Wintersmith
Page 32
Page 32
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Pike T here was talk of strangeness all across the plains. There was the rowing boat belonging to the old man who lived in a shack just below the waterfall. It rowed itself away so fast, people said, that it skipped over the water like a dragonfly—but there was no one inside it. It was found tied up at Twoshirts, where the river ran under the coach road. But then the overnight mail coach that had been waiting outside the inn ran away by itself, with all the mailbags left behind. The coachman borrowed a horse to give chase and found the coach in the shadow of the Chalk with all the doors open and one horse missing. The horse was returned a couple of days later by a well-dressed young man who said hed found it wandering. Surprisingly, then, it looked well fed and groomed. Very, very thick would be the best way to describe the walls of the castle. There were no guards at night, because they locked up at eight oclock and went home. Instead, there was Old Robbins, whod once been a guard and was now officially the night watchman, but everyone knew he fell asleep in front of the fire by nine. He had an old trumpet that he was supposed to blow if there was an attack, although no one was entirely sure what this would achieve. Roland slept in the Heron Tower because it was up a long flight of steps that his aunts didnt much like climbing. It also had very, very thick walls, and this is just as well, because at eleven oclock someone stuck a trumpet against his ear and blew on it hard. He leaped out of bed, got caught in the eiderdown, slipped on a mat that covered the freezing stone floor, banged his head on a cupboard, and managed to light a candle with the third desperately struck match. On the little table by his bed was a pair of huge bellows with Old Robbinss trumpet stuck in the business end. The room was empty, except for the shadows. "Ive got a sword, you know," he said. "And I know how to use it!"
"Ach, yere deid already," said a voice from the ceiling. "Chopped tae tiny wee pieces in yer bed while ye snored like a hog. Only jokin, ye ken. None of us mean ye any harm. " There was some hurried whispering in the darkness of the rafters, and then the voice continued: "Wee correction there, most o us dinna mean ye any harm. But dinna fash yersel aboot Big Yan, he disna like anybody verra much. "
"Who are you?"
"Aye, there ye go again, gettin it all wrong," said the voice conversationally. "Im up here an heavily armed, ye ken, while yere doon there in yer wee nightie, makin a bonny target, an ye think ye are the one who asks the questions. So ye know how to fight, do ye?"
"Yes!"
"So youll fight monsters tae save the big wee hag? Will ye?"
"The big wee hag?"
"Thats Tiffany tae ye. "
"You mean Tiffany Aching? Whats happened to her?"
"Youll be ready for when she needs ye?"
"Yes! Of course! Who are you?"
"And ye know how tae fight?"
"Ive read the Manual of Swordsmanship all the way through!" After a few seconds the voice from the high shadows said: "Ah, I think Ive put ma finger on a wee flaw in this plan…. " There was an armory across the castle courtyard. It wasnt much of one. There was a suit of armor made of various nonmatching pieces, a few swords, a battle-axe that no one had ever been able to lift, and a chain-mail suit that appeared to have been attacked by extremely strong moths. And there were some wooden dummies on big springs for sword practice. Right now the Feegles were watching Roland attack one with a great deal of enthusiasm. "Ach weel," said Big Yan despondently as Roland leaped about. "If he never meets anythin other than bits owood that dinna fight back, he might be okay. "
"Hes willin," Rob Anybody pointed out as Roland put his foot against the dummy and tried to tug the sword point out of it. "Oh, aye. " Big Yan looked glum. "Hes got a bonny action, ye must admit," said Rob. Roland succeeded in pulling the sword out of the dummy, which sprang back on its ancient spring and hit him on the head. Blinking a little, the boy looked down at the Feegles. He remembered them from the time he was rescued from the Queen of the Elves. No one who met the Nac Mac Feegles ever forgot them, even if they tried hard. But it was all vague. Hed been near crazy part of the time, and unconscious, and had seen so many strange things that it was hard to know what was real and what wasnt. Now he knew: They were real. Whod make up a thing like this? Okay, one of them was a cheese that rolled around of its own accord, but nobody was perfect. "What am I going to have to do, Mr. Anybody?" he asked. Rob Anybody had been worried about this bit. Words like "Underworld" can give people the wrong idea. "Ye must rescue a…lady," he said. "Not the big wee hag. Another…lady. We can take ye to the place where she bides. Its like…undergroound, ye ken. Shes like…sleepin. An all ye ha tae do is bring her up tae the surface, kind o thing. "
"Oh, you mean like Orpheo rescuing Euniphon from the Underworld?" said Roland. Rob Anybody just stared. "Its a myth from Ephebe," Roland went on. "Its supposed to be a love story, but its really a metaphor for the annual return of summer. Theres a lot of versions of that story. " They still stared. Feegles have very worrying stares. Theyre even worse than chickens in that respect. * "A metaphor is a kind o lie to help people understand whats true," said Billy Bigchin, but this didnt help much. "And he won her freedom by playing beautiful music," Roland added. "I think he played a lute. Or maybe it was a lyre. "
"Ach, weel, thatll suit us fine," said Daft Wullie. "Were experts at lootin an then lyin aboot it. "
"Theyre musical instruments," said Billy Bigchin. He looked up at Roland. "Can ye play one, mister?"
"My aunts have a piano," said Roland doubtfully. "But Ill get into real trouble if anything happens to it. Theyll tear the walls down. "
"Swords it is, then," said Rob Anybody reluctantly. "Ha ye never fought against a real person, mister?"
"No. I wanted to practice with the guards, but my aunts wont let them. "
"But ye have used a sword before?" Roland looked embarrassed. "Not lately. Not as such. Er…not at all, in fact. My aunts say—"
"So how dye practice?" asked Rob in horror. "Well, theres a big mirror in my room, you see, and I can practice…the…actual…" Roland began, stopping when he saw their expressions. "Sorry," he added. "I dont think Im the type youre looking for…. "
"Oh, I wouldna say that," said Rob Anybody wearily. "Accordin tae the hag o hags, yere just the laddie. Ye just need someone tae fight with…. " Big Yan, always suspicious, looked at his brother and followed his gaze to the battered suit of armor. "Oh aye?" he growled. "Weel, Ahm no gonna be a knee!" The next day was a good day, right up to the point where it became a tight little bowl of terror. Tiffany got up early and lit the fires. When her mother came down, she was scrubbing the kitchen floor, very hard. "Er…arent you supposed to do that sort of thing by magic, dear?" said her mother, whod never really got the hang of what witchcraft was all about. "No, Mum, Im supposed not to," said Tiffany, still scrubbing. "But cant you just wave your hand and make all the dirt fly away, then?"
"The trouble is getting the magic to understand what dirt is," said Tiffany, scrubbing hard at a stain. "I heard of a witch over in Escrow who got it wrong and ended up losing the entire floor and her sandals and nearly a toe. " Mrs. Aching backed away. "I thought you just had to wave your hands about," she mumbled nervously. "That works," said Tiffany, "but only if you wave them about on the floor with a scrubbing brush. " She finished the floor. She cleaned under the sink. She opened all the cupboards, cleaned them out, and put everything back. She cleaned the table, and then turned it over and cleaned it underneath. She even washed the bottoms of the legs, where they touched the floor. It was then that Mrs. Aching went and found things to do somewhere, because this was clearly not just about good housekeeping. It wasnt. As Granny Weatherwax once said, if you wanted to walk around with your head in the air, then you needed to have both feet on the ground. Scrubbing floors, cutting wood, washing clothes, making cheese—these things grounded you, taught you what was real. You could set a small part of your mind to them, giving your thoughts time to line up and settle down. Was she safe here from the Wintersmith? Was here sa
fe from the Wintersmith? Sooner or later shed have to face him again—a snowman who thought he was human and had the power of the avalanche. Magic could only slow him down for a while, and make him angry. No ordinary weapon would work, and she didnt have many extraordinary ones. Annagramma had gone for him in a rage! Tiffany wished she could be that angry. Shed have to go back and thank her, too. Annagramma was going to be all right, at least. People had seen her turn into a screaming, green-skinned monster. They could respect a witch like that. Once you got respect, youd got everything. Shed have to try to see Roland, too. She didnt know what to say. That was kind of all right, because he wouldnt know what to say, either. They could spend whole afternoons together, not knowing what to say. He was probably in the castle right now. As she cleaned under the seat of a chair, she wondered what he was doing. There was a hammering on the door of the armory. That was the aunts for you. The door was four thicknesses of oak and iron, but they banged on it anyway. "We will not tolerate this waywardness!" said Aunt Danuta. There was a crash from the other side of the door. "Are you fighting in there?"
"No, Im writing a flute sonata!" shouted Roland. Something heavy hit the door. Aunt Danuta pulled herself together. She looked like Miss Tick in general outline, but with the eyes of the perpetually offended and the mouth of an instant complainer. "If you dont do as youre told, I will tell your father—" she began, and stopped when the door was yanked open. Roland had a cut on his arm, his face was red, sweat was dripping off his chin, and he was panting. He raised his sword in a trembling hand. Behind him, on the other side of the gray room, was a suit of very battered armor. It turned its helmet to look at the aunts. This made a squeaking noise. "If you dare disturb my father," Roland said as they stared at it, "I shall tell him about the money thats being taken out of the big chest in the strong room. Dont lie!" For a moment—a blink would have missed it—Aunt Danutas face had guilt written on it, but it vanished with speed. "How dare you! Your dear mother—"
"Is dead!" shouted Roland, and slammed the door. The helmets visor was pushed up and half a dozen Feegles peered out. "Crivens, what a pair of ol corbies," said Big Yan. "My aunts," said Roland darkly. "Whats a corbie?"
"Its like a big ol crow that hangs around waitin for someone tae die," said Billy Bigchin. "Ah, then youve met them before," said Roland with a glint in his eye. "Lets have another go, shall we? I think Im getting the hang of it. " There was a grumble of protests from every part of the armor, but Rob Anybody shouted it down. "All right! Well gie the lad one more chance," he said. "Get tae yer posts!" There were clangs and much swearing as the Feegles climbed around inside the suit, but after a few seconds the armor seemed to pull itself together. It picked up a sword and lumbered toward Roland, who could hear the muffled orders coming from inside. The sword swung, but in one quick movement he deflected it, stepped sideways, swung his own sword in a blur, and chopped the suit in half with a clang that echoed around the castle. The top part hit the wall. The bottom half just rocked, still standing. After a few seconds, a lot of small heads slowly rose above the iron trousers. "Was that supposed to happen?" Roland said. "Is everyone, er…whole?" A quick count revealed that there were indeed no half Feegles, although there was a lot of bruising and Daft Wullie had lost his spog. A lot of Feegles were walking in circles and banging at their ears with their hands, though. It had been a very loud clang. "No a bad effort, that time," said Rob Anybody vaguely. "Ye seem tae be gettin the knowin o the fightin. "