The Wit & Wisdom of Discworld - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,47
talking or are we playing?’
OH, VERY WELL.
Granny picked up the pack of cards and shuffled it, not looking at her hands, and smiling at Death all the time. She dealt five cards each.
Granny looked at her cards, and threw them down.
FOUR QUEENS. HMM. THAT IS VERY HIGH.
Death looked down at his cards, and then up into Granny’s steady, blue-eyed gaze.
Neither moved for some time.
Then Death laid the hand on the table.
I LOSE, he said. All I HAVE IS FOUR ONES.
He looked back into Granny’s eyes for a moment. There was a blue glow in the depth of his eye-sockets. Maybe, for the merest fraction of a second, barely noticeable even to the closest observation, one winked off.
Granny nodded, and extended a hand.
She prided herself on the ability to judge people by their gaze and their handshake, which in this case was a rather chilly one.
‘Take the cow,’ she said.
IT IS A VALUABLE CREATURE.
‘Who knows what the child will become?’
Death stood up, and reached for his scythe.
He said, OW.
‘Ah, yes. I couldn’t help noticing,’ said Granny Weatherwax, as the tension drained out of the atmosphere, ‘that you seem to be sparing that arm.’
OH, YOU KNOW HOW IT IS. REPETITIVE ACTIONS AND SO ON …
‘It could get serious if you left it.’
HOW SERIOUS?
‘Want me to have a look?’
WOULD YOU MIND? IT CERTAINLY ACHES ON COLD NIGHTS.
ER. HMM. YES. IT DOES SEEM CONSIDERABLY MORE FREE. YES, INDEED. MY WORD, YES. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Death walked away. A moment later there was a faint gasp from the cow. That and a slight sagging of the skin were all that apparently marked the transition from living animal to cooling meat.
Granny picked up the baby and laid a hand on its forehead.
‘Fever’s gone,’ she said.
MISTRESS WEATHERWAX? said Death from the doorway.
‘Yes, sir?’
I HAVE TO KNOW. WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF I HAD NOT … LOST?
‘At the cards, you mean?’
YES. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?
Granny laid the baby down carefully on the straw, and smiled.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘for a start … I’d have broken your bloody arm.’
*
‘So you’ll go and see Mr Goatberger and have this stopped, right?’
Yes, Esme.’
‘And I’ll come with you to make sure you do.’
Yes, Esme.’
‘And we’ll talk to the man about your money’
‘Yes, Esme.’
‘And we might just drop in on young Agnes to make sure she’s all right.’
‘Yes, Esme.’
‘But we’ll do it diplomatic like. We don’t want people thinkin’ we’re pokin’ our noses in.’
‘Yes, Esme.’
‘No one could say I interfere where I’m not wanted. You won’t find anyone callin’ me a busybody’
Yes, Esme.’
‘That was, “Yes, Esme, you won’t find anyone callin’ you a busybody”, was it?’
‘Oh, yes, Esme.’
You sure about that?’
Yes, Esme.’
‘Good.’
‘It’s too draughty on broomsticks this time of year, Esme. The breeze gets into places I wouldn’t dream of talking about.’
‘Really? Can’t imagine where those’d be, then.’
She looked around with a wide, friendly grin at the occupants of the coach.
‘Morning,’ she said, delving into the sack. ‘I’m Gytha Ogg, I’ve got fifteen children, this is my friend Esme Weatherwax, we’re going to Ankh-Morpork, would anyone like an egg sandwich? I’ve brung plenty. The cat’s been sleepin’ on them but they’re fine, look, they bend back all right. No? Please yourself, I’m sure. Let’s see what else we’ve got … ah, has anybody got an opener for a bottle of beer?’
A man in the corner indicated that he might have such a thing.
‘Fine,’ said Nanny Ogg. ‘Anyone got something to drink a bottle of beer out of?’
Another man nodded hopefully.
‘Good,’ said Nanny Ogg. ‘Now, has anybody got a bottle of beer?’
Ahahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Aahahaha! BEWARE!!!!! Yrs sincerely, The Opera Ghost
‘What sort of person,’ said Salzella, ‘sits down and writes a maniacal laugh? And all those exclamation marks, you notice? Five? A sure sign of someone who wears his underpants on his head. Opera can do that to a man.’
Most people in Lancre, as the saying goes, went to bed with the chickens and got up with the cows.†
*
‘I grew up in Rookery Yard in The Shades. They’re in Ankh-Morpork,’ said Henry. ‘It was a terrible rough place. There were only three ways out. You could sing your way out or you could fight your way out.’
‘What was the third way?’ said Nanny.
‘Oh, you could go down that little alleyway into Shamlegger Street and then cut down into Treacle Mine Road,’ said Henry. ‘But no one ever amounted to anything who went that way’