The Shepherd's Crown (Discworld #41)(56)

‘And I remember the darkness and the rain and the thunder and lightning,’ she added, ‘and what good has it done you? You, elf, found in a ditch?’

For once Nightshade seemed at a loss and looked carefully at Tiffany before saying, ‘Your way . . . would not work for elves. Every other elf is a challenge. We kill our queens – every other queen is a rival, and we fight over the hive.’ She paused as a new thought struck her. ‘Yet you have your queens of wisdom – and thus there was Granny Aching, and Granny Weatherwax, and yes indeed, Tiffany Aching. You grow older, wisdom flourishes and is passed on.’

‘And you never prosper, you live in a cycle of decay,’ Tiffany said softly. ‘And you are not bees. They are productive but they die young and never, ever have a thought . . .’

There was a strange look on the elf’s face. She was having to think. Really think. Tiffany could see it. Nightshade had the face of someone who had already begun to think about a world that had changed, a world with iron that was less welcoming for the fairy folk, a world that liked them well enough in stories but had no real belief in them, gave them no way in; now she was looking closer and she was finding a new world she had never thought about before, and she was trying to reconcile it with everything else she knew.

And Tiffany could see the battle in her face.

Over in Lancre, Queen Magrat had heard about the trouble up in the Ramtops – the attack on the lumberjacks, the deaths and the lost timber.

Elves, she thought. They’d seen them off last time, but it hadn’t been easy, and it had been a long time since she’d posted guards – well, Shawn Ogg, anyway – up by the circle of stones known as the Dancers, or made sure the castle had plenty of horseshoes to hand.

She knew how the memory plays tricks, and the old stories had power, and everyone forgot how ‘terrific’ really meant ‘brings terror’. Her people would only remember that the elves sang beautifully. They would have forgotten what their song was about.

Magrat was not only a queen, but also a witch, of course. And although she was mostly a queen these days, the witch part of her knew that the balance was off, that Granny Weatherwax had left a void behind her, and no matter how hard Tiffany Aching was working to fill it – and that nice backhouse boy she now had – Granny Weatherwax was a hard act to follow; she had held the barrier, held it firm.

And if the barrier was no longer strong . . . Magrat shivered. Anyone who had ever met elvenkind knew that ‘terror’ was absolutely the right response – the only response. For the elves were a plague that could spread rapidly, destroying and harming and hurting and poisoning all they touched. She wanted no elves in Lancre.

That evening, Queen Magrat went to her garderobe and took out her beloved broomstick, sat on it and very carefully tried a lift and, slightly against her expectations, it took off gently, rising slowly over the castle. She flew around happily for some minutes and told herself, It’s true – once a witch, always a witch.

Being a dutiful wife, when she wanted to be, she mentioned her intentions to her husband late that evening, and to her surprise King Verence said, ‘Back on the old broomstick, my love? Very glad to hear it. I’ve seen your face when a witch flies by, and no man can keep a bird in chains.’

Magrat smiled and said, ‘I don’t feel like a bird in a cage, my dear, but now we don’t have Granny, I feel I must help.’

‘Well done,’ said Verence. ‘We are all coming to terms with what’s happened, but I am sure Mistress Aching will follow in Granny’s footsteps.’

‘It isn’t like that,’ said Queen Magrat. ‘I think she is walking in her own footsteps.’ She sighed. ‘But there are elves afoot,’ she said. ‘And I believe Tiffany will be at Granny’s cottage – no, her cottage – later today, so I must go and see her, offer my support.’ Her husband shivered at the mention of elves. ‘Of course,’ Magrat continued firmly, ‘I also intend to be a good role model for our children. Young Esme is growing up fast and I want her to see that there’s more to being a queen than waving hellos – we don’t want her to start kissing frogs, now, do we? We all know how that can turn out!’fn2 She turned at the door, and tossed her husband a baby sling. ‘I am quite sure,’ she said sweetly, ‘that you can look after our children very well indeed on your own for a little while.’

Verence smiled weakly.

Magrat made a face that only a witch would see. He holds them upside down sometimes, she thought to herself. He is a very clever man, but give him a baby and he doesn’t really know what to do. She smiled. He could learn. And when she asked him to change a nappy, when Millie was off helping in the kitchen, he pulled a face but he did try anyway.

‘I want to help,’ Magrat said firmly to Tiffany, landing her broomstick outside what they both still thought of as Granny’s cottage, less than an hour after Tiffany had arrived herself, the news quickly flashing up to the castle since Magrat had made it known she wanted to be informed. ‘I am the Queen, but I am also a pretty good witch.’

Tiffany looked into Magrat’s eyes and saw her longing to be a witch once more, just for a little while, and then Magrat said, ‘We have had elves here, Tiffany. Elves!’ And Tiffany remembered Granny Weatherwax telling her how Magrat had fought the elves before – shot one right through the eye with a crossbow indeed!