Lords And Ladies Part 24

The Lancre Morris Men sat glumly on the turf, pa.s.sing an earthenware jug between them. It had not been a good rehearsal.

"Don't work, does it?" said Thatcher.

"'S'not funny, that I do know," said Weaver. "Can't see the king killing himself laughing at us playing a bunch of mechanical artisans not being very good at doin' a play."

"You're just no good at it," said Jason.

"We're sposed sposed to be no good at it," said Weaver. to be no good at it," said Weaver.

"Yeah, but you're no good at acting like someone who's no good at acting," said Tinker. "I don't know how, but you ain't. You can't expect all the fine lords and ladies-"

A breeze blew over the moor, tasting of ice at midsummer.

"-to laugh at us not being any good at being no good at acting."

"I don't see what's funny about a bunch of rude artisans trying to do a play anyway," said Weaver.

Jason shrugged.

"It says all the gentry-"

A tang on the wind, the sharp tin taste of snow...

"-in Ankh-Morpork laughed at it for weeks and weeks," he said. "It was on Broad Way for three months."

"What's Broad Way?"

"That's where all the theaters are. The Dysk, Lord Wynkin's Men, the Bearpit..."

"They'd laugh at any d.a.m.n thing down there," said Weaver. "Anyway, they all think we'm all simpletons up here. They all think we say oo-aah and sings daft folk songs and has three brain cells huddlin' together for warmth 'cos of drinking sc.u.mble all the time."

"Yeah. Pa.s.s that jug."

"Swish city b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

"They don't know what it's like to be up to the armpit in a cow's backside on a snowy night. Hah!"

"And there ain't one of 'em that-what're you talking about? You ain't got a cow."

"No, but I know what it's like."

"They don't know what it's like to get one wellie sucked off in a farmyard full of gyppoe and that horrible moment where you waves the foot around knowin' that wherever you puts it down it's going to go through the crust."

The stoneware jug glugged gently as it was pa.s.sed from hand to unsteady hand.

"True. That's very true. And you ever seen 'em Morris dancing? 'Nuff to make you hang up your hanky."

"What, Morris dancing in a city city?"

"Well, down in Sto Helit, anyway. Bunch o' soft wizards and merchants. I watched 'em a whole hour and there wasn't even a groinin'."

"Swish city b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Comin' up here, takin' our jobs..."

"Don't be daft. They don't know what a proper job is."

The jug glugged, but with a deeper tone, suggesting that it contained a lot of emptiness.

"Bet they've they've never been up to the armpit-" never been up to the armpit-"

"The point is is. The point is is. The point. The point is is. Hah. All laughin' at decent rude artisans, eh? I mean. I mean. I mean. What's it all about? I mean. I mean. I mean. Play's all about some mechanical...rude b.u.g.g.e.rs makin' a pig's ear out of doin' a play about a bunch of lords and ladies-"

A chill in the air, sharp as icicles...

"It needs something else."

"Right. Right."

"A mythic element."

"Right. My point. My point. My point. Needs a plot they can go home whistlin'. Exactly."

"So it should be done here, in the open air. Open to the sky and the hills."

Jason Ogg wrinkled his brows. They were always pretty wrinkled anyway, whenever he was dealing with the complexities of the world. Only when it came to iron did he know exactly what to do. But he held up a wavering finger and tried to count his fellow thespians. Given that the jug was now empty, this was an effort. There seemed, on average, to be seven other people. But he had a vague, nagging feeling that something wasn't right.

"Out here," he said, uncertainly.

"Good idea," said Weaver.

"Wasn't it your idea?" said Jason.

"I thought you you said it." said it."

"I thought you you did." did."

"Who cares who said it?" said Thatcher. "'S'a good idea. Seems...right."

"What was that about the miffic quality?"

"What's miffic?"

"Something you've got to have," said Weaver, theatrical expert. "Very important, your miffics."

"Me mam said no one was to go-" Jason began.

"We shan't be doing any dancing or anything," said Carter. "I can see you don't want people skulking around up here by 'emselves, doin' magic. But it can't be wrong if everyone comes here. I mean, the king and everyone. Your mam, too. Hah, I'd like to see any girls with no drawers on get past her!"

"I don't think it's just-" Jason began.

"And the other one'll be there, too," said Weaver.

They considered Granny Weatherwax.

"Cor, she frightens the life out of me, her," said Thatcher, eventually. "The way she looks right through you. I wouldn't say a word against her, mark you, a fine figure of a woman," he said loudly, and then added rather more quietly, "but they do say she creeps around the place o'nights, as a hare or a bat or something. Changes her shape and all. Not that I believes a word of it," he raised his voice, then let it sink again, "but old Weezen over in Slice told me once he shot a hare in the leg one night and next day she pa.s.sed him on the lane and said 'Ouch' and gave him a right ding across the back of his head."

"My dad said," said Weaver, "that one day he was leading our old cow to market and it took ill and fell down in the lane near her cottage and he couldn't get it to move and he went up to her place and he knocked on the door and she opened it and before he could open his mouth she said, 'Yer cow's ill, Weaver'...just like that...And then she said-"

"Was that the old brindled cow what your dad had?" said Carter.

"No, it were my uncle had the brindled cow, we had the one with the crumpled horn," said Weaver. "Anyway-"

"Could have sworn it was brindled," said Carter. "I remember my dad looking at it over the hedge one day and saying, 'That's fine brindling on that cow, you don't get brindling like that these days.' That was when you had that old field alongside Cabb's Well."

"We never had that field, it was my cousin had that field," said Weaver. "Anyway-"

"You sure?"

"Anyway," said Weaver, "she said, 'You wait there, I'll give you something for it,' and she goes out into her back kitchen and comes back with a couple of big red pills, and she-"

"How'd it get crumpled, then?" said Carter.

"-and she gave him one of the pills and said, 'What you do, you raise the old cow's tail and shove this pill where the sun don't s.h.i.+ne, and in half a minute she'll be up and running as fast as she can,' and he thanked her, and then as he was going out of the door he said, 'What's the other pill for?' and she gave him a look and said, 'Well, you gave him one of the pills and said, 'What you do, you raise the old cow's tail and shove this pill where the sun don't s.h.i.+ne, and in half a minute she'll be up and running as fast as she can,' and he thanked her, and then as he was going out of the door he said, 'What's the other pill for?' and she gave him a look and said, 'Well, you want want to catch her, don't you?'" to catch her, don't you?'"

"That'd be that deep valley up near Slice," said Carter.

They looked at him.

"What, exactly, are you talking about?" said Weaver.

"It's right behind the mountain," said Carter, nodding knowingly. "Very shady there. That's what she meant, I expect. The place where the sun doesn't s.h.i.+ne. Long way to go for a pill, but I suppose that's witches for you."

Weaver winked at the others.

"Listen," he said, "I'm telling you she meant...well, where the monkey put his nut."

Carter shook his head.

"No monkeys in Slice," he said. His face became suffused with a slow grin. "Oh, I get it! She was daft!"

"Them playwriters down in Ankh," said Baker, "boy, they certainly know about us. Pa.s.s me the jug."

Jason turned his head again. He was getting more and more uneasy. His hands, which were always in daily contact with iron, were itching.

"Reckon we ought to be getting along home now, lads," he managed.

"'S'nice night," said Baker, staying put. "Look at them stars a-twinklin'."

"Turned a bit cold, though," said Jason.

"Smells like snow," said Carter.

"Oh, yeah," said Baker. "That's right. Snow at midsummer. That's what they get where the sun don't s.h.i.+ne."

"Shutup, shutup, shutup," said Jason.

"What's up with you?"

"It's wrong! We shouldn't be up here! Can't you feel feel it?" it?"

"Oh, sit down, man," said Weaver. "It's fine. Can't feel nothing but the air. And there's still more sc.u.mble in the jug."

Baker leaned back.

"I remember an old story about this place," he said. "Some man went to sleep up here once, when he was out hunting."

The bottle glugged in the dusk.

"So what? I can do that," said Carter. "I go to sleep every night, reg'lar."

"Ah, but this this man, when he woke up and went home, his wife was carrying on with someone else and all his children had grown up and didn't know who he was." man, when he woke up and went home, his wife was carrying on with someone else and all his children had grown up and didn't know who he was."

"Happens to me just about every day," said Weaver gloomily.

Baker sniffed.

"You know, it does does smell a bit like snow. You know? That kind of sharp smell." smell a bit like snow. You know? That kind of sharp smell."

Thatcher leaned back, cradling his head on his arm.

"Tell you what," he said, "if I thought my old woman'd marry someone else and my hulking great kids'd b.u.g.g.e.r off and stop eating up the larder every day I'd come up here with a blanket like a shot. Who's got that jug?"

Jason took a pull out of nervousness, and found that he felt better as the alcohol dissolved his synapses.

But he made an effort.

"Hey, lads," he slurred, "'ve got 'nother jug coolin' in the water trough down in the forge, what d'you say? We could all go down there now. Lads? Lads?"

There was the soft sound of snoring.

"Oh, lads lads."

Jason stood up.

The stars wheeled.