A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [73]
“But…but I can’t do that now—”
“Get past ‘I can’t,’ Miss Level,” Mistress Weatherwax snapped. “Don’t think about it, just do it! My tea’s getting cold!”
So this is witchcraft too, Tiffany thought. It’s like Granny Aching talking to animals. It’s in the voice! Sharp and soft by turns, and you use little words of command and encouragement and you keep talking, making the words fill the creature’s world, so that the sheepdogs obey you and the nervous sheep are calmed….
The biscuit tin floated away from the dresser. As it neared the old woman, the lid unscrewed and hovered in the air beside it. She reached in delicately.
“Ooh, store-bought Teatime Assortment,” she said, taking four biscuits and quickly putting three of them in her pocket. “Very posh.”
“It’s terribly difficult to do this!” Miss Level moaned. “It’s like trying not to think of a pink rhinoceros!”
“Well?” said Mistress Weatherwax. “What’s so special about not thinking of a pink rhinoceros?”
“It’s impossible to think of one if someone tells you mustn’t,” Tiffany explained.
“No it ain’t,” said Mistress Weatherwax firmly. “I ain’t thinking of one right now, and I gives you my word on that. You want to take control of that brain of yours, Miss Level. So you’ve lost a spare body? What’s another body when all’s said and done? Just a lot of upkeep, another mouth to feed, wear and tear on the furniture…in a word, fuss. Get your mind right, Miss Level, and the world is your…” The old witch leaned down to Tiffany and whispered: “What’s that thing, lives in the sea, very small, folks eat it?”
“Shrimp?” Tiffany suggested, a bit puzzled.
“Shrimp? All right. The world is your shrimp, Miss Level. Not only will there be a great saving on clothes and food, which is not to be sneezed at in these difficult times, but when people see you moving things through the air, well, they’ll say, ‘There’s a witch and a half, and no mistake! and they will be right. You just hold on to that skill, Miss Level. You maintain. Think on what I’ve said. And now you stay and rest. We’ll see to what needs doing today. You just make a little list for me, and Tiffany’ll know the way.”
“Well, indeed, I do feel…somewhat shaken,” said Miss Level, absentmindedly brushing her hair out of her eyes with an invisible hand. “Let me see…you could just drop in on Mr. Umbril, and Mistress Turvy, and the young Raddle boy, and check on Mrs. Towney’s bruise, and take some Number 5 ointment to Mr. Drover, and pay a call on old Mrs. Hunter at Saucy Corner, and…now, who have I forgotten?”
Tiffany realized she was holding her breath. It had been a horrible day, and a dreadful night, but what was looming and lining up for its place on Miss Level’s tongue was, somehow, going to be worse than either.
“…Ah, yes, have a word with Miss Quickly at Uttercliff, and then probably you’ll need to talk to Mrs. Quickly, too, and there’re a few packages to be dropped off on the way, they’re in my basket, all marked up. And I think that’s it…. Oh, no, silly me, I almost forgot…and you need to drop in on Mr. Weavall, too.”
Tiffany breathed out. She really didn’t want to. She’d rather not breathe ever again than face Mr. Weavall and open an empty box.
“Are you sure you’re…totally yourself, Tiffany?” said Miss Level, and Tiffany leaped at this lifesaving excuse not to go.
“Well, I do feel a bit—” she began, but Mistress Weatherwax interrupted with, “She’s fine, Miss Level, apart from the echoes. The hiver has gone away from this house, I can assure you.”
“Really?” said Miss Level. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how can you be so certain?”
Mistress Weatherwax pointed down.
Grain by grain, the spilled sugar was rolling across the tabletop and leaping into the sugar bowl.
Miss Level clasped her hands together.
“Oh, Oswald,” she said, her face one huge smile, “you’ve come back!”
Miss Level, and possibly Oswald, watched them go from the gate.
“She’ll be fine with your little