Page 15 of 15
Chapter II
Anges supposed she should have been grateful that it was the way it was. When it was going to be a fairly straightforward birth, or when the injury or illness wasn't too serious. Or when young girls were enquiring about love, whether in its ethereal, or its more urgent manifestations, they usually came to Mistress Nitt. But when they weren't sure how the birth would go; when they worried that an illness might end up with Him coming to the door, in fact whenever they thought they wouldn't like what they were going to hear. They preferred to hear it from Mistress Aching.
There were lots of advantages too: she got invited to all the weddings –everyone wanted a witch to say a blessing- and all the baby-namings –for the same reason- while Tiffany attended all the funerals. Also, though she was "pleasantly plump", she could see the way a lot of young men looked at her and knew that, if and when she chose, marriage and children lay in her future. And she didn't need a crystal-ball for that. Whereas Tiffany would be Mistress Aching until the day she died.
And it wasn't as if she wasn't respected –she'd learned from Granny Weatherwax after all- but she was respected in the way that Nanny Ogg was. Now, this was no mean thing in itself, and she knew she had the best of the deal all the way down the line but, somewhere deep inside –and there was a lot of her to be inside of- she hankered for that look of terrified awe that people sometimes looked at Tiffany with.
She knocked at the door and heard Nanny shout: "Come in, dearie!" from somewhere inside. Tiffany was already pouring the tea; with a "little extra something" in Nanny's cup. Just to keep out the cold. It was lucky that for the short time that Nanny wasn't going to be waited on by one or more of her daughters-in-law –or granddaughters-in-law- she had the two young witches to wait on her instead.
Back when it had been Granny and Magrat they had met out on the mountain. But now, what with Nanny's rheumatism, and arthritis, and lumbago, and one thing and another…well, it only made sense to meet in Nanny's cottage instead. Neither Tiffany nor Agnes believed in any of these ailments, anymore than Nanny believed they did, but they figured she'd earned it.
"Just a bit more medicine, my chick," said Nanny, as Tiffany added a few more drops of scumble to her tea.
No one apart from Nanny spoke to Tiifany like that. In fact she doubted there were many people on the Disc who would have dared to; at least, not more than once.
"Hi, Aggie," said Tiffany, "would you like some tea?"
"Yes, please," replied Agnes, "but without the apple juice."
Tiffany laughed in that lovely, little-girl way that only she and Nanny ever heard anymore. Ever since Tiffany had moved in to Granny Weatherwax's old cottage all the old frivolity had left her. She wasn't sad; she wasn't miserable, she was just…serious. She had a lot of things to do and they weren't funny, any of them. Well, except going round to Nanny's house, that is.
They sat down and did what witches have done all down the ages: address the problems of their community. Only ignorant men would call it gossip. Fortunately, this could be done over tea and delicious cakes –all gifts- in front of a roaring fire, in a cosy cottage. Agnes was sure that even Tiffany preferred this to dancing around on a windswept heath without her drawers on.
First, the essential business had to be conducted and assignments divided-up, then they could relax. For example, Tiffany was going to be paying a visit to a farmer who had been paying the wrong kind of attention to his daughter. She almost pitied him.
"Right now, dearies," cackled Nanny, "you both know I'm a lying, old baggage…and you don't have to go nodding that quick neither."
They both laughed, but Nanny was just smiling, wryly, which wasn't like her.
"I take it that there's something on your mind, Nanny," said Tiffany
"What little of it I've got left," Nanny laughed, "But you're right. Listen, my chicks, if you haven't seen it yet then it must be a long ways away, but a witch can always foresee her own death. Have you seen yours, Tiff?"
"Yes."
"Aggie?"
"Yes, Nanny."
"So, when I tell you that mine is getting close you'll know that, for once, I'm not lying."
They were all quiet and serious for a minute; then Nanny broke the mood by cackling again and asking for more tea and scumble before going on.
"What I'm talking about is tradition," she said, being unusually serious, "the three ages of woman: the maiden, the mother and the crone. Magrat, me and Esme. Since Esme died and Magrat got in the family way I've been doing two jobs, but at least there were still three of us. There won't be for much longer and it's up to you two to find a third. And I mean a girl, one with the "talent", to be trained-up by one of you two." She paused, took a drink of tea, smacked her lips and went on:
"Now, I don't want to go making any assumings but if one of you is ever going to be a mum it's our Aggie."
Agnes blushed, actually, so did Tiffany, and she couldn't for the life of her think why. However, they both nodded.
"Right," Nanny continued, "that's sorted. Now, it ain't happening tomorrow or anything like that, I've got a little while to go yet, but I've got another reason for wanting to talk about it now and I think our Tiff knows what it is."
Agnes looked at Tiffany, who looked both perplexed and shifty, which was a look Agnes hadn't thought possible.
"I was talking to a certain tall, dark stranger the other night, when I was sitting–up with old Mrs. Whittling. I think He'd just come from you, Tiff. Weren't you with the Furrow baby?"
Tiffany looked surprised, but nodded. Agnes was completely mystified.
"He has an interesting way of talking," continued Nanny, "He doesn't say much, but when He does talk, then you listen:
"I DO NOT NORMALLY HAVE OPINIONS, MRS. OGG, AS YOU KNOW," He says to me, "BUT I THINK WHAT IS HAPPENING NOW IS EVIL.
"Now what do you suppose He meant by that?"
Between them Agnes and Tiffany were acquainted with most of the forms of wickedness known to human, dwarf, troll, gnome, elf, werewolf, goblin, orc and vampire-kind. And yet even they sat there pale, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. If even Death Himself thought something was evil…
Moonlight Smith had been naughty again, apparently. She wasn't pretty, she wasn't cute, she wasn't good, she wasn't nice, she wasn't sweet, she wasn't deferential, she wasn't bubbly, she wasn't obedient, she wasn't coy and she wasn't corrigible. There was nothing she could do about the first two, nor the last, but she tried with all the others, she really tried.
They had tried hurting her by: beating her with canes and belts and sticks. They had tried humiliating her by: making her stand in the corner with a dunce's cap on, or kneel with her arms outstretched, or stand on a stool, infront of the whole class. But whatever they did to her, that infuriating look of defiance was still there.
For her part, Moonlight knew that she shouldn't call Anne Wyddicum or Billy Piper stupid, but they did say such stupid and hurtful things. And she only punched Esther Vey when she bullied other children. Still, then at least she'd known the rules were there and that she'd broken them. But she didn't know what she she'd done this time.
What Moonlight couldn't see was that the problem her teachers had with her was not her behaviour –which was exemplary, by anybody's standards- but with the fact that she was more intelligent than any of them, and by a long way.
Mrs. Glamp had been demonstrating a long-division on the board when Moonlight had piped-up:
"I think you've made a mistake, miss."
"Are you saying I can't do arithmetic, Smith?"
"No, miss, you just made a mistake."
"Seventeen twenty-eights, eh?" demanded Mrs. Glamp.
"Four hundred and seventy-six," replied Moonlight, immediately.
"Wrong!" said , "not so clever now, are we? Get out and clean this board, now!"
Mrs. Glamp had no idea whether the answer was correct or not, but she could now see the error she'd made in the sum on the board herself and wanted the evidence erased as quickly as possible. Without anyone realising that was what she was doing.
Moonlight dutifully did as she was told and was then led outside by the ear.
And that was why she was now standing in the playground, in the rain, in her bare feet.
Of course, she was always in her bare feet, because she didn't own any shoes, but at least she had the excuse of being an orphan. The ones she felt sorry for were the children who had parents and still didn't have any shoes. The one person she never felt sorry for was herself. The Potters had agreed to take her in again for a while. They were a nice old couple and it meant she's get fed and a bed, and maybe even some shoes. She had done last time they put her up, but that had been a while ago and the shoes had long-since fallen apart. What did she have to complain about?
Not far away Tiiffany and Agnes stood watching her as she scowled to herself. If anyone had looked really carefully they'd have noticed that the rain wasn't actually touching their black, pointy hats. It was not the sort of magic that either Granny Weatherwax or Nanny Ogg would have approved of, of course, but it wasn't the Century of the Fruitbat any more, after all.
"Are you sure she's the one?" asked Agnes.
"Aren't you?" said Tiffany.
"Oh, well, I think so," Agnes admitted.
"And I think there may be more to her than even we think."
"What do you mean?"
"You know that Granny always said that witching was just headology?"
"Most of it is."
"But not all of it," said Tiffany.
"No, not all of it," agreed Agnes, aware as she was of the fact that her clothes were bone-dry in the midst of the downpour.
"Well, when I look at little Moonlight I get a sense that she's important. Very, very important."
"So, are you going to take her home now?"
"Yes, if she'll come."
"Why wouldn't she? What reasons could she have?"
"I don't know, have you tried to look into her mind?"
"Yes, but I can't."
"Well, that should tell you all you need to know."
"Right. I'll come over in a couple of weeks to see how you're getting on."
"Or come back here tomorrow if she won't come with me."
"She'll come with you, she's not stupid."
"No," agreed Tiffany, "she is very far from being stupid."
"Bone," said Agnes, "au revoir. That's Genuan for…"
"I know what it means," said Tiffany, testily, "I'm not stupid either."
"Hmm, really, are you absolutely sure?" Then Agnes jumped on her broom and was gone.
Tiffany walked over to the little girl, who by now couldn't have been wetter had she been lying in the river. Her red hair was a dripping curtain over her face.
"Hello," said Tiffany, "are you Moonlight Smith?"
Two skinny arms came up and the hands at the end of them parted the curtains, to reveal two bright-green eyes looking up from a deeply-freckled, and deeply-suspicious, face.
"Yes, miss," said Moonlight, ever polite.
"My name is Tiffany Aching," said Tiffany Aching.
"I know who you are, miss."
"Do you think you know why I'm here?"
"No, miss," said Moonlight, "how can you be dry?" She really had no control over her own curiosity.
"I'm a witch," said Tiffany, "and I need an apprentice."
"Oh," said Moonlight.
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds and then Moonlight's eyes suddenly went wide.
"Oh! Do you want me?!" she asked, incredulously.
She was used to people being prepared to take her on, for a while, often grudgingly, as one feels compelled to share part of a common burden. But she couldn't remember the last time that anyone had actually wanted her.
"Yes, would you like to come now?"
"Oh, yes, yes, yes please!" But then she paused and frowned. "But the Potters will be expecting me."
It surprised Tiffany that this little orphan's first thought was that she might be letting someone else down. She'd soon get used to it.
"I'm sure they'll understand, once I explain it to them," she reassured her, "is there anything else?"
"No, miss. Is it a long walk to where you live?"
From beneath her cloak she produced a hood and cape for the shivering child.
"Yes, it is," she said, "but we sha'n't be walking. I've brought my broom."
"Yippee!" shrieked Moonlight, before clamping her hand over her mouth.
It was the most exhilarating thing she'd ever experienced. But then you don't have to be a destitute, orphaned drudge for a ride on a broomstick to be a stand-out thrill. She was so dizzy after it that Mistress Aching had to hold her up, or she's never have been able to walk to the cottage. And what a cottage! As soon as she walked through the door she was in love. It was so warm. The fire roaring in the hearth, and chairs round that lovely table, and such smells: a stew of some kind and bread and… The thoughts were falling over each other in Moonlight's head as they fought for attention.
"Ok," said Tiffany, "let's get you dried and changed and then we'll eat. You must be starving."
Normally when people say that it's just a figure of speech, but looking a Moonlight's bone-thin arms and legs, it wasn't much of an exaggeration. She took the girl up to the smaller of the two bedrooms, the one she'd already packed with children's clothes – people were often very generous to witches. Despite what she had said to Agnes she had never entertained any thought that Moonlight might reject her offer, any more than she thought she might be insane.
"This is your room," Tiffany said, pushing open the door.
"MY room?" said Moonlight, in a voice that suggested the words were simply too outlandish to belong in her mouth.
"Underwear and stockings in here," Tiffany continued, pointing to a small chest of drawers. "Dresses, cardigans, coats and shoes in the wardrobe, and towels in here," she concluded, patting a little chest at the foot of the bed.
"Shoes?!" was all the pop-eyed Moonlight could manage.
"Now, you dry your hair and put some clothes on and then we'll have something to eat."
As far as she could see –and she really could see, very clearly- up until about a minute ago, Moonlight's entire wardrobe consisted of one dress, so threadbare that it was virtually transparent and nothing else, not even drawers. Now, though she had a whole wardrobe-full of dresses to choose from, she was downstairs almost before Tiffany herself. It wasn't as though she wasn't fully-dressed, she was: dress, jumper, stockings, shoes, towel round her head and, no doubt, underwear as well. It was just that it looked as though she pulled on the first thing that came to hand. Even her stockings were different colours, and she was wearing odd shoes. There was clearly only one thing on Moonlight's mind, but she was very careful not to appear ungrateful.
"The room is lovely, thank you, miss," she said, eagerly watching Tiffany stirring the stew. "And the clothes are lovely too, miss," she continued, as she followed Tiffany taking the bread from the oven…
Tiffany thought that watching Moonlight eat was almost more nutritious than eating yourself. She didn't rush at it and gorge herself, as she'd expected, but rather ate slowly, savouring every mouthful, like a condemned man enjoying his final meal, accompanied by a great many "Mmmms". And when she had wiped her plate clean with her last piece of bread, she didn't ask for more. Of course when Tiffany asked:
"Would you like another helping?"
She piped-up: "Yes, please, miss! It's delicious!"
It was only after fifths that she finally had to concede:
"No, thank you, miss, I'm completely full. It's the best meal I've ever eaten."
Tiffany was fairly sure this was another outlandish exaggeration, that was probably true.
Once Moonlight had drained her third mug of milk and Tiffany her single mug of ale –it was her one indulgence- they curled up opposite each other in the armchairs by the fire with mugs of tea.
"This has been my best day, ever, miss," said Moonlight, smiling that huge smile that you couldn't help copying.
Of course, a princess of Tsort might be impressed with a broomstick-ride over the Ramtops, but Tiffany was pretty sure she could have taken that out and it would still make Moonlight's top ten. She sympathised with the little girl for two main reasons: she could remember what it had been like to be her, and that Moonlight didn't want her sympathy.
"Moonlight's a bit formal to call you if we're going to be living together, I think, don't you?" she asked. Moonlight nodded, ever obedient. "So, what do your friends call you?"
"I don't have any friends, miss."
"What, none at all!?"
"No miss. I did have one once."
"And what did she call you?"
"Moo."
Tiffany wondered just how young Moo had been when she'd last had a friend.
"Do you mind if I call to you Moo?"
"No, miss, I'd like that, miss. What's your name, miss?"
"My name is Tiffany," she said sternly, "as well you know. But you may continue to call me Miss."
"Sorry, miss," said Moo, looking suitably abashed.
"No need to apologise. You were simply testing the waters, as I would have done. Don't do it again."
"No, miss," whispered Moo. She couldn't believe she'd risked the best chance she'd ever had, just because she couldn't keep he trap shut.
"How old are you, Moo?"
"Nine miss, I think." It looked like she might have got away with it.
"And what do you think you are going to learn from me?"
"Lessons, miss."
Tiffany frowned, but this time the girl who wasn't sure how old she was1, and probably hadn't had a friend since was a toddler, was being entirely ingenuous.
"Indeed," agreed Tiffany, "but they won't be about casting spells or flying broomsticks. At least not to start with. They'll be about how to measure the height of a tree without having to climb it; where Genua is and the language they speak there and the history of dwarfs and the trolls and the elves…" By now Moo's eyes were as big as plates." But that's for tomorrow. Can you cook, Moo?"
"A little bit, miss."
"Then we'll start there, but now it's bedtime. You can leave your mug on the table and do the washing-up in the morning. You'll find nightdresses in the same chest as the underwear. Sleep well."
Moo was used to being dismissed, but she couldn't remember being happier to be sent to bed. She couldn't actually remember when she's last had a bed to be sent to.
When Tiffany came down in just after dawn she was very pleasantly unsurprised to find that Moo had not only done the washing-up but that she had also cleaned out the fire and re-laid it –though not re-lit it- and was sweeping the floor. What did surprise her was that she was wearing an apron, when Tiffany didn't realise she owned any.
"Moo, why have you got bare feet!?" she scolded.
Moo looked like someone used to being told off for doing nothing wrong and Tiffany felt immediately guilty. They said "sorry" simultaneously.
"You really shouldn't go barefoot, except in the Summer, "she hoped to explain, "unless the fire's on…"
She was really having trouble facing Moo's hurt look and finally had to concede:
"I'm sorry, darling, I shouldn't have snapped like that. Go and put some stockings on while I make breakfast."
Moo had been a bit upset by Mistress Aching talking to her so harshly, but had been more than mollified by her saying "sorry". People so seldom said that to her. But the fact that she had called her "darling" had almost made her cry. And moonlight didn't cry.
1 Mind you as people on the Disc weren't sure how long the year was, either 800 or 400 days, this was not uncommon.