Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett [73]
“A child needs to know his parents, Mrs. Ogg,” she said. “Now more than ever. He needs to know who he really is. It’s going to be hard for him, and I want to help him.”
“Why?”
“Because I wish someone had helped me,” said Susan.
“Yes, but there’s rules to midwifery,” said Nanny Ogg. “You don’t say what was said or what you saw. Not if the lady don’t want you to.”
The witch wriggled awkwardly in her chair, her face going red. She wants to tell me, Susan knew. She’s desperate to. But I’ve got to play it right, so she can square it with herself.
“I’m not asking for names, Mrs. Ogg, because I expect you don’t know them,” she went on.
“That’s true.”
“But the child—”
“Look, miss, I’m not supposed to tell a living soul about—”
“If it helps, I’m not entirely certain that I am one,” said Susan. She watched Mrs. Ogg for a while. “But I understand. There have to be rules, don’t there? Thank you for your time.”
Susan stood up and put the preserved day back on the mantelpiece. Then she walked out of the cottage, shutting the door behind her. Binky was still waiting by the gate. She mounted up, and it wasn’t until then that she heard the door open behind her.
“That’s what he said,” said Mrs. Ogg. “When he gave me the egg timer. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ogg,’ he said. You’d better come back in, my girl.”
Tick
Death found Pestilence in a hospice in Llamedos. Pestilence liked hospitals. There was always something for him to do.
Currently he was trying to remove the “Now Wash Your Hands” sign over a cracked basin. He looked up.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Soap? I’ll give ’em soap!”
I SENT OUT THE CALL, said Death.
“Oh. Yes. Right. Yes,” said Pestilence, clearly embarrassed.
YOU’VE STILL GOT YOUR HORSE?
“Of course, but…”
YOU HAD A FINE HORSE.
“Look, Death…it’s…look, it’s not that I don’t see your point, but—excuse me…” Pestilence stepped aside as a white-robed nun, completely oblivious of the two Horsemen, passed between them. But he took the opportunity to breathe in her face.
“Just a mild flu,” he said, catching Death’s expression.
SO WE CAN COUNT ON YOU, CAN WE?
“To ride out…”
YES.
“For the Big One….”
IT’S EXPECTED OF US.
“How many of the others have you got?”
YOU ARE THE FIRST.
“Er…”
Death sighed. Of course, there had been plenty of diseases, long before humans had been around. But humans had definitely created Pestilence. They had a genius for crowding together, for poking around in jungles, for setting the midden so handily next to the well. Pestilence was, therefore, part human, with all that this entailed. He was frightened.
I SEE, Death said.
“The way you put it—”
YOU ARE AFRAID?
“I’ll…think about it.”
YES. I AM SURE YOU WILL.
Tick
Quite a lot of brandy splashed into Mrs. Ogg’s mug. She waved the bottle vaguely at Susan, with an inquiring look.
“No, thank you.”
“Fair enough. Fair enough.” Nanny Ogg put the bottle aside and took a draught of the brandy as though it was beer.
“A man came knocking,” she said. “Three times he came, in my life. Last time was, oh, maybe ten days ago. Same man every time. He wanted a midwife—”
“Ten days ago?” said Susan. “But the child’s at least sixt—” She stopped.
“Ah, you’ve got it,” said Mrs. Ogg. “I could see you was bright. Time didn’t matter to him. He wanted the best midwife. And it was like, he’d found out about me, but got the date wrong, just like you or me could knock on the wrong door. Can you understand what I mean?”
“More than you think,” said Susan.
“The third time”—another gulp at the brandy—“he was in a bit of a state,” said Mrs. Ogg. “That’s how I knew he was just a man, despite everything that happened after. It was because he was panicking, to tell you the truth. Pregnant fathers often panic. He was going on about me coming right away and how there was no time. He had all the time in the world, he just wasn’t thinking properly, ’cos husbands never do when