Wintersmith Read Online Free PDF Page A

NNOCENCE .” Tiffany wished she didn’t know that. There was no way that a girl brought up on the Chalk should know that, because the words were in a foreign language, and an ancient one, too. She knew them because of Dr. Sensibility Bustle, D. M. Phil., B. El L., Patricius Professor of Magic at Unseen University, who was in her head.
    (Well, a tiny part of him, at least.
    (A couple of summers ago she had been taken over by a hiver, a…thing that had been collecting minds for millions of years. Tiffany managed to get it out of her head, but a few fragments had stayed tangled up in her brain. One of these was a tiny lump of ego and a mix of memories that were what remained of the late Dr. Bustle. He wasn’t much trouble, but if she looked at anything in a foreign language, she could read it—or, rather, hear Dr. Bustle’s reedy voice translating it for her. That seemed to be about all that was left of him, but she tried to avoid getting undressed in front of a mirror.)
    The candles had dripped wax all over the skulls, and people would keep glancing at them the whole time they were in the room.
    And then, when all the words had been said, the loom would stop with a shock of sudden silence, and Miss Treason would turn around in her big heavy chair, which had wheels on it, and remove the black blindfold from her pearly gray eyes and say:
    “I have heard. Now I shall see. I shall see what is true.”
    Some people would actually run away at this point, when she stared at them in the light from the skulls. Those eyes that could not see your face could somehow see your mind. When Miss Treason was looking right through you, you could only be truthful or very, very stupid.
    So no one ever argued with Miss Treason.
    Witches were not allowed to be paid for using their talents, but everyone who came to have a dispute settled by Miss Treason brought her a present, usually food but sometimes clean used clothing, if it was black, or a pair of old boots if they were her size. If Miss Treason gave judgment against you, it was really not a good idea (everyone said) to ask for your present back, as being turned into something small and sticky often offends.
    They said if you lied to Miss Treason, you would die horribly within a week. They said that kings and princes came to see Miss Treason at night, asking questions about great affairs of state. They said that in her cellar was a heap of gold, guarded by a demon with skin like fire and three heads that would attack anyone it saw and eat their noses.
    Tiffany suspected that at least two of these beliefs were wrong. She knew the third one wasn’t true, because one day she’d gone down into the cellar (with a bucket of water and a poker, just in case), and there was nothing there but piles of potatoes and carrots. And a mouse, watching her carefully.
    Tiffany wasn’t scared, much. For one thing, unless the demon was good at disguising itself as a potato, it probably didn’t exist. And another thing was that although Miss Treason looked bad and sounded bad and smelled like old locked wardrobes, she didn’t feel bad.
    First Sight and Second Thoughts, that’s what a witch had to rely on: First Sight to see what’s really there, and Second Thoughts to watch the First Thoughts to check that they were thinking right. Then there were the Third Thoughts, which Tiffany had never heard discussed and therefore kept quiet about; they were odd, seemed to think for themselves, and didn’t turn up very often. And they were telling her that there was more to Miss Treason than met the eye.
    And then one day, when she was dusting, Tiffany knocked over the skull called Enochi.
    …and suddenly Tiffany knew a lot more about Miss Treason than Miss Treason probably wanted anyone to know.
    Tonight, as they were eating their stew (with black beans), Miss Treason said, “The wind is rising. We must go soon. I would not trust the stick above the trees on a night like this. There may be strange creatures