicker from over by the hearth, where Isobelle’s maid was packing up her lady’s things.
Isobelle threw a pair of gloves at Gwen’s head, which she dodged with breathtaking ease, then nobly continued her task.
‘What did you pack this much embroidery for?’ Olivia asked, holding up a hopeless tangle of threads, wrapped around a bundle of fabric.
‘One always thinks one will have more free time on holiday than one does,’ Isobelle said mournfully. ‘Though usually the shortage comes about as a result of sleeping in, not battling beasts summoned by evil sorcerers. When are the men coming to carry the trunks down?’
‘About an hour’s time,’ Olivia replied. ‘They’ll have to haul it along the coast to the cove where they’ve moored, and that won’t be quick. Henry said it will be more than one trip.’
Isobelle suspected this to be a comment upon the volume of luggage she had brought to Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea, but did not respond. It was not an afternoon for challenging Olivia, who had informed them – leaving not a hair’s breadth of space for any contradiction – that they would be departing on the evening tide. ‘How long untilweneed to leave for the cove?’ she asked instead.
‘Three hours,’ Olivia replied, disassembling a smallchess set that Isobelle had set up, but had not actually managed to use before events had escalated.
Isobelle made a show of considering this. ‘Do you suppose I might take Gwen to the hot springs?’ she suggested. ‘We could be back in plenty of time, and I wonder if the steam would be good for her lungs? It’s a short walk.’
Olivia glanced across at Isobelle, sizing up the request, probably because she’d used too many words. Gwen chose that moment to have a coughing fit, and both of them lunged across to the bed to hover over her until she managed to drag in a rasping breath and steady herself.
‘I’ll walk you down,’ Olivia agreed, with a twist of her mouth that betrayed her worry about Gwen’s lungs.
Old Gargery was propped up in the little hut at the entrance to the springs, his mournful eyes more worried than ever, and he rose stiffly to his feet to greet them. ‘Sir Knight, my ladies.’ His bow for Olivia was as respectful as his bows for Gwen and Isobelle. ‘Brought them for one last soak? Young Henry brought word that you’ll be off this evening.’
‘On the late tide,’ Gwen agreed. ‘But we have an hour to try and warm up.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on them,’ Gargery assured Olivia. ‘Or will you be taking a dip yourself?’
Isobelle knew the answer to that – a bathing costume would mean Olivia would have to divest herself of her weapons, andthatshe would never do.
‘I’ll sit on the edge of the pool,’ she replied.
‘Then I’ll show the ladies to a changing tent,’ Gargery replied, leading the girls away from Olivia, and across the clearing to where the changing tents were set up. ‘I think you’ll find everything you need here,’ he said quietly, as he pulled the door open to lead them inside.
The tent was spacious, with benches set down either side, but the layout wasn’t what either Gwen or Isobelle was paying attention to. Rather, it was the large slit cut in the canvas at the far end of the thing, through which Achilles and Princess Buttercup could be glimpsed, grazing placidly (in the case of Achilles) and with barely contained energy (on the part of Her Highness). Gwen’s armour pieces were tied across Achilles’s saddle, and her sword hung from the belt strapped to his tack.
Isobelle looked across at Gwen, and found the other girl’s green eyes waiting for her. There was a flutter in her belly that was threatening to become a nasty twist of fear, as she contemplated what came next. It was one thing to plan. Now had come the time for doing.
Despite the miasma of fear in the town, Henry had arranged everything as they’d asked, and Ben, the innkeeper’s son, had got the horses ready. The young people of Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea were doing their best to fight a world gone mad. It was a reminder that Gwen and Isobelle weren’t doing this by themselves, not really.
‘Thank you, Gargery,’ she whispered, reaching out to squeeze the old man’s hand. ‘And thank Henry and Ben, too. Chat to Olivia for as long as you can, to give us a head start. If you’ve got any battle stories, those always go down well.’
He lifted one hand to tip an invisible hat to her, and turned to leave the tent.
‘Ready?’ whispered Isobelle.
‘No,’ Gwen replied softly. ‘But let’s do it anyway.’
They tied up the horses by the crumbling stone fence of the witch’s cottage. The garden was still, no hint of a breeze stirring the tangles of herbs and weeds, which lay beneath the light dusting of snow as though they were asleep for the winter.
Isobelle made her way up the path to the wooden door, Gwen a step behind her as she eased it open. The one-roomed cottage seemed just as they’d left it, shelves crammed with jars and bottles, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, the bed unmade, as though Tabitha’s mother had only left it that morning.
The tapestry that had been covering the secret passageway was askew, twisted out of shape and pushed out of position. When Isobelle pulled it aside, she was greeted by a jumble of rock behind it. The passageway had collapsed – or someone had deliberately closed off this avenue of approach.
‘Well,’ said Isobelle. ‘I suppose we’ll be going in via the front door this time.’
Gwen sheathed her sword, pinched the bridge of her nose, and turned to survey the cottage. ‘There’s probably agrimony in the garden somewhere,’ she said softly, as silence settled over the cottage once more. ‘I wouldn’t know how to find it in winter, though, not without the yellow of the flowers.’
‘Let’s hope she dried some here,’ Isobelle replied, her own voice muted. ‘The dried herbs are very crumbly, but I’ve got my handkerchief. We could wrap a little up in that.’
