Witches Abroad

"But we're supposed to be three witches," said Magrat. "If you can call us witches," she added.

"What do you mean by that, pray?" said Granny.

"Pray?" thought Nanny. Someone has ended a sentence with ‘pray?" That's like that bit when someone hits someone else with a glove and then throws it on the floor. There's no going back when someone's ended a sentence with ‘pray?" But she tried, anyway.

"How about a nice - "

Magrat plunged on with the brave desperation of someone dancing in the light of their burning bridges.

"Well," she said, "it seems to me - "

"Yes?" said Granny.

"It seems to me," Magrat tried again, "that the only magic we do is all, well, headology. Not what anyone else would call magic. It's just glaring at people and tricking them. Taking advantage of their gullibility. It wasn't what I expected when I set out to become a witch -‘

"And who says," said Granny Weatherwax, slowly and deliberately, "that you've become a witch now?"

"My word, the wind is getting up, perhaps we should - " said Nanny Ogg.

"What did you say?" said Magrat.

Nanny Ogg put her hand over her eyes. Asking someone to repeat a phrase you'd not only heard very clearly but were also exceedingly angry about was around Defcon II in the lexicon of squabble.

"I should have thought my voice was clear enough," said Granny. "I'm very amazed my voice wasn't clear enough. It sounded clear enough to me."

"Looks a bit gusty, why don't we - ?"

"Well, I should just think I can be smug and bad-tempered and ill-considerate enough to be a witch," said Magrat. "That's all that's required, isn't it?"

"Ill-considerate? Me?"

"You like people who need help, because when they need help they're weak, and helping them makes you feel strong! What harm would a bit of magic do?"

"Because it'd never stop at just a bit, you stupid girl!"

Magrat backed off, her face flushed. She reached into her bag and pulled out a slim volume, which she flourished like a weapon.

"Stupid I may be," she panted, "but at least I'm trying to learn things! Do you know the kind of things people can use magic for? Not just illusion and bullying! There's people in this book that can... can... walk on hot coals, and stick their hands in a fire and not get hurt!"

"Cheap trickery!" said Granny.

"They really can!"

"Impossible. No-one can do that!"

"It shows they can control things! Magic's got to be more than just knowing things and manipulating people!"

"Oh? It's all wishing on stars and fairy dust, is it? Making people happier?"

"There's got to be some of that! Otherwise what's the good of anything? Anyway... when I went to Desiderata's cottage you were looking for the wand, weren't you?"

"I just didn't want it falling into the wrong hands!"

"Like any hands but yours, I expect!"

They glared at each other.

"Haven't you got any romance in your soul?" said Magrat plaintively.

"No," said Granny. "I ain't. And stars don't care what you wish, and magic don't make things better, and no-one doesn't get burned who sticks their hand in a fire. If you want to amount to anything as a witch, Magrat Garlick, you got to learn three things. What's real, what's not real, and what's the difference - "

"And always get the young man's name and address," said Nanny. "It worked for me every time. Only joking," she said, as they both glared at her.

The wind was rising, here on the edge of the forest. Bits of grass and leaves whirled through the air.

"We're going the right way, anyway," said Nanny madly, seeking anything that would be a distraction. "Look. It says "Genua" on the signpost."

It did indeed. It was an old, worm-eaten signpost right on the edge of the forest. The end of the arm had been carved into the likeness of a pointing finger.

"A proper road, too," Nanny burbled on. The row cooled a bit, simply because both sides were not talking to each other. Not simply not exchanging vocal communication - that's just an absence of speaking. This went right through that and out the other side, into the horrible glowering worlds of Not Talking to One Another.

"Yellow bricks," said Nanny. "Whoever heard of anyone making a road out of yellow bricks?"

Magrat and Granny Weatherwax stood looking in opposite directions with their arms folded.

"Brightens the place up, I suppose," said Nanny. On the horizon, Genua sparkled in the middle of some more greenery. In between, the road dipped into a wide valley dotted with little villages. A river snaked through them on the way to the city.

The wind whipped at their skirts.

"We'll never fly in this," said Nanny, still womanfully trying to make enough conversation for three people.

"So we'll walk, then, eh?" she said, and added, because there's a spark of spitefulness even in innocent souls like Nanny Ogg's, "Singing as we go, how about it?"

"I'm sure it's not my place to mind what anyone chooses to do," said Granny. "It's nothing to do with me. I expect some people with wands and big ideas might have something to say."

"Huh!" said Magrat.