‘Very well, Geoffrey, now tell me the truth. Are you running away from somebody? Parents, perhaps?’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Geoffrey, taking a mouthful of the bread Tiffany had brought but pushing the slice of ham to one side.
You little fibber, thought Tiffany, like any witch good at spotting a lie.fn1 She sighed. ‘Are you just running away from home then?’
‘Well, you could say that, mistress, but I am sixteen and I just wanted to leave.’
‘Don’t get on with your father, do you?’ said Tiffany, and she saw the boy metaphorically jump, as if she’d hit a nerve.
‘How could you see that, mistress!’
Tiffany sighed. ‘It does say witch on the door, doesn’t it? I might not be much older than you, but you aren’t the first runaway I’ve dealt with, and I’m absolutely certain there will be many more. Although,’ she added, ‘never one as highborn as you are, Mister Geoffrey. Good coat, you see. Well now, of what use can you be to me and my steading, Geoffrey?’
‘Oh, quite a lot, mistress,’ he said, trying to sound definite but just seeming hopeful.
And at that moment Nanny Ogg came round the corner of the cottage, not there one minute and then suddenly there, which was, Tiffany knew, Nanny’s way. She looked at Geoffrey, made an instant judgement, then winked at Tiffany and said, ‘Anythin’ going on, Tiff?’ Tiffany saw a suggestive grin on Nanny’s wrinkled face, as if an apple was suddenly leering at her. Geoffrey looked as if he was going to flee.
‘It’s all right, Nanny. Meet Geoffrey here,’ Tiffany said sharply. ‘He wants to be a witch.’
‘Really?’ Nanny chortled. ‘You mean he wants to do magic. Send ’im to the wizards!’
Now Geoffrey looked like a little fawn about to dash away. Nanny Ogg could affect people like that.
‘No, he wants to be a witch, Nanny. Do you understand?’
Tiffany saw a naughty little gleam in Nanny’s eyes as she said, ‘So, he wants to be a witch, does he? Perhaps he should learn what us witches has to put up with before he decides proper like. I mean, he might still want to give them wizards a go if he’s got any magic in ’im. I know, make him a backhouse boy.’ A backhouse boy was like a male scullery maid, doing all the odd, and usually dirty, jobs around the homestead. Things like killing chickens and stringing pheasants, cleaning shoes, peeling potatoes and any other task that was messy, and occasionally dangerous. There was usually one on Home Farm, gradually learning what farming was all about. ‘I tells you what,’ Nanny continued, looking at the trembling boy, ‘let’s try him out with Mr Nimlet. You knows what his toenails is like.’
Yes, like all old men’s toenails, Tiffany thought. She looked at the boy who was so terribly anxious to be helpful and took pity on him and said, ‘There’s more to being a witch than you think, Geoffrey, but if you’d like to be my backhouse boy, we’ll see how you go. And first of all, I’d like you to do something about an old man’s horrible toenails.’
‘You may need a shield,’ said Nanny Ogg.
The boy looked at Tiffany questioningly.
‘Oh dear,’ said Tiffany. ‘Mr Nimlet’s toenails tend to be thick and strong and very, very difficult to deal with. You need really sharp secateurs, and even then the blessed things go pinging off around the room. You have to be careful about your eyes too.’ She studied the boy’s face; he looked determined to meet any obstacle, even flyaway toenails. Nanny was grinning, so Tiffany said, ‘I’ve got a birth to see to. Nanny, would you be kind enough to take Geoffrey to Mr Nimlet and see how he does. Oh, and tell him to remember to collect the clippings – Rob Anybody has a use for them, so he does.’
‘Can I take Mephistopheles with me?’ Geoffrey asked.
Nanny spun on her heels. ‘Mephiswhat?’ she said slowly.
‘My goat,’ Geoffrey said, pointing towards the paddock where Mephistopheles was investigating the remains of the dandelion patch. ‘Or rather, he is his own goat, but we travel together. He is a very clever companion.’
Nanny snorted.
‘See,’ Geoffrey added proudly as they watched Mephistopheles daintily cross the paddock and nose open the door of the little shed by the beech tree. ‘He has even learned to use the privy.’
And Nanny – for once in her life – was speechless.
fn1 Spotting the truth was much harder.
CHAPTER 10
Treasure
DEEP IN THE heart of Fairyland, the triumphant Peaseblossom surveyed his court.
Lord Lankin – tall, elegant, a tunic of moss and gorse slung casually over his darkened skin – lounged by his side, toying with a bronze dagger.
‘I am your king now,’ Peaseblossom declared.