A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [24]
“Um…I’ll stay,” said Tiffany slowly. “The thing that moves things about is a bit strange, though.”
Miss Level looked surprised and then said, “Oh, do you mean Oswald?”
“There’s an invisible man called Oswald who can get into my bedroom?” said Tiffany, horrified.
“Oh, no. That’s just a name. Oswald isn’t a man, he’s an ondageist. Have you heard of poltergeists?”
“Er…invisible spirits that throw things around?”
“Good,” said Miss Level. “Well, an ondageist is the opposite. They’re obsessive about tidiness. He’s quite handy around the house, but he’s absolutely dreadful if he’s in the kitchen when I’m cooking. He keeps putting things away. I think it makes him happy. Sorry, I should have warned you, but he normally hides if anyone comes to the cottage. He’s shy.”
“And he’s a man? I mean, a male spirit?”
“How would you tell? He’s got no body and he doesn’t speak. I just called him Oswald because I always picture him as a worried little man with a dustpan and brush.” The left Miss Level giggled when the right Miss Level said this. The effect was odd and, if you thought that way, also creepy.
“Well, we are getting on well,” said the right Miss Level nervously. “Is there anything more you want to know, Tiffany?”
“Yes, please,” said Tiffany. “What do you want me to do? What do you do?”
And mostly, it turned out, what Miss Level did was chores. Endless chores. You could look in vain for much broomstick tuition, spelling lessons, or pointy-hat management. They were, mostly, the kind of chores that are just…chores.
There was a small flock of goats, technically led by Stinky Sam, who had a shed of his own and was kept on a chain, but really led by Black Meg, the senior nanny, who patiently allowed Tiffany to milk her and then, carefully and deliberately, put a hoof in the milk bucket. That’s a goat’s idea of getting to know you. A goat is a worrying thing if you’re used to sheep, because a goat is a sheep with brains. But Tiffany had met goats before, because a few people in the village kept them for their milk, which was very nourishing. And she knew that with goats you had to use persicology.* If you got excited, and shouted, and hit them (hurting your hand, because it’s like slapping a sack full of coat hangers), then they had Won and sniggered at you in goat language, which is almost all sniggering anyway.
By day two Tiffany learned that the thing to do was reach out and grab Black Meg’s hind leg just as she lifted it up to kick the bucket, and lift it up farther. That made her unbalanced and nervous and the other goats sniggered at her, and Tiffany had Won.
Next there were the bees. Miss Level kept a dozen hives, for the wax as much as the honey, in a little clearing that was loud with buzzing. She made Tiffany wear a veil and gloves before she opened a hive. She wore some too.
“Of course,” she observed, “if you are careful and sober and well centered in your life, the bees won’t sting. Unfortunately, not all the bees have heard about this theory. Good morning, Hive Three, this is Tiffany. She will be staying with us for a while….”
Tiffany half expected the whole hive to pipe up, in some horrible high-pitched buzz, “Good morning, Tiffany!” It didn’t.
“Why did you tell them that?” she asked.
“Oh, you have to talk to your bees,” said Miss Level. “It’s very bad luck not to. I generally have a little chat with them most evenings. News and gossip, that sort of thing. Every beekeeper knows about ‘telling the bees.’”
“And who do the bees tell?” asked Tiffany.
Both of Miss Level smiled at her.
“Other bees, I suppose,” she said.
“So…if you knew how to listen to the bees, you’d know everything that was going on, yes?” Tiffany persisted.
“You know, it’s funny you should say that,” said Miss Level. “There have been a few rumors…But you’d have to learn to think like a swarm of bees. One mind with thousands of little bodies. Much too hard to do, even for me.” She exchanged a thoughtful glance with herself. “Maybe not impossible, though.”
Then there were the herbs. The cottage had