Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [35]
“You know what this river’s called?” she said.
“No.”
“’S called the Vieux River.”
“Yes?”
“Know what that means?”
“No.”
“The Old (Masculine) River,” said Nanny.
“Yes?”
“Words have sex in foreign parts,” said Nanny, hopefully.
Granny didn’t budge.
“Wouldn’t be at all surprised,” she murmured. Nanny sagged.
“That’s one of Desiderata’s books, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Granny. She licked her thumb decorously and turned the page.
“Where’s Magrat gone?”
“She’s having a lie-down in the cabin,” said Granny, without looking up.
“Tummy upset?”
“It’s her head this time. Now be quiet, Gytha. I’m having a read.”
“What about?” said Nanny cheerfully.
Granny Weatherwax sighed, and put her finger on the page to mark her place.
“This place we’re going to,” she said. “Genua. Desiderata says it’s decadent.”
Nanny Ogg’s smile remained fixed.
“Yes?” she said. “That’s good, is it? I’ve never been to a city before.”
Granny Weatherwax paused. She’d been pondering for some while. She wasn’t at all certain about the meaning of the word “decadent.” She’d dismissed the possibility that it meant “having ten teeth” in the same sense that Nanny Ogg, for example, was unident. Whatever it meant, it was something Desiderata had felt necessary to write down. Granny Weatherwax did not generally trust books as a means of information, but now she had no choice.
She had a vague idea that “decadent” had something to do with not opening the curtains all day.
“She says it’s also a city of art, wit and culture,” said Granny.
“We shall be all right there, then,” said Nanny confidently.
“Particularly noted for the beauty of its women, she says here.”
“We shall fade right in, no trouble.”
Granny turned the pages carefully. Desiderata had paid close attention to affairs all over the Disc. On the other hand, she hadn’t been writing for readers other than herself, so her notes tended to the cryptic and were aides mémoire rather than coherent accounts.
Granny read: “Now L. rules the citie as the power behint the throne, and Baron S. they say has been killd, drowned in the river. He was a wicked man tho not I think as wicked as L, for she says she wants to make it a Magic Kingdom, a Happy and Peaseful place, and wen people do that look out for Spies on every corner and no manne dare speak out, for who dare speke out against Evile done in the name of Happyness and Pease? All the Streetes are clean and Axes are sharp. But E. is safe at least, for now. L. has plans for her. And Mrs. G who was the Baron’s amour hides in the swamp and fites back with swamp magic, but you cannot fite mirror magic which is all Reflection.”
Fairy godmothers came in twos, Granny knew. So that was Desiderata and…and L…but who was this person in the swamp?
“Gytha?” said Granny.
“Wazzat?” said Nanny Ogg, who was dozing off.
“Desiderata says some woman here is someone’s armor.”
“Prob’ly a mettyfor,” said Nanny Ogg.
“Oh,” said Granny darkly, “one of them things.”
“But no one can stop Mardi Gras,” she read. “If anything canne be done it be on Samedi Nuit Morte, the last night of carnivale, the night halfway between the Living and the Dead, when magic flows in the streets. If L. is vooneruble it is then, for carnivale is everythinge she hates…”
Granny Weatherwax pulled her hat down over her eyes to shield them from the sun.
“It says here they have a great big carnival every year,” she said. “Mardi Gras, it’s called.”
“That means Fat Lunchtime,” said Nanny Ogg, international linguist. “Garkon! Etcetra gross Mint Tulip avec petit bowl de peanuts, pour favor!”
Granny Weatherwax shut the book.
She would not of course admit it to a third party, least of all another witch, but as Genua drew nearer Granny was becoming less and less confident.
She was waiting in Genua. After all this time! Staring at her out of the mirror! Smiling!
The sun beat down. She tried defying it. Sooner or later she was going to have to give in, though. It was going to be time to remove another vest.
Nanny Ogg sat and drew cards for her relatives for a while, and then yawned. She was a witch who liked