tp.wyrd sisters-第16节

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　It　melted　back　into　the　waters　of　the　copper　like　candlewax　under　a　flame。　Its　last　contemptuous　ment；　almost　lost　in　the　swirl；　was；　'Run　aaaalonggg　。　。　。'
　
　Granny　went　home　alone　as　the　cold　pink　light　of　dawn　glided　across　the　snow；　and　let　herself　into　her　cottage。
　The　goats　were　uneasy　in　their　outhouse。　The　starlings　muttered　and　rattled　their　false　teeth　under　the　roof。　The　mice　were　squeaking　behind　the　kitchen　dresser。
　She　made　a　pot　of　tea；　conscious　that　every　sound　in　the　kitchen　seemed　slightly　louder　than　it　ought　to　be。　When　she　dropped　the　spoon　into　the　sink　it　sounded　like　a　bell　being　hit　with　a　hammer。
　She　always　felt　unfortable　after　getting　involved　in　organised　magic　or；　as　she　would　put　it；　out　of　sorts　with　herself。　She　found　herself　wandering　around　the　place　looking　for　things　to　do　and　then　forgetting　them　when　they　were　half…plete。　She　paced　back　and　forth　across　the　cold　flagstones。
　It　is　at　times　like　this　that　the　mind　finds　the　oddest　jobs　to　do　in　order　to　avoid　its　primary　purpose；　i。e。；　thinking　about　things。　If　anyone　had　been　watching　they　would　have　been　amazed　at　the　sheer　dedication　with　which　Granny　tackled　such　tasks　as　cleaning　the　teapot　stand；　rooting　ancient　nuts　out　of　the　fruit　bowl　on　the　dresser；　and　levering　fossilised　bread　crusts　out　of　the　cracks　in　the　flagstones　with　the　back　of　a　teaspoon。
　Animals　had　minds。　People　had　minds；　although　human　minds　were　vague　foggy　things。　Even　insects　had　minds；　little　pointy　bits　of　light　in　the　darkness　of　non…mind。
　Granny　considered　herself　something　of　an　expert　on　minds。　She　was　pretty　certain　things　like　countries　didn't　have　minds。
　They　weren't　even　alive；　for　goodness　sake。　A　country　was；　well；　was…
　Hold　on。　Hold　on　。　。　。　A　thought　stole　gently　into　Granny's　mind　and　sheepishly　tried　to　attract　her　attention。
　There　was　a　way　in　which　those　brooding　forests　could　have　a　mind。　Granny　sat　up；　a　piece　of　antique　loaf　in　her　hand；　and　gazed　speculatively　at　the　fireplace。　Her　mind's　eye　looked　through　it；　out　at　the　snow…filled　aisles　of　trees。　Yes。　It　had　never　occurred　to　her　before。　Of　course；　it'd　be　a　mind　made　up　of　all　the　other　little　minds　inside　it；　plant　minds；　bird　minds；　bear　minds；　even　the　great　slow　minds　of　the　trees　themselves　。　。　。
　She　sat　down　in　her　rocking　chair；　which　started　to　rock　all　by　itself。
　She'd　often　thought　of　the　forest　as　a　sprawling　creature；　but　only　metterforicaily；　as　a　wizard　would　put　it；　drowsy　and　purring　with　bumblebees　in　the　summer；　roaring　and　raging　in　autumn　gales；　curled　in　on　itself　and　sleeping　in　the　winter。　It　occurred　to　her　that　in　addition　to　being　a　collection　of　other　things；　the　forest　was　a　thing　in　itself。　Alive；　only　not　alive　in　the　way　that；　say；　a　shrew　was　alive。
　And　much　slower。
　That　would　have　to　be　important。　How　fast　did　a　forest's　heart　beat？　Once　a　year；　maybe。　Yes；　that　sounded　about　right。　Out　there　the　forest　was　waiting　for　the　brighter　sun　and　longer　days　that　would　pump　a　million　gallons　of　sap　several　hundred　feet　into　the　sky　in　one　great　systolic　thump　too　big　and　loud　to　be　heard。
　And　it　was　at　about　this　point　that　Granny　bit　her　lip。
　She'd　just　thought　the　word　'systolic'；　and　it　certainly　wasn't　in　her　vocabulary。
　Somebody　was　inside　her　head　with　her。
　Some　thing。
　Had　she　just　thought　all　those　thoughts；　or　had　they　been　thought　through　her？
　She　glared　at　the　floor；　trying　to　keep　her　ideas　to　herself。　But　her　mind　was　being　watched　as　easily　as　if　her　head　was　made　of　glass。
　Granny　Weatherwax　got　to　her　feet　and　opened　the　curtains。
　And　they　were　out　there　on　what　…　in　warmer　months　…was　the　lawn。　And　every　single　one　of　them　was　staring　at　her。
　After　a　few　minutes　Granny's　front　door　opened。　This　was　an　event　in　its　own　right；　like　most　Ramtoppers　Granny　lived　her　life　via　the　back　door。　There　were　only　three　times　in　your　life　when　it　was　proper　to　e　through　the　front　door；　and　you　were　carried　every　time。
　It　opened　with　considerable　difficulty；　in　a　series　of　painful　jerks　and　thumps。　A　few　flakes　of　paint　fell　on　to　the　snowdrift　in　front　of　the　door；　which　sagged　inward。　Finally；　when　it　was　about　halfway　open；　the　door　wedged。
　Granny　sidled　awkwardly　through　the　gap　and　out　on　to　the　hitherto　undisturbed　snow。
　She　had　put　her　pointed　hat　on；　and　the　long　black　cloak　which　she　wore　when　she　wanted　anyone　who　saw　her　to　be　absolutely　clear　that　she　was　a　witch。
　There　was　an　elderly　kitchen　chair　half　buried　in　snow。　In　summer　it　was　a　handy　place　to　sit　and　do　whatever　hand　chores　were　necessary；　while　keeping　one　eye　on　the　track。　Granny　hauled　it　out；　brushed　the　snow　off　the　seat；　and　sat　down　firmly　with　her　knees　apart　and　her　arms　folded　defiantly。　She　stuck　out　her　chin。
　The　sun　was　well　up　but　the　light　on　this　Hogswatchday　was　still　pink　and　slanting。　It　glowed　on　the　great　cloud　of　steam　that　hung　over　the　assembled　creatures。　They　hadn't　moved；　although　every　now　and　again　one　of　them　would　stamp　a　hoof　or　scratch　itself。
　Granny　looked　up　at　a　flicker　of　movement。　She　hadn't　noticed　before；　but　every　tree　around　her　garden　was　so　heavy　with　birds　that　it　looked　as　though　a　strange　brown　and　black　spring　had　e　early。
　Occupying　the　patch　where　the　herbs　grew　in　summer　were　the　wolves；　sitting　or　lolling　with　their　tongues　hanging　out。　A　contingent　of　bears　was　crouched　behind　them；　with　a　platoon　of　deer　beside　them。　Occupying　the　metterforical　stalls　was　a　rabble　of　rabbits；　weasels；　vermine；　badgers；　foxes　and　miscellaneous　creatures　who；　despite　the　fact　that　they　live　their　entire　lives　in　a　bloody　atmosphere　of　hunter　and　hunted；　killing　or　being　killed　by　claw；　talon　and　tooth；　are　generally　referred　to　as　woodland　folk。
　They　rested　together　on　the　snow；　their　normal　culinary　relationships　entirely　forgotten；　trying　to　outstare　her。
　Two　things　were　immediately　apparent　to　Granny。　One　was　that　this　seemed　to　represent　a　pretty　accurate　cross…section　of　the　forest　life。
　The　other　she　couldn't　help　saying　aloud。
　'I　don't　know　what　this　spell　is；'　she　said。　'But　I'll　tell　you　this　for　nothing　…　when　it　wears　off；　some　of　you　little　buggers　had　better　get　moving。'
　None　of　them　stirred。　There　was　no　sound　except　for　an　elderly　badger　relieving　itself　with　an　embarrassed　expression。
　'Look；'　said　Granny。　'What　can　I　do　about　it？　It's　no　good　you　ing　to　me。　He's　the　new　lord。　This　is　his　kingdom。　I　can't　go　meddling。　It's　not　right　to　go　meddling；　on　account　of　I　can't　interfere　with　people　ruling。　It　has　to　sort　itself　out；　good　or　bad。　Fundamental　rule　of　magic；　is　that。　You　can't　go　round　ruling　people　with　spells；　because　you'd　have　to　use　more　and　more　spells　all　the　time。'　She　sat　back；　grateful　that　long…standing　tradition　didn't　allow　the　Crafty　and　the　Wise　to　rule。　She　remembered　what　it　had　felt　like　to　wear　the　crown；　even　for　a　few　seconds。
　No；　things　like　crowns　had　a　troublesome　effect　on　clever　folk；　it　was　best　to　leave　all　the　reigning　to　the　kind　of　people　whose　eyebrows　met　in　the　middle　when　they　tried　to　think。　In　a　funny　sort　of　way；　they　were　much　better　at　it。
　She　added；　'People　have　to　sort　it　out　for　themselves。　Well…known　fact。'
　She　felt　that　one　of　the　larger　stags　was　giving　her　a　particularly　doubting　look。
　'Yes；　well；　so　he　killed　the　old　king；'　she　conceded。　That's　nature's　way；　ain't　it？　Your　lot　know　all　about　this。　Survival　of　the　wossname。　You　wouldn't　know　what　an　heir　was；　unless　you　thought　it　was　a　sort　of　rabbit。'
　She　drummed　her　fingers　on　her　knees。
　'Anyway；　the　old　king　wasn't　much　of　a　friend　to　you；　was　he？　All　that　hunting；　and　such。'
　Three　hundred　pairs　of　dark　eyes　bored　in　at　her。
　'It's　no　good　you　all　looking　at　me；'　she　tried。　'I　can't　go　around　mucking　about　with　kings　just　because　you　don't　like　them。　Where　would　it　all　end？　It's　not　as　if　he's　done　me　any　harm。'
　She　tried　to　avoid　the　gaze　of　a　particularly　cross…eyed　stoat。
　'All　right；　so　it's　selfish；'　she　said。　'That's　what　bein'　a　witch　is　all　about。　Good　day　to　you。'
　She　stamped　inside；　and　tried　to　slam　the　door。　It　stuck　once　or　twice；　which　rather　spoiled　the　effect。
　Once　inside　she　drew　the　curtains　and　sat　down　in　the　rocking　chair　and　rocked　fiercely。
　'That's　the　whole　point；'　she　said。　'I　can't　go　around　meddling。　That's　the　whole　point。'
　The　lattys　lurched　slowly　over　the　rutted　roads；　towards　yet　another　little　city　whose　name　the　pany　couldn't　quite　remember　and　would　instantly　forget。　The　winter　sun　hung　low　over　the　damp；　misty　cabbage　fields　of　the　Sto　Plains；　and　the　foggy　silence　magnified　the　creaking　of　the　wheels。
　Hwel　sat　with　his　stubby　legs　dangling　over　the　backboard　of　the　last　latty。
　He'd　done　his　best。　Vitoller　had　left　the　education　of　Tomjon　in　his　hands；　'You're　better　at　all　that　business；'　he'd　said；　adding　with　his　usual　tact；　'Besides；　you're　more　his　height。'
　But　it　wasn't　working。
　'Apple；'　he　repeated；　waving　the　fruit　in　the　air。
　Tomjon　grinned　at　him。　He　was　nearly　three　years　old；　and　hadn't　said　a　word　anyone　could　understand。　Hwel　was　harbouring　dark　suspicions　about　the　witches。
　'But　he　seems　bright　enough；'　said　Mrs　Vitoller；　who