Hogfather - Terry Pratchett [1]
Frost patterns curled across the windows.
She enjoyed these early evenings. Once she had put the children to bed she was more or less left to herself. Mrs. Gaiter was pathetically scared of giving her any instructions even though she paid Susan’s wages.
Not that the wages were important, of course. What was important was that she was being her Own Person and holding down a Real Job. And being a governess was a real job. The only tricky bit had been the embarrassment when her employer found out that she was a duchess, because in Mrs. Gaiter’s book, which was a rather short book with big handwriting, the upper crust wasn’t supposed to work. It was supposed to loaf around. It was all Susan could do to stop her curtseying when they met.
A flicker made her turn her head.
The candle flame was streaming out horizontally, as though in a howling wind.
She looked up. The curtains billowed away from the window, which—
—flung itself open with a clatter.
But there was no wind.
At least, no wind in this world.
Images formed in her mind. A red ball…The sharp smell of snow…And then they were gone, and instead there were…
“Teeth?” said Susan, aloud. “Teeth, again?”
She blinked. When she opened her eyes the window was, as she knew it would be, firmly shut. The curtain hung demurely. The candle flame was innocently upright. Oh, no, not again. Not after all this time. Everything had been going so well—
“Thusan?”
She looked around. Her door had been pushed open and a small figure stood there, barefoot in a nightdress.
She sighed. “Yes, Twyla?”
“I’m afwaid of the monster in the cellar, Thusan. It’s going to eat me up.”
Susan shut her book firmly and raised a warning finger.
“What have I told you about trying to sound ingratiatingly cute, Twyla?” she said.
The little girl said, “You said I mustn’t. You said that exaggerated lisping is a hanging offense and I only do it to get attention.”
“Good. Do you know what monster it is this time?”
“It’s the big hairy one wif—”
Susan raised the finger. “Uh?” she warned.
“—with eight arms,” Twyla corrected herself.
“What, again? Oh, all right.”
She got out of bed and put on her dressing gown, trying to stay quite calm while the child watched her. So they were coming back. Oh, not the monster in the cellar. That was all in a day’s work. But it looked as if she was going to start remembering the future again.
She shook her head. However far you ran away, you always caught yourself up.
But monsters were easy, at least. She’d learned how to deal with monsters. She picked up the poker from the nursery fender and went down the back stairs, with Twyla following her.
The Gaiters were having a dinner party. Muffled voices came from the direction of the dining room.
Then, as she crept past, a door opened and yellow light spilled out and a voice said, “Ye gawds, there’s a gel in a nightshirt out here with a poker!”
She saw figures silhouetted in the light and made out the worried face of Mrs. Gaiter.
“Susan? Er…what are you doing?”
Susan looked at the poker and then back at the woman. “Twyla said she’s afraid of a monster in the cellar, Mrs. Gaiter.”
“And yer going to attack it with a poker, eh?” said one of the guests. There was a strong atmosphere of brandy and cigars.
“Yes,” said Susan simply.
“Susan’s our governess,” said Mrs. Gaiter. “Er…I told you about her.”
There was a change in the expression on the faces peering out from the dining room. It became a sort of amused respect.
“She beats up monsters with a poker?” said someone.
“Actually, that’s a very clever idea,” said someone else. “Little gel gets it into her head there’s a monster in the cellar, you go in with the poker and make a few bashing noises while the child listens, and then everything’s all right. Good thinkin’, that girl. Ver’ sensible. Ver’ modern.”
“Is that what you’re doing, Susan?” said Mrs. Gaiter anxiously.
“Yes, Mrs. Gaiter,” said Susan obediently.
“This I’ve got to watch, by Io! It’s not every day you see monsters