Maskerade. Part 11

"You want to take the boy down there?"

"Right now."

The man looked at his wife, and shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you know your business best," he said. "It's this way."

He led the witches down some back stairs and across a yard and into the fetid sweet air of the byre. A cow was stretched out on the straw. It rolled an eye madly as they entered, and tried to moo.

Granny took in the scene and stood looking thoughtful for a moment.

Then she said, "This will do."

"What do you need?" said Slot.

"Just peace and quiet."

The man scratched his head. "I thought you did a chant or made up some potion or something," he said.

"Sometimes."

"I mean, I know where there's a toad..."

"All I shall require is a candle," said Granny. "A new one, for preference."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

Mr. Slot looked a little put out. Despite his distraction, something about his manner suggested that Granny Weatherwax was possibly not that much of a witch if she didn't want a toad.

"And some matches," said Granny, noting this. "A pack of cards might be useful, too."

"And I'll need three cold lamb chops and exactly two pints of beer," said Nanny Ogg.

The man nodded. This didn't sound too toadlike, but it was better than nothing.

"What'd you ask for that for?" hissed Granny, as the man bustled off. "Can't imagine what good those'd do! Anyway, you already had a big dinner."

"Well, I'm always prepared to go that extra meal. You won't want me around and I'll get bored," said Nanny.

"Did I say I didn't want you around?"

"Well...even I can see that boy is in a coma, and the cow has the Red Bugge if I'm any judge. That's bad, too. So I reckon you're planning some...direct action."

Granny shrugged.

"Time like that, a witch needs to be alone," said Nanny. "But you just mind what you're doing, Esme Weatherwax."

The child was brought down in a blanket and made as comfortable as possible. The man followed behind his wife with a tray.

"Mrs. Ogg will do her necessary procedures with the tray in her room," said Granny haughtily. "You just leave me in here tonight. And no one is to come in, right? No matter what."

The mother gave a worried curtsy. "But I thought I might look in about midn-"

"No one. Now, off you go."

When they'd been gently but firmly ushered out, Nanny Ogg stuck her head around the door. "What exactly exactly are you planning, Esme?" are you planning, Esme?"

"You've sat up with the dyin' often enough, Gytha."

"Oh, yes, it's..." Nanny's face fell. "Oh, Esme...you're not going to..."

"Enjoy your supper, Gytha."

Granny closed the door.

She spent some time arranging boxes and barrels so that she had a crude table and something to sit on. The air was warm and smelled of bovine flatulence. Periodically she checked the health of both patients, although there was little enough to check.

In the distance the sounds of the inn gradually subsided. The last one was the clink of the innkeeper's keys as he locked the doors. Granny heard him walk across to the cowshed door and hesitate. Then he went away, and began to climb the stairs.

She waited a little longer and then lit the candle. Its cheery flame gave the place a warm and comforting glow.

On the plank table she laid out the cards and attempted to play Patience, a game she'd never been able to master.

The candle burned down. She pushed the cards away, and sat watching the flame.

After some immeasurable piece of time the flame flickered. It would have pa.s.sed unnoticed by anyone who hadn't been concentrating on it for some while.

She took a deep breath and- "Good morning," said Granny Weatherwax.

GOOD MORNING, said a voice by her ear.

Nanny Ogg had long ago polished off the chops and the beer, but she hadn't got into bed. She lay on it, fully clothed, with her arms behind her head, staring at the dark ceiling.

After a while there was a scratching on the shutters. She got up and opened them.

A huge figure leapt into the room. For a moment the moonlight lit a glistening torso and a mane of black hair. Then the creature dived under the bed.

"Oh, deary deary me," said Nanny.

She waited for a while, and then fished a chop bone off her tray. There was still a bit of meat on it. She lowered it toward the floor.

A hand shot out and grabbed it.

Nanny sat back.

"Poor little man," she said.

It was only on the subject of Greebo that Nanny's otherwise keen sense of reality found itself all twisted. To Nanny Ogg he was merely a larger version of the little fluffy kitten he had once been. To everyone else he was a scarred ball of inventive malignancy.

But now he had to deal with a problem seldom encountered by cats. The witches had, a year ago, turned him into a human, for reasons that had seemed quite necessary at the time. It had taken a lot of effort, and his morphogenic field had rea.s.serted itself after a few hours, much to everyone's relief.

But magic is never as simple as people think. It has to obey certain universal laws. And one is that, no matter how hard a thing is to do, once it has has been done it'll become a whole lot easier and will therefore be done a lot. A huge mountain might be scaled by strong men only after many centuries of failed attempts, but a few decades later grandmothers will be strolling up it for tea and then wandering back afterward to see where they left their gla.s.ses. been done it'll become a whole lot easier and will therefore be done a lot. A huge mountain might be scaled by strong men only after many centuries of failed attempts, but a few decades later grandmothers will be strolling up it for tea and then wandering back afterward to see where they left their gla.s.ses.

In accordance with this law, Greebo's soul had noted that there was one extra option for use in a tight corner (in addition to the usual cat a.s.sortment of run, fight, c.r.a.p or all three together) and that was: Become Human.

It tended to wear off after a short time, most of which he spent searching desperately for a pair of pants.

There were snores from under the bed. Gradually, to Nanny's relief, they turned into a purr.

Then she sat bolt upright. She was some way from the cowshed but...

"He's here," she said. here," she said.

Granny breathed out, slowly.

"Come and sit where I can see you. That's good manners. And let me tell you right now that I ain't at all afraid of you."

The tall, black-robed figure walked across the floor and sat down on a handy barrel, leaning its scythe against the wall. Then it pushed back its hood.

Granny folded her arms and stared calmly at the visitor, meeting his gaze eye-to-socket.

I AM IMPRESSED AM IMPRESSED.

"I have faith."

REALLY? IN WHAT PARTICULAR DEITY?.

"Oh, none of them them."

THEN FAITH IN WHAT?.

"Just faith, you know. In general."

Death leaned forward. The candlelight raised new shadows on his skull.

COURAGE IS EASY BY CANDLELIGHT. YOUR FAITH, I SUSPECT, IS IN THE FLAME SUSPECT, IS IN THE FLAME.

Death grinned.

Granny leaned forward, and blew out the candle. Then she folded her arms again and stared fiercely ahead of her.

After some length of time a voice said, ALL RIGHT, YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT.

Granny lit a match. Its flare illuminated the skull opposite, which hadn't moved.

"Fair enough," she said, as she relit the candle. "We don't want to be sitting here all night, do we? How many have you come for?"

ONE.

"The cow?"

Death shook his head.

"It could be be the cow." the cow."

NO. THAT WOULD BE CHANGING HISTORY.

"History is about things changing."

No.

Granny sat back.

"Then I challenge you to a game. That's traditional. That's allowed allowed."

Death was silent for a moment.

THIS IS TRUE.

"Good."

CHALLENGING ME BY MEANS OF A GAME IS ALLOWABLE.

"Yes."

HOWEVER...YOU UNDERSTAND THAT TO WIN ALL YOU MUST GAMBLE ALL?

"Double or quits? Yes, I know."

BUT NOT CHESS.

"Can't abide chess."

OR C CRIPPLE M MR. ONION. I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES.

"Very well. How about one hand of poker? Five cards each, no draws? Sudden death, as they say."

Death thought about this, too.

YOU KNOW THIS FAMILY?.