The Wit & Wisdom of Discworld - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,31
type of plumbing system. Legs of toad and so on might be better than this.
Then there’s the mystic ointments. By sheer luck, the artists and writers are on firmer ground here. Most witches are elderly, which is when ointments start to have an attraction, and at least two of those present tonight were wearing Granny Weatherwax’s famous goose-grease-and-sage chest liniment. This didn’t make you fly and see visions, but it did prevent colds, if only because the distressing smell that developed around about the second week kept everyone else so far away you couldn’t catch anything from them.
And finally there’s sabbats themselves. Your average witch is not, by nature, a social animal as far as other witches are concerned. There’s a conflict of dominant personalities. There’s a group of ringleaders without a ring. The natural size of a coven is one.
‘I can’t be having with foreign parts,’ said Granny Weather wax.
‘You’ve been to Ankh-Morpork,’ said Nanny mildly. ‘That’s foreign.’
‘No it’s not. It’s just a long way off
Magrat would be the first to admit that she had an open mind. It was as open as a field, as open as the sky. No mind could be more open without special surgical implements. And she was always waiting for something to fill it up.
*
‘I used to come over here quite often to look at Desiderata’s books,’ Magrat confessed. ‘And … and she liked to cook foreign food and no one else round here would eat it, so I’d come up to keep her company’
‘Ah-ha! Curryin’ favour!’ snapped Granny.
*
Magrat has adopted trousers as practical wear for travelling by broomstick.
‘I don’t ‘old with it,’ said Granny. ‘Everyone can see her legs.’
‘No they can’t,’ said Nanny. ‘The reason being, the material is in the way’
Yes, but they can see where her legs are,’ said Granny Weatherwax.
‘That’s silly. That’s like saying everyone’s naked under their clothes,’ said Magrat.
‘Magrat Garlick, may you be forgiven,’ said Granny Weatherwax.
‘Well, it’s true!’
‘I’m not,’ said Granny flatly, ‘I got three vests on.’
*
To the rest of the world he was an enormous tomcat, a parcel of incredibly indestructible life forces in a skin that looked less like a fur than a piece of bread that had been left in a damp place for a fortnight. Ferocious dogs would whine and hide under the stairs when Greebo sauntered down the street. Foxes kept away from the village. Wolves made a detour.
‘He’s an old softie really,’ said Nanny.
*
Above the noise of the river they could all hear, now, the steady slosh-slosh of another craft heading towards them.
‘Someone’s following us!’ hissed Magrat.
Two pale glows appeared at the edge of the lamplight. Eventually they turned out to be the eyes of a small grey creature, vaguely froglike, paddling towards them on a log.
It reached the boat. Long clammy fingers grabbed the side, and a lugubrious face rose level with Nanny Ogg’s.
‘ ’ullo,’ it said. ‘It’sss my birthday.’
All three of them stared at it for a while. Then Granny Weatherwax picked up an oar and hit it firmly over the head. There was a splash, and a distant cursing.
‘Horrible little bugger,’ said Granny, as they rowed on. ‘Looked like a troublemaker to me.’
*
‘Blessings be on this house,’ Granny said, perfunctorily. It was always a good opening remark for a witch. It concentrated people’s minds on what other things might be on this house.
*
Sometimes Magrat really wondered about the others’ commitment to witchcraft. Half the time they didn’t seem to bother.
Take medicine, for example … Granny just gave people a bottle of coloured water and told them they felt a lot better.
And what was so annoying was that they often did.
Where was the witchcraft in that?
*
Granny Weatherwax waking up was quite an impressive sight, and one not seen by many people.
Most people, on waking up, accelerate through a quick panicky pre-consciousness check-up: who am I, where am I, who is he/she, good god, why am I cuddling a policeman’s helmet, what happened last nightl
And this is because people are riddled by Doubt.
Granny Weatherwax went straight from fast asleep to instant operation on all six cylinders. She never needed to find herself because she always knew who was doing the looking.
Vampires have risen from the dead,
the grave and the crypt, but have never managed it from the cat.
Nanny Ogg sent a number of cards home to her family, not a single one of which got back before she did. This is traditional, and happens everywhere in the universe.
*
In a quiet little inn in a tiny country Granny Weatherwax sat