I Shall Wear Midnight by Terry Pratchett Page A

Aching, who is, by regular repetition, a witch, I am at a time when my eyes are cloudy, but my mind, somehow, sees further than you think. But perhaps it is not too late for me to make amends. Under my bed is a chest bound with brass. Go and open it. Go on! Do that now.’
    Tiffany pulled out the chest, which felt as if it was full of lead.
    ‘You will find some leather bags,’ said the old man behind her.
    ‘Take one of them out. It will contain fifteen dollars.’ The Baron coughed. ‘Thank you for saving my son.’
    ‘Look, I can’t take—’ Tiffany began, but the Baron banged his stick on the floor.
    ‘Shut up and listen, please, Miss Tiffany Aching. When you fought the Queen of the Elves, you were not a witch and therefore the tradition against witches taking money does not apply,’ he said sharply, his eyes glittering like sapphires. ‘With regard to your personal services to myself, I believe you have been paid in food and clean used linen, second-hand footwear and firewood. I trust my housekeeper has been generous? I told her not to stint.’
    ‘What? Oh, oh yes, sir.’ And that was true enough. Witches lived in a world of second-hand clothes, old sheets (good for making bandages), boots with some life left in them and, of course, hand-me-downs, hand-me-outs, hands-me-ups, hand-me-rounds and hand-me-overs. In such a world, the pickings to be had from a working castle were like being given the key to a mint. As for the money … she turned the leather bag over and over in her hands. It was very heavy.
    ‘What do you do with all that stuff, Miss Tiffany Aching?’
    ‘What?’ she said absentmindedly, still looking at the bag. ‘Oh, er, trade it, pass it on to people who need it … that sort of thing.’
    ‘Miss Tiffany Aching, you are suddenly vague. I believe that you were engrossed in thinking that fifteen dollars isn’t much, is it, for saving the life of the Baron’s son?’
    ‘No!’
    ‘I’ll take that as a “yes” then, shall I?’
    ‘ You will take it from me as a no, sir! I am your witch! ’ She glared at him, panting. ‘And I am trying to balance a rather difficult ball of pain, sir.’
    ‘Ah, Granny Aching’s granddaughter. I humbly beg your forgiveness, as I occasionally should have asked for hers. But nevertheless, will you please do me the favour and honour of taking that bag, Miss Tiffany Aching, and putting its contents to such use as you may determine in memory of me. I’m sure it’s more money than you have ever seen before.’
    ‘I don’t often see any money at all,’ she protested, stunned by this.
    The Baron banged his stick on the floor again, as if applauding. ‘I doubt very much if you have ever seen money like this,’ he said merrily. ‘You see, although there are fifteen dollars in the bag, they are not the dollars that you are used to, or would be if you were used to them at all. They are old dollars, from before they started mucking about with the currency. The modern dollar is mostly brass, in my opinion, and contains as much gold as sea water. These, however, are the real shilling, if you’ll excuse my little joke.’
    Tiffany excused his little joke, because she didn’t get it. He smiled at her puzzlement. ‘In short, Miss Tiffany Aching, if you take these coins to the right dealer, he should pay you, oh, I would estimate somewhere in the region of five thousand Ankh-Morpork dollars. I don’t know what that would be in terms of old boots, but quite possibly it could buy you an old boot the size of this castle.’
    And Tiffany thought: I can’t take this. Apart from anything elsethe bag had become extremely heavy. Instead, she said, ‘That’s far too much for a witch.’
    ‘But not too much for a son,’ said the Baron. ‘Not too much for an heir, not too much for continuity down the generations. Not too much for removing a lie from the world.’
    ‘But it can’t buy me another pair of hands,’ said Tiffany, ‘or change one second of the