Carpe Jugulum - Terry Pratchett [99]
Now Igor looked horrified.
“Not thtrangerth,” he said. “Family.”
“You chopped up your family?” Nanny backed away.
Igor waved his hands frantically.
“It’s a tradithion!” he said. “Every Igor leaveth hith body to the family! Why wathte good organth? Look at my uncle Igor, he died of buffaloeth, tho there wath a perfectly good heart and thome kidneyth going begging, pluth he’d thtill got Grandad’th handth and they were damn good handth, let me tell you.” He sniffed. “I with I’d had them, he wath a great thurgeon.”
“We-ll…I suppose every family says things like ‘he’s got his father’s eyes’—” Nanny began.
“No, my thecond couthin Igor got them.”
“But—but…who does the cutting and sewing?” said Magrat.
“I do. An Igor learnth houthehold thurgery on hith father’th knee,” said Igor. “And then practitheth on hith grandfather’th kidneyth.”
“’scuse me,” said Nanny. “What did you say your uncle died of?”
“Buffaloeth,” said Igor, unlocking another door.
“He broke out in them?”
“A herd fell on him. A freak acthident. We don’t talk about it.”
“Sorry, are you telling us you do surgery on yourself?” said Magrat.
“It’th not hard when you know what you’re doing. Thome-timeth you need a mirror, of courth, and it helpth if thomeone can put a finger on the knotth.”
“Isn’t it painful?”
“Oh no, I always tell them to take it away jutht before I pull the thtring tight.”
The door creaked open. It was a long, tortured groaning noise. In fact there was more creak than door, and it went on just a few seconds after the door had stopped.
“That sounds dreadful,” said Nanny.
“Thank you. It took dayth to get right. Creakth like that don’t jutht happen by themthelveth.”
There was a woof from the darkness and something leapt at Igor, knocking him off his feet.
“Got off, you big thoppy!”
It was a dog. Or several dogs rolled, as it were, into one. There were four legs, and they were nearly all the same length although not, Agnes noted, all the same color. There was one head, although the left ear was black and pointed while the right ear was brown and white and flopped. It was a very enthusiastic animal in the department of slobber.
“Thith ith Thcrapth,” said Igor, fighting to get to his feet in a hail of excited paws. “He’th a thilly old thing.”
“Scraps…yes,” said Nanny. “Good name. Good name.”
“He’th theventy-eight yearth old,” said Igor, leading the way down a winding staircase. “Thome of him.”
“Very neat stitching,” said Magrat. “He looks well on it, too. Happy as a dog with two—oh, I see he does have two…”
“I had one thpare,” said Igor, leading the way with Scraps bounding along beside him. “I thought, he’th tho happy with one, jutht think of the fun he could have with two…”
Nanny Ogg’s mouth didn’t even get half open—
“Don’t you even think of saying anything, Gytha Ogg!” snapped Magrat.
“Me?” said Nanny innocently.
“Yes! And you were. I could see you! You know he was talking about tails, not…anything else.”
“Oh, I thought about that long ago,” said Igor. “It’th obviouth. Thaveth wear and tear, pluth you can uthe one while you’re replathing the other. I ecthperimented on mythelf.”
Their footsteps echoed on the stairs.
“Now, what are we talking about here, exactly?” said Nanny, in a quiet I’m-only-asking-out-of-interest tone of voice.
“Heartth,” said Igor.
“Oh, two hearts. You’ve got two hearts?”
“Yeth. The other one belonged to poor Mr. Thwinetth down at the thawmill, but hith wife thed it wath no uthe to him after the acthident, what with him not having a head to go with it.”
“You’re a bit of a self-made man on the quiet, aren’t you,” said Magrat.
“Who did your brain?” said Nanny.
“Can’t do brainth yourthelf,” said Igor.
“Only…you’ve got all those stitches…”
“Oh, I put a metal plate in my head,” said Igor. “And a wire down my neck all the way to my bootth. I got fed up with all thothe lightning thtriketh. Here we are.” He unlocked another groaning door. “My little plathe.”
It was a dank vaulted room, clearly lived in by someone who didn’t spent a