The Shepherd's Crown (Discworld #41)(69)

Tiffany moved towards Nightshade, and almost like a bubble bursting, the elf let go, and her glamour was all gone. But everyone in the hall looked shaken. Except, Tiffany noticed, Mrs Earwig.

‘So, what happened?’ the older witch snapped bossily. ‘What are you all doing?’

‘Mrs Earwig, did you not feel as though you were small, nasty and a waste of space? Totally without redemption?’

Letice Earwig’s face held nothing but puzzlement.

Nightshade looked at her, and back to Tiffany. ‘It was like hitting a rock,’ she said. ‘This one has something interesting . . . something missing.’ She turned to stare again at Mrs Earwig. ‘Are you sure you are not an elf?’ she queried.

‘How dare you! I am just Letice Earwig. No one can stop me being me!’

‘Perish the thought,’ said Tiffany. ‘But everyone else was affected. And that, ladies, was just one elf. Imagine what it will be like when we are facing a horde of them.’

‘It was like seeing my father,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I heard a voice telling me that I was no good and I never would be. A mouse, a maggot, no one worth crying for. He was never satisfied about anything.’

His words sang into the room, and the witches’ faces showed that each knew exactly what he was talking about.

With the demonstration finished and Nightshade back in her unassuming dairymaid guise, the bickering was almost over.

‘Well, fellow witches, there we have it,’ Tiffany said. ‘We know who we are after and what we have to do, which is to keep the elves away from this world. It’s very unlikely that we could kill them all.’ She hesitated. ‘What we have to do is make them see that dealing with us will not be easy, and it might be a very good idea to go back to where they came from.’

‘So,’ Queen Magrat said, ‘how long do we have to get ready?’

Tiffany sighed. ‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘But they will come soon, I feel.’ She looked at Nightshade, who moved now into the centre of the room.

‘The when,’ said the elf, ‘will surely be at the full moon. A time of . . . endings.’

‘Tonight, then . . .’ Magrat whispered.

‘And if I know Peaseblossom,’ continued the elf, ‘the where will be on every front where the barriers may be weak.’

‘What do you think, Tiff?’ said Nanny Ogg. ‘They’ve been coming into the Chalk already, right? And they’ve been up here in Lancre – through the Dancers.’

Nightshade nodded. ‘They will come through both those gates,’ she said. ‘And afterwards fan out.’ She shivered.

Tiffany was taking charge now. ‘Well, we’re going to need to face them on two fronts then. Here in Lancre, and over in the Chalk.’ She looked around the room. ‘We’ll have to split our forces.’

‘Well,’ said Nanny Ogg, ‘you can count on me. I’ve always been a fighter. You has to be a fighter to be a witch. We don’t have to worry – they does. If you can get an elf down and kick it about a bit, it’s not goin’ to be so glamorous as it was. Take it from me, even elves has soft parts which don’t like no boot in ’em.’

Tiffany glanced at Nanny’s boots. They looked as though they had been built by a blacksmith, and in Nanny’s case they probably had been. A kick from one of those and it would be ‘So long, elf!’ It might not kill them, but you could certainly say that all the glamour would have been kicked out.

‘They know where the stone circles are,’ she said, ‘but by Thunder and Lightning they had better keep away. After all, we know where the stones are as well, and we humans are clever, and we can sometimes be very nasty to boot. When we need to, I suspect.’ She turned to Nightshade, who had been watching everyone carefully. ‘What do you make of it, Nightshade?’

The elf smiled and said, ‘You humans are a strange people. Sometimes soft and stupid, but also surprisingly dangerous. There are very few of you, and very many of the elves ranged against you. Yet I believe that traitor Peaseblossom has no idea what he will be facing. And I’m glad of that.’

Tiffany nodded. Magrat, Nanny Ogg, the surprisingly strong Mrs Earwig – there was more to Letice Earwig, she realized, than the occult jewellery and fancy outfits suggested – the other witches of Lancre, Mrs Proust, Geoffrey and Mephistopheles. It would have to do.

‘I think Lancre will be well served by you all,’ she said, looking around. ‘But I must go back to the Chalk. It’s my land.’

‘Who will you have to help you in the Chalk, may I ask?’ said Mrs Earwig.

‘Well,’ said Tiffany, ‘there’s Miss Tick – a formidable lady, as I am sure you will all agree, who sends her apologies for her absence today.’ Or would, she thought to herself, if I could have found her again. ‘Also Letitia.’ She looked at the young Baroness, who was trying to look brave. ‘And there’s the land itself, of course. But remember, I have some other admirable allies. We are not on our own.’ She had been keeping an eye on the pile of broomsticks by the door, and even though they hadn’t been invited she could see the face of Rob Anybody, and by the look of it a significant number of his clan. She laughed; they must have come up with Magrat and Letitia, she thought. ‘Ladies,’ she announced, ‘please allow me to introduce . . . the Nac Mac Feegles!’