Carpe Jugulum - Terry Pratchett [91]
“That’s a blessing, then,” said Granny.
“But we can’t get in, mistress,” said Shawn.
“So? Can they get out?”
“Well…no, not really. But the armory’s in there. All our weapons! And they’re boozing!”
“What’s that you’re holding?”
Shawn looked down. “It’s the Lancrastian Army Knife,” he said. “Er…I left my sword in the armory, too.”
“Has it got a tool for extracting soldiers from castles?”
“Er…no.”
Granny peered closer. “What’s the curly thing?” she said.
“Oh, that’s the Adjustable Device for Winning Ontological Arguments,” said Shawn. “The King asked for it.”
“Works, does it?”
“Er…if you twiddle it properly.”
“And this?”
“That is the Tool for Extracting the Essential Truth from a Given Statement,” said Shawn.
“Verence asked for that one too, did he?”
“Yes, Granny.”
“Useful to a soldier, is it?” said Oats. He glanced at Granny. She’d changed as soon as the others had entered. Before, she’d been bowed and tired. Now she was standing tall and haughty, supported in a scaffolding of pride.
“Oh yes, sir, ’cos of when the other side are yelling, ‘We’re gonna cut yer tonk—yer tongue off,’” Shawn blushed and corrected himself, “and things like that…”
“Yes?”
“Well, you can tell if they’re going to be right,” said Shawn.
“I need a horse,” said Granny.
“There’s old Poorchick’s plough horse—” Shawn began.
“Too slow.”
“I…er…I’ve got a mule,” said Oats. “The King was kind enough to let me put it in the stables.”
“Neither one thing nor t’other, eh?” said Granny. “It suits you. That’ll do for me, then. Fetch it up here and I’ll be off to get the girls back.”
“What? I thought you wanted it to take you up to your cottage! Into Uberwald? Alone? I couldn’t let you do that!”
“I ain’t asking you to let me do anything. Now off you go and fetch it, otherwise Om will be angry, I expect.”
“But you can hardly stand up!”
“Certainly I can! Off you go.”
Oats turned to the assembled Lancrastians for support.
“You wouldn’t let a poor old lady go off to confront monsters on a wild night like this, would you?”
They watched him owlishly for a while just in case something interestingly nasty was going to happen to him.
Then someone near the back said, “So why should we care what happens to monsters?”
And Shawn Ogg said, “That’s Granny Weatherwax, that is.”
“But she’s an old lady!” Oats insisted.
The crowd took a few steps back. Oats was clearly a dangerous man to be around.
“Would you go out alone on a night like this?” he said.
The voice at the back said, “Depends if I knew where Granny Weatherwax was.”
“Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Bestiality Carter,” said Granny, but there was just a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “Now, are we fetchin’ your mule, Mr. Oats?”
“Are you sure you can walk?”
“Of course I can!”
Oats gave up. Granny smirked triumphantly at the crowd and strode through them and toward the stables, with him trotting after her.
When he hurried around the corner he almost collided with her, standing as stiff as a rod.
“Is there anyone watchin’ me?” she said.
“What? No, I don’t think so. Apart from me, of course.”
“You don’t count,” said Granny.
She sagged, and almost collapsed. He caught her, and she pummeled him on the arm. The wowhawk flapped its wings desperately.
“Let go! I just lost my footin’, that’s all!”
“Yes, yes, of course. You just lost your footing,” he said soothingly.
“And don’t try to humor me, either.”
“Yes, yes, all right.”
“It’s just that it don’t do to let things slide, if you must know.”
“Like your foot did just then…”
“Exactly.”
“So perhaps I’ll take your arm, because it’s very muddy.”
He could just make out her face. It was a picture, but not one you’d hang over the fireplace. Some sort of inner debate was raging.
“Well, if you think you’re going to fall over…” she said.
“That’s right, that’s right,” said Oats, gratefully. “I nearly hurt my ankle back there as it is.”
“I’ve always said young people today don’t have the stamina,” said Granny, as if testing out an idea.
“That’s right, we don’t have the stamina.”
“And your eyesight