‘Ah,’ said the landlord, astonished that he wasn’t having to pick a battered Geoffrey off the floor. ‘You’re not a wizard, are you?’
‘No,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It’s a knack. It happens to me all the time, when I need it.’ He smiled. ‘Mostly with animals and sometimes with people.’ But alas, he thought to himself, not with my father, never with him.
‘Well, you must be some kind of wizard,’ said the barman. ‘You’ve broken up a fight between two of the nastiest bruisers we have around here.’ He glared at the two miscreants. ‘As for you two,’ he said, ‘don’t come back here until you are sober. Look at the mess you’ve made.’ He grabbed both of them and pushed them out the door.
The rest of the drinkers got back to their pints.
The barman turned back to Geoffrey and looked at him in shrewd appraisal.
‘You want a job, lad? No pay, but you get your keep.’
‘I can’t take a job, but I’d be happy to stay for a few days,’ said Geoffrey with alacrity. ‘If you can find some vegetables for me – I eat no meat. And can there be a place for Mephistopheles as well? He’s not very smelly.’
‘Probably no worse than the people we have in here,’ said the barman, laughing. ‘I tell you what. You and your goat can stay in the barn and I’ll give you your dinner and breakfast, and then after that, we’ll see.’ The man held out a rather dirty hand. ‘A deal, then?’
‘Oh yes, thank you. My name is Geoffrey.’
The man hesitated. ‘My name’s Darling. Darling Dove.’ He looked at Geoffrey mournfully and said, ‘Have a laugh about it, will you? Everyone does. Might as well get it out of the way.’
‘Why?’ said Geoffrey. ‘Darling is a kind word and so is Dove. How can these be anything to worry about?’
That night, Mr Dove told his wife, ‘I got us a new bar boy. Funny cove he is too. But he seems, well, harmless. Sort of easy to talk to.’
‘Can we afford it, Darling?’ his wife said.
‘Oh,’ said Darling Dove, ‘he just wants feeding – doesn’t even want meat – and somewhere to sleep. And he’s got a goat. Quite a smart one, really. Does tricks and all. Might bring some more customers in.’
‘Well, dear, if you think it’s a good idea. What are his clothes like?’ asked Mrs Dove.
‘Pretty good,’ said Mr Dove. ‘And he talks like a toff. I wonder if he is running away from something. Best not to ask any questions, I reckon. I tell you what, though: between him and his goat, we won’t have any trouble in the bar.’
And indeed Geoffrey stayed at The Star for two days, simply because Mr Dove liked him hanging around the place. And Mrs Dove said she was sad when he told her husband that he had to move on. ‘A strange boy, young Geoffrey. He kind of gives me the idea that everything is all right, even if I don’t know what it is that is right. A sort of rightness, floating in the air. I’m really sorry that he’s going,’ she said.
‘Yes, dear,’ said Mr Dove. ‘I asked him to stay, I really did, but he said he must go to Lancre.’
‘That’s where they have the witches,’ said his wife. She made a face.
‘Well,’ Mr Dove said, ‘that’s where he wants to go.’ He paused, and added, ‘He said the wind is blowing him there.’
Battling into a bitter headwind on her long journey back to her parents’ farm, Tiffany felt that there was altogether too much wind in and around Lancre. Still, at least it wasn’t raining, she told herself. Yesterday’s rain had been awful – the kind of joyous rain where every cloud had decided to join the party once one cloud had cracked open the first deluge.
She had felt proud of having the two steadings at first, flying between Lancre and the Chalk every few days, but broomsticks are not very fast. Or warm.fn2 It was good that she could go back home to where her mother did the cooking, but even back home there was no time to rest, and being away in Lancre for half the week meant she was facing a plethora of demands from the Chalk. People weren’t getting nasty about it – after all, she was a witch, and Lancre had more people than the Chalk – but there were these little strains beginning to develop. A few mutters. And she had a horrible feeling that some of the muttering was coming from other witches – witches who were finding queues at their doors, people who had gone to find Granny Weatherwax and just found an empty cottage.