Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [56]
“But she got out,” said Magrat.
“Yes, it does you good to let your hair down,” said Nanny.
“Huh. Rural myths,” said Granny.
They drew nearer to the city walls. Then Magrat said, “There’s guards on the gate. Are we going to fly over?”
Granny stared at the highest tower through narrowed eyes. “No,” she said. “We’ll land and walk in. So’s not to worry people.”
“There’s a nice flat green bit just behind those trees,” said Magrat.
Granny walked up and down experimentally. Her boots squeaked and gurgled in watery accusation.
“Look, I said I’m sorry,” said Magrat. “It just looked so flat!”
“Water gen’rally does,” said Nanny, sitting on a tree stump and wringing out her dress.
“But even you couldn’t tell it was water,” said Magrat. “It looks so…so grassy with all that weed and stuff floating on it.”
“Seems to me the land and the water around here can’t decide who is which,” said Nanny. She looked around at the miasmic landscape.
Trees grew out of the swamp. They had a jagged, foreign look and seemed to be rotting as they grew. Where the water was visible, it was black like ink. Occasionally a few bubbles would eructate to the surface like the ghosts of beans on bath night. And somewhere over in the distance was the river, if it was possible to be that sure in this land of thick water and ground that wobbled when you set foot on it.
She blinked.
“That’s odd,” she said.
“What?” said Granny.
“Thought I saw…something running…” muttered Nanny. “Over there. Between the trees.”
“Must be a duck then, in this place.”
“It was bigger’n a duck,” said Nanny. “Funny thing is, it looked a bit like a little house.”
“Oh yes, running along with smoke coming out of the chimney, I expect,” said Granny witheringly.
Nanny brightened. “You saw it too?”
Granny rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s get to the road.”
“Er,” said Magrat, “how?”
They looked at the nominal ground between their reasonably dry refuge and the road. It had a yellowish appearance. There were floating branches and tufts of suspiciously green grass. Nanny pulled a branch off the fallen tree she was sitting on and tossed it a few yards. It struck damply, and sank with the noise of someone trying to get the last bit out of the milkshake.
“We fly over to it, of course,” Nanny said.
“You two can,” said Granny. “There’s nowhere for me to run and get mine started.”
In the end Magrat ferried her across on her broom, Nanny bringing up the rear with Granny’s erratic stick in tow.
“I just ’ope no one saw us, that’s all,” said Granny, when they’d reached the comparative safety of the road.
Other roads joined the swamp causeway as they got nearer to the city. They were crowded, and there was a long line at the gate.
From ground level, the city was even more impressive. Against the steam of the swamps it shone like a polished stone. Colored flags flew over the walls.
“Looks very jolly,” said Nanny.
“Very clean,” said Magrat.
“It just looks like that from outside,” said Granny, who had seen a city before. “When you get inside it’ll be all beggars and noise and gutters full of I don’t know what, you mark my words.”
“They’re turning quite a lot of people away,” said Nanny.
“They said on the boat that lots of people come here for Fat Lunchtime,” said Granny. “Probably you get lots of people who ain’t the right sort.”
Half a dozen guards watched them approach.
“Very smartly turned out,” said Granny. “That’s what I like to see. Not like at home.”
There were only six suits of chain mail in the whole of Lancre, made on the basis of one-size-doesn’t-quite-fit-all. Bits of string and wire had to be employed to take in the slack, since in Lancre the role of palace guard was generally taken by any citizen who hadn’t got much to do at the moment.
These guards were all six-footers and, even Granny had to admit, quite impressive in their jolly red-and-blue uniforms. The only other real city guards she’d ever seen were those