Wintersmith (Discworld #35)

Wintersmith (Discworld #35) Page 26

"Really? Then I won't open the door to her next time," said Annagramma firmly. "No, let her in. Really, it's all because she's lonely and wants to chat."

"Well, I should think I've got better things to do with my time than listen to an old lady who just wants to talk," said Annagramma indignantly. Tiffany looked at her. Where did you start, apart from banging the girl's head on the table until the brain started working? "Listen very carefully," she said. "I mean to her, not just to me. You've got no better use of your time than to listen to old ladies who want to talk. Everyone tells things to witches. So listen to everyone and don't say much and think about what they say and how they say it and watch their eyes…. It becomes like a big jigsaw puzzle, but you're the only one who can see all the pieces. You'll know what they want you to know, and what they don't want you to know, and even what they think no one knows. That's why we go around the houses. That's why you will go around the houses, until you're part of their lives."

"All this just to get some power over a crowd of farmers and peasants?" Tiffany spun around and kicked a chair so hard that it broke a leg. Annagramma backed away quickly. "What did you do that for?"

"You're clever—you guess!"

"Oh, I forgot…your father is a shepherd…"

"Good! You remembered!" Tiffany hesitated. Certainty was pouring into her brain, courtesy of her Third Thoughts. Suddenly she knew Annagramma. "And your father?" she asked. "What?" Annagramma instinctively drew herself up. "Oh, he owns several farms—"

"Liar!"

"Well, perhaps I should say he is a farmer—" the girl began, nervousness beginning to show. "Liar!" Annagramma backed away. "How dare you talk to me like—"

"How dare you not tell me the truth!" In the pause that opened, Tiffany heard everything—the faint crackle of wood in the stove, the sound of mice in the cellar, her own breathing roaring like the sea in a cave…. "He works for a farmer, all right?" said Annagramma quickly, and then looked shocked at her own words. "We don't have any land, we don't even own the cottage. There's the truth, if you want it. Happy now?"

"No. But thank you," said Tiffany. "Are you going to tell the others?"

"No. It doesn't matter. But Granny Weatherwax wants you to make a mess of all this, do you understand? She's got nothing against you…" Tiffany hesitated, then went on, "I mean, nothing more than she has against everyone. She just wants people to see that Mrs. Earwig's style of witchcraft doesn't work. This is just like her! She's not said a word against you, she's just let you have exactly what you wanted. It's like a story. Everyone knows that if you get exactly what you wish for, it all goes bad. And you wished for a cottage. And you're going to mess it up."

"I just need another day or two to get the hang—"

"Why? You're a witch with a cottage. You're supposed to be able to deal with it! Why take it on if you couldn't do it?" You're supposed to be able to deal with it, sheep girl! Why take it on if you couldn't do it? "So you're not going to help me?" Annagramma glared at Tiffany, and then her expression, most unusually, softened a bit and she said, "Are you all right?" Tiffany blinked. It's horrible to have your own voice echo back at you from the other side of your mind. "Look, I haven't got time," she said weakly. "Maybe the others can…help out?"

"I don't want them to know!" Panic cut curves on Annagramma's face. She can do magic, Tiffany thought. She's just not good at witchcraft. She'll make a mess of it. She'll make a mess of people. She gave in. "All right, I can probably spare some time. There's not many chores to do at Tir Nani Ogg. And I'll explain things to the others. They'll have to know. They'll probably help. You learn fast—you could pick up the basic stuff in a week or so." Tiffany watched Annagramma's face. She was actually thinking about it! If she were drowning and you threw her a rope, she'd complain if it was the wrong color…. "Well, if they are just helping me…" Annagramma said, brightening up. You could almost admire the girl for the way she could rearrange the real world in her head. Another story, thought Tiffany; it's all about Annagramma. "Yes, we'll be helping you." She sighed. "Perhaps we could even tell people that you girls are coming to me to learn things?" said Annagramma hopefully. People said that you should always count up to ten before losing your temper. But if it was Annagramma you were dealing with, you had to know some bigger numbers, like perhaps a million. "No," said Tiffany, "I don't think we'll do that. You are the one doing the learning." Annagramma opened her mouth to argue, saw the look on Tiffany's face, and decided not to. "Er, yes," she said. "Of course. Er…thank you." That was a surprise. "They probably will help," said Tiffany. "It won't look good if one of us fails." To her amazement, the girl really was crying. "It's just that I didn't really think they were my friends…."

"I don't like her," said Petulia, who was knee-deep in pigs. "She calls me the pig witch."

"Well, you are a pig witch," said Tiffany, who was standing outside the pigpen. The big shed was full of pigs. The noise was nearly as bad as the smell. Fine snow, like dust, was falling outside. "Yes, but when she says it, there's a good deal too much pig and not enough witch," said Petulia. "Every time she opens her mouth, I think I've done something wrong." She waved a hand in a pig's face and muttered a few words. The animal's eyes crossed and it opened its mouth. It got a large dose of green liquid from a bottle. "We can't just leave her to struggle," said Tiffany. "People might get hurt."

"Well, that wouldn't be our fault, would it?" said Petulia, dosing another pig. She cupped her hands and shouted over the din to a man at the other end of the pens: "Fred, this lot's done!" Then she climbed out of the pen, and Tiffany saw that she'd got her dress tucked up to her waist and was wearing a pair of heavy leather britches under it. "They're making a real fuss this morning," she said. "Sounds like they're getting a bit frisky."

"Frisky?" said Tiffany. "Oh…yes."

"Listen, you can hear the boars yelling in their shed," said Petulia. "They can smell the spring."

"But it's not even Hogswatch yet!"

"It's the day after tomorrow. Anyway the springtime sleeps under the snow, my dad always says," said Petulia, washing her hands in a bucket. No ums, said Tiffany's Third Thoughts. When she's working, Petulia never says "um." She's certain of things when she's working. She stands up straight. She's in charge. "Look, it will be our fault if we can see something wrong and don't do anything about it," said Tiffany. "Oh, Annagramma again," said Petulia. She shrugged. "Look, I can go over there maybe once a week after Hogswatch and show her some of the basic stuff. Will that make you happy?"

"I'm sure she'll be grateful."

"I'm sure she won't be. Have you asked any of the others?" file:///F|/MUSIC/Pratchett,%20Terry%20-%20[Discworld...]%20-%20Wintersmith%20[html,%20jpg]/wintersmith.html (180 of 269)26/12/2006 19:25:36

Wintersmith "No. I thought that if they knew you'd agreed, they probably would, too," said Tiffany. "Hah! Well, I suppose that at least we can say we tried. You know, I used to think Annagramma was really clever because she knew a lot of words and could do sparkly spells? But show her a sick pig and she's useless!" Tiffany told her about Mrs. Stumper's pig and Petulia looked shocked. "We can't have that sort of thing," she said. "In a tree? Perhaps I'll try to drop in this afternoon then." She hesitated. "You know Granny Weatherwax won't be happy about this? Do we want to be caught between her and Mrs. Earwig?"

"Are we doing the right thing or not?" said Tiffany. "Anyway, what's the worst she could do to us?" Petulia gave a short laugh with no humor in it at all. "Well," she said, "first, she could make our—"

"She won't."

"I wish I was as sure as you," said Petulia. "All right, then. For Mrs. Stumper's pig." Tiffany flew above the treetops, and the occasional high twig brushed against her boots. There was just enough winter sunshine to make the snow crisp and glittery, like a frosted cake. It had been a busy morning. The coven hadn't been very interested in helping Annagramma. The coven itself seemed a long time ago. It had been a busy winter. "All we did was muck about while Annagramma bossed us around," Dimity Hubbub had said, while grinding minerals and very carefully tipping them, a bit at a time, into a tiny pot being heated by a candle. "I'm too busy to mess around with magic. It never did anything useful. You know her trouble? She thinks you can be a witch by buying enough things."

"She just needs to learn how to deal with people," said Tiffany. At this point, the pot exploded. "Well, I think we can safely say that wasn't your everyday toothache cure," said Dimity, picking bits of pot out of her hair. "All right, I can spare the odd day, if Petulia's doing it. But it won't do much good." Lucy Warbeck was lying full length and fully clothed in a tin bath full of water when Tiffany came by. Her head was all the way under the surface, but when she saw Tiffany peering in, she held up a sign saying I'M NOT DROWNING! Miss Tick had said she would make a good witch finder, so she was training hard. "I don't see why we should help Annagramma," she said as Tiffany helped her get dry. "She just likes putting people down with that sarcastic voice of hers. Anyway, what's it to you? You know she doesn't like you."

"I thought we've always got on…more or less," said Tiffany. "Really? You can do stuff she can't even attempt! Like that thing where you go invisible…you do it and you make it look easy! But you come along to the meetings and act like the rest of us and help clear up afterward, and that drives her mad!"

"Look, I don't understand what you're going on about." Lucy picked up another towel. "She can't stand the idea that someone's better than her but doesn't crow about it."

"Why should I do that?" said Tiffany, bewildered. "Because that's what she'd do, if she was you," said Lucy, carefully pushing the knife and fork back into her piled-up hair.* "She thinks you're laughing at her. And now, oh my word, she's got to depend on you. You might as well have pushed pins up her nose." But Petulia had signed up, and so Lucy and the rest of them did, too. Petulia had become the big success story since she'd won the Witch Trials with her famous Pig Trick two years ago. She'd been laughed at —well, by Annagramma, and everyone else had sort of grinned awkwardly—but she'd stuck to what she was good at and people were saying that she'd got skills with animals that even Granny Weatherwax couldn't match. She'd got solid respect, too. People didn't understand a lot of what witches did, but anyone who could get a sick cow back on its feet…well, that person was someone you looked up to. So for the whole coven, after Hogswatch, it was going to be All About Annagramma time. Tiffany flew back toward Tir Nani Ogg with her head spinning. She'd never thought anyone could be envious of her. Okay, she'd picked up one or two things, but anyone could do them. You just had to be able to switch yourself off. She'd sat on the sand of the desert behind the Door, she'd faced dogs with razor teeth…they were not things she wanted to remember. And on top of all that, there was the Wintersmith. He couldn't find her without the horse, everyone was sure of that. He could speak in her head, and she could speak to him, but that was a kind of magic and didn't have anything to do with maps. He'd been quiet for a while. He was probably building icebergs. She landed the broomstick on a small bald hill among the trees. There was no cottage to be seen. She climbed off the stick but held on to it, just in case. The stars were coming out. The Wintersmith liked clear nights. They were colder. And the words came. They were her words in her voice and she knew what they meant, but they had a sort of echo. "Wintersmith! I command you!" As she blinked at the high-toned way the words had sounded, the reply came back. The voice was all around her. Who commands the Wintersmith? "I am the Summer Lady." Well, she thought, I'm a sort of stand-in. Then why do you hide from me? "I fear your ice. I fear your chill. I run from your avalanches. I hide from your storms." Ah, right. This is goddess talk. Live with me in my world of ice! "How dare you order me! Don't you dare to order me!" But you chose to dwell in my winter…. The Wintersmith sounded uncertain. "I go where I please. I make my own way. I seek the leave of no man. In your country you will honor me —or there will be a reckoning!" And that bit is mine, Tiffany thought, pleased to get a word in. There was a long silence, filled with uncertainty and puzzlement. Then the Wintersmith said: How may I serve you, my lady? "No more icebergs looking like me. I don't want to be a face that sinks a thousand ships." And the frost? May we share the frosts? And the snowflakes? "Not the frosts. You must not write my name on windows. That can only lead to trouble." But I may be permitted to honor you in snowflakes? "Er…" Tiffany stopped. Goddesses shouldn't say "er," she was sure of that. "Snowflakes will be…acceptable," she said. After all, she thought, it's not as though they have my name on them. I mean, most people won't notice, and if they do they won't know it's me. Then there will be snowflakes, my lady, until the time we dance again. And we will, for I am making myself a man! The voice of the Wintersmith…went. Tiffany was alone again among the trees. Except…she wasn't. "I know you're still there," she said, her breath leaving a sparkle in the air. "You are, aren't you? I can feel you. You're not my thoughts. I'm not imagining you. The Wintersmith has gone. You can speak with my mouth. Who are you?" The wind made snow fall from the trees nearby. The stars twinkled. Nothing else moved. "You are there," said Tiffany. "You've put thoughts in my head. You've even made my own voice speak to me. That's not going to happen again. Now that I know the feeling, I can keep you out. If you have anything to say to me, say it now. When I leave here, I will shut my mind to you. I will not let—" How does it feel to be so helpless, sheep girl? "You are Summer, aren't you?" said Tiffany. And you are like a little girl dressing in her mother's clothes, little feet in big shoes, dress trailing in the dirt. The world will freeze because of a silly child— Tiffany did—something that it would be impossible for her to describe, and the voice ended up like a distant insect. It was lonely on the hill, and cold. And all you could do was keep going. You could scream, cry, and stamp your feet, but apart from making you feel warmer, it wouldn't do any good. You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn't care because it didn't know what "fair" meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you. Hogswatch came, with more snow and some presents. Nothing from home, even though some coaches were getting through. She told herself there was probably a good reason, and tried to believe it. It was the shortest day of the year, which was convenient because it fitted neatly with the longest night. This was the heart of winter, but Tiffany didn't expect the present that arrived the next day. It had been snowing hard, but the evening sky was pink and blue and freezing. It came out of the pink evening sky with a whistling noise and landed in Nanny Ogg's garden, throwing up a shower of dirt and leaving a big hole. "Well, that's good-bye to the cabbages," said Nanny, looking out the window. Steam was rising from the hole when they went outside, and there was a strong smell of sprouts. Tiffany peered through the steam. Dirt and stalks covered the thing, but she could make out something rounded. She let herself slide farther into the hole, right down amid the mud and steam and the mysterious thing. It wasn't very hot now, and as she scraped stuff away, she began to have a nasty feeling that she knew what it was. It was, she was sure, the "thingy" that Anoia had talked about. It looked mysterious enough. And as it emerged from the mud, she knew she'd seen it before. "Are you all right down there? I can't see you for all this steam!" Nanny Ogg called. By the sound of it, the neighbors had come running; there was some excited chattering. Tiffany quickly scraped mud and mashed cabbages over the arrival and called up, "I think this might explode. Tell everyone to get indoors! And then reach down and grab my hand, will you?" There was some shouting above her and the sound of running feet. Nanny Ogg's hand appeared, waving around in the fog, and between them they got Tiffany out of the hole. "Shall we hide under the kitchen table?" said Nanny as Tiffany tried to brush mud and cabbage off her dress. Then Nanny winked. "If it is going to explode?" Her son Shawn came around the house with a bucket of water in each hand and stopped, looking disappointed that there was nothing to do with them. "What was it, Mum?" he panted. Nanny looked at Tiffany, who said: "Er…a giant rock fell out of the sky."