Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [105]
“I…don’t know,” said Magrat.
“I reckon Esme thought it was worth findin’ out,” said Nanny. “That’s what I reckon.”
A figure appeared around the bend in the stairs, plodding upward. They stood aside politely to let it pass.
“Wish I could remember what bit of him you had to hit,” Nanny said. “That’s going to be nagging at me all night, now.”
THE HEEL.
“Right? Oh, thanks.”
ANY TIME.
The figure continued onward and upward.
“He had a good mask on, didn’t he,” said Magrat, eventually.
She and Nanny sought confirmation in each other’s face.
Magrat went pale. She looked up the stairs.
“I think we should run back up and—” she began.
Nanny Ogg was much older. “I think we should walk,” she said.
Lady Volentia D’Arrangement sat in the rose garden under the big tower and blew her nose.
She’d been waiting for half an hour and she’d had enough.
She’d hoped for a romantic tête-à-tête: he’d seemed such a nice man, sort of eager and shy at the same time. Instead, she’d nearly been hit on the head when an old woman on a broom and wearing what looked, as far as she could see through the blur of speed, like Lady Volentia’s own dress, had screamed down out of the mist. Her boots had plowed through the roses before the curve of her flight took her up again.
And some filthy smelly tomcat kept brushing up against her legs.
And it had started off as such a nice evening…
“’ullo, your Ladyship?”
She looked around at the bushes.
“My name’s Casanunda,” said a hopeful voice.
Lily Weatherwax turned when she heard the tinkle of glass from within the maze of mirrors.
Her brow wrinkled. She ran across the flagstones and opened the door into the mirror world.
There was no sound but the rustle of her dress and the soft hiss of her own breathing. She glided into the place between the mirrors.
Her myriad selves looked back at her approvingly. She relaxed.
Then her foot struck something. She looked down and saw on the flagstones, black in the moonlight, a broomstick lying in shards of broken glass.
Her horrified gaze rose to meet a reflection.
It glared back at her.
“Where’s the pleasure in bein’ the winner if the loser ain’t alive to know they’ve lost?”
Lilith backed away, her mouth opening and shutting.
Granny Weatherwax stepped through the empty frame. Lily looked down, beyond her avenging sister.
“You broke my mirror!”
“Was this what it was all for, then?” said Granny. “Playin’ little queens in some damp city? Serving stories? What sort of power is that?”
“You don’t understand…you’ve broken the mirror…”
“They say you shouldn’t do it,” said Granny. “But I reckoned: what’s another seven years’ bad luck?”
Image after image shatters, all the way around the great curve of the mirror world, the crack flying out faster than light…
“You have to break both to be safe…you’ve upset the balance…”
“Hah! I did?” Granny stepped forward, her eyes two sapphires of bitterness. “I’m goin’ to give you the hidin’ our Mam never gave you, Lily Weatherwax. Not with magic, not with headology, not with a stick like our Dad had, aye, and used a fair bit as I recall—but with skin. And not because you was the bad one. Not because you meddled with stories. Everyone has a path they got to tread. But because, and I wants you to understand this prop’ly, after you went I had to be the good one. You had all the fun. An’ there’s no way I can make you pay for that, Lily, but I’m surely goin’ to give it a try…”
“But…I…I…I’m the good one,” Lily murmured, her face pale with shock. “I’m the good one. I can’t lose. I’m the godmother. You’re the wicked witch…and you’ve broken the mirror…”
…moving like a comet, the crack in the mirrors reaches its furthest point and curves back, speeding down the countless worlds…
“You’ve got to help me put…the images must be balanced…” Lily murmured faintly, backing up against the remaining glass.
“Good? Good? Feeding people to stories? Twisting people’s lives? That’s good, is it?” said Granny. “You mean you didn’t even have fun? If I’d been as bad as you, I’d have been a whole lot worse. Better at it than you’ve