A Hat Full Of Sky

‘Oh, well… I’ll search the house,’ said Miss Level, as if that was a good way of finding an invisible person. ‘Go and see to the goats, will you, dear? And then we’ll have to try to remember how to do the washing up!’

Tiffany let the goats out of the shed. Usually, Black Meg immediately went and stood on the milking platform and gave her an expectant look as if to say: I’ve thought up a new trick.

But not today. When Tiffany looked inside the shed the goats were huddled in the dark at the far end. They panicked, nostrils flaring, and scampered around as she went towards them, but she managed to grab Black Meg by her collar. The goat twisted and fought her as she dragged it out towards the milking stand. It climbed up because it was either that or having its head pulled off, then stood there snorting and bleating.

Tiffany stared at the goat. Her bones felt as though they were itching. She wanted to… do things, climb the highest mountain, leap into the sky, run around the world. And she thought: This is silly, I start every day with a battle of wits with an animal!

Well, let’s show this creature who is in charge…

She picked up the broom that was used for sweeping out the milking parlour. Black Meg’s slot eyes widened in fear, and wham! went the broom.

It hit the milking stand. Tiffany hadn’t intended to miss like that. She’d wanted to give Meg the wallop the creature richly deserved but, somehow, the stick had twisted in her hand. She raised it again, but the look in her eye and the whack on the wood had achieved the right effect. Meg cowered.

‘No more games!’ hissed Tiffany, lowering the stick.

The goat stood as still as a log. Tiffany milked her out, took the pail back into the dairy, weighed it, chalked up the amount on the slate by the door, and tipped the milk into a big bowl.

The rest of the goats were nearly as bad, but a herd learns fast.

Altogether they gave three gallons, which was pretty pitiful for ten goats. Tiffany chalked this up without enthusiasm and stood staring at it, fiddling with the chalk. What was the point of this? Yesterday she’d been full of plans for experimental cheeses, but now cheese was dull.

Why was she here, doing silly chores, helping people too stupid to help themselves? She could be doing… anything!

She looked down at the scrubbed wooden table.

Help Me

Someone had written on the wood in chalk. And the piece of chalk was still in her hand—

‘Petulia’s come to see you, dear,’ said Miss Level, behind her.

Tiffany quickly shifted a milking bucket over the words and turned round guiltily.

‘What?’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘Just to see if you’re all right, I think,’ said Miss Level, watching Tiffany carefully.

The dumpy girl stood very nervously on the doorstep, her pointy hat in her hands.

‘Um, I just thought I ought to see how you, um, are…’ she muttered, looking Tiffany squarely in the boots. ‘Um, I don’t think anyone really wanted to be unkind…’

‘You’re not very clever and you’re too fat,’ said Tiffany. She stared at the round pink face for a moment and knew things. ‘And you still have a teddy bear help me and you believe in fairies.’

She slammed the door, went back to the dairy and stared at the bowls of milk and curds as if she were seeing them for the first time.

Good with Cheese. That was one of the things everyone remembered about her: Tiffany Aching, brown hair, Good with Cheese. But now the dairy looked all wrong and unfamiliar.

She gritted her teeth. Good with Cheese. Was that really what she wanted to be? Of all the things people could be in the world, did she want to be known just as a dependable person to have around rotted milk? Did she really want to spend all day scrubbing slabs and washing pails and plates and… and… and that weird wire thing just there, that—

…cheese-cutter…

–that cheese-cutter? Did she want her whole life to—

Hold on…

‘Who’s there?’ said Tiffany. ‘Did someone just say “cheese-cutter”?’

She peered around the room, as if someone could be hiding behind the bundles of dried herbs. It couldn’t have been Oswald. He’d gone, and he never spoke in any case.

Tiffany grabbed the pail, spat on her hand and rubbed out the chalked

Help me

–tried to rub it out. But her hand gripped the edge of the table and held it firmly, no matter how much she pulled. She flailed with her left hand, managing to knock over a pail of milk, which washed across the letters… and her right hand let go suddenly…

The door was pushed open. Both of Miss Level was there. When she pulled herself together like that, standing side by side, it was because she felt she had something important to say.

‘I have to say. Tiffany, that I think—’

‘—you were very nasty to Petulia just—’

‘—now. She went off crying.’

She stared at Tiffany’s face. ‘Are you all right, child?’

Tiffany shuddered. ‘Er… yes. Fine. Feel a bit odd. Heard a voice in my head. Gone now.’

Miss Level looked at her with her heads on one side, right and left in different directions.

‘If you’re sure, then. I’ll get changed. We’d better leave soon. There’s a lot to do today.’

‘A lot to do,’ said Tiffany weakly.

‘Well, yes. There’s Slapwick’s leg, and I’ve got to see to the sick Grimly baby, and it’s been a week since I’ve visited Surleigh Bottom, and, let’s see, Mr Plover’s got Gnats again, and I’d better just find a moment to have a word with Mistress Slopes… then there’s Mr Weavall’s lunch to cook, I think I’ll have to do that here and run down with it for him, and of course Mrs Fanlight is near her time and,’ she sighed, ‘so is Miss Hobblow, again… It’s going to be a full day. It’s really hard to fit it all in, really it is.’

Tiffany thought: You stupid woman, standing there looking worried because you just haven’t got time to give people everything they demand! Do you think you could ever give them enough help? Greedy, lazy, dumb people, always wanting all the time! The Grimly baby? Mrs Grimly’s got eleven children! Who’d miss one?

Mr Weavall’s dead already! He just won’t go! You think they’re grateful, but all they are doing is making sure you come round again! That’s not gratitude, that’s just insurance!

The thought horrified part of her, but it had turned up and it flamed there in her head, just itching to escape from her mouth.

‘Things need tidying up here,’ she muttered.

‘Oh, I can do that while we’re gone,’ said Miss Level cheerfully. ‘Come on, let’s have a smile! There’s lots to do!’

There was always lots to do, Tiffany growled in her head as she trailed after Miss Level to the first village. Lots and lots. And it never made any difference. There was no end to the wanting.

They went from one grubby, smelly cottage to another, ministering to people too stupid to use soap,