A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [53]
“No, not really. But I might let you join me,” said Tiffany. “Are you enjoying that milk?”
The glass of milk turned into a bunch of thistles and grass. Annagramma dropped it hurriedly. When it hit the floor, it became a glass of milk again, and shattered and splashed.
Tiffany pointed at the ceiling. The painted stars flared, filling the room with light. But Annagramma stared at the spilled milk. “You know they say the power comes?” said Tiffany. “Well, it’s come to me. Do you want to be my friend? Or do you want to be…in my way? I should clean up that milk, if I was you.”
She concentrated. She didn’t know where this was coming from, but it seemed to know exactly what to do.
Annagramma rose a few inches off the floor. She struggled and tried to run, but that only made her spin. To Tiffany’s dreadful delight, the girl started to cry.
“You said we ought to use our power,” said Tiffany, walking around her as Annagramma tried to break free. “You said if we had the gift, people ought to know about it. You’re a girl with her head screwed on right.” Tiffany bent down a bit to look her in the eye. “Wouldn’t it be awful if it got screwed on wrong?”
She waved a hand and her prisoner dropped to the ground. But while Annagramma was unpleasant, she wasn’t a coward, and she rose up with her mouth open to yell and a hand upraised—
“Careful,” said Tiffany. “I can do it again.”
Annagramma wasn’t stupid, either. She lowered her hand and shrugged.
“Well, you have been lucky,” she said grudgingly.
“But I still need your help,” said Tiffany.
“Why would you need my help?” asked Annagramma sulkily.
—We need allies, the hiver thought with Tiffany’s mind. They can help protect us. If necessary, we can sacrifice them. Other creatures will always want to be friends with the powerful, and this one loves power—
“To start with,” said Tiffany, “where can I get a dress like yours?”
Annagramma’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you want Zakzak Stronginthearm, over in Sallett Without,” she said. “He sells everything for the modern witch.”
“Then I want everything,” said Tiffany.
“He’ll want paying,” Annagramma went on. “He’s a dwarf. They know real gold from illusion gold. Everyone tries it out on him, of course. He just laughs. If you try it twice, he’ll make a complaint to your mistress.”
“Miss Tick said a witch should have just enough money,” said Tiffany.
“That’s right,” said Annagramma. “Just enough to buy everything she wants! Mrs. Earwig says that just because we’re witches, we don’t have to live like peasants. But Miss Level is old-fashioned, isn’t she? Probably hasn’t got any money in the house.”
And Tiffany said, “Oh, I know where I can get some money. I’ll meet you please help me! here this afternoon, and you can show me where his place is.”
“What was that?” said Annagramma sharply.
“I just said I’d stop me! meet you here this—” Tiffany began.
“There it was again! There was a sort of…odd echo in your voice,” said Annagramma. “Like two people trying to talk at once.”
“Oh, that,” said the hiver. “That’s nothing. It’ll stop soon.”
It was an interesting mind, and the hiver enjoyed using it—but always there was that one place, that little place that was closed; it was annoying, like an itch that wouldn’t go away….
It did not think. The mind of the hiver was just what remained of all the other minds it had once lived in. They were like echoes after the music is taken away. But even echoes, bouncing off one another, can produce new harmonies.
They clanged now. They rang out things like: fit in. Not strong enough yet to make enemies. Have friends….
Zakzak’s low-ceilinged, dark shop had plenty to spend your money on. Zakzak was indeed a dwarf, and they’re not traditionally interested in using magic, but he certainly knew how to display merchandise, which is what they are very good at.
There were wands, mostly of metal, some of rare woods. Some had shiny crystals stuck on them, which of course made them more expensive. There were bottles of colored glass in the potions section, and oddly enough,