The Mud-witch - a short story collaboration | Page 20

‘Welcome, I suppose,’ she says, as she lights a lantern. When she hangs it up Minno sees the
webbing between her grey fingers, much deeper than his own. In the glow from the lantern he
sees the chaos of junk that resolves itself into a kind of house.
‘And welcome to go away, too,’ the Mud-witch says, ‘if you want. I’ve done my job, wish granted.’
But she is fossicking with broken cups, putting a dented kettle on an old camping stove.
‘Why did you grant it?’ Minno asks.
‘No choice. Wishes come along, my job. Not often in broken boats though.’
‘That was mine,’ says Minno. ‘Somebody took it.’
‘Well, sorry then.’ The Mud-witch hands him a cup. The steam smells of damp flowers. From
behind his cup, Minno peers at all the strange, broken shapes that make up the Mud-witch’s
home.
‘If you can grant wishes, why don’t you wish for…’ he stops.
‘A big shiny house? In the town? No thanks.’ She gulps down her smelly drink and sighs. ‘Only
thing I’d change is the wishes. Stupid things. But, no choice.’
‘I’d just wish to make my boats. That’s not stupid.’
‘But instead you were hiding in one.’

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