“Art thou a witch, oh lay?” said the Chief Inquisitor.
“Yes,” said Pepper’s little sister, who was six and built like a small golden-haired football.
“You mustn’t say yes, you’ve got to say no,” hissed the Head Torturer, nudging the suspect.
“And then what?” demanded the suspect.
“And then we torture you to make you say yes,” said the Head Torturer. “I told you. It’s good fun, the torturin’. It doesn’t hurt. Hastar lar visa,” she added quickly.
The little suspect gave the decor of the Inquisitorial headquarters a disparaging look. There was a decided odor of onions.
“Huh,” she said. “I want to be a witch, wiv a warty nose an’ a green skin an’ a lovely cat an’ I’d call it Blackie, an’ lots of potions an'—”
The Head Torturer nodded to the Chief Inquisitor.
“Look,” said Pepper, desperately, “no one’s saying you can’t be a witch, you jus’ have to say you’re not a witch. No point in us taking all this trouble,” she added severely, “if you’re going to go round saying yes the minute we ask you.”
The suspect considered this.
“But I wants to be a witch,” she wailed. The male Them exchanged exhausted glances. This was out of their league.
“If you just say no,” said Pepper, “You can have my Sindy stable set. I’ve never ever used it,” she added, glaring at the other Them and daring them to make a comment.
“You have used it,” snapped her sister, “I’ve seen it and it’s all worn out and the bit where you put the hay is broke and—”
Adam gave a magisterial cough.
“Art thou a witch, viva espana?” he repeated.
The sister took a look at Pepper’s face, and decided not to chance it.
“No,” she decided.
- Good Omens by Terry Pratchet & Neil Gaiman