The Shepherd's Crown (Discworld #41)(55)

‘Oh dear,’ said Tiffany, holding up a hand to halt the Feegles, each of whom wanted to be the one to get the first fist in. ‘I hope you don’t do so. It would be your last.’ She looked at the elf, whose sharp little face was quivering with upset as she found herself surrounded by those she did not understand. ‘Oh, please don’t cry. An elf who has been a queen – an elf who wants to be a queen again – surely shouldn’t cry.’

‘A queen shouldn’t, but I am a remnant of a queen, lost in the wilderness.’

‘No, you are in a hay barn. Do you understand the meaning of manual labour, lady?’

Nightshade looked puzzled. ‘No. What does it mean?’

‘It means earning a living by working. How are you with a shovel?’

‘I don’t know. What is a shovel?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Tiffany again. ‘Look, you can stay here until you are better, but you must work hard at something. You could try.’

A boot bounced off the ground beside her, one of her father’s, a hole at the toe, and another trying out of sympathy to join in at the heel. ‘I cannae abide boots on my feet, ye ken,’ said Wee Mad Arthur, ‘but if ye recall I wuz raised by shoemakers, and they tol’ me a tale o’ the elves. Yon scunner ye ha’ there might ha’ a talent for it, ye ken.’

Nightshade turned the boot gingerly over in her hands. ‘What is this?’ she said.

‘A boot,’ said Tiffany.

‘An’ ye’ll get one reet noo up yer backside if I ha’ anythin’ tae dae wi’ it,’ Big Yan growled.

Tiffany took the boot from the elf and put it down. ‘We’ll talk later, Nightshade,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your suggestion, Wee Mad Arthur, and yes, I do know the storyfn1 but I think it is just that, a story.’

‘Weel, I tol’ ye, Wee Mad Arthur, you shouldnae have listened to that load o’ old cobblers,’ said Rob.

It was a day of old sheets and old boots and ‘make do and mend’. And oh dear, Tiffany thought, she had to check on baby Tiffany, and drop in on Becky Pardon and Nancy Upright – Miss Tick felt that both girls might be of use if she wanted to take on a trainee in the Chalk. But she couldn’t ask the girls to move in while she had Nightshade at the farm, not unless she gave them each a horseshoe necklace so they would be protected by the iron. It would have to wait . . .

She was back and forth to the farm all day, in between visits. Her last call of the afternoon was to Mr Holland the miller. There were only a few purple blotches on his skin now, and she left Mistress Holland with a second pot of the Merryday Root lotion, biting her tongue at the good lady’s clear message of ‘If only you had been here, I wouldn’t have used the wrong herb.’

When she got back, she found Nightshade perched in the corner of the barn, her merciless eyes pinned on You, who had stalked in and was arching her back and hissing at the elf. The Feegles were egging You on, with cries of ‘Ach, see you, *cat, gi’ the scunner a wee giftie for the Nac Mac Feegle’, interrupted by a sudden, ‘Crivens, lads, the big wee hag is back!’

Tiffany stood in the doorway tapping her foot, and Rob shrank back.

‘Ach no,’ he wailed. ‘Nae the Tappin’ of the Feets, mistress.’

Tiffany folded her arms.

‘Ach, mistress, ’tis a heavy thing to be under a geas,’ Rob moaned.

And Tiffany laughed.

But Nightshade had questions for her. She had seen people coming to the farm during the day, coming for medicines, for advice, for an ear to listen and, sadly, sometimes for an eye to see the bruises.

‘Why do you help these strangers?’ she asked Tiffany now. ‘They are not of your clan. You owe them nothing.’

‘Well,’ said Tiffany, ‘although they are strangers, I simply think of them as people. All of them. And you help other people – that’s how we do it.’

‘Does every person do it?’ said Nightshade.

‘No,’ said Tiffany. ‘Sadly, that is true. But many people will help other people, just because, well, because they are other people. That’s how it goes. Do you elves not understand this?’

‘Shall we say that I am trying to learn?’ said Nightshade.

‘And what do you find?’ said Tiffany, smiling.

‘You become a kind of servant.’ Nightshade sniffed, her delicate nose wrinkling.

‘Well, yes,’ said Tiffany. ‘But it doesn’t matter, because one day I might need that person, and then they will very probably help me. It works for us; it always has.’

‘But you have battles,’ said Nightshade. ‘I know that.’

‘Yes, but not always. And we are getting better at the not.’

‘You are powerful, though. You could rule the world,’ said Nightshade.

‘Really?’ said Tiffany. ‘Why should I want to do that? I am a witch, I like being a witch, and I like people too. For every nasty person, there’s a nice one, mostly. There is a saying, “What goes around comes around,” and it means that sooner or later you will find yourself on top, at least for a while. And another time, the wheel turns and you will not be on top but you have to put up with it.’

She tried to look into Nightshade’s eyes, see what the elf was thinking, but she might as well have looked at a wall. The elf’s eyes were emotionless.