Witches Abroad

"You see... the money..."

"Oh, that money," said Granny.

"... is gone..." said Nanny.

"Stolen?"

"She's been gambling," said Magrat, in tones of smug horror. "With men."

"It wasn't gambling!" snapped Nanny. "I never gamble! They were no good at cards! I won no end of games!"

"But you lost money," said Granny.

Nanny Ogg looked down again, and muttered something.

"What?" said Granny.

"I said I won nearly all of them," said Nanny. "And then I thought, here, we could really have a bit of money to, you know, spend in the city, and I've always been very good at Cripple Mr Onion..."

"So you decided to bet heavily," said Granny.

"How did you know that?"

"Got a feelin' about it," said Granny wearily. "And suddenly everyone else was lucky, am I right ?"

"It was weird," said Nanny.

"Hmm."

"Well, it's not gambling," said Nanny. "I didn't see it was gambling. They were no good when I started playing. It's not gambling to play against someone who's no good. It's common sense."

"There was nearly fourteen dollars in that bag," said Magrat, "not counting the foreign money."

"Hmm."

Granny Weatherwax sat down on the bunk and drummed her fingers on the woodwork. There was a faraway look in her eyes. The phrase ‘card sharp' had never reached her side of the Ramtops, where people were friendly and direct and, should they encounter a professional cheat, tended to nail his hand to the table in an easy and outgoing manner without asking him what he called himself. But human nature was the same everywhere.

"You're not upset, are you, Esme?" said Nanny anxiously.

"Hmm."

"I expect I can soon pick up a new broom when we get home."

"Hm... what?"

"After she lost all her money she bet her broom," said Magrat triumphantly.

"Have we got any money at all?" said Granny.

A trawl of various pockets and knicker legs produced forty-seven pence.

"Right," said Granny. She scooped it up. "That ought to be enough. To start with, anyway. Where are these men?"

"What are you going to do?" said Magrat.

"I'm going to play cards," said Granny.

"You can't do that!" said Magrat, who had recognized the gleam in Granny's eye. "You're going to use magic to win! You mustn't use magic to win! Not to affect the laws of chance! That's wicked^

The boat was practically a floating town, and in the balmy night air no-one bothered much about going indoors. The riverboat's flat deck was dotted with groups of dwarfs, trolls and humans, lounging among the cargo. Granny threaded her way between them and headed for the long saloon that ran almost the entire length of the boat. There was the sound of revelry within.

The riverboats were the quickest and easiest transport for hundreds of miles. On them you got, as Granny would put it, all sorts, and the riverboats going downstream were always crowded with a certain type of opportunist as Fat Lunchtime approached.

She walked into the saloon. An onlooker might have thought it had a magic doorway. Granny Weatherwax, as she walked towards it, strode as she usually strode. As soon as she passed through, though, she was suddenly a bent old woman, hobbling along, and a sight to touch all but the wickedest heart.

She approached the bar, and then stopped. Behind it was the biggest mirror Granny had ever seen. She stared fixedly at it, but it seemed safe enough. Well, she'd have to risk it.

She hunched her back a little more and addressed the barman.

"Excuzee moir, young homme," she began.*

The barman gave her a disinterested look and went on polishing a glass.

"What can I do for you, old crone?" he said.

There was only the faintest suggestion of a flicker in Granny's expression of elderly imbecility.

"Oh... you can understand me?" she said.

"We get all sorts on the river," said the barman.

"Then I was wondering if you could be so kind as to loan me a deck, I thinks it's called, of cards," quavered Granny.

"Going to play a game of Old Maid, are you?" said the barman.

There was a chilly flicker across Granny's eyes again as she said, "No. Just Patience. I'd like to try and get the hang of it."

He reached under the counter and tossed a greasy pack towards her.

She thanked him effusively and tottered off to a small table in the shadows, where she dealt a few cards randomly on the drink-ringed surface and stared at them.

It was only a few minutes later that a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder. She looked up into a friendly, open face that anyone would lend money to. A gold tooth glittered as the man spoke.

"Excuse me, good mother," he said, "but my friends and I" - he gestured to some more welcoming faces at a nearby table - "would feel much more comfortable in ourselves if you were to join us. It can be very dangerous for a woman travelling by herself."

Granny Weatherwax smiled nicely at him, and then waved vaguely at her cards.

"I can never remember whether the ones are worth more or less than the pictures," she said. "Forget my own head next, I expect!"

They all laughed. Granny hobbled to the other table. She took the vacant seat, which put the mirror right behind her shoulder.