I Shall Wear Midnight

Your power is only rumour and lies, she thought. You bore your way into people when they are uncertain and weak and worried and frightened, and they think their enemy is other people when their enemy is, and always will be, you – the master of lies. Outside, you are fearsome; inside, you are nothing but weakness.

Inside, I am flint.

She felt the heat of the whole field, steadied herself and gripped the stone. How dare you come here, you worm! How dare you trespass on what is mine! She felt the flint get hotter in her hand and then melt and flow between her fingers and drip onto the soil as she concentrated. She had never tried this before and she took a deep breath of air that somehow the flames had cleansed.

And if you come back, Cunning Man, there will be another witch like me. There will always be another witch like me, because there are always going to be things like you, because we make space for them. But right now, on this bleeding piece of earth, I am the witch and you are nothing. By the blinking of my eyes, something wicked this way dies.

A hiss in her mind faded away and left her alone among her thoughts.

‘No mercy,’ she said aloud, ‘no redemption. You forced a man to kill his harmless songbird, and somehow I think that was the greatest crime of them all.’

By the time she had walked back up the field, she had managed to become, once again, the Tiffany Aching who knew how to make cheese and deal with everyday chores and didn’t squeeze molten rock between her fingers.

The happy but slightly singed couple were beginning to take some notice of things. Letitia sat up. ‘I feel cooked,’ she said. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Sorry, it’s you,’ said Tiffany, ‘and I’m afraid that wonderful lace nightshirt might just about be usable to clean windows from now on. I’m afraid we didn’t leap as fast as the hare.’

Letitia looked around. ‘Is Roland … is he all right?’

‘Right as rain,’ said Preston cheerily. ‘The wet pig muck really helped.’ Letitia paused for a moment. ‘And that … thing?’

‘Gone,’ said Tiffany.

‘Are you sure Roland is all right?’ Letitia insisted.

Preston grinned. ‘Absolutely tickety boo, miss. Nothing important has been burned away, although it might be a little painful when we take the crusts off. He’s somewhat baked on, if you get my meaning.’ Letitia nodded and then turned, slowly, to Tiffany. ‘What was that you said when we were jumping?’

Tiffany took a deep breath. ‘I married you.’

‘You, that is to say you, married, which is to say, wedded … us?’ said Letitia.

‘Yes,’ said Tiffany. ‘That is to say, certainly. Jumping over the fire together is a very ancient form of marriage. Doesn’t need any priests either, which is a great saving on the catering.’

The possible bride weighed this one up. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, that’s what Mrs Ogg told me,’ said Tiffany, ‘and I’ve always wanted to try it.’

This seemed to meet with Letitia’s approval, because she said, ‘Mrs Ogg is a very knowledgeable lady, I must admit. She knows a surprising number of things.’

Tiffany, keeping her face as straight as possible, said, ‘A surprising number of surprising things.’

‘Oh, yes … Er.’ Letitia cleared her throat rather hesitantly and followed up ‘er’ with an ‘um’.

‘Is something wrong?’ said Tiffany.

‘That word you used about me while we were jumping. I think it was a bad word.’

Tiffany had been expecting this. ‘Well, apparently it’s traditional.’ Her voice almost as hesitant as Letitia’s, she added, ‘And I don’t think Roland is a knave, either. And, of course, words and their usage do change over the years.’

‘I don’t think that one does!’ said Letitia.

‘Well, it depends on circumstance and context,’ said Tiffany. ‘But frankly, Letitia, a witch will use any tool at hand in an emergency, as you might learn one day. Besides, the way we think about some words does change. For example, do you know the meaning of the word “buxom”?’ She thought to herself, Why am I making this small talk? I know: because it’s an anchor, and reassures me that I am a human being among other humans, and it helps wash the terror out of my soul …

‘Yes,’ said the bride-to-be. ‘I’m afraid I’m not, very, um, large in that department.’

‘That would have been a bit unfortunate a couple of hundred years ago because the wedding service in those days required a bride to be buxom towards her husband.’

‘I’d have had to push a cushion down my bodice!’

‘Not really; it used to mean kind, understanding and obedient,’ said Tiffany.

‘Oh, I can do those,’ said Letitia. ‘At least, the first two,’ she added with a grin. She cleared her throat. ‘What is it, apart from getting married, of course – and I am very amused about that – that we have just done?’

‘Well,’ said Tiffany. ‘You have helped me trap one of the worst monsters that has ever fouled the world.’

The new bride brightened up. ‘Did we? Well, that’s good,’ she said.

‘I’m very glad we did that. I don’t know how we can repay you for all your help though.’