The Shepherd's Crown (Discworld #41)(13)

Granny Weatherwax had been an expert at Borrowing – moving her mind into that of another creature, using its body, sharing its experiences.fn2 It was dangerous witchery, for an inexperienced witch risked losing herself in the mind of the other and never coming back. And, of course, whilst away from one’s body, people could get the wrong idea . . .

Nanny silently picked up the card from Granny’s chest. They looked at it together:

Nanny Ogg turned it over as Tiffany’s hand crept towards Granny Weatherwax’s wrist and – even now, even when every atom of her witch being told her that Granny was no longer there – the young girl part of her tried to feel for even the slightest beat of life.

On the back of the card, however, there was a scrawled message that pretty much put the final strand in the willow basket below.

Quietly Tiffany said, ‘No longer “probably”.’ And then the rest of the note rocketed into her mind. ‘What? What does she mean by “All of it goes to Tiffany . . .”?’ Her voice tailed off as she looked at Nanny Ogg, aghast.

‘Yes,’ said Nanny. ‘That’s Granny’s writing, right enough. Good enough for me. You gets the cottage and the surroundin’ grounds, the herbs and the bees an’ everything else in the place. Oh, but she always promised me the pink jug and basin set.’ She looked at Tiffany and went on, ‘I hopes you don’t mind?’

Mind? Tiffany thought. Nanny Ogg is asking me if I mind? And then her mind rattled on to: Two steadings? I mean, I won’t need to live with my parents . . . But it will be a lot of travel . . . And the main thought hit her like a thunderbolt. How can I possibly tread in the footsteps of Granny Weatherwax? She is . . . was . . . unfollowable!

Nanny didn’t get to be an old senior witch without learning a thing or two along the way. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot just yet, Tiff,’ she said briskly. ‘It won’t solve anything an’ will just make you walk odd. There’s plenty of time later to talk about . . . all of that. Right now, we needs to get on with what must be done . . .’

Tiffany and Nanny had dealt with death many times. Out in the Ramtops, witches did the things that had to be done to make the departed presentable for the next world – the slightly messy things that weren’t talked about, and other little things like opening a window for the soul to get out. Granny Weatherwax had, in fact, already opened the window, though her soul, Tiffany thought, could probably get out of anywhere and go anywhere she chose.

Nanny Ogg held up the two pennies from the bedside table and said, ‘She left ’em ready for us. Just like Esme, thoughtful to the end like. Shall we begin?’

Unfortunately Nanny had brought Granny Weatherwax’s bottle of triple-distilled peach brandy – for medicinal use only – from the scullery; she said it would help her as she went through the rites for their sister in the craft, and although they dealt with Granny Weatherwax as if she were a precious gem, Nanny Ogg’s drinking was not helping.

‘She looks good, don’t she?’ said Nanny after the nasty bits – and, thank goodness, Granny had still had all her own teeth – were over and done with. ‘It’s a shame. Always thought as I’d be the first to go, what with my drinkin’ and suchlike, especially the suchlike. I’ve done a lot o’ that.’ In fact, Nanny Ogg had done a great deal of everything, and was commonly held to be so broad-minded that you could pull her mind out through her ears and tie a hat on with it.

‘Is there going to be a funeral?’ asked Tiffany.

‘Well, you know Esme. She wasn’t one for that kind of thing – never one to push herself forwardfn3 – and we witches don’t much like funerals. Granny called them fuss.’

Tiffany thought of the only other witch’s funeral she had been to. The late Miss Treason, for whom she had worked, had wanted a lot of fuss. She hadn’t wanted to miss the event herself either, so she had sent out invitations in advance. It had been . . . memorable.

As they put Granny Weatherwax to bed – as Granny had called it – Nanny said, ‘Queen Magrat has to be told. She’s away in Genua at the moment with the King, but I daresay as she’ll be along soon as possible, what with all these railways and whatnot. Anyone else as needs to know will probably know already, you mark my words. But first thing tomorrow, before they get here, we’ll bury Esme the way she wanted, quiet-like an’ no fuss, in that wickerwork basket downstairs. Very cheap, wickerwork baskets are, and quick to make, Esme always said. An’ you know Esme, she’s such a frugal person – nothing goes to waste.’

Tiffany spent the night on the truckle bed, a tiny thing which was usually pushed away when it wasn’t needed. Nanny Ogg had settled for the rocking chair downstairs, which squeaked and complained every time she rocked back. But Tiffany didn’t sleep. There were a series of half-sleeps as the light of the moon filtered into the room, and every time she looked up there was You, the cat, asleep at the foot of Granny’s bed, curled up like a little white moon herself.

Tiffany had watched the dead before many times, of course – it was the custom for a departing soul to have company the night before any funeral or burial, as if to make a point to anything that might be . . . lurking: this person mattered, there is someone here to make sure nothing evil creeps in at this time of danger. The night-time creaking of woodwork filled the room now and Tiffany, fully awake, listened as Granny Weatherwax began making sounds of her own as her body settled down. I’ve done this often, she told herself. It’s what we witches do. We don’t talk about it, but we do it. We watch the dead to see that no harm comes to them out of the darkness. Although, as Nanny said, maybe it’s the living you have to watch – for despite what most people thought, the dead don’t hurt anybody.