A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [48]
“Now, then,” said Miss Level, “let’s just see what we can see—”
The shamble exploded, not just into pieces but into fire and smoke.
“Oh, Tiffany,” said Miss Level, frantically waving smoke away. “Are you all right?”
Tiffany stood up slowly. It seemed to Miss Level that she was slightly taller than she remembered.
“Yes, I think I am,” said Tiffany. “I think I’ve been all wrong, but now I’m all right. And I’ve been wasting my time, Miss Level.”
“What—” Miss Level began.
Tiffany pointed a finger at her.
“I know why you had to leave the circus, Miss Level,” she said. “It had to do with the clown Floppo, the trick ladder, and…some custard….”
Miss Level went pale. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Just by looking at you!” said Tiffany, pushing past her into the dairy. “Watch this, Miss Level!”
She pointed a finger. A wooden spoon rose an inch from the table. Then it began to spin, faster and faster, until with a cracking sound it broke into splinters. They whirled away across the room.
“And I can do this!” Tiffany shouted. She grabbed a bowl of curds, tipped them out onto the table, and waved a hand at them. They turned into a cheese.
“Now that’s what cheese making should be!” she said. “To think that I spent stupid years learning the hard way! That’s how a real witch does it! Why do we crawl in the dirt, Miss Level? Why do we amble around with herbs and bandage smelly old men’s legs? Why do we get paid with eggs and stale cakes? Annagramma is as stupid as a hen, but even she can see it’s wrong. Why don’t we use magic? Why are you so afraid?”
Miss Level tried to smile.
“Tiffany, dear, we all go through this,” she said, and her voice was shaking. “Though not as…explosively as you, I have to say. And the answer is…well, it’s dangerous.”
“Yes, but that’s what people always say to scare children,” said Tiffany. “We get told stories to frighten us, to keep us scared! Don’t go into the big bad woods help me because it’s full of scary things, that’s what we’re told. But really, the big bad woods should be scared of us! I’m going out!”
“I think that would be a good idea,” said Miss Level weakly. “Until you behave.”
“I don’t have to do things your way,” snarled Tiffany, slamming the door behind her.
Miss Level’s broomstick was leaning against the wall a little way away. Tiffany stopped and stared at it, her mind on fire.
She’d tried to keep away from it. Miss Level had wheedled her into a trial flight with Tiffany clinging on tightly with arms and legs while both of Miss Level ran alongside her, holding on to ropes and making encouraging noises. They had stopped when Tiffany threw up for the fourth time.
Well, that was then!
She grabbed the stick, swung a leg over it—and found that her other foot stuck to the ground as though nailed there. The broomstick swung around wildly as she tried to pull it up, and, when the boot was finally tugged off the ground, the stick turned over so that Tiffany was upside down. This is not the best position in which to make a grand exit.
She said, quietly, “I am not going to learn you, you are going to learn me. Or the next lesson will involve an axe!”
The broomstick turned upright, then gently rose.
“Right,” said Tiffany. There was no fear this time. There was just impatience. The ground dropping away below her didn’t worry her at all. If it didn’t have the sense to stay away from her, she’d hit it….
As the stick drifted away, there was whispering in the long grass of the garden.
“Ach, we’re too late, Rob. That wuz the hiver, that wuz.”
“Aye, but did ye see that foot? It’s nae won yet—oour hag’s in there somewhere! She’s fighting it! It canna win until it’s taken the last scrap o’ her! Wullie, will ye stop tryin’ to grab them apples!”
“It’s sorry I am tae say this, Rob, but no one can fight a hiver. ’Tis like fightin’ yoursel. The more you fight, the more it’ll tak’ o’ ye. And when it has all o’ ye—”
“Wash oot yer mouth wi’ hedgehog pee, Big Yan! That isna gonna happen—”
“Crivens! Here comes the big hag!”
Half of Miss Level stepped out into the ruined