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“Turning people into pigs is not allowed,” she hissed. “Even brothers.”
“I didn't do it, it just happened. Anyway, you must admit it's a better shape for him,” said Esk evenly.
“What's going on?” said Smith. “Where's Gulta? What's this pig doing here?”
“This pig”, said Granny Weatherwax, “is your son.”
There was a sigh from Esk's mother as she collapsed gently backwards, but Smith was slightly less unprepared. He looked sharply from Gulta, who had managed to untangle himself from his clothing and was now rooting enthusiastically among the early windfalls, to his only daughter.
“She did this?”
“Yes. Or it was done through her,” said Granny, looking suspiciously at the staff.
“Oh.” Smith looked at his fifth son. He had to admit that the shape suited him. He reached out without looking and fetched the screaming Cern a thump on the back of his head.
“Can you turn him back again?” he asked. Granny spun around and glared the question at Esk, who shrugged.
“He didn't believe I could do magic,” she said calmly.
“Yes, well, I think you've made the point,” said Granny. “And now you will turn him back, madam. This instant. Do you hear?”
“Don't want to. He was rude.”
“I see.”
Esk gazed down defiantly. Granny glared up sternly. Their wills clanged like cymbals and the air between them thickened. But Granny had spent a lifetime bending recalcitrant creatures to her bidding and, while Esk was a surprisingly strong opponent, it was obvious that she would give in before the end of the paragraph.
“Oh, all right,” she whined. “I don't know why anyone would bother turning him into a pig when he was doing such a good job of it all by himself.”
She didn't know where the magic had come from, but she mentally faced that way and made a suggestion. Gulta reappeared, naked, with an apple in his mouth.
“Awts aughtning?” he said.
Granny spun around on Smith.
“Now will you believe me?” she snapped. “Do you really think she's supposed to settle down here and forget all about magic? Can you imagine her poor husband if she marries?”
“But you always said it was impossible for women to be wizards,” said Smith. He was actually rather impressed. Granny Weatherwax had never been known to turn anyone into anything.
“Never mind that now,” said Granny, calming down a bit. “She needs training. She needs to know how to control. For pity's sake put some clothes on that child.”
“Gulta, get dressed and stop grizzling,” said his father, and turned back to Granny.
“You said there was some sort of teaching place?” he hazarded.
“The Unseen University, yes. It's for training wizards.”
“And you know where it is?”
“Yes,” lied Granny, whose grasp of geography was slightly worse than her knowledge of sub-atomic physics.
Smith looked from her to his daughter, who was sulking.
“And they'll make a wizard of her?” he said.
Granny sighed.
“I don't know what they'll make of her,” she said.
