Maskerade

Agnes did so. Granny brushed the dirt and leafmould off her apron and tried to stamp the clay off her boots.

'Time for a cup of tea, eh?' she said. 'My, you are looking well. It's the fresh air. Too much stuffy air in that Opera House, I thought.'

Agnes tried in vain to detect anything in Granny Weatherwax's eyes other than transparent honesty and goodwill.

'Yes. I thought so, too,' she said. 'Er... you've hurt your hand?'

'It'll heal. A lot of things do.'

She shouldered her shovel and headed towards the cottage; and then, halfway up the path, turned and looked back.

'This is just me askin', you understand, in a kind neighbourly way, takin' an interest sort of thing, wouldn't be human if I didn't–'

Agnes sighed. 'Yes?'

'...you got much to do with your evenin's these days?'

There was just enough rebellion left in Agnes to put a sarcastic edge on her voice. 'Oh? Are you offering to teach me something?'

'Teach? No,' said Granny. 'Ain't got the patience for teaching. But I might let you learn.'

'When shall we three meet again?'

'We haven't met once, yet.'

'O' course we have. I've person'ly known you for at least­'

'I mean we Three haven't Met. Youknow... officially...'

'All right... When shall we three meet?'

'We're already here.'

'All right. When shall‑?'

Just shut up and get out the marshmallows. Agnes, give Nanny the marshmallows.'

'Yes, Granny.'

'And mind you don't burn mine.'

Granny sat back. It was a clear night, although clouds mounting towards the hub promised snow soon. A few sparks flew up towards the stars. She looked around proudly.

'Isn't this nice,' she said.

THE END

The people of Lancre thought that marriage was a very serious step that ought to be done properly, so they practised quite a lot.

Not that she sat looking out of the window. She'd been watching the fire when she picked up the approach of Jarge Weaver. But that wasn't the point.

Or, at least, dying for a chocolate.

Er. That is to say, they went to bed at the same time as the chickens went to bed, and got up at the same time as the cows got up. Loosely worded sayings can really cause misunderstandings.

Distillation of alcohol was illegal in Lancre. On the other hand, King Verence had long ago given up any idea of stopping a witch doing something she wanted to do, so merely required Nanny Ogg to keep her still somewhere it wasn't obvious. She thoroughly approved of the prohibition, since this gave her an unchallenged market for her own product, known wherever men fell backwards into a ditch as 'suicider'.

Strictly speaking, this means being chased by photographers anxious to get a picture of you with your vest off.

Without regret, since she hadn't found any use for it.

Bergholt Stuttley ('Bloody Stupid') Johnson was Ankh‑Morpork's most famous, or rather most notorious, inventor. He was renowned for never letting his number‑blindness, his lack of any skill whatsoever or his complete failure to grasp the essence of a problem stand in the way of his cheerful progress as the first Counter‑Renaissance man. Shortly after building the famous Collapsed Tower of Quirm he turned his attention to the world of music, particularly large organs and mechanical orchestras. Examples of his handiwork still occasionally come to light in sales, auctions and, quite frequently, wreckage.

It was central to Nanny Ogg's soul that she never considered herself an old woman, while of course availing herself of every advantage that other people's perceptions of her as such would bring.