A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [47]
Mr. Weavall’s dead already! He just won’t go! You think they’re grateful, but all they’re doing is making sure you come around again! That’s not gratitude, that’s just insurance!
The thought horrified part of her, but it had turned up and it flamed there in her head, just itching to escape from her mouth.
“Things need tidying up here,” she muttered.
“Oh, I can do that while we’re gone,” said Miss Level cheerfully. “Come on, let’s have a smile! There’s lots to do!”
There was always lots to do, Tiffany growled in her head as she trailed after Miss Level to the first village. Lots and lots. And it never made any difference. There was no end to the wanting.
They went from one grubby, smelly cottage to another, ministering to people too stupid to use soap, drinking tea from cracked cups, gossiping with old women with fewer teeth than toes. It made her feel ill.
It was a bright day, but it seemed to darken as they walked on. The feeling was like a thunderstorm inside her head.
Then the daydreams began. She was helping to splint the broken arm of some dull child when she glanced up and saw her reflection in the glass of the cottage window.
She was a tiger, with huge fangs.
She yelped and stood up.
“Oh, do be careful,” said Miss Level, and then saw her face. “Is there something wrong?” she asked.
“I…I…something bit me!” lied Tiffany. That was a safe bet in these places. The fleas bit the rats and the rats bit the children.
She managed to get out into the daylight, her head spinning. Miss Level came out a few minutes later and found her leaning against the wall, shaking.
“You look dreadful,” she said.
“Ferns!” said Tiffany. “Everywhere! Big ferns! And big things, like cows made out of lizards!” She turned a wide, mirthless smile onto Miss Level, who took a step back. “You can eat them!” She blinked. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, but I’m coming right down here this minute to fetch you,” said Miss Level. “I’m on the broomstick right now!”
“They laughed at me when I said I could trap one. Well, who’s laughing now, tell me that, eh?”
Miss Level’s expression of concern turned into something close to panic.
“That didn’t sound like your voice. That sounded like a man! Do you feel all right?”
“Feel…crowded,” murmured Tiffany.
“Crowded?” said Miss Level.
“Strange…memories…help me…”
Tiffany looked at her arm. It had scales on it. Now it had hair on it. Now it was smooth and brown, and holding—
“A scorpion sandwich?” she said.
“Can you hear me?” asked Miss Level, her voice a long way away. “You’re delirious. Are you sure you girls haven’t been playing with potions or anything like that?”
The broomstick dropped out of the sky and the other part of Miss Level nearly fell off. Without speaking, both of Miss Level got Tiffany onto the stick and part of Miss Level got on behind her.
It didn’t take long to fly back to the cottage. Tiffany spent the flight with her mind full of hot cotton wool and wasn’t at all certain where she was, although her body did know and threw up again.
Miss Level helped her off the stick and sat her on the garden seat just outside the cottage door.
“Now just you wait there,” said Miss Level, who dealt with emergencies by talking incessantly and using the word “just” too often because it’s a calming word, “and I’ll just get you a drink and then we’ll just see what the matter is….” There was a pause, and then the stream of words came out of the house again, dragging Miss Level after them. “…And I’ll just check on…things. Just drink this, please!”
Tiffany drank the water and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Miss Level weaving string around an egg. She was trying to make a shamble without Tiffany noticing.
Strange images were floating around Tiffany’s mind. There were scraps of voices, fragments of memories…and one little voice that was her own, small and defiant and getting fainter: You’re not me. You just think you are!