Carpe Jugulum - Terry Pratchett [93]
“Yes, let’s have a look at you…” said Nanny.
The small blue eyes focused on Nanny Ogg. The pink face on the small lolling head gave her a speculative look, working out whether she’d do as a drink or a toilet.
“That’s good, at this age,” said Nanny. “Focusing like that. Unusual in a babby.”
“If she is at this age,” said Magrat darkly.
“Hush, now. If Granny’s in there, she’s not interfering. She never interferes. Anyway, it wouldn’t be her mind in there, that’s not how she works it.”
“What is it, then?”
“You’ve seen her do it. What do you think?”
“I’d say…all the things that make her her,” Magrat ventured.
“That’s about right. She wraps ’em all up and puts ’em safe somewhere.”
“You know how she can even be silent in her own special way.”
“Oh yes. No one can be quiet like Esme. You can hardly hear yourself think for the silence.”
They bounced in their seats as the coach sprang in and out of a pothole.
“Nanny?”
“Yes, love?”
“Verence will be all right, won’t he?”
“Yep. I’d trust them little devils with anything except a barrel of stingo or a cow. Even Granny says the Kelda’s damn good—”
“The Kelda?”
“Sort of a wise lady. I think the current one’s called Big Aggie. You don’t see much of their women. Some say there’s only ever one at a time, and she’s the Kelda an’ has a hundred kids at a go.”
“That sounds…very…” Magrat began.
“Nah, I reckons they’re a bit like the dwarfs and there’s hardly any difference except under the loincloth,” said Nanny.
“I expect Granny knows,” said Magrat.
“And she ain’t sayin’,” said Nanny. “She says it’s their business.”
“And…he’ll be all right with them?”
“Oh yes.”
“He’s very…kind, you know.” Magrat’s sentence hung in the air.
“That’s nice.”
“And a good king, as well.”
Nanny nodded.
“It’s just that I wish people took him…more seriously,” Magrat went on.
“It’s a shame,” said Nanny.
“He does work very hard. And he worries about everything. But people just seem to ignore him.”
Nanny wondered how to approach it.
“He could try having the crown taken in a bit,” she ventured, as the coach bounced over another rut. “There’s plenty of dwarfs up at Copperhead’d be glad to make it smaller for him.”
“It is the traditional crown, Nanny.”
“Yes, but if it wasn’t for his ears it’d be a collar on the poor man,” said Nanny. “He could try bellowing a bit more, too.”
“Oh, he couldn’t do that, he hates shouting!”
“That’s a shame. People like to see a bit of bellowing in a king. The odd belch is always popular, too. Even a bit of carousing’d help, if he could manage it. You know, quaffing and such.”
“I think he thinks that isn’t what people want. He’s very conscious of the needs of today’s citizen.”
“Ah, well, I can see where there’s a problem, then,” said Nanny. “People need something today but they generally need something else tomorrow. Just tell him to concentrate on bellowing and carousing.”
“And belching?”
“That’s optional.”
“And…”
“Yes, dear?”
“He’ll be all right, will he?”
“Oh yes. Nothing’s going to happen to him. It’s like that chess stuff, see? Let the Queen do the fightin’, ’cos if you lose the King you’ve lost everything.”
“And us?”
“Oh, we’re always all right. You remember that. We happen to other people.”
A lot of people were happening to King Verence. He lay in a sort of warm, empty daze, and every time he opened his eyes it was to see scores of the Feegle watching him in the firelight. He overheard snatches of conversation or, more correctly, argument.
“…he’s oor kingie noo?”
“Aye, sortaley.”
“That pish of a hobyah?”
“Hushagob! D’man’s sicken, can y’no vard?”
“Aye, mucken! Born sicky, imhoe!”
Verence felt a small yet powerful kick on his foot.
“See you, kingie? A’ye a lang stick o’midlin or wha’, bigjobs?”
“Yes, well done,” he mumbled.
The interrogating Feegle spat near his ear.
“Ach, I wouldna’ gi’ye skeppens for him—”
There was a sudden silence, a real rarity in any space containing at least one Feegle. Verence swiveled his eyes sideways.
Big Aggie had emerged from the smoke.
Now that he could see her clearly, the dumpy