Wintersmith

feet,” said Granny. She stopped gripping Tiffany so hard but nevertheless almost dragged her around the side of the cottage. The late Miss Treason’s broomstick was leaning against the wall.
    “Tie your stuff on quickly!” she commanded. “We must move!”
    “Is he going to come back?” asked Tiffany, struggling to tie the sack and old suitcase onto the bristles.
    “Not yet. Not soon, I think. But it will be looking for you. And it will be stronger. Dangerous to you, I believe, and those around you! You have such a lot to learn! You have such a lot to do!”
    “I thanked him! I tried to be nice to him! Why is he still interested in me?”
    “Because of the Dance,” said Granny.
    “I’m sorry about that!”
    “Not good enough. What does a storm know of sorrow? You must make amends. Did you really think that space was left there for you? Oh, this is so tangled! How are your feet?”
    Tiffany, angry and bewildered, stopped with one leg half over the stick.
    “My feet? What about my feet?”
    “Do they itch? What happens when you take your boots off?”
    “Nothing! I just see my socks! What have my feet got to do with anything?”
    “We shall find out,” said Granny, infuriatingly. “Now, come along.”
    Tiffany tried to get the stick to rise, but it barely cleared the dead grass. She looked around. The bristles were covered with Nac Mac Feegles.
    “Dinna mind us,” said Rob Anybody. “We’ll hold on tight!”
    “An’ dinna make it too bumpy, ’cuz I feel like the top o’ mah heid’s come off,” said Daft Wullie.
    “Do we get meals on this flight?” said Big Yan. “I’m fair boggin’ for a wee drink.”
    “I can’t take you all!” said Tiffany. “I don’t even know where I’m going!”
    Granny Weatherwax glared at the Feegles. “You’ll have to walk. We’re travelin’ to Lancre Town. The address is Tir Nani Ogg, The Square.”
    “Tir Nani Ogg,” said Tiffany. “Isn’t that—?”
    “It means Nanny Ogg’s Place,” said Granny, as Feegles dropped off the broomstick. “You’ll be safe there. Well, more or less. But we must make a stop on the way. We must put that necklace as far away from you as we can. And I know how to do that! Oh, yes!”

    The Nac Mac Feegle jogged through the afternoon woods. Local wildlife had found out about Feegles, so the fluffy woodland creatures had all dived for their burrows or climbed high into the trees, but after a while Big Yan called a halt and said: “There’s somethin’ trackin’ us!”
    “Don’t be daft,” said Rob Anybody. “There’s nothin’ left in these woods that’s mad enough tae hunt Feegles!”
    “I know what I’m sensin’,” said Big Yan stubbornly. “I can feel it in my watter. There’s somethin’ creepin’ up on us right noo!”
    “Weel, I’m not one tae argue wi’ a man’s watter,” said Rob wearily. “Okay, lads, spread oot inna big circle!”
    Swords drawn, the Feegles spread out, but after a few minutes there was a general muttering. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear. A few birds sang, at a safe distance. Peace and quiet, unusual in the vicinity of Feegles, was everywhere.
    “Sorry, Big Yan, but I’m thinkin’ yer watter is no’ on the button this time,” said Rob Anybody.
    It was at this point that Horace the cheese dropped from a branch onto his head.

    A lot of water flowed under the big bridge at Lancre, but from up here you could barely see it because of the spray coming from the waterfalls a little farther on, spray that hovered in the freezing air. There was white water all through the deep gorge, and then the river leaped the waterfall like a salmon and hit the plains below like a thunderstorm. From the base of the falls you could follow the river all the way past the Chalk, but it moved in wide, lazy curves, and it was quicker to fly in a straight line.
    Tiffany had flown up it just once, when Miss Level had first brought her into the mountains. Since then she’d always taken the long way down, cruising just above the zigzagging coach road. Flying out over the edge of that furious torrent into a sudden drop full of cold damp air and then pointing the stick almost straight down was pretty high on her list of things she never intended to do, ever.
    Now Granny Weatherwax stood on the bridge, the silver horse in her hand.
    “It’s the only way,” she said. “It’ll end up at the bottom of the deep sea. Let the Wintersmith look for you there!”
    Tiffany nodded. She