Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [12]
“I used to come over here quite often to look at her books,” Magrat confessed. “And…and she liked to cook foreign food and no one else around here would eat it, so I’d come up to keep her company.”
“Ah-ha! Curryin’ favor!” snapped Granny.
“But I never thought she’d leave me the wand,” said Magrat. “Really I didn’t!”
“There’s probably some mistake,” said Nanny Ogg kindly. “She probably wanted you to give it to one of us.”
“That’ll be it, right enough,” said Granny. “She knew you were good at running errands and so on. Let’s have a look at it.”
She held out her hand.
Magrat’s knuckles tightened on the wand.
“…she gave it me…” she said, in a tiny voice.
“Her mind was definitely wandering toward the end,” said Granny.
“…she gave it me…”
“Fairy godmotherin’s a terrible responsibility,” said Nanny. “You got to be resourceful and flexible and tactful and able to deal with complicated affairs of the heart and stuff. Desiderata would have known that.”
“…yes, but she gave it me…”
“Magrat Garlick, as senior witch I command you to give me the wand,” said Granny. “They cause nothing but trouble!”
“Hold on, hold on,” said Nanny. “That’s going a bit far—”
“…no…” said Magrat.
“Anyway, you ain’t senior witch,” said Nanny. “Old Mother Dismass is older’n you.”
“Shut up. Anyway, she’s non compost mental,” said Granny.
“…you can’t order me. Witches are non-hierarchical…” said Magrat.
“That is wanton behavior, Magrat Garlick!”
“No it’s not,” said Nanny Ogg, trying to keep the peace. “Wanton behavior is where you go around without wearing any—”
She stopped. Both of the older witches watched a small piece of paper fall out of Magrat’s sleeve and zigzag down to the floor. Granny darted forward and snatched it up.
“Aha!” she said triumphantly. “Let’s see what Desiderata really said…”
Her lips moved as she read the note. Magrat tried to wind herself up tighter.
A couple of muscles flickered on Granny’s face. Then, calmly, she screwed up the note.
“Just as I thought,” she said, “Desiderata says we are to give Magrat all the help we can, what with her being young and everything. Didn’t she, Magrat?”
Magrat looked up into Granny’s face.
You could call her out, she thought. The note was very clear…well, the bit about the older witches was, anyway…and you could make her read it aloud. It’s as plain as day. Do you want to be third witch forever? And then the flame of rebellion, burning in a very unfamiliar hearth, died.
“Yes,” she muttered hopelessly, “something like that.”
“It says it’s very important we go to some place somewhere to help someone marry a prince,” said Granny.
“It’s Genua,” said Magrat. “I looked it up in Desiderata’s books. And we’ve got to make sure she doesn’t marry a prince.”
“A fairy godmother stopping a girl from marryin’ a prince?” said Nanny. “Sounds a bit…contrary.”
“Should be an easy enough wish to grant, anyway,” said Granny. “Millions of girls don’t marry a prince.”
Magrat made an effort.
“Genua really is a long way away,” she said.
“I should ’ope so,” said Granny Weatherwax. “The last thing we want is foreign parts up close.”
“I mean, there’ll be a lot of traveling,” said Magrat wretchedly. “And you’re…not as young as you were.”
There was a long, crowded silence.
“We start tomorrow,” said Granny Weatherwax firmly.
“Look,” said Magrat desperately, “why don’t I go by myself?”
“’Cos you ain’t experienced at fairy godmothering,” said Granny Weatherwax.
This was too much even for Magrat’s generous soul.
“Well, nor are you,” she said.
“That’s true,” Granny conceded. “But the point is…the point is…the point is we’ve not been experienced for a lot longer than you.”
“We’ve got a lot of experience of not having any experience,” said Nanny Ogg happily.
“That’s what counts every time,” said Granny.
There was only one small, speckled mirror in Granny’s house. When she got home, she buried it at the bottom of the garden.
“There,” she said. “Now trying spyin’ on me.”
It never seemed possible to people that Jason Ogg, master blacksmith and farrier, was Nanny Ogg’s son. He didn’t look as if