She stepped into the stream, getting as clean as could be. And now, drying herself off and wrapping just her cloak around her washed body, she went back to the cottage, where she gave You an extra meal, stroked her head, and climbed the squeaking staircase to her bedroom, humming an old dirge as she went.
Then Esmerelda Weatherwax brushed out her long grey hair and repinned it into its usual bun with an army of pins, and dressed again, this time choosing her best witch’s dress and least-mended pair of drawers. She paused to open the little wooden window to the soft evening air and carefully placed two pennies on the small bedside table, beside her pointy witch’s hat festooned with unused hatpins.
The last thing she did before she lay down was to pick up a familiar card she had written on earlier.
And a little later, when the cat jumped up onto the bed, it appeared to You that something strange was happening. She heard an owl hoot, and a fox barked in the darkness.
And there was just the cat, You. All alone.
But if cats could smile, this one did.
It was a strange night; the owls hooted almost non-stop, and the wind outside for some reason made the wicks of the candles inside wobble with a vengeance and then blow out; but Granny Weatherwax was dressed in her best and ready for anything.
And now in the deep warm darkness, as dawn began to stealthily steal the night, her soul had a visitor, an individual with a scythe – a scythe with a blade so shadow-thin that it could separate a soul from a body.
Then the darkness spoke.
ESMERELDA WEATHERWAX, YOU KNOW WHO COMES, AND MAY I SAY IT’S A PRIVILEGE TO DEAL WITH YOU.
‘I know it is you, Mister Death. After all, we witches always knows what’s coming,’ said Granny, looking down at her body on the bed.
Her visitor was no stranger, and the land she knew she was going to was a land she had helped many others to step through to over the years. For a witch stands on the very edge of everything, between the light and the dark, between life and death, making choices, making decisions so that others may pretend no decisions have even been needed. Sometimes they need to help some poor soul through the final hours, help them to find the door, not to get lost in the dark.
And Granny Weatherwax had been a witch for a long, long time.
ESMERELDA WEATHERWAX, WE HAVE MET SO MANY TIMES BEFORE NOW, HAVEN’T WE?
‘Too many to count, Mister Reaper. Well, you’ve finally got me, you old bugger. I’ve had my season, no doubt about it, and I was never one for pushing myself forward, or complaining.’
I HAVE WATCHED YOUR PROGRESS WITH INTEREST, ESMERELDA WEATHERWAX, said the voice in the dark. He was firm, but oh so polite. But now there was a question in his voice. PRAY TELL ME, WHY WERE YOU CONTENT TO LIVE IN THIS TINY LITTLE COUNTRY WHEN, AS YOU KNOW, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ANYTHING AND ANYBODY IN THE WORLD?
‘I don’t know about the world, not much; but in my part of the world I could make little miracles for ordinary people,’ Granny replied sharply. ‘And I never wanted the world – just a part of it, a small part which I could keep safe, which I could keep away from storms. Not the ones of the sky, you understand: there are other kinds.’
AND WOULD YOU SAY YOUR LIFE BENEFITED THE PEOPLE OF LANCRE AND ENVIRONS?
After a minute the soul of Granny Weatherwax said, ‘Well, not boasting, your willingness, I think I have done right, for Lancre at least. I’ve never been to Environs.’
MISTRESS WEATHERWAX, THE WORD ‘ENVIRONS’ MEANS, WELL, THEREABOUTS.
‘All right,’ said Granny. ‘I did get about, to be sure.’
A VERY GOOD LIFE LIVED INDEED, ESMERELDA.
‘Thank you,’ said Granny. ‘I did my best.’
MORE THAN YOUR BEST, said Death. AND I LOOK FORWARD TO WATCHING YOUR CHOSEN SUCCESSOR. WE HAVE MET BEFORE.
‘She’s a good witch, to be sure,’ said the shade of Granny Weatherwax. ‘I have no doubts whatsoever.’
YOU ARE TAKING THIS VERY WELL, ESME WEATHERWAX.
‘It’s an inconvenience, true enough, and I don’t like it at all, but I know that you do it for everyone, Mister Death. Is there any other way?’
NO, THERE ISN’T, I’M AFRAID. WE ARE ALL FLOATING IN THE WINDS OF TIME. BUT YOUR CANDLE, MISTRESS WEATHERWAX, WILL FLICKER FOR SOME TIME BEFORE IT GOES OUT – A LITTLE REWARD FOR A LIFE WELL LIVED. FOR I CAN SEE THE BALANCE AND YOU HAVE LEFT THE WORLD MUCH BETTER THAN YOU FOUND IT, AND IF YOU ASK ME, said Death, NOBODY COULD DO ANY BETTER THAN THAT . . .
There was no light, no point of reference except for the two tiny blue pinpricks sparkling in the eye sockets of Death himself.
‘Well, the journey was worth taking and I saw many wonderful things on the way, including you, my reliable friend. Shall we go now?’