Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett [48]
Tiffany stood up straight. They were bothering her! Even this morning! But she…wanted to be bothered. Being bothered was her life.
“Miss Treason!” she snapped, pushing her way through the mob. “Remember you have an appointment!”
It wasn’t the best thing to say, but a lot better than: “You said you were going to die in about five minutes’ time!”
Miss Treason turned and looked uncertain for a moment.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes, indeed. We had better get on.” Then, still talking to Mr. Blinkhorn about some complex problem concerning a fallen tree and someone’s shed, and with the rest of the crowd trailing after her, she let Tiffany walk her gently to the graveside.
“Well, at least you’ve got a happy ending, Miss Treason,” Tiffany whispered. It was a silly thing to say and deserved what it got.
“We make happy endings, child, day to day. But you see, for the witch there are no happy endings. There are just endings. And here we are….”
Best not to think, thought Tiffany. Best not to think you’re climbing down an actual ladder into an actual grave. Try not to think about helping Miss Treason down the ladder onto the leaves that are piled up at one end. Do not let yourself know you’re standing in a grave.
Down here, the horrible clock seemed to clank even louder: clonk-clank, clonk-clank….
Miss Treason trod the leaves down a bit and said cheerfully, “Yes, I can see myself being quite comfortable here. Listen, child, I told you about the books, did I not? And there is a small gift for you under my chair. Yes, this seems adequate. Oh, I forgot…”
Clonk-clank, clonk-clank…went the clock, sounding much louder down there.
Miss Treason stood on tiptoe and poked her head over the edge of the hole. “Mr. Easy! You owe two months’ rent to the Widow Langley! Understand? Mr. Plenty, the pig belongs to Mrs. Frumment, and if you don’t give it back to her, I shall come back and groan under your window! Mistress Fullsome, the Dogelley family have had Right of Passage over the Turnwise pasture since even I cannot remember, and you must…you must…”
Clon…k.
There was a moment, one long moment, when the sudden silence of the clock not ticking anymore filled the clearing like thunder.
Slowly Miss Treason sagged down onto the leaves.
It took a few dreadful seconds for her brain to start working, and then Tiffany screamed at the people clustered above: “Go back, all of you! Give her some air!”
She knelt down as they backed hurriedly away.
The smell of the raw soil was sharp in the air. At least Miss Treason seemed to have died with her eyes shut. Not everyone did. Tiffany hated having to shut them for people; it was like killing them all over again.
“Miss Treason?” she whispered. That was the first test. There were a lot of them, and you had to do them all: speak to them, raise an arm, check the pulses including the one behind the ear, check for breath with a mirror…and she’d always been so nervous about getting them wrong that the first time she’d had to go out to deal with someone who looked dead—a young man who’d been in a horrible sawmill accident—she’d done every single test, even though she’d had to go and find his head.
There were no mirrors in Miss Treason’s cottage.
In that case she—
—should think! This is Miss Treason here! And I heard her wind her clock up only a few minutes ago!
She smiled.
“Miss Treason!” she said, very close to the woman’s ear. “I know you’re in there!”
And that’s when the morning, which had been sad, weird, odd, and horrible, became…Boffo all the way.
Miss Treason smiled.
“Have they gone?” she inquired.
“Miss Treason!” said Tiffany sternly. “That was a terrible thing to do!”
“I stopped my clock with my thumbnail,” said Miss Treason proudly. “Couldn’t disappoint them, eh? Had to give ’em a show!”
“Miss Treason,” said Tiffany severely, “did you make up the story about your clock?”
“Of course I did! And it’s a wonderful bit of folklore, a real corker. Miss Treason and her clockwork heart! Might even become a myth, if I’m