More flash

The letter was small, with very small letters. Tiffany's father had made a joke about that, but no one had laughed. One reason was that it just wasn't funny, but the most important reason was that nobody felt like laughing.

Tiffany was sitting on her bed, while her mother packed her stuff. She read the letter again. To see if there was something she had missed. She had not…

Dear Witch Aching,

Due to certain matters of state on the whole of the discworld, we ask a representative from every part to come together for a congregation. Since you, on the chalk, are considered the wisest by many, we assumed you would be the most likely and efficient.

The congregation will take place five days past Small god's eve, and a coach will be sent to you four days earlier. You will then arrive in Ankh-Morpork after a trip of one day, so you will have a chance to settle, for the meeting will probably be at least two weeks. The coach driver will give you the exact location of the place you will be staying.

If you wish not to come, or arrive on another date, please inform us by sending a note. We will await your reply.

Greetings,

The society for the well being of A'tuin.

Tiffany hated it. But she knew these people were probably right. After all, she was the only witch on the entire chalk. She wondered what these certain matters were, but could not find a clue after scanning it yet again. She leaned backwards and fell on the bed.

"Are you alright, honey?" Her mother asked, although she already knew the answer. Tiffany would never admit it to someone if she wasn't alright. She was a witch, and if she had reason to worry, people would get scared.

Then came the daze again. She remembered it from before. She had it every time when she went from one dream to another. That time when she had remembered the arrival of the coach, and after she had finished packing her bags. She knew there was some meaning in the memories she saw. As if something in her was trying to tell her something.

Then came consciousness. She opened her eyes, and realised she could raise her arms. Realising this, she raised her head and looked around. She was in a small room, with walls on three sides, and bars on the last one. A fat man was dosing in the corner. She got up from the stone bench she had been lying on. Her back hurt, and she felt stiff. She assumed this was a good reason to move. This way, she knew, the stiffness would go away.

After she had moved a bit, she felt much better, although her back still hurt. She sat down again. The walk, however small it had been, had exhausted her.

"Hey!" She called to the guard. He stirred, but did not wake. "Hey!" she called again, louder this time. The guard still wouldn't wake. She gave up. If she'd say Hey! any louder she would be yelling. And witches didn't yell.

Then she heard footsteps. She looked towards the dark end of the room behind the bars, where the footsteps were coming from. When she managed to identify a shape, coming closer, she allowed herself a small smile. Witches didn't have to scream to get the attention of someone who did not practice witchcraft.

The man looked at her. He was fatter than the other guy, and had a face that could be called jolly. In short, it was Colon. Tiffany did not know this however. She glared at him, Colon glared back. After some minutes, Colon broke the contact.

"What?" he demanded.

"Where am I?" Tiffany demanded.

"How long have you been awake?" Colon asked uncertainly. (1)

Tiffany glared at him even harder and repeated her question: "Where am I?"

"Why? You are in prison, of course." He answered.

A moment of shock and fear overwhelmed Tiffany, but she quickly overcame it. "You will release me right now!" She demanded, giving him no room for argument.

The fat man became uncertain, but then another man came down the stairs. He grimaced at her. "Do you know why you are here?" He asked. The man was somewhere in his middle-years, and he had a big scar down his face.

Tiffany did not know why she was here, but she wasn't about to let the man know that. "Of course I do."

"In that case I will not have to explain. Leave us Colon, go make some tea."

Tiffany agreed with tea. Tea was calming. She looked at the man, who was now walking towards her cell with the keys. Turning one that was turning into dust in the lock, he patiently waited until she let go of the bars before opening the cell door. He let her out and gestured for her to sit down on a stool. She did so. The man sat down on the table. "Do you admit it?"

Tiffany knew she had gotten herself into a situation now. She had no idea what the man was talking about. She played for time. "And you are?"

"My name is Vimes. I am commander of the watch." He half opened his mouth as if to go on, but he quickly snapped it shut again. "And you are?"

She sniffed. You didn't talk to a witch like this. Nevertheless, she had no other possibility. And this question was better than the other one. "My name is Tiffany Aching, and I am a witch from the Chalk. I am here on political business."

Colon, who had just been walking down the stairs with two cups of tea, grimaced. The tea tasted good to Tiffany's dried tongue, but it was actually disgusting. Bravely she took another sip. The man on the table put his cup away after the first taste. He then turned to her again. "Do you admit to murdering Bern?"

She looked at him. He dared accuse a witch of murder. Her eyes narrowed, but she kept her voice calm, calm and threatening. "What evidence have you that you could even consider such a thing?" She cocked her head at the end of the sentence, studying his face.

Vimes sighed. "We have none."