A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [87]
She felt the hiver stir. She felt it begin to move.
Tiffany stumbled through a chattering group of witches, their voices sounding shrill and unpleasant. She felt ill, as though she’d been in the sun too long. The world was spinning.
A remarkable thing about a hiver, a reedy voice began, somewhere in the back of her head, is that its hunting pattern mimics that of the common shark, among other creatures—
“I do not want a lecture, Mr. Bustle,” Tiffany mumbled. “I do not want you in my head!”
But the memory of Sensibility Bustle had never taken much notice of other people when he was alive and it wasn’t going to begin now. It went on in its self-satisfied squeak:—in that, once it has selected its prey, it will completely ignore other attractive targets—
She could see all the way across the Trials field, and something was coming. It moved through the crowd like the wind through a field of grass. You could plot its progress by the people. Some fainted, some yelped and turned around, some ran. Witches stopped their gossip, chairs were overturned, and the shouting started. But it wasn’t attacking anything. It was only interested in Tiffany.
Like a shark, thought Tiffany. The killer of the sea, where worse things happen.
Tiffany backed away, the panic filling her up. She bumped into witches hurrying toward the commotion and shouted at them:
“You can’t stop it! You don’t know what it is! You’ll flail at it and wave glittery sticks and it will keep coming! It will keep coming!”
She put her hands into her pockets and touched the lucky stone. And the string. And the piece of chalk.
If this was a story, she thought bitterly, I’d trust in my heart and follow my star and all that other stuff and it would all turn out all right, right now, by tinkly Magikkkk. But you’re never in a story when you need to be.
Story, story, story…
The third wish. The Third Wish. The Third Wish is the important one.
In stories the genie or the witch or the magic cat…offers you three wishes.
Three wishes…
She grabbed a hurrying witch and looked into the face of Annagramma, who stared at her in terror and tried to cower away.
“Please don’t do anything to me! Please!” she cried. “I’m your friend, aren’t I?”
“If you like, but that wasn’t me and I’m better now,” said Tiffany, knowing she was lying. It had been her, and that was important. She had to remember that. “Quick, Annagramma! What’s the third wish? Quickly! When you get three wishes, what’s the third wish!”
Annagramma’s face screwed up into the affronted frown she wore when something had the nerve not to be understandable. “But why do—?”
“Don’t think about it, please! Just answer!”
“Well, er…it could be anything…being invisible or…or blond, or anything—” Annagramma burbled, her mind coming apart at the seams.
Tiffany shook her head and let her go. She ran to an old witch who was staring at the commotion.
“Please, mistress, this is important! In stories, what’s the third wish? Don’t ask me why, please! Just remember!”
“Er…happiness. It’s happiness, isn’t it?” said the old lady. “Yes, definitely. Health, wealth, and happiness. Now if I was you, I’d—”
“Happiness? Happiness…thank you,” said Tiffany, and looked around desperately for someone else. It wasn’t happiness, she knew that in her boots. You couldn’t get happiness by magic, and that was another clue right there.
There was Miss Tick, hurrying between the tents. There was no time for half measures. Tiffany pulled her around and shouted: “HelloMissTickYesI’mFineIHopeYouAre WellTooWhatIsTheThirdWishQuicklyThisIs ImportantPleaseDon’tArgueOrAskQuestion ThereIsn’tTime!”
Miss Tick, to her credit, hesitated only for a moment or two. “To have a hundred more wishes, isn’t it?” she said.
Tiffany stared at her and then said, “Thank you. It isn’t, but that’s a clue, too.”
“Tiffany, there’s a—” Miss Tick began.
But Tiffany had seen Granny Weatherwax.
She was standing in the middle of the field, in a big square that had been roped off for some reason. No one seemed to notice