Equal Rites - Terry Pratchett [26]
Cern normally had all the sensitivity of a ball bearing, but his hand stopped in mid-prod, much to his surprise.
“I didn’t want to anyway,” he muttered to hide his confusion. “It’s only an old stick.”
“Is it true you can do spells?” asked Gulta. “We heard Granny say you could.”
“We listened at the door,” added Cern.
“You said I couldn’t,” said Esk, airily.
“Well, can you or can’t you?” said Gulta, his face reddening.
“Perhaps.”
“You can’t!”
Esk looked down at his face. She loved her brothers, when she reminded herself to, in a dutiful sort of way, although she generally remembered them as a collection of loud noises in trousers. But there was something awfully piglike and unpleasant about the way Gulta was staring up at her, as though she had personally insulted him.
She felt her body start to tingle, and the world suddenly seemed very sharp and clear.
“I can,” she said.
Gulta looked from her to the staff, and his eyes narrowed. He kicked it viciously.
“Old stick!”
He looked, she thought, exactly like a small angry pig.
Cern’s screams brought Granny and his parents first to the back door and then running down the cinder path.
Esk was perched in the fork of the apple tree, an expression of dreamy contemplation on her face. Cern was hiding behind the tree, his face a mere rim around a red, tonsil-vibrating bawl.
Gulta was sitting rather bewildered in a pile of clothing that no longer fitted him, wrinkling his snout.
Granny strode up to the tree until her hooked nose was level with Esk’s.
“Turning people into pigs is not allowed,” she hissed. “Even brothers.”
“I didn’t do it, it just happened. Anyway, you must admit it’s a better shape for him,” said Esk evenly.
“What’s going on?” said Smith. “Where’s Gulta? What’s this pig doing here?”
“This pig,” said Granny Weatherwax, “is your son.”
There was a sigh from Esk’s mother as she collapsed gently backward, but Smith was slightly less unprepared. He looked sharply from Gulta, who had managed to untangle himself from his clothing and was now rooting enthusiastically among the early windfalls, to his only daughter.
“She did this?”
“Yes. Or it was done through her,” said Granny, looking suspiciously at the staff.
“Oh.” Smith looked at his fifth son. He had to admit that the shape suited him. He reached out without looking and fetched the screaming Cern a thump on the back of his head.
“Can you turn him back again?” he asked. Granny spun around and glared the question at Esk, who shrugged.
“He didn’t believe I could do magic,” she said calmly.
“Yes, well, I think you’ve made the point,” said Granny. “And now you will turn him back, madam. This instant. Do you hear?”
“Don’t want to. He was rude.”
“I see.”
Esk gazed down defiantly. Granny glared up sternly. Their wills clanged like cymbals and the air between them thickened. But Granny had spent a lifetime bending recalcitrant creatures to her bidding and, while Esk was a surprisingly strong opponent, it was obvious that she would give in before the end of the paragraph.
“Oh, all right,” she whined. “I don’t know why anyone would bother turning him into a pig when he was doing such a good job of it all by himself.”
She didn’t know where the magic had come from, but she mentally faced that way and made a suggestion. Gulta reappeared, naked, with an apple in his mouth.
“Awts aughtning?” he said.
Granny spun around on Smith.
“Now will you believe me?” she snapped. “Do you really think she’s supposed to settle down here and forget all about magic? Can you imagine her poor husband if she marries?”
“But you always said it was impossible for women to be wizards,” said Smith. He was actually rather impressed. Granny Weatherwax had never been known to turn anyone into anything.
“Never mind that now,” said Granny, calming down a bit. “She needs training. She needs to know how to control. For pity’s sake put some clothes on that child.”
“Gulta, get dressed and stop grizzling,” said his father, and turned back to Granny.
“You said there was some sort of teaching place?