There was a long stream of visitors to the shepherding hut once it became known that Tiffany was back on the Chalk for good.
Joe Aching came up to deliver some messages — and a new letter, from Preston! — and bring Tiffany some things her mother had decided she needed. He looked around the neat little hut with approval. Tiffany had made the space very comfortable. He looked at the books on the shelf and smiled. Tiffany had left Granny Aching’s Diseases of the Sheep at the farm, but both Flowers of the Chalk and The Goode Childe’s Booke of Faerie Tales had their place by the little shepherd’s crown he had given her. On the back of the door was a wooden peg on which hung her witch’s hat.
‘I reckon ye’ll find some use for this too,’ her father said as he took a bottle of Special Sheep’s Liniment (made according to Granny Aching’s recipe) out of his pocket and placed it on the shelf.
Tiffany laughed and hoped her father hadn’t heard the cry of ‘Crivens!’ from the roof of the hut.
He looked up as some dust fell down from where Big Yan sat on Daft Wullie to silence him. ‘I hope ye haven’t got woodworm already, Tiff.’
She laughed again as she gave him a hug to say goodbye.
Mr Block was an early visitor too. He puffed his way up the hill and found her settled in with You the cat sitting on her lap while she sorted rags.
Tiffany watched nervously as the old carpenter looked around and under the hut with a professional eye. When he had finished, she gave him a cup of tea and asked him what he thought.
‘You’ve done well, lass. Very well. I have never seen a boy apprentice take to carpentry as quickly as this, and you are a girl.’
‘Not a girl,’ Tiffany said. ‘I’m a witch.’ And she looked down to the little cat beside her and said, ‘That’s so, isn’t it, You?’
Mr Block looked at her suspiciously for a moment. ‘So did you use magic to make the hut, miss?’
‘I didn’t have to,’ said Tiffany. ‘The magic was already here.’
The End.
Afterword
The Shepherd’s Crown is Terry Pratchett’s final novel. It was written in his last year before he finally succumbed in early 2015 to the ‘embuggerance’ of posterior cortical atrophy. Terry had been diagnosed back in 2007, the year that he wrote Nation. At that time, Terry thought he might have less than two years to live and that brought a new urgency to his writing. He had never been a slouch in this respect but now things were measured by the cost in writing time. If demands for his presence took him away from writing, it had to be really worthwhile, such as feeding the chickens or attending to his tortoises. He had so many more books he wanted to write.
It says a lot for Terry’s resilience and determination not to go down without a fight that he wrote five more full-length bestselling novels between Nation and The Shepherd’s Crown (as well as collaborating with Stephen Baxter on five Long Earth novels). And Terry was still developing new ideas for books right up to his final few months.[56]
Terry usually had more than one book on the go at a time and he discovered what each was about as he went along. He would start somewhere, telling himself the story as he wrote it, writing the bits he could see clearly and assembling it all into a whole — like a giant literary jigsaw — when he was done. Once it was shaped, he would keep writing it too, adding to it, fixing bits, constantly polishing and adding linking sequences, tossing in just one more footnote or event. His publishers often had to prise the manuscript away from him, as there was always more he felt he could do, even though by then he would be well into the next story which was tugging at his elbow. Eventually the book was sent to the printer, and reluctantly Terry would let it go.
Terry had been thinking about the key elements in Tiffany Aching and Granny Weatherwax’s last story for a few years. He wrote the pivotal scenes while he was still writing Raising Steam and then re-wrote them several times as he shaped the rest of The Shepherd’s Crown around them.
The Shepherd’s Crown has a beginning, a middle and an end, and all the bits in between. Terry wrote all of those. But even so, it was, still, not quite as finished as he would have liked when he died.
If Terry had lived longer, he would almost certainly have written more of this book. There are things we all wish we knew more about. But what we have is a remarkable book, Terry’s final book, and anything you wish to know more about in here, you are welcome to imagine yourself.
Rob Wilkins
May 2015
Salisbury, UK
Acknowledgements
Despite the effects of his Alzheimer’s disease, Terry wanted to keep writing as long as possible and was able to do so not least through the assistance of his fine editorial team. Lyn, Rhianna and Rob would most especially like to thank Philippa Dickinson and Sue Cook for their tireless help and encouragement that kept the words flowing.
A Feegle Glossary
adjusted for those of a delicate disposition
(A Work In Progress By Miss Perspicacia Tick, witch)
Bigjobs: human beings
Big Man: chief of the clan (usually the husband of the kelda)
Blethers: rubbish, nonsense
Bogle: see Schemie
Boggin: to be desperate, as in ‘I’m boggin for a cup of tea’
Brose: porridge with a drop of strong drink added — or more than a drop. Be warned: it will put hairs on your chest
Bunty: a weak person
Carlin: old woman
Cludgie: the privy
Corbies: big, black burdies known by most people as crows
Crivens!: a general exclamation that can mean anything from ‘My goodness!’ to ‘I’ve just lost my temper and there is going to be trouble’
Dree your/my/his/her weird: facing the fate that is in store for you/me/him/her
Een: eyes
Eldritch: weird, strange; sometimes means oblong too, for some reason
Fash: worry, upset
Geas: a very important obligation, backed up by tradition and magic. Not a bird
Gonnagle: the bard of the clan, skilled in music and stories
Hag: a witch, of any age
Hag o’ hags: a very important witch
Hagging/Haggling: anything a witch does
Hiddlins: secrets
Kelda: the female head of the clan, and eventually the mother of most of it. Feegle babies are very small, and a kelda will have hundreds in her lifetime
Lang syne: long ago
Last World: the Feegles believe that they are dead. This world is so filled with all they like, they argue, that they must have been really good in a past life and then died and ended up here. Appearing to die here means merely going back to the Last World, which they believe is rather dull
56
We will now not know how the old folk of