The Shepherd's Crown (Discworld #41)(17)

‘Yes,’ said Nanny. ‘And you must be the best damn leader that we don’t have. Don’t look at me sideways like that, Tiffany Aching. Just think about it. You didn’t try to earn it, but earn it you has, and if you don’t believe me, believe Granny Weatherwax. She tol’ me that you was the only witch who could seriously take her place, she said that on the night after you run with that hare.’

‘She never said anything to me,’ said Tiffany, feeling suddenly very young.

‘Well, she wouldn’t say nothing, o’ course she wouldn’t,’ said Nanny. ‘That’s not Esme’s way, you know that. She would have given a grunt, and maybe said, “Well done, girl.” She just liked people to know their own strengths – and your strengths are formidable.’

‘But, Nanny, you are older, more experienced, than me – you know lots more!’

‘And some of it I wants to forget,’ said Nanny.

‘I’m far too young,’ Tiffany wailed. ‘If I wasn’t a witch, I’d still just be thinking of boyfriends.’

Nanny Ogg almost jumped on her. ‘You’re not too young,’ she said. ‘Years ain’t what’s important here. Granny Weatherwax said to me as you is the one who’s to deal with the future. An’ bein’ young means you’ve got a lot of future.’ She sniffed. ‘Lot more’n me, that’s for sure.’

‘But that’s not how it works,’ Tiffany said. ‘It ought to be a senior witch. It has to be.’ But her Second Thoughts then leaped up in her head, challenging her. Why? Why not do things differently? Why should we do things how they have always been done before? And something inside her suddenly thrilled to the challenge.

‘Huh!’ Nanny retorted. ‘You danced with the hare to save the lives of your friends, my girl. Do you remember being so . . . angry that you picked up a lump of flint and let it dribble between your fingers as if it was water? All the senior witches were there, and they took their hats off to you. You! Hats!’ She stomped off towards the cottage, with just one parting shot. ‘And remember, You chose you. That cat there, she went to you when Esme up and left.’

And there the white cat was, sitting on the stump of an old birch, preening herself, and Tiffany wondered. Oh yes, she wondered.

Just as they got back to the cottage, a dishevelled but very large wizard was trying to land his broomstick by the goat shed.

‘It is good of you to come, Mustrum,’ Nanny Ogg shouted across the garden, as the gentleman smoothed down his robes, trod carefully past the herbs and doffed his hat to them – Tiffany noticed with glee that he had tied it onto his head with string. ‘Tiff, this is Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of Unseen University.’

Tiffany had only met one or two wizards, and they had mostly been of the type that relied on the robes, pointy hat and staff to make their point, hoping that they never had to actually do anything magical. On the face of it, Ridcully looked exactly the same – beard, big staff with a knob on the top, a pointy hat . . . wait, a pointy hat with a crossbow tucked into the hatband? The witch side of her stepped back and watched carefully. But Ridcully was not interested in her at all. To her astonishment, the Archchancellor actually appeared to be crying.

‘Is it true, then, Nanny? Has she really gone?’

Nanny gave him a handkerchief and as he blew noisily into it, she whispered to Tiffany, ‘He and Esme were, well, you know, good friends when they were younger.’ She winked.

The Archchancellor seemed to be overcome. Nanny handed him her flagon. ‘My famous remedy, your worship. Best to drink it down in one great gulp. Works a right treat for melancholy, it does. Whenever I’m a bit unsure of myself I drinks a lot of it. Medicinal use only, o’ course.’

The Archchancellor took the flagon, swigged down a couple of gulps in one go and then flourished it at Nanny. ‘Here’s to Esmerelda Weatherwax and lost futures,’ he said in a voice choked with sorrow. ‘May we all go round again!’ He removed his hat, unscrewed the pointy bit and brought out a small bottle of brandy and a cup. ‘For you, Mrs Ogg,’ he boomed. ‘And now, may I see her, please?’

‘We have laid her down already, where she wanted to rest,’ said Nanny. ‘You know how it is. She didn’t want no fuss.’ She looked at him, and continued, ‘I’m very sorry about that, Mustrum, but we’ll take you to the spot where she is now. Tiffany, why don’t you lead the way?’

And thus the most important wizard in the world respectfully followed Tiffany and Nanny Ogg through the woods to the last resting place of the most important witch in the world. The trees surrounding the little clearing were full of birds, singing their souls out. Nanny and Tiffany held back to allow the wizard a private moment by the grave. He sighed. ‘Thank you, Mistress Ogg, Mistress Aching.’

Then the Archchancellor turned to Tiffany and looked at her properly.

‘For the sake of Esmerelda Weatherwax, my dear, if you ever need a friend, you can call on me. Being the most important wizard in the world must mean something.’ He paused. ‘I have heard of you,’ he said, and at her gasp, he added, ‘No, don’t be surprised. You must know that we wizards keep an . . . eye on what you witches do. We know when the magic is disturbed, when something . . . happens. And so I heard about the flint. Was it true?’ His voice was brusque now – a man who did not do small talk, only big talk, and in a big voice too.