Carpe Jugulum

Nanny shook her head. 'It's chillier in there than out here,' she said. Something skimmed across the leaves and landed on the lawn. It was a fourth magpie. ' "Four for a birth,"' she added, apparently to herself. 'That'd be it, sure enough. I hoped she wouldn't realize, but you can't get anything past Esme. I'll tan young Shawn's hide for him when I get home. He swore he'd delivered that invite!'

'Perhaps she took it away with her?'

'No! If she'd got it she'd have been there last night, you can bet on it!' snapped Nanny.

'What wouldn't she realize?' said Agnes.

'Magrat's daughter!'

'What? Well, I should think she would realize! You can't hide a baby! Everyone in the kingdom knows about it.'

'I mean Magrat's got a daughter! She's a mother!' said Nanny.

'Well, yes! That's how it works! So?'

They were shouting at one another, and they both realized it at the same time,

It was raining harder now. Drips were flying off Agnes's hat every time she moved her head.

Nanny recovered a little. 'All right, I s'pose between us we've got enough sense to get in out of the rain.'

'And at least we can light the fire,' said Agnes as they stepped into the chill of the kitchen. 'She's left it all laid-'

'No!'

'There's no need to shout again!'

'Look, don't light the fire, right?' said Nanny. 'Don't touch anything more than you have to!'

'I could easily get more kindling in, and-'

'Be told! That fire wasn't laid for you to light! And leave that door alone!'

Agnes stopped in the act of pushing away the stone.

'Be sensible, Nanny, the rain and leaves are blowing in!'

'Let 'em!'

Nanny flopped into the rocking chair, pulled up her skirt and fumbled in the depths of a lengthy knickerleg until she came up with the spirit flask. She took a long pull. Her hands were shaking.

'I can't start being a hag at my time of life,' she muttered. 'None of my bras'll fit.'

'Nanny?'

'Yes?'

'What the hell are you going on about? Daughter? Not lighting fires? Hags?'

Nanny replaced the flask and felt around in the other leg, coming up eventually with her pipe and tobacco pouch.

'Not sure if I ought to tell you,' she said.

Now Granny Weatherwax was well beyond the local woods and high in the forests, following a track used by the charcoal burners and the occasional dwarf.

Already Lancre was dying away. She could feel it ebbing from her mind. Down below, when things were quiet, she was always aware of the buzz of minds around her. Human and animal, they all stirred up together in some great mental stew. But here there were mainly the slow thoughts of the trees, which were frankly boring after the first few hours and could be safely ignored. Snow, still quite thick in the hollows and on the shadow sides of trees, was dissolving in a drizzle of rain.

She stepped into a clearing and a small herd of deer on the far edge raised their heads to watch her. Out of habit she stopped and gently let herself unravel, until from the deer's point of view there was hardly anyone there.

When she began to walk forward again a deer stepped out of some bushes and stopped and turned to face her.

She'd seen this happen before. Hunters talked about it sometimes. You could track a herd all day, creeping silently among the trees in search of that one clean shot, and, just as you were aiming, a deer would step out right in front of you, turn and watch — and wait. Those were the times when a hunter found out how good he was...

Granny snapped her fingers. The deer shook itself and galloped off.

She climbed higher, following the stony bed of a stream. Despite its swiftness, there was a border of ice along its banks. Where it dropped over a series of small waterfalls she turned and looked back down into the bowl of Lancre.

It was full of clouds.

A few hundred feet below she saw a black and white magpie skim across the forest roof.

Granny turned and scrambled quickly up the dripping, icy rocks and on to the fringes of the moorland beyond.

Up here there was more sky. Silence clamped down. Far overhead an eagle wheeled.

It seemed to be the only other life. No one ever came up here. The furze and heather stretched away for a mile between the mountains, unbroken by any path. It was matted, thorny stuff that would tear unprotected flesh to ribbons.

She sat down on a rock and stared at the unbroken expanse for a while. Then she reached into her sack and took out a thick pair of socks.

And set off, onwards and upwards.

Nanny Ogg scratched her nose. She very seldom looked embarrassed, but there was just a hint of embarrassment about her now. It was even worse than Nanny Ogg upset.

'I ain't sure if this is the right time,' she said.

'Look, Nanny,' said Agnes, 'we need her. If there's something I ought to know, then tell me.'

'It's this business with... you know... three witches,' she said. 'The maiden, the mother and...'

'-the other one,' said Agnes. 'Oh yes, I know that. But that's just a bit of superstition, isn't it? Witches don't have to come in threes.'