Wintersmith

"Give him the boot, dear, send him packing and change the locks. Let's have summer all year round like the hot countries do. Grapes all over the place, eh? Coconuts on every tree! Hah, when I was in the volcano game, I couldn't move for mangoes. Kiss good-bye to snow and fog and slush. Have you got the thingy yet?"

"The thingy?" said Tiffany, looking worried.

"It'll turn up, I daresay," said Anoia. "I hear it can be a bit tricky to—Oops, I hear rattling, must fly, don't worry, I won't tell him where you are—"

She vanished. So did the smoke.

Not knowing what else to do, Tiffany ladled out a plate of hearty meat and vegetables and ate it. So…she could see gods now? And they knew about her? And everyone wanted to give her advice.

It was not a good idea to come to the attention of those in high places, her father had said.

But it was impressive. In love with her, eh? And telling everyone? But he was really an elemental, not a proper god at all. All he knew was how to move wind and water around!

Even so…huh. Some people have elementals running after them! Oh yes! How about that? If people were stupid enough to dance around with girls who painted watercolors to lead honest men to their Doom, well, she could be haughty to people who were almost gods. She ought to mention that in a letter, except that of course she wasn't going to be writing to him now. Hah!

And a few miles away Old Mother Blackcap, who made her own soap out of animal fat and potash made, indeed, from plant ashes, felt a bar of soap snatched from her hand just as she was about to boil some sheets. The tub of water froze solid, too.

Being a witch, she immediately said: "There's a strange thief about!"

And the Wintersmith said: "Potash enough to make a man!"

That night, after Nanny Ogg had gone to bed, Tiffany did have the bath she'd been looking forward to. This was not something to be taken lightly. First, the tin bath had to be fetched from its hook on the back of the privy, which was at the bottom of the garden, and dragged through the dark, freezing night to a place of honor in front of the fire. Then kettles had to be heated over the fire and on the black kitchen stove, and getting even six inches of warm water was an effort. Afterward, the water all had to be scooped out and into the sink and the bath moved into a corner, ready to be taken outside in the morning. When you had to do all that, you might as well scrub every inch.

Tiffany did one extra thing: She wrote PRIVATE!! on a piece of cardboard and wedged it in the hanging lamp in the center of the room so that it could be read only from above. She wasn't sure it would put off any inquisitive gods, but she felt better for doing it.

That night she slept without dreaming. In the morning snow had put a fresh coating on the drifts, and a couple of Nanny Ogg's grandchildren were building her a snowman on the lawn. They came in after a while and demanded a carrot for the nose and two lumps of coal for the eyes.

Nanny took her to the isolated village of Slice, where people were always glad and surprised to see someone they weren't related to. Nanny Ogg ambled from cottage to cottage along the paths cut in the snow, drinking enough cups of tea to float an elephant and doing witchcraft in small ways. Mostly it seemed to just consist of gossip, but once you got the hang of it, you could hear the magic happening. Nanny Ogg changed the way people thought, even if it was only for a few minutes. She left people thinking they were slightly better people. They weren't, but as Nanny said, it gave them something to live up to.

Then there was another night without dreams, but Tiffany woke up with a snap at half past five, feeling…odd.

She rubbed the frost off the window and saw the snowman by moonlight.

Why do we do it? she wondered. As soon as there's snow, we build snowmen. We do worship the Wintersmith, in a way. We make the snow human…. We give him coal eyes and a carrot nose to bring him alive. Oh, and I see the children gave him a scarf. That's what a snowman needs, a scarf to keep him warm….

She went down into the silent kitchen, and for want of anything else to do she scrubbed the table. Doing something with her hands helped her think.

Something had changed, and it was her. She'd been worrying about what he would do and what he would think, as if she were just a leaf being blown about by the wind. She dreaded hearing his voice in her head, where he had no right to be.

Well, not now. Not anymore.

He ought to be worried about her.

Yes, she'd made a mistake. Yes, it was her fault. But she wasn't going to be bullied. You couldn't let boys go around raining on your lava and ogling other people's watercolors.

Find the story, Granny Weatherwax always said. She believed that the world was full of story shapes. If you let them, they controlled you. But if you studied them, if you found out about them…you could use them, you could change them….