Lords And Ladies

"What's all the chalk on the floor, then?" said Nanny Ogg. "You've got all chalk on the floor. And heathen writing. Not that I've got anything against heathens," she added. She appeared to think about it. "I'm practic'ly one," she added further, "but I don't write on the floor. What'd you want to write all on the floor for?" She nudged Perdita. "You'll never get the chalk out," she said, "it gets right into the grain."

"Um, it's a magic circle," said Perdita. "Um, hello, Mrs. Ogg. Um. It's to keep bad influences away . . ."

Granny Weatherwax leaned forward slightly.

"Tell me, my dear," she said to Diamanda, "do you think it's working?"

She leaned forward further.

Diamanda leaned backward.

And then slowly leaned forward again.

They ended up nose to nose.

"Who's this?" said Diamanda, out of the comer of her mouth.

"Um, it's Granny Weatherwax," said Perdita. "Um. She's a witch, um. . ."

"What level?" said Diamanda.

Nanny Ogg looked around for something to hide behind. Granny Weatherwax's eyebrow twitched.

"Levels, eh?" she said. "Well, I suppose I'm level one."

"Just starting?" said Diamanda.

"Oh dear. Tell you what," said Nanny Ogg quietly to Perdita, "if we was to turn the table over, we could probably hide behind it, no problem."

But to herself she was thinking: Esme can never resist a challenge. None of us can. You ain't a witch if you ain't got self-confidence. But we're not getting any younger. It's like being a hired swordfighter, being a top witch. You think you're good, but you know there's got to be someone younger, practicing every day, polishing up their craft, and one day you're walkin' down the road and you hears this voice behind you sayin': go for your toad, or similar.

Even for Esme. Sooner or later, she'll come up against someone faster on the craftiness than she is.

"Oh, yes," said Granny, quietly "Just starting. Every day, just starting."

Nanny Ogg thought: but it won't be today.

"You stupid old woman," said Diamanda, "you don't frighten me. Oh, yes. I know all about the way you old ones frighten superstitious peasants, actually. Muttering and squinting. It's all in the mind. Simple psychology. It's not real witchcraft."

"I'll, er, I'll just go into the scullery and, er, see if I can fill any buckets with water, shall I?" said Nanny Ogg, to no one in particular.

"I 'spect you'd know all about witchcraft," said Granny Weatherwax.

"I'm studying, yes," said Diamanda.

Nanny Ogg realized that she had removed her own hat and was biting nervously at the brim.

"I 'spect you're really good at it," said Granny Weatherwax.

"Quite good," said Diamanda.

"Show me."

She is good, thought Nanny Ogg. She's been facing down Esme's stare for more'n a minute. Even snakes generally give up after a minute.

If a fly had darted through the few inches of space between their stares it would have flashed into flame in the air.

"I learned my craft from Nanny Gripes," said Granny Weatherwax, "who learned it from Goody Heggety, who got it from Nanna Plumb, who was taught it by Black Aliss, who-"

"So what you're saying is," said Diamanda, loading the words into the sentence like cartridges in a chamber, "that no one has actually learned anything new?"

The silence that followed was broken by Nanny Ogg saying: "Bugger, I've bitten right through the brim. Right through."

"I see, said Granny Weatherwax.

"Look," said Nanny Ogg hurriedly, nudging the trembling Perdita, "right through the lining and everything. Two dollars and curing his pig that hat cost me. That's two dollars and a pig cure I shan't see again in a hurry."

"So you can just go away, old woman," said Diamanda. "But we ought to meet again," said Granny Weatherwax.

The old witch and the young witch weighed one another up.

"Midnight?" said Diamanda.

"Midnight? Nothing special about midnight. Practically anyone can be a witch at midnight," said Granny Weatherwax. "How about noon?"

"Certainly. What are we fighting for?" said Diamanda.

"Fighting? We ain't fighting. We're just showing each other what we can do. Friendly like," said Granny Weatherwax.

She stood up.

"I'd better be goin'," she said. "Us old people need our sleep, you know how it is."

"And what does the winner get?" said Diamanda. There was just a trace of uncertainty in her voice now. It was very faint, on the Richter scale of doubt it was probably no more than a plastic teacup five miles away falling off a low shelf onto a carpet, but it was there.

"Oh, the winner gets to win," said Granny Weatherwax. "That's what it's all about. Don't bother to see us out. You didn't see us in."

The door slammed back.

"Simple psychokinesis," said Diamanda.

"Oh, well. That's all right then," said Granny Weatherwax, disappearing into the night. "Explains it all, that does."

There used to be such simple directions, back in the days before they invented parallel universes – Up and Down, Right and Left, Backward and Forward, Past and Future . . .