The two-man band struck up. The men, in two lines of three facing each other, counted the beat and then leaped… Tiffany turned to Granny as twelve hobnailed boots crashed to the ground, throwing up sparks.
“Tell me how to take away pain,” she said, above the noise of the dance.
“It’s hard,” said Granny, not taking her eyes off the dancers. Crash went the boots again.
“You can move it out of the body?”
“Sometimes. Or hide it. Or make a cage for it and carry it away. And all of it’s dangerous, and it will kill you if you don’t respect it, young woman. It is all price and no profit. You are asking me to tell you how to put your hand in the lion’s mouth.”
“I must know, to help the Baron. It’s bad. There is a lot I have to do.”
“This you choose to do?” said Granny, still watching.
“This is your Baron who doesn’t like witches?” said Granny, her gaze going from face to face in the crowd.
“But who does like witches until they need one, Mistress Weatherwax?” said Tiffany sweetly.
“This is a reckoning, Mistress Weatherwax,” Tiffany added. After all, once you’ve kissed the Wintersmith, you’re in the mood to dare. And Granny Weatherwax smiled, as if she’d done all that was expected of her.
– a new season, another reckoning |
Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith