Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [32]
“They didn’t call them sandwiches, Granny,” said Magrat, her eyes dwelling on the owner’s frying pan. “They called them…I think they called them smorgy’s board.”
“They was nice,” said Nanny Ogg. “I’m very partial to a pickled herring.”
“But they must think we’re daft, not noticing they’d left off the top slice,” said Granny triumphantly. “Well, I told them a thing or two! Another time they’ll think twice before trying to swindle people out of a slice of bread that’s theirs by rights!”
“I expect they will,” said Magrat darkly.
“And I don’t hold with all this giving things funny names so people don’t know what they’re eating,” said Granny, determined to explore the drawbacks of international cookery to the full. “I like stuff that tells you plain what it is, like…well…Bubble and Squeak, or…or…”
“Spotted Dick,” said Nanny absently. She was watching the progress of the pancakes with some anticipation.
“That’s right. Decent honest food. I mean, take that stuff we had for lunch. I’m not saying it wasn’t nice,” said Granny graciously. “In a foreign sort of way, of course. But they called it Cwuissses dee Grenolly, and who knows what that means?”
“Frogs’ legs,” translated Nanny, without thinking.
The silence was filled with Granny Weatherwax taking a deep breath and a pale green color creeping across Magrat’s face. Nanny Ogg now thought quicker than she had done for a very long time.
“Not actual frogs’ legs,” she said hurriedly. “It’s like Toad-in-the-Hole is really only sausage and batter puddin’. It’s just a joke name.”
“It doesn’t sound very funny to me,” said Granny. She turned to glare at the pancakes.
“At least they can’t muck up a decent pancake,” she said. “What’d they call them here?”
“Crap suzette, I think,” said Nanny.
Granny forbore to comment. But she watched with grim satisfaction as the owner finished the dish and gave her a hopeful smile.
“Oh, now he expects us to eat them,” she said. “He only goes and sets fire to them, and then he still expects us to eat them!”
It might later have been possible to chart the progress of the witches across the continent by some sort of demographic survey. Long afterward, in some quiet, onion-hung kitchens, in sleepy villages nestling among hot hills, you might have found cooks who wouldn’t twitch and try to hide behind the door when a stranger came into the kitchen.
Dear Jason,
It is defnity more warmer here, Magrat says it is because we are getting further from the Hub and, a funny thing, all the money is different. You have to change it for other money which is all different shapes and is not proper money at all in my opinion. We generally let Esme sort that out, she gets a very good rate of exchange, it is amazing, Magrat says she will wright a book called Traveling on One Dollar a Day, and it’s always the same dollar. Esme is getting to act just like a foreigner, yesterday she took her shawl off, next thing it will be dancing on tables. This is a picture of some famous bridge or other. Lots of love, MUM.
The sun beat down on the cobbled street, and particularly on the courtyard of a little inn.
“It’s hard to imagine,” said Magrat, “that it’s autumn back home.”
“Garkon? Mucho vino aveck zei, grassy ass.”
The innkeeper, who did not understand one word and was a good-natured man who certainly did not deserve to be called a garkon, smiled at Nanny. He’d smile at anyone with such an unlimited capacity for drink.
“I don’t hold with putting all these tables out in the street, though,” said Granny Weatherwax, although without much severity. It was pleasantly warm. It wasn’t that she didn’t like autumn, it was a season she always looked forward to, but at her time of life it was nice to know that it was happening hundreds of miles away while she wasn’t there.
Underneath the table Greebo dozed on his back with his legs in the air. Occasionally he twitched as he fought wolves in his sleep.
“It says in Desiderata’s notes,” said Magrat, turning the stiff pages carefully, “that in the late summer here they have this