Carpe Jugulum - Terry Pratchett [9]
“Of course, it’s difficult for a man working these steep lands alone,” Granny went on, washing her hands. Mrs. Patternoster nodded again, mournfully.
“Well, I reckon you should take him into the cottage, Mrs. Patternoster, and make him a cup of tea,” Granny commanded. “You can tell him I’m doing all I can.”
This time the midwife nodded gratefully.
When she had fled, Granny laid a hand on Mrs. Ivy’s damp forehead.
“Well now, Florence Ivy,” she said, “let us see what might be done. But first of all…no pain…”
As she moved her head she caught sight of the moon through the unglazed window. Between the light and the dark…well, sometimes that’s where you had to be.
INDEED.
Granny didn’t bother to turn around.
“I thought you’d be here,” she said, as she knelt down in the straw.
WHERE ELSE? said Death.
“Do you know who you’re here for?”
THAT IS NOT MY CHOICE. ON THE VERY EDGE YOU WILL ALWAYS FIND SOME UNCERTAINTY.
Granny felt the words in her head for several seconds, like little melting cubes of ice. On the very, very edge, then, there had to be…judgment.
“There’s too much damage here,” she said, at last. “Too much.”
A few minutes later she felt the life stream past her. Death had the decency to leave without a word.
When Mrs. Patternoster tremulously knocked on the door and pushed it open, Granny was in the cow’s stall. The midwife saw her stand up holding a piece of thorn.
“Been in the beast’s leg all day,” she said. “No wonder it was fretful. Try and make sure he doesn’t kill the cow, you understand? They’ll need it.”
Mrs. Patternoster glanced down at the rolled-up blanket in the straw. Granny had tactfully placed it out of sight of Mrs. Ivy, who was sleeping now.
“I’ll tell him,” said Granny, brushing off her dress. “As for her, well, she’s strong and young and you know what to do. You keep an eye on her, and me or Nanny Ogg will drop in when we can. If she’s up to it, they may need a wet nurse up at the castle, and that may be good for everyone.”
It was doubtful that anyone in Slice would defy Granny Weatherwax, but Granny saw the faintest gray shadow of disapproval in the midwife’s expression.
“You still reckon I should’ve asked Mr. Ivy?” she said.
“That’s what I would have done…” the woman mumbled.
“You don’t like him? You think he’s a bad man?” said Granny. adjusting her hat pins.
“No!”
“Then what’s he ever done to me, that I should hurt him so?”
Agnes had to run to keep up. Nanny Ogg, when roused, could move as though powered by pistons.
“But we get a lot of priests up here, Nanny!”
“Not like the Omnians!” snapped Nanny. “We had ’em up here last year. A couple of ’em knocked at my door!”
“Well, that is what a door is f—”
“And they shoved a leaflet under it saying ‘Repent!’” Nanny Ogg went on. “Repent? Me? Cheek! I can’t start repenting at my time of life. I’d never get any work done. Anyway,” she added, “I ain’t sorry for most of it.”
“You’re getting a bit excited, I think—”
“They set fire to people!” said Nanny.
“I think I read somewhere that they used to, yes,” said Agnes, panting with the effort of keeping up. “But that was a long time ago, Nanny! The ones I saw in Ankh-Morpork just handed out leaflets and preached in a big tent and sang rather dreary songs—”
“Hah! The leopard does not change his shorts, my girl!”
They ran along a corridor, and out from behind a screen into the hubbub of the Great Hall.
“Knee-deep in nobs,” said Nanny, craning. “Ah, there’s our Shawn…”
Lancre’s standing army was lurking by a pillar, probably in the hope that no one would see him in his footman’s powdered wig, which had been made for a much bigger footman.
The kingdom didn’t have much of an executive arm of government, and most of its actual hands belonged to Nanny Ogg’s youngest son. Despite the earnest efforts of King Verence, who was quite a forward-looking ruler in a nervous kind of way, the people of Lancre could not be persuaded to accept a democracy at any price and the place had not, regrettably, attracted much in the way of government. A lot of the bits it couldn