DISCLAIMER: I do not have any right to play in Sir Terry's wonderful Discworld, but I am doing so regardless.
Agnes Nitt, witch, was fed up. Perdita X Dream, Agnes's invisible enemy, was merely irate. Agnes had let Perdita take over their body while she headed back to the cottage. No one tried to stop her1, which was just as well. Agnes doubted that she'd even have been able to smile at someone trying to present her with a full roast dinner for six2. Hunh, Perdita sneered at her, in the privacy of their shared brain, for you it wouldn't even be a dinner for three. Inside her body, Agnes scowled. She had been on a diet for three years, and it still didn't seem to have had any effect3. But Perdita acted as if she wasn't making an effort. She walked her entire steading every week, which, in the vertical country of Lancre was no small effort. Agnes knew that her steading wasn't as big as the others', but it was still a lot of ground to cover.
Agnes had inherited her steading, or territory, from Magrat Garlik, after Magrat had gone off to be Queen. It was the cottage of a research witch, and Agnes, despite having no initial inclination to add to the library4 it contained, had found herself penning a few treatises on magic and music, the uses of liverwort, and the mating habits of phoenixes5. But for all that, Agnes, like Magrat before her, was the maiden of Lancre, in more ways than one, Perdita added, and that meant that the senior witches didn't trust her with a larger territory. Of course they still expected her to know everyone in the kingdom (227 at the last6 census), and be fully cognizant of all their problems, mental, physical and familial, and to be able to treat each and every one before it became a matter of complaint to their neighbors. Since complaining about the neighbors was the fifth most popular occupation for the long Ramtops winter evenings this meant that Agnes was permanently overworked and very grateful for the tea and cake her grateful visitees often gave to her.
But today she had had enough. It was the middle of the afternoon, and she'd been up since last night delivering a baby7, sorting out 'a domestic incident'8, attending a sick cow, treating Mr. Salsify's hand after 'a workplace accident' involving a saw and an incensed goat, and listening to the Misses Trout go on about "when they were little". Actually Agnes would have quite liked to listen, as the Misses Trout had been in the area all their lives and knew far more about Agnes's patients than she did, and it might have been helpful, but Perdita had been making snide remarks, so all Agnes heard were the complaints about "children these days", usually accompanied by nasty looks in her direction, indicating that "children" included uppity young things who thought they deserved The Pointy Hat.
Perdita stamped up Agnes's garden path, past the carefully tended vegetable patch, the chicken coop and the privy and stopped at the sight of a man about to knock on her door. Perdita took in a lungful of air for a good bellow, when Agnes stepped back into control. This young man did not deserve Perdita's wrath. He turned at the sound of her approach, and smiled at the sight of her. No one smiled at Agnes these days9, but this smile was just for her. And her smile back, with Perdita making retching noises behind her eyes, was just for him. "Come in," she said, shyly, "I'll put the kettle on." Mightily-Praiseworthy-Are-Ye-Who-Exaulteth-Om Oats beamed.
Agnes knew she was the Maiden, and probably always would be. Sometimes she speculated about that, but, mostly, she accepted that hers was a life of professional maidenhood. Perdita hadn't. But, if Perdita were to be interested in someone, it would be someone cool and mysterious, like André the secret pianist, or Vlad the badly spelled vampire. Agnes, though, found Mightily Oats to be sensible, in a religious way, and an excellent antidote to witchcraft. It was friendship, rather than love, but, Agnes told herself firmly, it would last all the better10 because of that.
He had brought her a present.
"It's not really- um- very well polished, but- um- I thought it might- um- be useful for- um- for the witching."
Agnes stared at the glimmering surface of the stone in her hands. She'd seen obsidian before, when she'd been to Ankh Morpork. But it had never glimmered like this. "Thank you," she said, meaning every word, "I don't know what I'll use it for, but it certainly looks useful."
The kettle whistled.
She made tea.
They sat in silence while the tea brewed.
Finally, after pouring the tea into the two most matching cups in the cottage, she said "where did you find it? I've never seen obsidian so…" Agnes didn't have a word for 'opalescent', so she waved her hands around to try to describe the stone's appearance.
"Ah, well, you see, I met a very interesting young man on my last journey. Of course I couldn't take him with me, but I left him with a friend in Überwald, and went to where he could remember coming from. It's a phenomenal place you know. All the magic from the Evil Empire seeps into the ground, you see, and this place must have been the site of some big battle, where lots of magic was used, and it's made everything a bit- um- strange."
"So this is- strange obsidian?" Agnes asked. Perdita noted almost no ums, he's more confident. Then, as if she couldn't stand letting something so like a compliment pass her immaterial lips she added, when he's not around you, that is.
He is around me, you stupid cow, that's how you're able to listen. Now for once just shut up. Agnes replied, heatedly, willing herself not to blush. She'd got better at talking silently to Perdita, but she still reacted to the things that were said.
"I suppose so. Do you know anything about- um- land magic?" He had tried to make it sound casual, but the um gave away his interest.
"Granny's been teaching me a bit," Agnes conceded. "You might try her."
"I- um- doubt-um Mistress Weatherwax would- um- want to see- um- me." He stammered.
"Because of you helping her over the mountain to sort out the Magpies all those years ago?" Agnes asked. She was the only one in Lancre who spoke of what Mightily Oats had done to help Granny. Everyone else spoke of how much patience Granny had shown allowing Mr. Oats to follow her around all night.
"That's right."
"Well, I can ask her, I suppose, but it'll be like getting water from a stone." She waited.
"According to the Book of Om the Prophet Cena…" Oats's voice trailed off, "you don't actually want to know that, do you?"
Agnes smiled wearily, "I only meant that getting information out of Granny can be hard".
"Yes, it can, can't it?" Oats replied. Then his eyes narrowed slightly in concern, "you seem very tired. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Oh no." Agnes lied, "it's just that being a village witch sometimes feels hard. But your work must be much harder. Can you tell me about it? What was this man you found?"
"Nutt? He's a child really. I had to leave him with a lady who could raise him. Pastor Crischin isn't very paternal, you see. I don't know how he ended up on his own so far from the rest of his people, though."
"Are you planning to take him back to his people?" Agnes inquired. She knew that people had Views about this. Perdita did. Perdita believed that people should be raised by their own kind, but she cynically separated 'intelligent people' and 'stupid people' into their own categories. Agnes knew how cruel people could be to their own kind, and would rather people were raised than brought up.
Oats paused, as if sensing the internal argument. "I think Nutt will be better where he is. Bonk11 will be good for him. He will have a chance to meet people at last".
"He hasn't met people?" Agnes asked, surprised. In her head Perdita added where was he? Can we go there?
"Not nice ones," Oats admitted.
"There aren't many of those anywhere," Perdita and Agnes supplied together.
"Oh, do you not think so?" Oat's voice was mild. And suddenly Perdita was furious again, and Agnes let her have control while she curled up inside her own head and hid.
"No, I don't. They're ungrateful, small minded, petty, stupid idiots. They haven't got the sense they were born with, and when you try to tell them things they say they understand and then as soon as your back is turned they go and do the same damn things they've always done!"
"Agnes!" Oats said, shocked by the 'damn', "this isn't like you."
"Agnes is too much of a doormat to come out and say it. I thought being bitten by a vampire would be good for her, but she's just as much of a wet rag as ever. She lets them get away with it. She lets them walk all over her. She's just a lump. But I hate them. I hate their stupidity, and their… their… lumpishness!" Perdita ended more cross that she couldn't find the right word, a feeling not helped by Agnes supplying stolidity in their shared brain. Perdita wasn't in the mood to speak to Agnes. Or even listen.
"Sit down, Ag- er-miss," said Oats gently, "and tell me what in particular you mean. It's no good spouting off in general." Agnes tried to get Perdita to calm down and talk to him. She knew he was talking sense, but Perdita hadn't finished.
"My name's Perdita" she shouted at Oats, striding up and down. Agnes noticed that, in her desire to flounce and rage Perdita had wrinkled the rag rug that Agnes's mother had given her. She directed Perdita's steps to the rug, and tried not to hit her head on the hearth as they came down.
Agnes's elbows felt bruised when she stood up, but at least it was her doing the standing. Perdita harrumphed in her head. "Oh, ow" she complained. Oats helped her back to her feet, but looked worried. "I'm Agnes again," she told him as she sat down. Oats poured out more tea and the two of them sat in silence again.
Agnes thought she had better explain. And you'll apologize Perdita growled at her. "Perdita is…" she trailed off, then tried again. "I don't normally give her control, but it's been a very trying day and she just – breaks out when we're emotional."
"We?" Oats asked, looking intrigued behind his tea cup.
"Me and Perdita. See- you know when children are little they have invisible friends?"
"Oh yes. As I recall I used to get into a lot of trouble with mine."
"Well, mine grew up, and is called Perdita. She's-," Agnes paused. When she'd tried explaining this to Nanny it hadn't gone well, but Oats, well, he was- he was more like her.
Agnes could feel herself blushing. At least it was starting near her stomach. She might have time to finish her explanation before she had to hide in mortification over her own embarrassment. "She's the part that wants to break the rules, and be rude, and say all the things that you can't say to people. Only, well, I'm a witch," now the blush received reinforcements as it came streaming up over her neckline and galloped up towards the chin, "so she's sort of- become a person." Agnes was sure that her hair was about to ignite with the blush radiating from her cheeks.
She risked a glance at Oats. He was sitting looking at her as though she was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. She saw his lips move, but the words were too quiet to hear.
"Pardon?"
"I used to call them the good Oats and the bad Oats. They used to argue about which one was which12."
"Used to?" Agnes and Perdita asked together.
"I- yes. After the vampires I- well, we- they- found something we could agree on. So that's what I'm doing. I don't particularly want to go back to the other way."
"You did seem happier after all that happened. I thought it was just that you weren't about to die."
"Oh, no. It's because I was about to die, you see. That's when I- they- we- started agreeing. Because I'd rather not die, you see. Either of me."
"Yes," Agnes whispered. She thought about that night, about the bite on her neck, and the children. She and Perdita had been most in agreement when they were angry. Perhaps that was happening now. "Is that why you went to Uberwald, then? To stay in danger of death?"
"No, no. Most of the time I have Forgiveness for the darkness and when there's light, people are always glad to see me. I assure you it's not that dangerous."
Agnes glanced at the axe leaned demurely against the wall. Forgiveness, she thought, that was what it brought. She'd thought before that it meant that he forgave, but perhaps it represented when he had been forgiven by himself.
Don't be stupid! Perdita shouted at her, he's telling you something important!
Agnes concentrated. "It sounds like you need to find something you both agree on." Agnes gave him a weak smile, which he returned, equally feebly. He raised his tea cup and indicated by it that Agnes and Perdita could have a little chat without him.
What do we agree on? Agnes thought
That these people are too stupid to be allowed Perdita supplied at once
No, they're not. They need help, and they've got me
So let's go back to Ankh Morpork and sing and then they can get someone in who can help them
I hate you
No you don't. You were thinking it too. You want to go somewhere more interesting in your life than Creel Springs
Yes, but, you know how they are. They get into enough trouble with me, so what would they do without? There's no way they'd cope with Nanny and Granny
That's because the old baggages won't cosset them like you do. They'd tell them to stuff themselves and then go on home like the old crows they are.
I don't cosset
They don't deserve your patience
They are my patients!
Ha! That's just diversion, that is. You're trying to change the subject.
How do you know about that?
What you know I know, you know. And you read that book. The one Vlad's uncle sent you
It was a present!
Hunh!
Agnes notices that Oats was talking again, so she shushed Perdita to listen. "Of course it's down to you, but it seems to me that you might be satisfied staying a witch. You did say you were both finding it trying."
He should try being nice to people all day
You could do with trying it, too
You could do with shouting a bit more
That wouldn't be nice
That's what I mean! Perdita's inner voice was so loud Agnes heard the echoes.
"There might be a way forward," she said, slowly, "but it might take a while."
Oats stopped pretending to drink his cold tea. "Om will light your path, I'm sure."
They cleared away the tea things and Agnes made a start on dinner, Oats chopping and stirring beside her. It was nice, Agnes reflected, to have someone to help around the place, not just someone to talk to. In fact Oats and Agnes didn't say much beyond 'have you seen the salt' until they sat down to watch the pie bake. This time it was Oats who started the conversation. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really," Agnes admitted, "Perdita said all that needed to be said. There are stupid people, there are small minded people. There are people who wouldn't know common sense if it hit them in the face."
"Certainly not if it hit them hard enough."
Agnes had to smile. It wasn't a good joke but that wasn't the point. It was a friend joke. It didn't have to be funny. It just had to be comforting. "It's one of the perils of being a witch," she admitted, "you don't see people at their best. I don't know how Granny and Nanny do it." They don't, that's how said Perdita, they get you to do it for them.
"Hmm," Oats said beside her. It was a solid hum, B, she thought. Most people hummed in C. "I don't know if it's any help, but the Prophet Brutha said that we must try to see the best reason behind the worst behaviors."
"He did?"
"Um- I don't think I'm translating that very well. I mean- um- we must try to see past- um- the bad behavior and into um- the good behind it." Agnes still looked blank. Perdita, for once, was silent. "Like, say- um- a mother is- um- angry with a shopkeeper, because- um- he's short changed her."
"Yes," prompted Agnes.
"Well, she might be more angry than normal if she had a sick child at home, you see. So the motherhood concern is a good reason behind a bad behavior. You get it a lot with sisters. Well, all siblings, but especially sisters."
"You had sisters?"
"Three" Oats shuddered
"I had four brothers"
"Had?"
"A witch doesn't have a childhood. A witch is never anything less than an adult. Even to her own mother." She sighed, "They're proud to have a daughter who's a witch, but they don't treat me like I'm their daughter, or sister, or anything. I'm just- a witch."
"That sounds lonely."
"No more than you and Forgiveness."
"Mmm."
The pie turned gold, Agnes put it on the table while Oats found out plates and cutlery. They sat down. Oats said a small prayer over the food. Agnes felt bad that she had forgotten that he would, but he didn't seem to mind her.
"Is that how you cope then," she asked, after another lengthy silence, "you see the good reasons for bad behavior?"
He looked up. "Most of the revenants I find don't need a reason for bad behavior."
"I meant the hu- the people," Agnes clarified, remembering too late that Uberwald was reputed to have major populations of non-humans.
"Oh. No. Mostly they seem remarkable. I don't often run into someone truly bad. The way that they help each other, or the fierce protection. The way that one person is willing to make a sacrifice for the community, even if they aren't on the best terms. It's truly remarkable the way people can be so good." He smiled at her. "Perhaps if you had another monster attack it would help you to see that."
Agnes thought back, the lines, the children…and before, there had been all that business with the el- the Lords and Ladies. Agnes hadn't been a real witch then, but she'd known enough of what was going on to get a feel for how everyone had suddenly worked together. And she thought of bees. Granny was teaching her about bees. In a state of rest bees would get in each other's way and climb over each other and make threatening motions, but if the hive was in danger then the whole boiling lot would rise up like a- like a- like a thing that worked very well13. She remembered how the mayor of Escrow had died to start his people's freedom. She remembered how Shawn had done guard duty with his arm in a sling and a large poultice on the side of his head. She remembered how Tinker, Weaver, Carter, Tailor, Carpenter and Jason Ogg hadn't been able to walk for a week after the business by the Dancers. And how they'd done it in spite of bad odds, and in spite of family arguments, and in spite, in Magrat's case, of spikes. They had been remarkable then.
They were quiet during the rest of the evening. Agnes gave Oats a glass of apple juice before he bedded down on the sofa cushions, assuring him that she had made it herself and that it wasn't alcoholic. He patched a long tear in his shirt. She thought about bees. In its lifetime an individual bee didn't produce very much. It was only when you added them all up that you got something worth spreading on bread. And if you tried to help a bee, if it was too tired, or too old, then, sometimes, it would sting you. Not because it was threatened, Granny said, but because it couldn't do anything else. Mr. Brooks had said that you could revive tired bees by giving them a little honey mixed with water, but Granny said "what's the good of that? Showing off to the poor thing that you've already got more than it could ever make in its life."
Was that witch-craft? Showing off to people what she could do, and where she'd been and how sophisticated and intelligent she was? But without the intelligence, and ability and understanding of the world you couldn't be a witch. Most of witch-craft was knowing more than the non-witches, so that they went ooh when you did something. Humans lived outside the hives, and operated by different rules. They didn't know, mostly, that bees didn't individually make much honey. Did witches live outside the world?
Agnes couldn't sleep that night, but when she woke up in the morning14 there was only one phrase in her mind: they do the best they can. Yes, she thought. And the best they can do might not be much compared to me, but they deserve what I can give them. And sometimes kindness is the cruelest thing you can do added Perdita. And then, Agnes told Perdita, I'll need you.
Later that day Oats took Forgiveness to Jason Ogg to be sharpened, and Agnes walked over with him to Lancre town. She stopped in to see her mother, and rather surprised the older woman by talking about her childhood, and asking about her brothers. Then she picked up the last music sheets she'd left behind, and the old diary she'd been given when she was four. It was pink. It had a flower on it. Oats didn't comment as they walked out of town together over the Lancre Bridge and looked into Lancre Gorge.
"I hope- um- I can- um- come to see you- um- soon?" Oats stammered.
Agnes smiled. She touched his sleeve. Agnes still didn't have a lot of experience with men who weren't ill or trying to pull her hair. "Any time you're passing, please do."
"Well then, goodbye, Agnes. Om be with you."
"Goodbye, Mightily-Praiseworthy-Are-Ye-Who-Exaulteth-Om."
"It's shorter in Omnian." He smiled sadly. He turned and walked the rest of the way across the bridge.
"Mightily!" He turned at the sound of Agnes's voice. She was panting a little as she jogged to catch him up. "What is it, in Omnian?"
"Hagufilathom," he told her, seriously. He expected laughter.
What he didn't expect was for her to reach up, give him a brief kiss on the cheek and say, "Om be with you, Hagufilathom". But that was what she did.
1 Even people she'd known all her life didn't really see Agnes anymore. They saw The Pointy Hat. No one who was a witch was ever, it seemed to Agnes, once a child. Even if she did still have a stuffed toy on her pillow.
2 The Ramtops, where Agnes lived, operated on a barter economy for the most part, and did away with actual money except in the direst of circumstances. Witches operated in a completely cashless economy as they never had to buy anything. But they did get given a lot: no one wanted a witch to feel they were ungrateful, even if they didn't know what they were being grateful for.
3 This is often the case.
4 Library by witch standards, that is. It was one shelf of hand written notes chiefly about the aches and pains of the long dead former inhabitants of the cottage.
5 And she still wasn't sure if it shouldn't be phoenices.
6 And first
7 Citizen 237, although the census didn't know it yet.
8 Mr. Weaver had broken Mrs. Thatcher's wedding gift, and no one could remember who had given it to her in the first place. Neither did Agnes, since she'd been three at the time of the wedding, but she had told them who it was in a firm voice, and no one argued with a witch. Even if she had run around in her drawers and a vest and knocked over the pastry table at the event in question.
9 Although they did nod and touch their forelocks at The Pointy Hat
10 She would have said it would last longer, but five years in the same coven as Nanny Ogg had given her a more selective approach to her own vocabulary, even inside her own head.
11 He pronounced it Beyonk, and it took Agnes several weeks to find the place on the Mappe of U'bervallèd that Goodie Peascod had drawn and misspelled in one of the books.
12 Sadly, arguments over good and bad are all too prevalent in human society, and a great many wars have been fought to determine the outcome. War, after all, makes the answer simple: good always triumphs.
13 Agnes lived in a society where the main mechanisms were wheels and levers, one of which didn't tend to work very well in the long run, and the other of which didn't need oiling.
14 to the sound of the chickens getting in the way of Oats's trip to the privy