I suppose I had fond memories of Abbotsford. Most people have fond memories of their childhood, don’t they?

I led a fairly care free life on Mr Bishop’s property, with a cosy mudbrick cottage to call my own. Of course, Mr Bishop lived in the main house – a humble stone building big enough for a small family.

His wife was a seamstress, and he never got over her death. He had one son who left Abbotsford many moons ago. He was a messenger and travelled wherever he needed to pass messages. No messages had taken him back home so Mr Bishop had not seen his son since he left.

Mr Bishop was not lonely. He was immersed in his work. Bishop’s Disappearing Delights was a regular show performed at the best hotel in town every month. Of course, Mr Bishop used showmanship and trickery to pretend to make audience members disappear. It was a great hit with the locals, and people would travel from nearby towns and villages to be entertained.

But as you know, there is a dark side to magic.

Mr Bishop could make things properly disappear. No tricks. No props. No games. This was serious business. And much like my gift of reading minds, making things disappear is black magic.

The problem with people like Mr Bishop who have talents in the dark arts, is that it can turn good people bad. Or at least make them appear bad.

Now as Mr Bishop was packing his things and telling me to use my talents for good, this was not the first time he has had that discussion with me. We have talked about it at length. And I have come to the conclusion that he really is a good person. He simply has a dark talent, which clouds his real self.

Other people, like the town councillor, see the black magic, and do not see what is beneath that. Because I can read people’s minds, I know if they are innately good or bad. I can see it in their thoughts. I can see it in their heart.

My house here had room for a bed, a cupboard, and a fire place. I reached up the chimney to a little ledge and felt for my purse. Thirty gold coins would be enough if I decided I didn’t like our destination and wanted to move on. I stuffed my cape and small box of make up into my cotton bag and slung it over my shoulder.

It was then that the gravity of Mr Bishop’s actions sunk in.