I Shall Wear Midnight (Discworld 38)

It was a strange way to introduce the subject, but Mrs Proust didn’t do small talk or, for that matter, reassurance.

‘I thought something like this would happen,’ said Tiffany. ‘I knew it would. What does he look like?’

‘We lost him a couple of times,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘Calls of nature, and so on. He might have broken into a house for better clothes, I couldn’t say. He won’t care about the body. He’ll run it until he finds another one or it falls to pieces. We’ll keep an eye out for him. And this is your steading?’

Tiffany sighed, ‘Yes. And now he is chasing me like a wolf after a lamb.’

‘Then if you care about people, you must get rid of him quick,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘If a wolf gets hungry enough it will eat anything. And now, where are your manners, Miss Aching? We’re cold and wet, and by the sound of it there is food and drink downstairs, am I right?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, and you’ve come all this way to warn me,’ said Tiffany.

Mrs Proust waved a hand as if it wasn’t important. ‘I’m sure Long Tall Short Fat Sally and Mrs Happenstance would like some refreshment after our long ride, but I’m just tired,’ she said. And then, to Tiffany’s horror, she flung herself backwards and landed on the Duchess’s bed with only her boots sticking off the end, dripping water. ‘This Duchess,’ she said, ‘has she been giving you any more grief at all?’

‘Well, yes, I’m afraid so,’ said Tiffany. ‘She doesn’t seem to have any respect for anybody lower than a king, and even then I suspect that’s only a maybe. She bullies her daughter too,’ she added, and as an afterthought pointe

d out, ‘One of your customers, in fact.’ And then she told Mrs Proust everything about Letitia and the Duchess because Mrs Proust was the kind of woman you told everything to, and as the story unfolded, Mrs Proust’s grin grew wider, and Tiffany needed no witch skill to suspect that the Duchess was going to be in some trouble.

‘I thought so. I never forget a face. Have you ever heard of the music hall, my dear? Oh, no. You wouldn’t have, not out here. It’s all about comedians and singers and talking-dog acts – and, of course, dancing girls. I think you are getting the picture here, are you not? Not such a bad job for a girl who could shake a handsome leg, especially since after the show all the posh gentlemen would be waiting outside the stage door to take them out for a lovely dinner and so on.’ The witch took off her pointy hat and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. ‘Can’t abide broomsticks,’ she said. ‘They give me calluses in places where nobody should have calluses.’

Tiffany was at a loss. She couldn’t demand that Mrs Proust get off the bed; it wasn’t her bed. It wasn’t her castle. She smiled. In fact it really wasn’t her problem. How nice to find a problem that wasn’t yours.

‘Mrs Proust,’ she said, ‘could I persuade you to come downstairs? There are some other witches down here who I would really like you to meet.’ Preferably when I’m not in the room, she thought to herself, but I doubt if that would be possible.

‘Hedge witches?’ Mrs Proust sniffed. ‘Although there’s nothing actually wrong with hedge magic,’ she went on. ‘I met one once who could run her hands over a privet hedge and three months later it had grown into the shape of two peacocks and an offensively cute little dog holding a privet bone in its mouth, and all this, mark you, without a pair of shears being anywhere near it.’

‘Why did she want to do that?’ said Tiffany, astounded.

‘I doubt very much that she actually wanted to do it, but someone asked her to do it, and paid good money too and, strictly speaking, topiary is not actually illegal, although I rather suspect that one or two folk are going to be the first up against the hedge when the revolution comes. Hedge witches – that’s what we call country witches in the city.’

‘Oh, really,’ said Tiffany innocently. ‘Well, I don’t know what we call city witches in the country, but I am sure that Mistress Weatherwax will tell you.’ She knew she should have felt guilty about this, but it had been a long day, after a long week, and a witch has got to have some fun in her life.

The way downstairs took them past Letitia’s room. Tiffany heard voices, and a laugh. It was Nanny Ogg’s laugh. You couldn’t mistake that laugh; it was the kind of laugh that slapped you on the back. Then Letitia’s voice said, ‘Does that really work?’ And Nanny said something under her breath that Tiffany couldn’t quite hear, but whatever it was, it made Letitia almost choke with giggling. Tiffany smiled. The blushing bride was being instructed by somebody who had probably never blushed in her life, and it seemed quite a happy arrangement. At least she was not bursting into tears every five minutes.

Tiffany led Mrs Proust down into the hall. It was amazing to see that all people needed to make them happy was food and drink and other people. Even with Nanny Ogg no longer chivvying them along, they were filling the place with, well, people being people. And, standing where she could see very nearly everybody, Granny Weatherwax. She was talking to Pastor Egg.

Tiffany drifted up to her carefully, judging from the priest’s face that he wouldn’t mind at all if she intruded. Granny Weatherwax could be very forthright on the subject of religion. She saw him relax as she said, ‘Mistress Weatherwax, may I introduce to you Mrs Proust? From Ankh-Morpork, where she runs a remarkable emporium.’ Swallowing, Tiffany turned to Mrs Proust and said,‘May I present to you Granny Weatherwax.’

She stepped back as the two elderly witches looked at one another and then held her breath. The hall fell silent and neither of them blinked. And then – surely not – Granny Weatherwax winked and Mrs Proust smiled.

‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Granny.

‘How very nice to see you,’ said Mrs Proust.

They exchanged a further glance and turned to Tiffany Aching, who suddenly understood that old, clever witches had been older and cleverer for much longer than her.

Granny Weatherwax almost laughed when Mrs Proust said, ‘We don’t need to know one another’s names to recognize one another, but can I suggest, young lady, that you start breathing again.’

Granny Weatherwax lightly and primly took Mrs Proust’s arm and turned to where Nanny Ogg was coming down the stairs, followed by Letitia, who was blushing in places where people don’t often blush, and said, ‘Do come with me, my dear. You must meet my friend, Mrs Ogg, who buys quite a lot of your merchandise.’

Tiffany walked away. For a brief moment in time, there was nothing for her to do. She looked down the length of the hall, where people were still gathering in little groups, and saw the Duchess by herself. Why did she do it? Why did she walk over to the woman? Maybe, she thought, if you know you are going to be facing a horrible monster, it is as well to get in a little practice. But to her absolute amazement, the Duchess was crying.

‘Can I help in any way?’ said Tiffany.

She was the immediate subject of a glare, but the tears were still falling. ‘She’s all I’ve got,’ said the Duchess, looking over at Letitia, who was still trailing Nanny Ogg. ‘I’m sure Roland will be a very considerate husband. I hope she will think that I have given her a good grounding to get her safely through the world.’

‘I think you’ve definitely taught her many things,’ said Tiffany.

But the Duchess was now staring at the witches, and without looking at Tiffany she said, ‘I know we’ve had our differences, young lady, but I wonder if you can tell me who that lady is up there, one of your sister witches, talking to the remarkably tall one.’