21
The Witches’ Bastion
“Phew, you stink.”
It had been a long night, with nothing but a chamber pot to keep Peter company in the dark hole.
He had been awake for hours, thinking of Lioba’s pendant and struggling against the temptation to root around in his pocket where his amber crane rested. It was as if he could feel it tremble and flutter, trying to get to Lioba’s world. He did not understand it, but he had no doubt that his amber crane was the key. Perhaps there was a law of time that dictated that something from the past could not meet itself in the future. That would explain why he was sent back to his own time whenever he caught a glimpse of Lioba’s pendant. Just imagine meeting myself, perhaps with a long beard and a cane. Peter’s mouth curled into a grin. That surely would be
