‘Nae, boon a scullen!’
‘Drinkin’ and fightin’s what they like best,’ said Nanny.
‘An’ snaflin’ coobeastie.’
‘And stealing cows,’ said Nanny. ‘Drinkin’, fightin’ and stealin’ cows is what they like best. Listen, Magrat, I’d rather have ’em in here pissin’ out than outside pissin’ in. There’s more of them and they’ll make your ankles all wet.’
‘But what can they do?’ said Magrat.
‘Well . . . Greebo’s frightened of ’em,’ said Nanny.
Greebo was two worried eyes, one yellow, one pearly white, in the shadows. The witches were impressed. Greebo had once brought down an elk. There was practically nothing that he wouldn’t attack, including architecture.
‘I’d have thought they’d have no trouble with vampires, then,’ said Agnes.
‘Ach, c’na flitty-flitty! Ye think we’re flowers o’ the forest fairies?’ sneered a blue man.
‘They can’t fly,’ said Nanny.
‘It’s quite a nice island, even so . . .’ Magrat mumbled.
‘Gel, your husband was messin’ around with politics, which is why we’re in this trouble, and to get you’ve got to give. Now he’s ill and you’re Queen so you can do as you like, right? There’s no one who can tell you what to do, isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, I suppos-‘
‘So damn well give ’em the island and then
they’ve got somethin’ here to fight for. Otherwise they’ll just push on through anyway and nick all our livestock on the way. Dress that up in fancy talk, and you’ve got politics.’
‘Nanny?’ said Agnes.
‘Yup?’
‘Don’t get angry, but you don’t think Granny’s doing this on purpose, do you? Keeping back, I mean, so that we have to form a three and work together?’
‘Why’d she do that?’
‘So we develop insights and pull together and learn valuable lessons,’ said Magrat.
Nanny paused with her pipe halfway to her lips. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t reckon Granny’d be thinking like that, because that’s soppy garbage. Here, you blokes . . . here’s the key to the drinks cupboard in the scullery. Bugger off and have fun, don’t touch the stuff in the green bottles because it’s- Oh, I expect you’ll be all right.’
There was a blue blur, and the room was cleared.
‘We got things Granny ain’t got,’ said Nanny.
‘Yes?’ said Agnes.
‘Magrat’s got a baby. I’ve got no scruples. And we’ve both got you.’
‘What good will I be?’
‘Well, for one thing . . . you’re in two minds about everything-‘
There was a tinkle of glass from the scullery, and a scream of ‘Ach, ya skivens! Yez lukin’ at a faceful o’ heid!’
‘Crives! Sezu? Helweit! Summun hol’ me cote! Gude! Now, summun hol’ his arms!’
‘Stitch this, f’ra ma brinnit goggel!’ Some more glass broke.
‘We’ll all go back into the castle,’ said Nanny. ‘On our terms. Face this count down. And we’ll take garlic and lemons and all the other stuff. And some of Mr Oats’s holy water. You can’t tell me all that stuff together won’t work.’
‘And they’ll let us in, will they?’ said Agnes.
‘They’ll have a lot to think about,’ said Nanny. ‘What with a mob at the gates. We can nip in round the back.’
‘What mob?’ said Magrat.
‘We’ll organize one,’ said Nanny.
‘You don’t organize a mob, Nanny,’ said Agnes. ‘A mob is something that happens spontaneously.’
Nanny Ogg’s eyes gleamed.
‘There’s seventy-nine Oggs in these parts,’ she said. ‘Spontaneous it is, then.’
Her gaze fell for a moment on the forest of familial pictures, and then she removed a boot and hammered on the wall beside her. After a few seconds they heard a door bang and footsteps pass in front of the window.
Jason Ogg, blacksmith and head male of the Ogg clan, poked his head around the front door.
‘Yes, Mum?’
‘There’s going to be a spontaneous mob stormin’ the castle in, oh, half an hour,’ said Nanny. ‘Put the word out.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Tell everyone I said it ain’t compuls’ry for them to be there, of course,’ Nanny added. Jason glanced at the hierarchy of Oggs. Nanny didn’t have to add anything more to that sentence. Everyone knew the cat’s box sometimes needed lining.
‘Yes, Mum. I’ll tell ’em you said they didn’t have to come if they don’t want to.’
‘Good boy.’
‘Is it flaming torches or, you know, scythes and stuff?’
‘That’s always tricky,’ said Nanny. ‘But I’d say both.’
‘Battering ram, Mum?’
‘Er . . . no, I don’t think so.’
‘Good! It is my door, after all,’ said Magrat.
‘Anythin’ special for people to yell, Mum?’
‘Oh, general yellin’, I think.’
‘Anything to throw?’
‘Just rocks on this occasion,’ said Nanny.
‘Not large ones!’ said Magrat. ‘Some of the stonework around the main gate is quite fragile.’
‘Okay, nothin’ harder than sandstone, understand? And tell our Kev to roll out a barrel of my Number Three beer,’ said Nanny. ‘Better pour a bottle of brandy in it to keep out the chill. It can really strike right through your coat when you’re hanging around outside a castle chantin’ and wavin’. And get our Nev to run up to Poorchick’s and say Mrs Ogg presents her compliments and we want half a dozen big cheeses and ten dozen eggs, and tell Mrs Carter will she be so good as to let us have a big jar of those pickled onions she does so well. It’s a shame that we’ve not time to roast something, but I suppose you have to put up with that sort of inconvenience when you’re being spontaneous.’ Nanny Ogg winked at Agnes.
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Nanny?’ said Magrat, when Jason had hurried away.
‘Yes, dear?’
‘A couple of months ago, when Verence suggested that tax on liquor exports, there was a big crowd protesting in the courtyard and he said, “Oh, well, if that’s the will of the people . . .”‘
‘Well, it was the will of the people,’ said Nanny.
‘Oh. Right. Good.’
‘Only sometimes they temp’ry forget what their will is,’ said Nanny. ‘Now, you can leave young Esme next door with Jason’s wife . . .’
‘I’m keeping her with me,’ said Magrat. ‘She’s happy enough on my back.’
‘You can’t do that!’ said Agnes.
‘Don’t you dare argue with me, Agnes Nitt,’ said Magrat, drawing herself up. ‘And not a word out of you, Nanny.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Nanny. ‘The Nac mac Feegle always take their babies into battle, too. Mind you, for use as a weapon if it comes to it.’
Magrat relaxed a little. ‘She said her first word this morning,’ she said, looking proud.
‘What, at fourteen days?’ said Nanny doubtfully.
‘Yes. It was “blup”.’
‘Blup?’
‘Yes. It was . . . more of a bubble than a word, I suppose.’
‘Let’s get the stuff together,’ said Nanny, standing up. ‘We’re a coven, ladies. We’re a trio. I miss Granny as much as you do, but we’ve got to deal with things as she would.’ She took a few deep breaths. ‘I can’t be having with this.’
‘It sounds better the way she says it,’ said Agnes.
‘I know.’
Hodgesaargh ate his meal in the servants’ dining room off the kitchen, and ate alone. There were new people around, but Hodgesaargh generally didn’t pay much attention to non-falconers. There were always other people in the castle, and they had jobs to do, and if pressed Hodgesaargh would vaguely acknowledge the fact that if he left his laundry in a sack by the kitchen door every week it’d be washed and dried two days later. There were his meals. The game he left on the cold slab in the long pantry got dealt with. And so on.
He was returning to the mews when one of the shadows pulled him into the darkness, with a hand damped over his mouth.
‘Mph?’
‘It’s me. Mrs Ogg,’ said Nanny. ‘You all right, Hodgesaargh?’
‘Mph,’ and by this Hodgesaargh contrived to indicate that he was fine except for someone’s thumb blocking his breathing.
‘Where are the vampires?’
‘Mph?’
Nanny released her grip.
‘Vampires?’ the falconer panted. ‘They the ones that walk around slowly?’
‘No, that’s the . . . food,’ said Nanny. ‘Any swish looking buggers about as well? Any soldiers?’
There was a soft thud from somewhere in the shadows, and someone said, ‘Blast, I’ve dropped the nappy bag. Did you see where it rolled?’
‘Er, there’s some new ladies and gentlemen,’ said Hodgesaargh. ‘They’re hanging around the kitchens. There’s some men in chain mail, too.’
‘Damn!’ said Nanny.
‘There’s the little door off the main hall,’ said Magrat. ‘But that’s always locked on the inside.’
Agnes swallowed. ‘All right. I’ll go in and unlock it, then.’
Nanny tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be all right?’ .
‘Well, they can’t control me. . .’
‘They can grab you, though.’
Vlad won’t want you hurt, said Perdita. You saw the way he looked at us . . .
‘I . . . think I’ll be all right,’ said Agnes.