Read Online Wintersmith by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online Page B

general neverthelessness. The little horse led him to you. But he’s not here now—you’re right about that. I’d know if he was.”
    Tiffany walked up to the front door, hesitated for just a moment, and then opened it and went out into the clearing. There was a bit of snow here and there, but the day was turning into just another one of those gray-skyed winter days.
    I’d know if he was, too, she thought. And he isn’t. And her Second Thoughts said: Oh? How do you know?
    “We’ve both touched the horse,” she said under her breath.
    She looked around at the empty branches and the sleeping trees, fiddling with the silver chain in her hand. The forests were curling in on themselves, ready for the winter.
    He’s out there, but not close. He must be very busy, with a whole winter to make….
    She said, “Thank you!” automatically, because her mother had always said that politeness costs nothing, and went back in. It was very hot inside now, but Miss Treason always had a huge log pile built by the Secret of Boffo. The local woodcutters always kept the pile high. A chilly witch might get nasty.
    “I should like a cup of black tea,” said the old woman as Tiffany walked in, looking thoughtful.
    She waited until Tiffany was washing out the cup, then said: “Have you heard the stories about me, child?” The voice was kindly. There had been shouts, there had been things said that might have been better put, there had been temper and defiance. But they were there together, with nowhere else to go. The quietvoice was a peace offering, and Tiffany was glad of it.
    “Er, that you have a demon in the cellar?” Tiffany answered, her mind still full of puzzles. “And you eat spiders? And get visited by kings and princes? And that any flower planted in your garden blooms black?”
    “Oh, do they say so?” said Miss Treason, looking delighted. “I haven’t heard that last one. How nice. And did you hear that I walk around at night in the dark time of the year and reward those who have been good citizens with a purse of silver? But if they have been bad, I slit open their bellies with my thumbnail like this?”
    Tiffany leaped backward as a wrinkled hand twisted her around and Miss Treason’s yellow thumbnail scythed past her stomach. The old woman looked terrifying.
    “No! No, I haven’t heard that one!” she gasped, pressing up against the sink.
    “What? And it was a wonderful story, with real historical antecedents!” said Miss Treason, her vicious scowl becoming a smile. “And the one about me having a cow’s tail?”
    “A cow’s tail? No!”
    “Really? How very vexing,” said Miss Treason, lowering her finger. “I fear the art of storytelling has got into a pretty bad way in these parts. I really shall have to do something.”
    “This is just another kind of Boffo, right?” said Tiffany. She wasn’t totally sure. Miss Treason had looked pretty scary with that thumbnail. No wonder girls left so quickly.
    “Ah, you do have a brain, after all. Of course it is. Boffo, yes. A good name for it. Boffo, indeed. The art of expectations. Show people what they want to see, show ’em what they think should be there. I have a reputation to keep up, after all.”
    Boffo, Tiffany thought. Boffo, Boffo, Boffo.
    She went over to the skulls, picked one up, and read the label underneath, just like she’d done a month ago:

     

    Ghastly Skull No. 1 Price $2.99
The Boffo Novelty & Joke Shop
No. 4, Tenth Egg Street, Ankh-Morpork
“If it’s a laugh…it’s a Boffo!”

     
    “Very lifelike, aren’t they,” said Miss Treason, clicking back to her chair, “if you can say that about a skull, of course! The shop sold a wonderful machine for making spiderwebs. You poured in this sticky stuff, d’you see, and with practice quite good webs could be made. Can’t abide creepy-crawlies, but of course I’ve got to have the webs. Did you notice the dead flies?”
    “Yes,” said Tiffany, glancing up. “They’re