Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett [67]
“I’m a-waitin’ for him, Mrs. Ogg!” said the old man cheerfully. “If I’m gonna go, I’ll take ’im with me!”
“This is my girl Tiff. She’s learnin’ the witchin’,” said Nanny, raising her voice. “This is Mr. Hogparsley, Tiff…Tiff?” She snapped her fingers in front of Tiffany’s eyes.
“Huh?” said Tiffany. She was still staring in horror.
The twang of the bow as Nanny opened the door had been bad enough, but for a fraction of a second, she would have sworn that an arrow had gone right through Nanny Ogg and stuck in the door frame.
“Shame on you for firing at a young lady, Bill,” said Nanny severely, plumping up his pillows. “And Mrs. Dowser says you’ve been shootin’ at her when she comes up to see you,” she added, putting her basket down by the bed. “That’s no way to treat a respectable woman who brings you your meals, is it? For shame!”
“Sorry, Nanny,” muttered Mr. Hogparsley. “It’s just that she’s skinny as a rake and wears black. ’Tis an easy mistake to make in poor light.”
“Mr. Hogparsley here is lying in wait for Death, Tiff,” said Nanny. “Mistress Weatherwax helped you make the special traps and arrows, ain’t that right, Bill?”
“Traps?” whispered Tiffany. Nanny just nudged her and pointed down. The floorboards were covered in ferociously spiked mantraps.
They were all drawn in charcoal.
“I said isn’t that right, Bill?” Nanny repeated, raising her voice. “She helped you with the traps!”
“She did that!” said Mr. Hogparsley. “Hah! I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side o’ her!”
“Right, so no shootin’ arrows at anyone except Death, right? Otherwise Mistress Weatherwax won’t make you any more,” said Nanny, putting a bottle on the old wooden box that was Mr. Hogparsley’s bedside table. “Here’s some of your jollop, freshly mixed up. Where did she tell you to keep the pain?”
“It’s sitting up here on my shoulder, missus, being no trouble.”
Nanny touched the shoulder, and seemed to think for a moment. “It’s a brown and white squiggle? Sort of oblong?”
“That’s right, missus,” said Mr. Hogparsley, pulling at the cork on the bottle. “It wiggles away there and I laughs at it.” The cork popped out. Suddenly, the room smelled of apples.
“It’s gettin’ big,” said Nanny. “Mistress Weatherwax will be along tonight to take it away.”
“Right you are, missus,” said the old man, filling a mug to the brim.
“Try not to shoot her, all right? It only makes her mad.”
It was snowing again when they stepped out of the cottage, big feathery flakes that meant business.
“I reckon that’s it for today,” Nanny announced. “I’ve got things to see to over in Slice, but we’ll take the stick tomorrow.”
“That arrow he fired at us—” said Tiffany.
“Imaginary,” said Nanny Ogg, smiling.
“It looked real for a moment!”
Nanny Ogg chuckled. “It’s amazing what Esme Weatherwax can make people imagine!”
“Like traps for Death?”
“Oh, yes. Well, it gives the old boy an interest in life. He’s on his way to the Door. But at least Esme’s seen to it that there’s no pain.”
“Because it’s floating over his shoulder?” said Tiffany.
“Yep. She put it just outside his body for him, so it don’t hurt,” said Nanny, the snow crunching under her feet.
“I didn’t know you could do that!”
“I can do it for small stuff, toothaches and the like. Esme’s the champion for it, though. We’re none of us too proud to call her in. Y’know, she’s very good at people. Funny, really, ’cuz she doesn’t like ’em much.”
Tiffany glanced at the sky, and Nanny was the kind of inconvenient person who notices everything.
“Wondering if lover boy is goin’ to drop in?” she said with a big grin.
“Nanny! Really!”
“But you are, aren’t you?” said Nanny, who knew no shame. “O’ course, he’s always around, when you think about it. You’re walking through him, you feel him on your skin, you stamp him off your boots when you go indoors—”
“Just don’t talk like that, please?” said Tiffany.
“Besides, what’s time to an elemental?” Nanny chattered. “And I suppose snowflakes don’t just make themselves, especially when you’ve got to get the arms and legs right….”
She’s looking at me out