Witches Abroad Page 10

Page 10

 

  Nanny Ogg sniffed.

  Cor, she said. Talk about garlic! And, indeed, bunches of it hung from every beam. You cant have too much garlic, I always say. I can see Im going to like it here.

  She nodded to a white-faced man behind the bar.

  Gooden day, big-feller mine host! Trois beers pour favour avec us, silver plate.

  Whats a silver plate got to do with it? demanded Granny.

  Its foreign for please, said Nanny.

  I bet it isnt really, said Granny. Youre just making it up as you goes along.

  The innkeeper, who worked on the fairly simple principle that anyone walking through the door wanted something to drink, drew three beers.

  See? said Nanny, triumphantly.

  I dont like the way everyones looking at us, said Magrat, as Nanny babbled on to the perplexed man in her very own esperanto. A man over there grinned at me.

  Granny Weatherwax sat down on a bench, endeavouring to position herself so that as small an amount of her body as possible was in contact with the wood, in case being foreign was something you could catch.

  There, said Nanny, bustling up with a tray, nothing to it. I just cussed at him until he understood.

  It looks horrible, said Granny.

  Garlic sausage and garlic bread, said Nanny. My favourite.

  You ought to have got some fresh vegetables, said Magrat the dietitian.

  I did. Theres some garlic, said Nanny happily, cutting a generous slice of eye-watering sausage. And I think I definitely saw something like pickled onions on one of the shelves.

  Yes? Then were going to need at least two rooms for tonight, said Granny sternly.

  Three, said Magrat, very quickly.

  She risked another look around the room. The silent villagers were staring at them intently, with a look she could only describe to herself as a sort of hopeful sadness. Of course, anyone who spent much time in the company of Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg got used to being stared at; they were the kind of people that filled every space from edge to edge. And probably people in these parts didnt often see strangers, what with the thick forests and all. And the sight of Nanny Ogg eating a sausage with extreme gusto would even outrank her pickled onion number as major entertainment anywhere.

  Even so . . . the way people were staring . . .

  Outside, deep in the trees, a wolf howled.

  The assembled villagers shivered in unison, as though they had been practising. The landlord muttered something to them. They got up, reluctantly, and filed out of the door, trying to keep together. An old lady laid her hand on Magrats shoulder for a moment, shook her head sadly, sighed, and then scuttled away. But Magrat was used to this, too. People often felt sorry for her when they saw her in Grannys company.

  Eventually the landlord lurched across to them with a lighted torch, and motioned them to follow him.

  How did you make him understand about the beds? said Magrat.

  I said, “Hey mister, jigajig toot sweet all same No. 3”, said Nanny Ogg.

  Granny Weatherwax tried this under her breath, and nodded.

  Your lad Shane certainly gets around a bit, doesnt he, she remarked.

  He says it works every time, said Nanny Ogg.

  In fact there were only two rooms, up a long, winding and creaky stairway. And Magrat got one to herself. Even the landlord seemed to want it that way. Hed been very attentive.

  She wished he hadnt been so keen to bar the shutters, though. Magrat liked to sleep with a window open. As it was, it was too dark and stuffy.

  Anyway, she thought, I am the fairy godmother. The others are just accompanying me.

  She peered hopelessly at herself in the rooms tiny cracked mirror and then lay and listened to them on the far side of the paper-thin wall.

  Whatre you turning the mirror to the wall for, Esme?

  I just dont like em, staring like that.

  They only stares if youre staring at em, Esme.

  Silence, and then: Eh, whats this round thing for, then?

  I reckon its supposed to be a pillow, Esme.

  Hah! 7 dont call it a pillow. And theres no proper blankets, even. Whatd you say this things called?

  I think its called a duvit, Esme.

  We call them an eiderdown where I come from. Hah!

  There was a respite. Then:

  Have you brushed your tooth?

  And another pause. Then:

  Oo, you havent half got cold feet, Esme.

  No, they aint. Theyre lovely and snug.

  And another silence. Then:

  Boots! Your boots! Youve got your boots on!

  I should just think I ave got my boots on, Gytha Ogg.

  And your clothes! You havent even undressed!

  You cant be too careful in foreign parts. There could be all sorts out there, a-creepin around.

  Magrat snuggled under the - what was it? - duvit, and turned over. Granny Weatherwax appeared to need one hours sleep a night, whereas Nanny Ogg would snore on a fence rail.

  Gytha? Gytha! GYTHA!

  Wha?

  Are you awake?

  M now . . .

  I keep earing a noise!

  . . . so do I . . .

  Magrat dozed for a while.

  Gytha? GYTHA!

  L

  . . . wha now? . . .

  Im sure someone rattled our shutters!

  . . . not at our time of life . . . now g back t slee. . .

  The air in the room was getting hotter and stuffier by the minute. Magrat got out of bed, unbolted the shutters and flung them back dramatically.

  There was a grunt, and a distant thud of something hitting the ground.

  The full moon streamed in. She felt a lot better for that, and got back into bed.

  It seemed no time at all before the voice from next door woke her again.

  Gytha Ogg, what are you doing?

  Im aving a snack.

  Cant you sleep?

  Just cant seem to be able to get off, Esme, said Nanny Ogg. Cant imagine why.

  Here, thats garlic sausage youre eating! Im actually sharing a bed with someone eating garlic sausage.

  Hey, thats mine! Give it back -

  Magrat was aware of booted footsteps in the pit of the night, and the sound of a shutter being swung back in the next room.

  She thought she heard a faint oof and another muted thud.

  I thought you liked garlic, Esme, said Nanny Oggs resentful voice.

  Sausage is all right in its place, and its place aint in bed. And dont you say a word. Now move over. You keep taking all the duvit.

  After a while the velvet silence was broken by Grannys deep and resonant snore. Shortly afterwards it was joined by the genteel snoring of Nanny, who had spent far more time sleeping in company than Granny and had evolved a more accommodating nasal orchestra. Grannys snore would have cut logs.

  Magrat folded the horrible round hard pillow over her ears and burrowed under the bedclothes.

  Somewhere on the chilly ground, a very large bat was trying to get airborne again. It had already been stunned twice, once by a carelessly opened shutter and once by a ballistic garlic sausage, and wasnt feeling very well at all. One more setback, it was thinking, and its back off to the castle. Besides, itd be sunrise soon.

  Its red eyes glinted as it looked up at Magrats open window. It tensed -

  A paw landed on it.

  The bat looked around.

  Greebo had not had a very good night. He had investigated the whole place with regard to female cats, and found none. He had prowled among the middens, and drawn a blank. People in this town didnt throw the garbage away. They ate it.

  Hed trotted into the woods and found some wolves and had sat and grinned at them until they got uncomfortable and went away.

  Yes, it had been a very uneventful night. Until now.

  The bat squirmed under his claw. It seemed to Greeb
os small cat brain that it was trying to change its shape, and he wasnt having any of that from a mouse with wings on.

  Especially now, when he had someone to play with.

  Genua was a fairytale city. People smiled and were joyful the livelong day. Especially if they wanted to see another livelong day.

  Lilith made certain of that. Of course, people had probably thought they were happy in the days before shed seen to it that the Duc replaced the old Baron, but it was a random, untidy happiness, which was why it was so easy for her to move in.

  But it wasnt a way of life. There was no pattern to it.

  One day theyd thank her.

  Of course, there were always a few difficult ones. Sometimes, people just didnt know how to act. You did your best for them, you ruled their city properly, you ensured that their lives were worthwhile and full of happiness every hour of the day and then, for no reason at all, they turned on you.

  Guards lined the audience chamber. And there was an audience. Technically, of course, it was the ruler who gave the audience, but Lilith liked to see people watching. One pennyworth of example was worth a pound of punishment.

  There wasnt a lot of crime in Genua these days. At least, not what would be considered crime elsewhere. Things like theft were easily dealt with and hardly required any kind of judicial process. Far more important, in Liliths book, were crimes against narrative expectation. People didnt seem to know how they should behave.

  Lilith held a mirror up to Life, and chopped all the bits off Life that didnt fit. . .

  The Duc lounged bonelessly on his throne, one leg dangling over the armrest. Hed never got the hang of chairs.

  And what has this one done? he said, and yawned. Opening his mouth wide was something he was good at, at least.

  A little old man cowered between two guards.

  Theres always someone willing to be a guard, even in places like Genua. Besides, you got a really smart uniform, with blue trousers and a red coat and a high black hat with a cockade in it.

  But I. . . I cant whistle, quavered the old man. I. . . I didnt know it was compulsory . . .

  But you are a toymaker, said the Duc. Toymakers whistle and sing the whole day long. He glanced at Lilith. She nodded.

  I dont know any . . . s-songs, said the toymaker. I never got taught s--songs. Just how to make toys. I was prenticed at making toys. Seven years before the little hammer, man and boy . . .

  It says here, said the Duc, making a creditable impersonation of someone reading the charge sheet in front of him, that you dont tell the children stories.

  No-one ever told me about telling . . . s-stories, said the toymaker. Look, I just make toys. Toys. Thats all Im good at. Toys. I make good t-toys. Im just a t-toymaker.

  You cant be a good toymaker if you dont tell stories to the children, said Lilith, leaning forward.

  The toymaker looked up at the veiled face.

  Dont know any, he said.

  You dont know any?

  I could t-tell em how to make toys, the old man quavered.

  Lilith sat back. It was impossible to see her expression under the veil.

  I think it would be a good idea if the Peoples Guards here took you away, she said, to a place where you will certainly learn to sing. And possibly, after a while, you might even whistle. Wont that be nice?

  The old Barons dungeons had been disgusting. Lilith had had them repainted and refurnished. With a lot of mirrors.

  When the audience was over one member of the crowd slipped out through the palace kitchens. The guards on the side gate didnt try to stop her. She was a very important person in the small compass of their lives.

  Hello, Mrs Pleasant.

  She stopped, reached into her basket and produced a couple of roast chicken legs.

  Just tryin a new peanut coating, she said. Would value your opinions, boys.

  They took them gratefully. Everyone liked to see Mrs Pleasant. She could do things with a chicken that would almost make it glad it had been killed.