Mrs Proust — a witch who had no need to add nasty witch accessories to her everyday look, given that she had been naturally blessed with the right kind of hooked nose, messy hair and blackened teeth — heard the novelty graveyard groan of the door opening and came over to greet them.
Tiffany laughed. ‘That’s a new one,’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘Can’t keep them on the shelves. Nice to see you, Mistress Aching, and who’s this young man, may I ask?’
‘This is Geoffrey, Mrs Proust, and we’re in the city to fit him up for a witch’s broomstick.’
‘Are you indeed? A boy? A witch? On a broomstick?’
‘Well,’ said Tiffany, ‘the Archchancellor uses a broomstick sometimes.’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Proust, ‘but there might be trouble.’
‘Well, if there is,’ said Tiffany, ‘the trouble will come to me. I am the chosen successor to Granny Weatherwax, and I think it could be time for a few little changes.’
‘Well done,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘That’s the spirit!’ She looked at Geoffrey, who was engrossed in the display of naughty doggy-dos. And then and there she loomed close to him, put a clawed hand on his shoulder, and said to him, ‘So you want to be a witch, do you?’
Geoffrey stood his ground well, and Tiffany was impressed. So was Mrs Proust.
‘Well, mistress,’ he said, ‘I think I can help witches anyway.’
‘Do you?’ said Mrs Proust with a glint in her eye. ‘We shall see, young man, won’t we?’ She turned back to Tiffany. ‘I am sure there will be some witches who will hate the idea,’ she said, ‘but it is your way, Tiffany, your time. And Esme Weatherwax was no fool. She could see the future coming.’
‘We’re staying in Ankh-Morpork until the dwarfs have finished with Geoffrey’s stick,’ Tiffany said. ‘Can we stop here? We might need to stay overnight.’
Mrs Proust grinned. ‘Well, there is plenty of space in my spare room, and it would be good to have a chinwag while you are here.’ She looked at Geoffrey. ‘Have you been to the city before, young man?’
‘No, Mrs Proust,’ he replied quietly. ‘We lived in the Shires, and my father was the only one to travel.’
‘Well then, my son Derek will show you around,’ Mrs Proust said, sounding satisfied. She followed this up with a shout for the lad, and Derek — the sort of lad you wouldn’t notice in a crowd of two, meaning that he shared very little in common with his mother’s looks — came stumbling up the stairs from the workshop below.
Ankh-Morpork, Tiffany thought, would definitely be an education.
As the two lads left, Mrs Proust said, ‘So how are things going with your young man then, Tiffany?’
Tiffany sighed. Why were elderly witches so nosy? But then she thought: Actually, all witches are nosy. It’s part of what being a witch is. And she relaxed. At least Mrs Proust wasn’t trying to push her Derek at her again.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I do like Preston and he likes me — he’s my best friend — but I’m not sure either of us are ready for, well … anything more. You see, he does a lot of wonderful work at the hospital and we write to each other and even meet up sometimes.’ She paused. ‘I think we are married to our jobs.’ She swallowed, a lump suddenly appearing in her throat. ‘It’s not that we don’t want to be together … I mean, I … but …’ The words trailed off and Tiffany just looked totally miserable now.
Mrs Proust did her best to look sympathetic. ‘You’re not the first witch to have that problem, my dear,’ she said. ‘Nor will you be the last.’
Tiffany could feel the tears beginning. She said, ‘But why do I feel like this? I know a part of me does want to be with Preston — and it would make my family so happy! — but I also want to be a witch. And I’m good at it — I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but I measure myself against the other witches and I know I’m better than most of them when it comes to witchcraft. I can’t not do it.’ A tear threatened to trickle down her cheek. ‘Just like Preston can’t not be a doctor,’ she finished sadly.
‘Oh, I understand all that,’ Mrs Proust said. ‘But this is today. It’s soon going to be tomorrow and things can change. Things are changing, especially for you young people, when you both want to do different things. Just do the work you find in front of you and enjoy yourself. After all, you are both still young, so you still have options for the future. Just like my Derek.’
‘But that’s the difficulty,’ said Tiffany. ‘I don’t really want options. I know what I want to do. I enjoy my work, I really do.’ This last word came out as a squeal. ‘I just wish Preston could be with me,’ she added quietly. ‘Not here in the city.’
‘But you tell me he is training to be a doctor,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘And he loves his work. You wouldn’t want him to give that up for you, now would you? So don’t worry so much. Think yourself lucky and don’t run ahead of the world. There is a saying, Don’t push the river. Although, of course, in Ankh-Morpork you can push very hard,’ she added with a cackle.[33] More encouragingly, she continued, ‘Maybe in a year or two your young man can be a doctor in the same place where you are a witch. I had my Mr Proust. You can have your Preston. Just not yet.’
‘When I go around the houses,’ Tiffany said quietly, ‘I also see how some of the marriages, well, they’re not really …’ That hung in the air.
‘There are happy marriages,’ Mrs Proust said. ‘Think of your parents, maybe? Isn’t that a happy marriage? Now, let your Auntie Eunice give you some help. Go and see your boy and have a chat to him.’ She paused and added shrewdly, ‘He’s not interested in anyone else, is he?’
‘Oh no,’ said Tiffany. ‘He’s working with the Igors[34] and he said that he didn’t fancy the Igor girls because he likes a girl who stays the same shape every day. The Igorinas like to experiment.’
Geoffrey came back late with Derek, singing a song worthy of Nanny Ogg, but Tiffany got a good night’s sleep — a rare treat! — and then a breakfast of ham and eggs courtesy of Mrs Proust. While Geoffrey and Derek still slept, Tiffany decided to go and visit Preston. Mrs Proust’s words had got her thinking.
She headed for the Lady Sybil Hospital over in Goose Gate, but paused at the door, strangely uncertain. She hadn’t told Preston she would be in the city. Would her visit be a good one, or …?
It was a free hospital, so there was a queue of people waiting, all hoping for the happy result of seeing a doctor before old Boney turned up with his scythe. It looked like nobody would be moving for some time, so Tiffany did something she knew she shouldn’t.
She stepped outside her body, leaving it standing demurely by the gates. It was an easy trick for a witch, but still dangerous, and she had no real reason to take the risk. Except … the Igor girls? They were beautiful … once you looked past the discreet stitches, anyway.
She slid silently through the crowd, doing her best to ignore her First Thoughts, Second Thoughts and even her Third Thoughts, and drifted into the hospital itself, floating along the corridors until she found Preston.
33
‘River’ as a term doesn’t quite describe the sludge of the river Ankh in its course through the city, though it is of course a decent torrent up in Lancre.
34
Uberwald servants, usually working as doctors, or assistants to mad scientists, who believe a stitch in time saves a lot of bother later. They like to swap body parts from an early age, often within the same family, such that an Igor saying ‘He’s got his uncle’s nose’ really