‘They’ve locked themselves in the keep, mistress,’ said a voice in the doorway. It was Shawn Ogg, with the rest of the mob behind him. He advanced awkwardly, one hand held in front of him.
‘That’s a blessing, then,’ said Granny.
‘But we can’t get in, mistress,’ said Shawn.
‘So? Can they get out?’
‘Well . . . no, not really. But the armoury’s in there. All our weapons! And they’re boozing!’
‘What’s that you’re holding?’ .
Shawn looked down. ‘It’s the Lancrastian Army
Knife,’ he said. ‘Er . . . I left my sword in the armoury, too.’
‘Has it got a tool for extracting soldiers from castles?’
‘Er . . . no.’
Granny peered closer. ‘What’s the curly thing?’ she said.
‘Oh, that’s the Adjustable Device for Winning Ontological Arguments,’ said Shawn. ‘The King asked for it.’
‘Works, does it?’
‘Er . . . if you twiddle it properly.’
‘And this?’
‘That’s the Tool for Extracting the Essential Truth from a Given Statement,’ said Shawn.
‘Verence asked for that one too, did he?’
‘Yes, Granny.’
‘Useful to a soldier, is it?’ said Oats. He glanced at Granny. She’d changed as soon as the others had entered. Before, she’d been bowed and tired. Now she was standing tall and haughty, supported by a scaffolding of pride.
‘Oh, yes, sir, ‘cos of when the other side are yelling, “We’re gonna cut yer tonk- yer tongue off,”‘ Shawn blushed and corrected himself, ‘and things like that. . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, you can tell if they’re going to be right,’ said Shawn.
‘I need a horse,’ said Granny.
‘There’s old Poorchick’s plough horse-‘ Shawn began.
‘Too slow.’
‘I . . . er . . ., I’ve got a mule,’ said Oats. ‘The King was kind enough to let me put it in the stables.’
‘Neither one thing nor t’other, eh?’ said Granny. ‘It suits you. That’ll do for me, then. Fetch it up here and I’ll be off to get the girls back.’
‘What? I thought you wanted it to take you up to your cottage! Into Uberwald? Alone? I couldn’t let you do that!’
‘I ain’t asking you to let me do anything. Now off you go and fetch it, otherwise Om will be angry, I expect.’
‘But you can hardly stand up!’
‘Certainly I can! Off you go.’
Oats turned to the assembled Lancrastians for support.
‘You wouldn’t let a poor old lady go off to confront monsters on a wild night like this, would you?’
They watched him owlishly for a while just in case something interestingly nasty was going to happen to him.
Then someone near the back said, ‘So why should we care what happens to monsters?’
And Shawn Ogg said, ‘That’s Granny Weatherwax, that is.’
‘But she’s an old lady!’ Oats insisted.
The crowd took a few steps back. Oats was clearly a dangerous man to be around.
‘Would you go out alone on a night like this?’ he said.
The voice at the back said, ‘Depends if I knew where Granny Weatherwax was.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Bestiality Carter,’ said Granny, but there was just a hint of satisfaction in her voice. ‘Now, are we fetchin’ your mule, Mr Oats?’
‘Are you sure you can walk?’
‘Of course I cant’
Oats gave up. Granny smirked triumphantly at the crowd and strode through them and towards the stables, with him trotting after her.
When he hurried around the corner he almost collided with her, standing as stiff as a rod.
‘Is there anyone watchin’ me?’ she said.
‘What? No, I don’t think so. Apart from me, of course.’
‘You don’t count,’ said Granny.
She sagged, and almost collapsed. He caught her, and she pummelled him on the arm. The wowhawk flapped its wings desperately.
‘Let go! I just lost my footin’, that’s all!’
‘Yes, yes, of course. You just lost your footing,’ he said soothingly.
‘And don’t try to humour me, either.’
‘Yes, yes, all right.’
‘It’s just that it don’t do to let things slide, if you must know.’
‘Like your foot did just then . . .’
‘Exactly.’
‘So perhaps I’ll take your arm, because it’s very muddy.’
He could just make out her face. It was a picture, but not one you’d hang over the fireplace. Some sort of inner debate was raging.
‘Well, if you think you’re going to fall over . . .’ she said.
‘That’s right, that’s right,’ said Oats gratefully. ‘I nearly hurt my ankle back there as it is.’
‘I’ve always said young people today don’t have the stamina,’ said Granny, as if testing out an idea.
‘That’s right, we don’t have the stamina.’
‘And your eyesight is prob’ly not as good as mine owin’ to too much readin’,’ said Granny.
‘Blind as a bat, that’s right.’
‘All right.’
And so, at cross purposes and lurching occasionally, they reached the stables.
The mule shook its head at Granny Weatherwax when they arrived at its loose box. It knew trouble when it saw her.
‘It’s a bit cantankerous,’ said Oats.
‘Is it?’ said Granny. ‘Then we shall see what we can do.’
She walked unsteadily over to the creature and pulled one of its ears down to the level of her mouth. She whispered something. The mule blinked.
‘That’s sorted out, then,’ she said. ‘Help me up.’
‘Just let me put the bridle on-‘
‘Young man, I might be temp’ry not at my best, but when I need a bridle on any creature they can put me to bed with a shovel. Give me a hand up, and kindly avert your face whilst so doing.’
Oats gave up and made a stirrup of his hands to help her into the saddle.
‘Why don’t I come with you?’
‘There’s only one mule. Anyway, you’d be a
hindrance. I’d be worrying about you all the time.’
She slid gently off the other side of the saddle and landed in the straw. The wowhawk fluttered up and perched on a beam, and if Oats had been paying attention he’d have wondered how a hooded bird could fly so confidently.
‘Drat!’
‘Madam, I do know something about medicine! You are in no state to ride anything!’
‘Not right now, I admit,’ said Granny, her voice slightly muffled. She pulled some straw away from her face and waved a hand wildly to be helped up. ‘But you just wait until I find my feet. . .’
‘All right! All right! Supposing I ride and you hang on behind me? You can’t weigh more than the harmonium, and I managed that all right.’
Granny looked owlishly at him. She seemed drunk, at that stage when hitherto unconsidered things seem a good idea, like another drink. Then she appeared to reach a decision.
‘Oh . . . if you insist . .’
Oats found a length of rope and, after some difficulties caused by Granny’s determined belief that she was doing him some sort of favour, got her strapped into a pillion position.
‘Just so long as you understand that I didn’t ax you to come along and I don’t need your help,’ said Granny.
Ax.
‘Ask, then,’ said Granny. ‘Slipped into a bit of rural there.’
Oats stared ahead for a while. Then he dismounted, lifted Granny down, propped her up while she protested, disappeared into the night, came back shortly carrying the axe from the forge, used more rope to tie it to his waist, and mounted up again.
‘You’re learnin’,’ said Granny.
As they left she raised an arm. The wowhawk fluttered down and settled on her wrist.
The air in the rocking coach was acquiring a distinct personality.
Magrat sniffed. ‘I’m sure I changed Esme not long ago. . .’
After a fruitless search of the baby they looked under the seat. Greebo was lying asleep with his legs in the air.
‘Isn’t that just like him?’ said Nanny. ‘He can’t see an open door without going through it, bless ‘im. And he likes to be near his mum.’
‘Could we open a window?’ said Magrat.
‘The rain’ll get in.’
‘Yes, but the smell will go out.’ Magrat sighed. ‘You know, we’ve left at least one bag of toys. Verence was really very keen on those mobiles.’
‘I still think it’s a bit early to start the poor little mite on education,’ said Nanny, as much to take Magrat’s mind off the current dangers as from a desire to strike a blow for ignorance.
‘Environment is so very important,’ said Magrat solemnly.
‘Did I hear he told you to read improvin’ books
and listen to posh music while you were expecting?’ said Nanny, as the coach rushed through a puddle.
‘Well, the books were all right, but the piano doesn’t work properly- and all I could hear was Shawn practising the trumpet solo,’ said Magrat.
‘It’s not his fault if no one wants to join in,’ said Nanny. She steadied herself as the coach lurched. ‘Good turn of speed on this thing.’