Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett [46]
“Try not to fart, in a nutshell.”
“In a nutshell I imagine it would be pretty unpleasant!” said Tiffany nervously. She couldn’t believe she was being told this.
“This is no joking matter,” said Miss Treason. “The human body only has so much air in it. You have to make it last. One plate of beans can take a year off your life. I have avoided rumbustiousness all my days. I am an old person and that means what I say is wisdom!” She gave the bewildered Tiffany a stern look. “Do you understand, child?”
Tiffany’s mind raced. Everything is a test! “No,” she said. “I’m not a child and that’s nonsense, not wisdom!”
The stern look cracked into a smile. “Yes,” said Miss Treason. “Total gibberish. But you’ve got to admit it’s a corker, all the same, right? You definitely believed it, just for a moment? The villagers did last year. You should have seen the way they walked about for a few weeks! The strained looks on their faces quite cheered me up! How are things with the Wintersmith? All gone quiet, has it?”
The question was like a sharp knife in a slice of cake, and arrived so suddenly that Tiffany gasped.
“I woke up early and wondered where you were,” said Miss Treason. It was so easy to forget that she used other people’s ears and eyes all the time, in an absentminded sort of way.
“Did you see the roses?” asked Tiffany. She hadn’t felt the telltale tickle, but she hadn’t exactly had much time for anything but worry.
“Yes. Fine things,” said Miss Treason. “I wish I could help you, Tiffany, but I’m going to be otherwise occupied. And romance is an area where I cannot offer much advice.”
“Romance?” said Tiffany, shocked.
“The girl Weatherwax and Miss Tick will have to guide you,” Miss Treason went on. “I must say, though, that I suspect that neither of them has jousted much in the lists of love.”
“Lists of love?” said Tiffany. It was getting worse!
“Can you play poker?” Miss Treason asked.
“Pardon?”
“Poker. The card game. Or Cripple Mr. Onion? Chase My Neighbor Up the Passage? You must have sat up with the dead and dying before?”
“Well, yes. But I’ve never played cards with them! Anyway, I don’t know how to play!”
“I’ll teach you. There’s a pack of cards in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Go and fetch them.”
“Is this like gambling? My father said that people shouldn’t gamble.”
Miss Treason nodded. “Good advice, my dear. Don’t worry. The way I play poker isn’t like gambling at all….”
When Tiffany awoke with a jolt, playing cards sliding off her dress and onto the floor, the cold gray light of morning filled the room.
She peered at Miss Treason, who was snoring like a pig.
What was the time? It was six at least! What should she do?
Nothing. There was nothing to do.
She picked up the Ace of Wands and stared at it. So that was poker, was it? Well, she hadn’t been too bad at it, once she’d worked out that it was all about making your face tell lies. For most of the time the cards were just something to do with your hands.
Miss Treason slept on. Tiffany wondered if she should get some breakfast, but it seemed such a—
“The ancient kings of Djelibeybi, who are buried in pyramids,” said Miss Treason from the bed, “used to believe that they could take things with them into the next world. Such things as gold and precious stones and even slaves. On that basis, please make me a ham sandwich.”
“Er…you mean…?” Tiffany began.
“The journey after death is quite a long one,” said Miss Treason, sitting up. “I may get hungry.”
“But you’ll just be a soul!”
“Well, perhaps a ham sandwich has a soul, too,” said Miss Treason, as she swung her skinny legs out of the bed. “I’m not sure about the mustard, but it’s worth a try. Hold still there!” This was because she had picked up her hairbrush and was using Tiffany as a mirror. The fiercely concentrated glare a few inches away was as much as Tiffany could bear on a morning like this.
“Thank you—you may go and make the sandwich,” said Miss Treason, laying the brush aside. “I will now get dressed.”
Tiffany hurried out and washed her face in the basin in her room; she always did