I Shall Wear Midnight

Tiffany went on, ‘And his reward for a year’s teaching work for you will be, yes, enough money for him to buy the letters to go after his name so that he can become a doctor. Witches can’t do everything and we could do with a doctor in these parts.’ All this got a big cheer, which is what generally happens when people have worked out that they are likely to get something that they won’t have to pay for. When that had died down, Roland looked the sergeant in the eye and said, ‘Do you think you can manage without Preston’s military prowess, Sergeant?’

This precipitated another laugh. That’s good, Tiffany thought; laughter helps things slide into the thinking.

Sergeant Brian tried to look solemn, but he was concealing a smile. ‘It would be a bit of a blow, sir, but I think we might just about manage, sir. Yes, I think I can say that the departure of Lance Private Preston will enhance the overall efficiency of the squad, sir.’

This caused more general applause from people who hadn’t worked it out and laughter from those that did.

The Baron clapped his hands together. ‘Well then, Miss Aching, it would appear that you have got everything you asked for, yes?’

‘Actually, sir, I haven’t finished asking yet. There is one more thing and it won’t cost you anything, so don’t worry about that.’ Tiffany took a deep breath, and tried to make herself look taller. ‘I require that you give to the peoples known as the Nac Mac Feegle all the downland above Home Farm, that it should be theirs for ever in law as well as in justice. A proper deed can be drawn up, and don’t worry about the cost – I know a toad that will do it for a handful of beetles – and it will say that for their part the Feegles will allow all shepherds and sheep untrammelled access to the downs but there will be – and this is important – no sharp metal beyond a knife. All this will cost you nothing, my lord Baron, but what you and your descendants, and I hope you are intending to have descendants—’ Tiffany had to stop there because of the gale of laughter, in which Nanny Ogg took a large part, and then she continued, ‘My lord Baron, I think you will assure yourself of a friendship that will never die. Gain all, lose nothing.’

To his credit, Roland hardly hesitated, and said, ‘I would be

honoured to present the Nac Mac Feegle with the deeds to their land and I regret, no, I apologize for any misunderstandings between us. As you say, they deserve their land by right and by justice.’

Tiffany was impressed by the short speech. The language was slightly stuffy, but his heart was in the right place, and slightly stuffy language suited the Feegles very well. To her joy there was yet another susurration in the beams high over the castle’s hall. And the Baron, looking a lot more like a real baron now, went on, ‘I only wish that I could tell them this personally right now.’

And from the darkness above came one mighty cry of:

The wind was silver and cold. Tiffany opened her eyes, with the cheer of the Feegles still ringing in her ears. It was replaced by the rattle of dried grass in the wind. She tried to sit up but got nowhere, and a voice behind her said, ‘Please don’t wriggle, this is very difficult.’

Tiffany tried to turn her head. ‘Eskarina?’

‘Yes. There is somebody here who wants to talk to you. You may get up now; I have balanced the nodes. Don’t ask questions, because you would not understand the answers. You are in the travelling now, again. Now and again, you might say. I will leave you to your friend … and I am afraid you cannot have much time, for a given value of time. But I must protect my son …’

Tiffany said, ‘You mean you’ve got—’ She stopped because a figure was forming in front of Tiffany and became a witch, a classic witch with the black dress, black boots – rather nice ones, Tiffany noted – and, of course, the pointy hat. She had a necklace too. On the chain was a golden hare.

The woman herself was old, but it was hard to say how old. She stood proudly, like Granny Weatherwax, but like Nanny Ogg she seemed to suggest that old age, or something, wasn’t really being taken seriously.

But Tiffany concentrated on the necklace. People wore jewellery to show you something. It always had a meaning, if you concentrated.

‘All right, all right,’ she said, ‘I have just one question: I’m not here to bury you, am I?’

‘My word, you are quick,’ said the woman. ‘You have immediately devised a remarkably interesting narrative and instantly guessed who I am.’ She laughed. The voice was younger than her face. ‘No, Tiffany. Interestingly macabre though your suggestion is, the answer is no. I remember Granny Weatherwax telling me that when you get right down to it, the world is all about stories, and Tiffany Aching is extremely good at endings.’

‘I am?’

‘Oh yes. Classic endings to a romantic story are a wedding or a legacy, and you have been the engineer for one of each. Well done.’