I Shall Wear Midnight (Discworld, #38; Tiffany Aching, #4)

by Terry Pratchett

there was no possible doubt about that—had been carved out of the turf thousands of years before. A white outline against the green, he belonged to the days when people had to think about survival and fertility in a dangerous world. Oh, and he had also been carved, or so it would appear, before anyone had invented trousers. In fact, to say that he had no trousers on just didn’t do the job. His lack of trousers filled the world. You simply could not stroll down the little road that passed along the bottom of the hills without noticing that there was an enormous, as it were, lack of something—e.g., trousers—and what was there instead. It was definitely a figure of a man without trousers, and certainly not a woman.

you know how Granny Aching always used to say, ‘Feed them as is hungry, clothe them as is naked, and speak up for them as has no voices’? Well, I reckon there is room in there for ‘Grasp for them as can’t bend, reach for them as can’t stretch, wipe for them as can’t twist,’ don’t you? And because sometimes you get a good day, that makes up for all the bad days and, just for a moment, you hear the world turning,” said Tiffany.

“He is going to make a grand warrior one day, Rob, that’s true enough,” said Jeannie, “but . . .” “I always tell them,” Rob Anybody went on excitedly as the young Feegle flew over their heads, “that the way to success is always to attack only people who are much bigger than ye are! Important rule!”

Any human who tried to stamp on a Feegle would find that the little man he thought was under his boot was now in fact climbing up his trouser leg, and after that the day could only get worse. Besides, if you saw one Feegle, there were probably many more around that you hadn’t spotted, and they had certainly spotted you.

She had heard it said that, before you could understand anybody, you needed to walk a mile in their shoes, which did not make a whole lot of sense, because probably after you had walked a mile in their shoes, you would understand that they were chasing you and accusing you of the theft of a pair of shoes—although, of course, you could probably outrun them, owing to their lack of footwear. But she understood what the proverb actually meant, and here was a man one breath away from death. She had no option, no option at all. She had to give him that breath, for the sake of a handful of nettles; something inside the wretched hulk had still managed to be good. It was a tiny spark, but it was there. And there was no argument.

Balance. It was all about balance. That had been one of the first things that she had learned: The center of the seesaw has neither up nor down, but upness and downness flow through it while it remains unmoved.

“Well done, young lady,” said the Baron, “and thank you for not chiding me for using the word ‘arse’ or asking me the meaning of the word ‘metaphorical.’” “No, sir. I know what ‘metaphorical’ means, and ‘arse’ is a traditional usage—nothing to be ashamed of.” The Baron nodded. “It has a commendable grown-up sharpness to it. ‘Ass,’ on the other hand, is quite frankly for spinsters and little children.”

She had been expecting this and was ready. “Usually you just feel him passing, sir, but I have seen him twice, in what would have been the flesh, if he had any. He’s a skeleton with a scythe, just like in the books—in fact, I think it’s because that’s what he looks like in the books. He was polite but firm, sir.” “I’ll bet he is!” The old man was silent for a little while and then went on. “Did he . . . drop any hints about the afterlife?” “Yes, sir. Apparently it contains no mustard, and I got the impression that it contains no pickles either.” “Really? Bit of a blow, that. I suppose that chutney is out of the question?” “I did not go into the subject of pickled condiments in any depth, sir. He had a big scythe.”

pain fights back. Pain is alive. Pain is the enemy.”

“The cook has told me that you are a very religious woman, always on your knees, and that is fine by me, absolutely fine, but didn’t it ever occur to you to take a mop and bucket down there with you? People don’t need prayers, Miss Spruce; they need you to do the job in front of you, Miss Spruce. And I have had enough of you, Miss Spruce, and especially of your lovely white coat. I think Roland was very impressed by your wonderful white coat, but I am not, Miss Spruce, because you never do anything that will get it dirty.”

She hesitated as she stepped out of the castle and stopped to think. People often didn’t stop to think. They thought as they went along. Sometimes it was a good idea just to stop moving, in case you moved the wrong way.

“Simple?” said the Toad, who seemed to be enjoying himself. “Well, as a lawyer I can tell you that something that looks very simple indeed can be incredibly complicated, especially if I’m being paid by the hour. The sun is simple. A sword is simple. A storm is simple. Behind everything simple is a huge tail of complicated.”