Wintersmith - Terry Pratchett [73]
Where are you, Flower Lady? What are you? You should be sleeping!
The voice was so faint that Tiffany might not have heard it at all if she hadn’t been all tensed up waiting for the next gnh gnh gnh. And here it came—
Gnh gnh gnh!
Let me show you my world, Flower Lady. Let me show you all the colors of ice!
BLOOOOOORRRRT!
About three quarters of Tiffany thought: Oh, no! Will he find me if I reply? No. If he could find me, he’d be here. My hand isn’t itching.
The other quarter thought: A god or godlike being is talking to me and I could really do without the snoring, Annagramma, thank you so much.
Gnh gnh gnh!
“I said I was sorry,” she whispered into the dancing candlelight. “I saw the iceberg. It was very…er…nice of you.”
I have made many more.
BLOOOOOORRRRT!
Many more icebergs, thought Tiffany. Great big freezing, floating mountains that look like me, dragging fog banks and snowstorms behind them. I wonder how many ships will run into them.
“You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble,” she whispered.
Now I am growing stronger! I am listening and learning! I am understanding humans!
Outside the cottage window a thrush began to sing. Tiffany blew out the candle, and gray light crept into the room.
Listening and learning…how could a blizzard understand things?
Tiffany, Flower Lady! I am making myself a man!
There was a complicated grunting as Annagramma’s gnh gnh gnh and bloooooorrrrt! ran into each other and she woke up.
“Ah,” she said, stretching her arms and yawning. She looked around. “Well, that seemed to go well.”
Tiffany stared at the wall. What did he mean, making himself a man? Surely he—
“You didn’t fall asleep, did you, Tiffany?” said Annagramma in what she probably thought was a playful voice. “Not even for one tiny little second?”
“What?” said Tiffany, glaring at the wall. “Oh…no. I didn’t!”
People were moving around downstairs. After a little while there was a creaking on the stairs and the low door was pushed open. A middle-aged man, looking sheepishly at the floor, uttered, “Mam says would you ladies like some breakfast?”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly take what little you have—” Annagramma began.
“Yes, please, we will be grateful,” said Tiffany, louder and quicker. The man nodded, and shut the door.
“Oh, how could you say that?” said Annagramma, as his footsteps creaked down. “These are poor people! I thought you would—”
“Shut up, will you?” snapped Tiffany. “Just shut up and wake up! These are real people! They’re not some kind of, of, of idea! We will go down there and we will eat breakfast and we’ll say how good it is and then we will thank them and they will thank us and we will go! And that will mean everyone has done the right thing by custom, and that will be what’s important to them. Besides, they don’t think they’re poor, because everyone around here is poor! But they’re not so poor they can’t afford to do the right things! That would be poor!”
Annagramma was staring at her with her mouth open.
“Be careful what you say next,” said Tiffany, breathing heavily. “In fact, don’t say anything.”
Breakfast was ham and eggs. It was eaten in polite silence. After that, in the same silence except that it was outdoors, they flew back to what people would probably always think of as Miss Treason’s cottage.
There was a small boy loitering outside. As soon as they landed, he blurted out, “Mrs. Obble says the baby’s on the way an’ she said you’d give me a penny for goin’.”
“You have got