Page 12 of 12
Chapter XI
Tiffany wanted Moo's party to be special, and that meant the best elderberry wine and elderflower cordial in the whole of the Ramtops. But before that, given Agnes and hers recent experience, she needed to have strong words with farmer Giles.
"I'm very sorry, miss," said Young Giles, "there must have been a bit of a muddle."
"I'm not sure what you mean by muddle," said Tiffany, wearing Frown #2. Frown Number One was reserved solely for badly behaved children, while the frown-level went all the way up to ten. The most anyone around these parts had ever seen was a six, and he would "really rather not talk about it."
"Well, miss, you see, well, it's like well…"
Tiffany just stayed still. It was another one of her tricks. She could not move in any way in a way that made statues look twitchy.
"…what I means is, it must have been berries from the top of the North Field," Giles spluttered.
"And how would this make a difference?" she asked. She had also been working on her voices. This was barely a four, and they went all the way up to a hundred.
"Well, well, now well…" blabbered Giles.
"Stop blabbering," commanded Tiffany, dropping to a three, to give the poor man a chance.
"Well, you see, miss, that's where Granny and Nanny and Her Majesty used to go a-covening of a dark and stormy night and ever since, well, them berries has been a bit peculiar, if you knows what I mean."
"But you still make wine out of them," she said, sternly.
"Only for export, miss, only for export," Giles frantically tried to defend himself, "North Field is very popular in Ankh-Morpork. And even farther afield, if you can believe such a thing."
After her one experience of even watered-down North Field Tiffany could certainly believe it might be popular with the young and foolish in Forn Parts.
"Then why did I get a bottle of it?" she wanted to know.
"Well, you see, well, it's my old dad, you see? He gets a bit muddled sometimes, what with one thing and another…"
Young Giles himself was over seventy, so she could see how his old dad could easily have wandered off into the land of confusion.
"Never mind," said Tiffany, "no harm done." Well, -ish, she thought. "Can I count on there being no muddle for the party at Nanny's?"
"Absolutely," said Giles, eyes wild.
She supposed that Old Giles might dismiss even her as being no more than chit of a girl but, however muddled his mind might have become, there was no way it wanted to be on the wrong side of Nanny Ogg.
She'd been thinking more and more about Moo, for a couple of reasons. First off, she was everything that parents always said they wanted in a child. She was polite and obedient at all times. She did her chores diligently; so diligently in fact that Tiffany had had to rein her in and explain that the chores were supposed to be shared. Moo had seemed a trifle surprised by this and when she'd thought about it she'd realised she'd been being a bit lazy of late.
And therein lay a slight problem: Moo was so transparently honest all the time that there was a danger she could find out things about herself that she'd really rather not have known. Like how she was very careful of how much she ate and critical of others who weren't.
"You always smile when you're watching me eating, miss," Moo had said one evening over dinner.
"That's because I love the way you enjoy your food, darling," she'd replied.
"But Miss Agnes enjoys her food, and you don't smile when you watch her."
Was this really why it had taken so long for anyone to take Moo in: that she couldn't help herself saying what was in her head and always told the truth? Tiffany suspected it might be and sent a note to herself from her inner teacher: must do better. The second reason was down to an incident that had occurred a few weeks before.
She'd been asked by Mrs. Hedge to attend the lying-in of her eldest daughter as she herself had been forbidden to by her daughter's husband. She'd seen right away that mother and baby weren't both going to survive. In fact she'd come out of the bedroom almost immediately and explained to the husband that the baby was probably already dead and that all it was doing was killing his wife. It wasn't Tiffany's decision to make, but neither he, nor his wife, were prepared to make it, until the time for doing things was long past. So, she'd been sitting there by the bed alone –the husband having fled into the night, she knew not where- feeling utterly exhausted, while she waited for the undertaker.
"Good morning, my lord," she'd said to the cold wind she suddenly felt.
GOOD MORNING, MISS ACHING.
All witches eventually became well acquainted with this tall, dark opposite-of-a-stranger, so she thought she'd take advantage of their familiarity.
"May I ask you a question, sir?"
YOU MAY, THOUGH I DO NOT GUARANTEE YOU AN ANSWER.
"You spoke recently to Nanny Ogg of a Great Evil that was abroad; is Moonlight here to fight that evil?"
YES, SHE IS.
"And can she defeat that evil?"
THAT, ALAS, I CANNOT SAY.
This then was the conflict she now felt: on the one hand she was afraid for the little girl she was beginning to love like a daughter, but on the other; if something needed doing then, apart from the Hooded Gentleman himself, there was no one on the Disc more reliable than Moo.
When the day came Agnes was round early for breakfast. There was a choice: yoghurt with seasonal fruits or porridge with honey. Agnes wasn't pleased, and she was no slouch in the frowning department either.
"You have heard of bacon, haven't you?" she asked, coldly.
"Oh, that's for Winter," Tiffany laughed.
"It's always Winter at breakfast-time," Agnes affirmed, unamused.
But Tiffany just laughed again, and this time Agnes laughed along. It wasn't that she found breakfast without bacon sarnies in the least bit funny, it was just that Tiffany had gone a long time without laughing, and now she did it all the time. Of course it was obvious why: Moo was dancing around the house singing to herself.
She'd heard it said that everyone should sing as though no one was listening. She'd once heard Tiffany sing and wished, probably along with the rest of the Disc, that she never heard anything like it again. It was one thing to sing flat, off-key and out of tune, but to really belt it out was quite another. She herself was classically trained, all be it in a rather odd way, and had sung, to great acclaim, at the Opera House in Ankh-Morpork. Perhaps that was why she always sang as though someone might be listening. Moo sang as though there might be no one else in the world. Agnes had often thought about the sound of Moo's singing. At first she'd thought of songbirds or nightingales, but that was wrong as they were trying to attract other birds. She'd decided that it would be closer to say it was like a babbling brook: though it was lovely to listen to, the brook itself was making no effort, and it didn't even care. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, the more so as she seemed to make up tunes and lyrics as she went along.
"Does she know? " asked Agnes.
"Well, she knows it's a party; that why she's so happy. You know how she loves parties."
"She's always happy."
"Yes," Tiffany chuckled, "it can seem that way, but there are subtle differences if you pay close attention. Very close attention."
"So, she's happier than normal?"
"Of course, it's a party, and you know how she loves to get dressed-up. I had to spend an hour on her hair last night so that she could have ringlets today."
"And she knows it's her birthday?"
"Oh, yes."
"But we just decided it's her birthday, well Nanny did, just because everyone has to have a birthday."
"Yes, I know, I was there. But you know what she's like: tell her it's her birthday and she'll believe you; it's her birthday."
"And yet she can't connect a party on her birthday with its being her birthday party?"
"Nope."
"Is she thick?"
Tiffany laughed again and Agnes thought she would never grow tired of the sound. A bit like Moo's singing.
"I think we both know that she is farther from being thick than anyone either of us has ever met. Farther than the Rim from the Hub. She's probably brighter than both of us put together. And I know that at least I'm quite clever."
"I'm cleverer."
"Shouldn't that be more clever?"
"No. Anyway, I take your point. So why can't she work this out?"
In the background they could hear Moo singing and laughing, and incorporating the laughter into her song.
"Because nothing like it has ever happened to her before and she can't think why it should."
"Then why haven't you told her?"
"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
"Do you want to see how she reacts?"
"Yes."
"So, you're experimenting on her?"
"Yes, but only because Nanny told me to."
"What!? Do you do everything Nanny tells you?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Well, yes, but that's not the point…"
"Yes, it is. Nanny knows something about Moo, or at least she suspects it, and this is her way of testing it."
"Well, ok, but I just hope it doesn't end in tears."
"Actually, I think that might be supposed to be the point."
Sean Ogg greeted them by the door, looking even more awkward than he normally did. This affair was strictly women and children only so Sean must have done something really bad for Nanny to have made him be valet.
"May I take your broomsticks, mistresses?" he asked, bowing.
"Good morning Sean," said Agnes, handing over her broomstick, "park it carefully."
"I will, miss," he said, taking Tiffany's too and heading round the side of the house.
Inside things had already started: several of the women were playing music in one corner of the parlour while lots of little girls danced around and the few little boys skulked round the edges. In truth though the party was everywhere: in the kitchen, the upstairs bedrooms, the stairs themselves… And in the corner opposite the band sat Nanny Ogg; beaming and chuckling, as only a nanny can in a room full of her grandchildren. They waited until the dance had finished and then made their way over to her.
"Good morning, Nanny," said Moo, bobbing a curtsy.
"Well, aren't you the prettiest little thing ever," replied Nanny, "with your curly hair and your lovely frock, come and give Nanny a kiss."
Moo jumped up into Nanny's lap and kissed her. Nanny, for her part, hugged Moo as if she were one of her own.
"Now, off you and play," said Nanny and, laughing, Moo did as she was told.
"Right," Nanny said to Agnes and Tiffany, "the cake's coming out at twelve so make sure you're ready."
"Noon on Mid-Year's Day," said Agnes, "a bit dramatic, isn't it?"
"Well, you'd know, you having been on the stage and all."
"Sorry, Nanny," said Agnes, blushing.
"Never mind that," said Nanny, "you go and help with the food, and Tiffany, you go and help Doris." She pointed across the room to where Margs' mum was re-braiding her hair for the third time that morning.
She sat down, plopped Margs on her knee and took the chaos that was her hair firmly in hand
"Thank you," said Doris, understandably exasperated, "I don't know how she does it."
Tiffany didn't know either, though she had her suspicions. Margs' hair was like a force of nature, but Tiffany had sometimes been able to control the weather, so she wasn't going to be defeated by an explosion of locks that fought you like snakes. It was going to be a hard fight though.
"Sit still, girl!" said Tiffany as Margs squirmed in her lap. She realised that this was a bit like asking a gargoyle to tap-dance, but it was worth a try.
"Can I tell Moo now, can I?" begged Margs.
"No, you can't," she said, gathering her hair so tightly that had she done it to Nanny Ogg it would have smoothed out all the wrinkles in her face. And probably earned her a one-way ticket to the Dungeon Dimensions. "Just be patient," she advised, though she knew it was like asking a cow to bark. It just wasn't something Margs was capable of.
"But it's nearly twelve," she pleaded, fidgeting even more.
"Nearly, but not quite," said Tiffany, "and if you don't sit still I'll send you home."
Surprisingly, it worked. Admittedly she'd had to use voice number six, but Margs had sat still while Tiffany plaited her hair more fiercely than she ever had before. She wasn't being cruel; it was just that the hair was constantly struggling to escape, jump a fence and break for the border. And that still wasn't entirely accurate either. To be fair to her she didn't jump up and down like she obviously wanted to, but her whole body thrummed with energy like an Octarine charge looking for a root to earth. When Tiffany finally let her go, with a braid that looked as though it had been fashioned from wire, it was like releasing a caged animal into the wild.
"Hard work," she said to Doris.
"A bit," Doris agreed, with a wan smile, "but Moo helps."
Tiffany watched as Margs grabbed Moo, swept her up and hugged her while Moo laughed as though she were being tickled.
"I think they just make it easy for each other." And they shared a little chuckle.
And tickling Moo was a strange thing too. She was more ticklish than anyone else that Tiffany had ever met, as she'd discovered one night when she'd tickled her ribs because she was slow getting into bed. Moo had gone down as though she's been hit by a poleaxe, in a fit of giggles. The thing was, unlike anyone else on the Disc, Moo liked being tickled. She went through all the usually contortions and guffaws like a normal person, but she never tried to get away. She would let Tiffany tickle her feet until she passed out or wet herself. For Tiffany, being tickled was like being tortured, yet Moo could get pleasure out of even that. She'd actually seen her laugh once when she'd been stung by a wasp. Bees never stung her.
And then the moment came. Agnes wheeled out the cake from the kitchen. It was huge and made of everything delicious that Agnes and Tiffany could think of. The candles around the edge looked minute because of its huge size, while in the middle Gladys had piped "Happy Birthday Moo". Moo herself took a while to register what was going on. In fact it probably wasn't until everyone started singing "Happy Birthday to Moo" that she finally twigged what was happening and then Tiffany felt what she and Agnes would come to call The Surge. It wasn't just that she felt happy for a little orphan having her first birthday party, though that made her feel good because she'd been partly responsible, no, this was different.
When they'd talked about it later they'd both agreed they had never felt better in their lives. It wasn't just happiness, it was pure, unadulterated joy and it filled them; not just mentally but physically: like the taste of a doughnut when you're really hungry, or the feeling of a hot bath on a cold day. But it was more even than that, it made you tingle, but it also made you feel good about yourself.
Then Moo fainted, and it was gone. Margs had caught her before she hit the ground and immediately she was surrounded by anxious people concerned for her safety. But while everyone else fussed around Moo, Tiffany looked over at Nanny. She might only have one tooth but when she mouthed the words there was no mistaking them:
I told you so.