Page 96 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

Gwen emerged, and Adah said, “Bridget’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Gwen said. “She left?”

Adah shook her head. “I don’t think so. All her things are still at the cottage, except her sword.”

“Why would she wander off without her armor?” Gwen, still half asleep, sounded bewildered.

“She wouldn’t,” said Adah.

“You don’t think she’s…?” Gabriel wrinkled his nose, feeling bad for even asking the question. “I mean, didn’t you say you told her she shouldn’t be a knight anymore? Do you think she might have taken that… literally?”

“That’s not what I said at all,” Gwen said sharply. “And she wouldn’t just leave like this anyway. Ever. Something’s… something’s wrong.”

Sir Hurst appeared at the top of the stairs, looking to be in relatively good spirits, for a change. “The fisherman’s shown up,” he said. “Odd fellow. Says he wants to speak to the king.”

“We don’t have time for that right now,” Gwen snapped. “Bridget’s missing.”

“Ah.” Sir Hurst grimaced. “I see. I… Perhaps it might have been due to…”

“What, Sir Hurst?”

“I might have encouraged her to take a step back from our quest. She didn’t take it particularly well.”

Gabriel nodded. “So maybe she’s just gone to…”

“Ruminate,” said Sir Hurst. “Maybe she’s out walking.”

Gabriel thought this a likely explanation, but from the looks of consternation on Gwen’s and Adah’s faces, they disagreed. He’d been in their company too long to dismiss their concerns as trivial; they had a habit of being right.

“I’ll talk to the fisherman,” Gabriel said to Gwen, “and then we’ll have a look. We have guards patrolling the cliffs, she can’t have gone far without being seen.”

“I suppose not,” said Gwen, but she was chewing agitatedly away at her lip, a habit she’d long kicked except in times of deep distress.

Downstairs, the fisherman was waiting. He had requested a private audience, so Gabriel went to meet him with just the Captain of the Guard, and found him standing by the fire, wiry and white-haired.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

“Thank you,” said Gabriel. He paused, awkwardly expectinga bow, and when none was forthcoming, said, “I was told you wished to speak with me? About the Grail?”

To his surprise, the man threw himself down at Gabriel’s feet, raising his hands beseechingly; Gabriel took a step back and braced himself against a chair, highly alarmed.

“Forgive me,” he cried. “They said they would kill my Posey.”

Gabriel’s eyes darted to Sir Hurst, wondering if this man had already been checked for weapons, and then deciding that, surely, he had.

“Who did? Who’s Posey?” demanded Sir Hurst.

“She’s my dog.” The man seemed quite overcome, and began to softly weep.

“Yourdog?” Sir Hurst shook his head. “I’m not sure why you’re wasting the king’s—”

“Let’s start again,” Gabriel said firmly, sitting down in a chair, hoping it might put this man at ease. “You wrote to me that you’d found the Grail, is that right?”

“Yes,” said the fisherman, looking up and nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I did. I had. Found it, I mean.”

“And you’ve hidden it for safekeeping?”

“Yes.” He nodded again, more seriously this time, like he was reassuring himself of his veracity. “It’s safe. And now Posey’s there too. She’s smart, she got away. All safe.”