Wintersmith (Discworld 35)

"A trinket!"

"No!"

"O' course, this may not be the best time tae tell ye…" Rob went on, miserably. "You think you need it to be a witch?"

"Yes!"

"A witch needs no devices!"

"You've used shambles!"

"Used, yes! Don't need. Not need!"

"Ah mean, it's quite meltin' awa—" Rob said, smiling nervously. Anger grabbed Tiffany's tongue. How dare this stupid old crone talk about not needing things! "Boffo!" she shouted. "Boffo, Boffo, Boffo!" Silence slammed down. After a while Miss Treason looked past Tiffany and said: "Ye wee Feegle schemies! Get oot o' here right noo! Ah'll ken it if ye don't! This is hag business!" The room filled with a sort of whooshing noise, and the door to the kitchen slammed shut. "So," said Miss Treason, "you know about Boffo, do you?"

"Yes," said Tiffany, breathing heavily. "I do."

"Very well. And have you told anyone—?" Miss Treason paused and raised a finger to her lips. Then she banged a stick on the floor. "Ah said get oot, ye scunners! Off intae the woods w' ye! Check that he's really gang awa'! I'll see yer guilt through yer own een if ye defy me!" From below there was the sound of a lot of potatoes rumbling as the Feegles scrambled out through the little ventilation grill. "Now they've gone," said Miss Treason. "They'll stay gone, too. Boffo will see to that." Somehow, in the space of a few seconds, Miss Treason had become more human and a lot less scary. Well…slightly less scary. "How did you find out? Did you go looking for it? Did you go prowling and rummaging?" said Miss Treason. "No! I'm not like that! I found out by accident one day when you were having a nap!" Tiffany rubbed her hand. "Does that hurt a lot?" said Miss Treason, leaning forward. She might be blind, but—like all the senior witches who knew what they were doing—she noticed everything. "No, not now. It did, though. Look, I—"

"Then you will learn to listen! Do you think the Wintersmith has gone?"

"He just seemed to vanish—I mean, vanish even more. I think he just wanted to give me back my necklace."

"Do you think that is the sort of thing the spirit of Winter, who commands the blizzard and the frost, would really do?"

"I don't know, Miss Treason! He's the only one I've met!"

"You danced with him."

"I didn't know I was going to!"

"Nevertheless." Tiffany waited, and then said: "Nevertheless what?"

"Just general neverthelessness. The little horse led him to you. But he's not here now—you're right about that. I'd know if he was." Tiffany walked up to the front door, hesitated for just a moment, and then opened it and went out into the clearing. There was a bit of snow here and there, but the day was turning into just another one of those gray-skyed winter days. I'd know if he was, too, she thought. And he isn't. And her Second Thoughts said: Oh? How do you know? "We've both touched the horse," she said under her breath. She looked around at the empty branches and the sleeping trees, fiddling with the silver chain in her hand. The forests were curling in on themselves, ready for the winter. He's out there, but not close. He must be very busy, with a whole winter to make…. She said, "Thank you!" automatically, because her mother had always said that politeness costs nothing, and went back in. It was very hot inside now, but Miss Treason always had a huge log pile built by the Secret of Boffo. The local woodcutters always kept the pile high. A chilly witch might get nasty. "I should like a cup of black tea," said the old woman as Tiffany walked in, looking thoughtful. She waited until Tiffany was washing out the cup, then said: "Have you heard the stories about me, child?" The voice was kindly. There had been shouts, there had been things said that might have been better put, there had been temper and defiance. But they were there together, with nowhere else to go. The quiet voice was a peace offering, and Tiffany was glad of it. file:///F|/MUSIC/Pratchett,%20Terry%20-%20[Discworld...]%20-%20Wintersmith%20[html,%20jpg]/wintersmith.html (53 of 269)26/12/2006 19:25:36

Wintersmith "Er, that you have a demon in the cellar?" Tiffany answered, her mind still full of puzzles. "And you eat spiders? And get visited by kings and princes? And that any flower planted in your garden blooms black?"

"Oh, do they say so?" said Miss Treason, looking delighted. "I haven't heard that last one. How nice. And did you hear that I walk around at night in the dark time of the year and reward those who have been good citizens with a purse of silver? But if they have been bad, I slit open their bellies with my thumbnail like this?" Tiffany leaped backward as a wrinkled hand twisted her around and Miss Treason's yellow thumbnail scythed past her stomach. The old woman looked terrifying. "No! No, I haven't heard that one!" she gasped, pressing up against the sink. "What? And it was a wonderful story, with real historical antecedents!" said Miss Treason, her vicious scowl becoming a smile. "And the one about me having a cow's tail?"

"A cow's tail? No!"

"Really? How very vexing," said Miss Treason, lowering her finger. "I fear the art of storytelling has got into a pretty bad way in these parts. I really shall have to do something."

"This is just another kind of Boffo, right?" said Tiffany. She wasn't totally sure. Miss Treason had looked pretty scary with that thumbnail. No wonder girls left so quickly. "Ah, you do have a brain, after all. Of course it is. Boffo, yes. A good name for it. Boffo, indeed. The art of expectations. Show people what they want to see, show 'em what they think should be there. I have a reputation to keep up, after all." Boffo, Tiffany thought. Boffo, Boffo, Boffo. She went over to the skulls, picked one up, and read the label underneath, just like she'd done a month ago: Ghastly Skull No. 1 Price $2.99 The Boffo Novelty & Joke Shop No. 4, Tenth Egg Street, Ankh-Morpork "If it's a laugh…it's a Boffo!"

"Very lifelike, aren't they," said Miss Treason, clicking back to her chair, "if you can say that about a skull, of course! The shop sold a wonderful machine for making spiderwebs. You poured in this sticky stuff, d'you see, and with practice quite good webs could be made. Can't abide creepy-crawlies, but of course I've got to have the webs. Did you notice the dead flies?"

"Yes," said Tiffany, glancing up. "They're raisins. I thought you had vegetarian spiders."

"Well done. Nothing wrong with your eyes, at least. I got my hat from there, too. 'Wicked Old Witch Number Three, A Must for Scary Parties,' I think it was. I've still got their catalogue somewhere, if you're interested."

"Do all witches buy from Boffo?" asked Tiffany. "Only me, at least around here. Oh, and I believe Old Mistress Breathless over in Two Falls used to buy warts from there."

"But…why?" said Tiffany. "She couldn't grow them. Just couldn't grow them at all, poor woman. Tried everything. Face like a baby's bottom, her whole life."

"No, I meant, why do you want to seem so"—Tiffany hesitated, and went on—"awful?"

"I have my reasons," said Miss Treason. "But you don't do those things the stories say you do, do you? Kings and princes don't come to consult you, do they?"