Wintersmith

feet felt like blocks of ice. She knelt by the fire and stretched out her hand to the stockpot on its big black hook. It bubbled all the time.
    Get your mind right, and balance. Reach out and cup your hands around it, and concentrate, concentrate, on your freezing boots.
    After a while her toes felt warm and then—
    “Ow!” Tiffany pulled her hands away and sucked at her fingers.
    “Didn’t have your mind right,” said Nanny Ogg from the doorway.
    “Well, you know, that’s just a bit difficult when you’ve had a long day and you didn’t sleep much and the Wintersmith is looking for you,” snapped Tiffany.
    “The fire doesn’t care,” said Nanny, shrugging. “Hot milk coming up.”
    Things were a little better when Tiffany had warmed up. She wondered how much brandy Nanny had added to the milk. Nanny had done one for herself, with probably some milk added to the brandy.
    “Isn’t this nice and cozy,” said Nanny after a while.
    “Is this going to be the talk about sex?” said Tiffany.
    “Did anyone say there was going to be one?” said Nanny innocently.
    “I kind of got the feeling,” said Tiffany. “And I know where babies come from, Mrs. Ogg.”
    “I should hope so.”
    “I know how they get there, too. I live on a farm and I’ve got a lot of older sisters.”
    “Ah, right,” said Nanny. “Well, I see you’re pretty well prepared for life, then. Not much left for me to tell you, I expect. And I’ve never had a god pay any attention to me, as far as I can recall. Flattered, are you?”
    “No!” Tiffany looked into Nanny’s smile. “Well, a bit,” she admitted.
    “And frightened of him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, the poor thing hasn’t quite got it right yet. He started off so well, with the ice roses and everything, and then he wanted to show you his muscles. Typical. But you shouldn’t be frightened of him. He should be frightened of you.”
    “Why? Because I’m pretending to be the flower woman?”
    “Because you’re a girl! It’s a poor lookout if a bright girl can’t wind a boy around her little finger. He’s smitten with you. You could make his life a misery with a word. Why, when I was a girl, a young man nearly threw himself off the Lancre Bridge because I spurned his advances!”
    “He did? What happened?”
    “I unspurned ’em. Well, he looked so pretty standing there, and I thought, that’s a good-looking bum on him if ever I saw one.” Nanny sat back. “And think about poor ol’ Greebo. He’ll fight anything. But Esme’s little white kitten leaped straight at him, and now the poor dear won’t come into this room without peering around the door to check that she’s not here. You should see his poor little face when he does, too. It’s all wrinkled up. O’ course, he could tear her into bits with one claw, but he can’t now ’cuz she’s fixed his head.”
    “You’re not saying I should try to tear the Wintersmith’s face off, are you?”
    “No, no, you don’t have to be as blunt as that. Give him a little hope. Be kind but firm—”
    “He wants to marry me!”
    “Good.”
    “Good?”
    “That means he wants to stay friendly. Don’t say no, don’t say yes. Act like a queen. He’s got to learn to show you some respect. What are you doing?”
    “Writing this down,” said Tiffany, scribbling in her diary.
    “You don’t need to write it down, love,” said Nanny. “It’s written down in you somewhere. On a page you haven’t read yet, I reckon. Which reminds me, these came when you were out.” Nanny fished down among the seat cushions and pulled out a couple of envelopes. “My boy Shawn is the postman, so he knew you’d moved.”
    Tiffany nearly snatched them out of her hand. Two letters! “Like him, do you? Your young man in the castle?” said Nanny.
    “He’s a friend who writes to me,” said Tiffany haughtily.
    “That’s right, that’s just the look and voice you need for dealing with the Wintersmith!” said Nanny, looking delighted. “Who does he think he is, daring to talk to you? That’s the way!”
    “I shall read them in my room,” said Tiffany.
    Nanny nodded. “One of the girls did us a lovely casserole,” she said (famously, Nanny never remembered the names of her daughters-in-law). “Yours is in the oven. I’m off to the pub. Early start tomorrow!”

    Alone in her room, Tiffany read the first letter.
    To the unaided eye, not much happened on the Chalk. It had avoided History. It was a place of small