Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [30]
“Everyone keeps smiling and waving at us,” said Magrat. “And look at all this food!”
“That’s only to be expected,” said Granny, with her mouth full. “They’ve only had us here one night and already they’re learnin’ it’s lucky to be kind to witches. Now help me get the lid off this honey.”
Under the table, Greebo sat and washed himself. Occasionally he burped.
Vampires have risen from the dead, the grave and the crypt, but have never managed it from the cat.
Dear Jason and all at No. 21, No. 34, No. 15, No. 87 and No. 61 but not at No. 18 until she gives back the bowl she definitly borrowed whatever she says.
Well here we are, cor what a lark so far, dont arsk ME about pumkins, still, no harm done. Im drawin a picture of where we stayed larst night I have put an X on our room where our room is. The weather—
“What are you doing, Gytha? We’re ready to leave.”
Nanny Ogg looked up, her face still creased with the effort of composition.
“I thought it would be nice to send something to our Jason. You know, to stop him worryin’. So I done a drawing of this place on a piece of card and Mine Hair here will give it to someone going our way. You never know, it might get there.”
—continues Fine.
Nanny Ogg sucked the end of her pencil. Not for the first time in the history of the universe, someone for whom communication normally came as effortlessly as a dream was stuck for inspiration when faced with a few lines on the back of a card.
Well that about wraps it up for now, will wright again soone MUM. P.S. the Cat is looking very Peeky I think he misses his Home.
“Will you come on, Gytha? Magrat’s getting my broom started for me.”
P.P.S. Granny sends her Love.
Nanny Ogg sat back, content in the knowledge of a job well done.*
Magrat reached the end of the town square and stopped to rest.
Quite an audience had gathered to see a woman with legs. They were very polite about it. Somehow, that made it worse.
“It doesn’t fly unless you run really fast,” she explained, aware even as she spoke how stupid this sounded, especially if you were listening in a foreign language. “I think it’s called hump starting.”
She took a deep breath, scowled in concentration, and ran forward again.
This time it started. It jolted in her hands. The bristles rustled. She managed to slip it into neutral before it could drag her along the ground. One thing about Granny Weatherwax’s broomstick—it was one of the very old-fashioned ones, built in the days when broomsticks were built to last and not fall apart with woodworm after ten years—was that while it might take some starting, when it went it didn’t hang about.
Magrat had once considered explaining the symbolism of the witches’ broomstick to Granny Weatherwax, and decided not to. It would have been worse than the row about the significance of the maypole.
Departure took some time. The villagers insisted on giving them little gifts of food. Nanny Ogg made a speech which no one understood but which was generally cheered. Greebo, hiccuping occasionally, oozed into his accustomed place among the bristles of Nanny’s broomstick.
As they rose above the forest a thin plume of smoke also rose from the castle. And then there were flames.
“I see people dancing in front of it,” said Magrat.
“Always a dangerous business, rentin’ property,” said Granny Weatherwax. “I expect he was a bit lax when it came to redecoratin’ and repairin’ the roof and suchlike. People take against that kind of thing. My landlord hasn’t done a hand’s turn on my cottage the whole time I’ve been there,” she added. “It’s shameful. And me an old woman, too.”
“I thought you owned your place,” said Magrat, as the broomsticks set off over the forest.
“She just ain’t paid no rent for sixty years,” said Nanny Ogg.
“Is that my fault?” said Granny Weatherwax. “It’s not my fault. I’d be quite willin’ to pay.” She smiled a slow, self-confident smile. “All he has to do is ask,” she added.
This is the Discworld, seen from above, its cloud