A Hat Full Of Sky - Terry Pratchett [95]
“Um, the ones I saw had icing on them,” Petulia ventured nervously. “They weren’t just homemade—”
“Look,” said Lucy Warbeck, “we didn’t really, you know, see anything? You were just standing there with this like glow around you and we couldn’t get in and then Gran—Mistress Weatherwax walked up and stepped right in and you both, you know, stood there? And then the glow went zip and vanished and you, like, fell over.”
“What Lucy’s failing to say very accurately,” said Annagramma, “is that we didn’t actually see you go anywhere. I’m telling you this as a friend, of course. There was just this glow, which could have been anything.”
Annagramma was going to be a good witch, Tiffany considered. She could tell herself stories that she literally believed. And she could bounce back like a ball.
“Don’t forget, I saw the horse,” said Harrieta Bilk.
Annagramma rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, Harrieta thinks she saw some kind of horse in the sky. Except it didn’t look like a horse, she says. She says it looked like a horse would look if you took the actual horse away and just left the horsiness, right, Harrieta?”
“I didn’t say that!” snapped Harrieta.
“Well, pardon me. That’s what it sounded like.”
“Um, and some people said they saw a white horse grazing in the next field, too,” said Petulia. “And a lot of the older witches said they felt a tremendous amount of—”
“Yes, some people thought they saw a horse in a field, but it isn’t there anymore,” said Annagramma in the singsong voice she used when she thought it was all stupid. “That must be very rare in the country, seeing horses in fields. Anyway, if there really was a white horse, it was gray.”
Tiffany sat on the edge of the table, staring at her knees. Anger at Annagramma had jolted her to life, but now the tiredness was creeping back again.
“I suppose none of you saw a little blue man, about six inches high, with red hair?” she said quietly.
“Anyone?” said Annagramma with malicious cheerfulness. There was a general mumbling of “no.”
“Sorry, Tiffany,” said Lucy.
“Don’t worry,” said Annagramma. “He probably just rode away on his white horse!”
This is going to be like Fairyland all over again, thought Tiffany. Even I can’t remember if it was real. Why should anyone believe me? But she had to try.
“There was a dark doorway,” she said slowly, “and beyond it was a desert of black sand, and it was light although there were stars in the sky, and Death was there. I spoke to him….”
“You spoke to him, did you?” said Annagramma. “And what did he say, pray?”
“He didn’t say pray,” said Tiffany. “We didn’t talk about much. But he didn’t know what an egress was.”
“It’s a small type of heron, isn’t it?” said Harrieta.
There was silence, except for the noise of the Trials outside.
“It’s not your fault,” said Annagramma in what was, for her, almost a friendly voice. “It’s like I said: Mistress Weatherwax messes with people’s heads.”
“What about the glow?” said Lucy.
“That was probably ball lightning,” said Annagramma. “That’s very strange stuff.”
“But people were, like, hammering on it! It was as hard as ice!”
“Ah, well, it probably felt like that,” said Annagramma, “but it was…probably affecting people’s muscles, maybe. I’m only trying to be helpful here,” she added. “You’ve got to be sensible. She just stood there. You saw her. There weren’t any doors or deserts. There was just her.”
Tiffany sighed. She felt tired. She wanted to crawl off somewhere. She wanted to go home. She’d walk there now if her boots weren’t suddenly so uncomfortable.
While the girls argued, she undid the laces and tugged one off.
Silver-black dust poured out. When it hit the ground, it bounced slowly, curving up into the air again like mist.
The girls turned, watching in silence. Then Petulia reached down and caught some of the dust. When she lifted her hand, the fine stuff flowed between her fingers. It fell as slowly as feathers.
“Sometimes things go wrong,” she said, in a faraway voice. “Mistress Blackcap told me. Haven’t any of you been there when old folk are dying?” There were one