Lords And Ladies

"Yes . . . well . . . but you ain't got to give yourself airs," said Granny Weatherwax. "We're advantaged, yes, but we act with modesty and we don't Put Ourselves Forward. No one could say I haven't been decently modest all my life."

"You've always been a bit of a shy violet, I've always said," said Nanny Ogg. "I'm always telling people, when it comes to humility you won't find anyone more humile than Esme Weatherwax."

"Always keep myself to myself and minded my own business-"

"Barely known you were there half the time," said Nanny Ogg.

"I was talking, Gytha."

"Sorry." They walked along in silence for a while. It was a warm dry evening. Birds sang in the trees.

Nanny said, "Funny to think of our Magrat being married and everything."

"What do you mean, everything?"

"Well, you know – married," said Nanny. "I gave her a few tips. Always wear something in bed. Keeps a man interested."

"You always wore your hat."

"Right." Nanny waved a sausage on a stick. She always believed in stocking up on any free food that was available.

"I thought the wedding feast was very good, didn't you? And Magrat looked radiant, I thought."

"I thought she looked hot and flustered."

"That is radiant, with brides."

"You're right, though," said Granny Weatherwax, who was walking a little way ahead. "It was a good dinner. I never had this Vegetarian Option stuff before."

"When I married Mr. . Ogg, we had three dozen oysters at our wedding feast. Mind you, they didn't all work."

"And I like the way they give us all a bit o' the wedding cake in a little bag," said Granny.

"Right. You know, they says, if you puts a bit under your pillow, you dream of your future husb . . ." Nanny Ogg's tongue tripped over itself.

She stopped, embarrassed, which was unusual in an Ogg.

"It's all right," said Granny "I don't mind."

"Sorry, Esme."

"Everything happens somewhere. I know. I know. Everything happens somewhere. So it's all the same in the end."

"That's very continuinuinuum thinking, Esme."

"Cake's nice," said Granny, "but. . . right now . . . don't know why . . . what I could really do with, Gytha, right now . . . is a sweet."

The last word hung in the evening air like the echo of a gunshot.

Nanny stopped. Her hand flew to her pocket, where the usual bag of fluff-encrusted boiled sweets resided. She stared at the back of Esme Weatherwax's head, at the tight bun of grey hair under the brim of the pointy hat.

"Sweet?" she said.

"I expect you've got another bag now," said Granny, without looking around.

"Esme-"

"You got anything to say, Gytha? About bags of sweets?"

Granny Weatherwax still hadn't turned around.

Nanny looked at her boots.

"No, Esme," she said meekly.

"I knew you'd go up to the Long Man, you know. How'd you get in?"

"Used one of the special horseshoes."

Granny nodded. "You didn't ought to have brung him into it, Gytha."

"Yes, Esme."

"He's as tricky as she is."

"Yes, Esme."

"You're trying preemptive meekness on me."

"Yes, Esme."

They walked a little further.

"What was that dance your Jason and his men did when they'd got drunk?" said Granny.

"It's the Lancre Stick and Bucket Dance, Esme."

"It's legal, is it?"

"Technically they shouldn't do it when there's women present," said Nanny. "Otherwise it's sexual morrisment."

"And I thought Magrat was very surprised when you recited that poem at the reception."

"Poem?"

"The one where you did the gestures."

"Oh, that poem."

"I saw Verence making notes on his napkin."

Nanny reached again into the shapeless recesses of her clothing and produced an entire bottle of champagne you could have sworn there was no room for.

"Mind you, I thought she looked happy," she said. "Standing there wearing about half of a torn muddy dress and chain-mail underneath. Hey, d'you know what she told me?"

"What?"

"You know that ole painting of Queen Ynci? You know, the one with the iron bodice? Her with all the spikes and knives on her chariot? Well, she said she was sure the . . . the spirit of Ynci was helping her. She said she wore the armour and she did things she'd never dare do."

"My word," said Granny, noncommittally.

"Funny ole world," agreed Nanny.

They walked in silence for a while.

"So you didn't tell her that Queen Ynci never existed, then?"

"No point."

"Old King Lully invented her entirely 'cos he thought we needed a bit of romantic history. He was a bit mad about that. He even had the armour made."

"I know. My great-grandma's husband hammered it out of a tin bath and a couple of saucepans."

"But you didn't think you ought to tell her that?"

"No."

Granny nodded.

"Funny thing," she said, "even when Magrat's completely different, she's just the same."

Nanny Ogg produced a wooden spoon from somewhere in her apron. Then she raised her hat and carefully lifted down a bowl of cream, custard, and jelly which she had secreted there[44].

"Huh. I really don't know why you pinches food the whole time," said Granny. "Verence'd give you a bathful of the stuff if you asked. You know he don't touch custard himself."