‘Leaving? But I thought you were staying here. I’ve taken . . . community soundings,’ said the King, ‘and I think I can say that popular opinion is with me on this.’
Oats looked at Magrat’s face, which said plainly, Granny doesn’t object.
‘Well, I, er . . . I expect I shall pass through again, sire,’ he said. ‘But . . . to tell you the truth, I was thinking of heading on to Uberwald.’
‘That’s a hellish place, Mr Oats.’
‘I’ve thought about it all day, sire, and I’m set on it.’
‘Oh.’ Verence looked nonplussed, but kings learn to swing back upright. ‘I’m sure you know your own mind best.’ He swayed slightly as Magrat’s elbow grazed his ribs. ‘Oh . . . yes . . . we heard you lost your, er, holy amulet and so this afternoon we, that is to say the Queen and Miss Nitt . . . got Shawn Ogg to make this in the mint. . .’
Oats unwrapped the black velvet scroll. Inside, on a golden chain, was a small golden double headed axe.
He stared at it.
‘Shawn isn’t very good at turtles,’ said Magrat, to fill the gap.
‘I shall treasure it,’ said Oats, at last.
‘Of course, we appreciate it’s not very holy,’ said the King.
Oats waved a hand dismissively. ‘Who knows, sire? Holiness is where you find it,’ he said.
Behind the King, Jason and Darren Ogg were standing respectfully to attention. Both still had plasters stuck across their noses. They moved aside hurriedly to make way for the King, who didn’t seem to notice.
Nanny Ogg struck a chord on the harmonium when the royal couple had departed with their retinue.
‘If you, drop in to our Jason’s forge first thing when you’re leavin’ I’ll see to it he fixes the bellows on this contraption,’ she said diffidently, and Oats realized that in the context of Nanny
Ogg this was as close as he was going to get to three rousing cheers and the grateful thanks of the population.
‘I was so impressed that everyone turned up of their own free will,’ he said. ‘Spontaneously, as it were.’
‘Don’t push your luck, sonny boy,’ said Nanny, getting up.
‘Nice to have met you, Mrs Ogg.’
Nanny walked away a few steps, but Oggs never left anything unsaid.
‘I can’t say as I approve of you,’ she said, stiffly. ‘But should you ever come knockin’ on an Ogg door in these parts you’ll . . . get a hot meal. You’re too skinny. I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Not necessarily puddin’ as well, mark you.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, then. . .’ Nanny Ogg shrugged. ‘Best of luck in Uberwald, then.’
‘Om will go with me, I’m sure,’ said Oats. He was interested in how annoyed you could make Nanny by speaking calmly to her, and wondered if Granny Weatherwax had tried it.
‘I hope he does,’ said Nanny. ‘I person’ly don’t want him hanging around here.’
When she’d gone Oats lit a fire of the horrible bed and stuck the songbooks around it to dry out.
‘Hello. . .’
The thing about a witch in darkness is that all you see is her face, bobbing towards you, surrounded by black. Then a little contrast reasserted
itself, and an area of shadow detached from the rest and became Agnes.
‘Oh, good evening,’ said Oats. ‘Thank you for coming. I’ve never heard anyone singing in harmony with themselves before.’
Agnes coughed nervously.
‘Are you really going on into Uberwald?’
‘There’s no reason to stay here, is there?’
Agnes’s left arm twitched a few times. She steadied it with her right hand.
‘S’pose not,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘No! Shut up! This is not the time!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I was, um, just talking to myself,’ said Agnes wretchedly. ‘Look, everyone knows you helped Granny. They just pretend they don’t.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘You don’t mind?’
Oats shrugged. Agnes coughed.
‘I thought perhaps you were going to stay on here for a while.’
‘There’d be no point. I’m not needed here.’
‘I shouldn’t think vampires and so on would be very keen on singing hymns,’ said Agnes quietly.
‘Perhaps they can learn something else,’ said Oats. ‘I shall see what may be done.’
Agnes stood hesitantly for a few moments.
‘I’ve got to give you this,’ she said, suddenly handing over a small bag. Oats reached inside and took out a small jar.
Inside, a phoenix feather burned, lighting up the field with a clear, cool light.
‘It’s from-‘ Agnes began.
‘I know who it’s from,’ said Oats. ‘Is Mistress Weatherwax all right? I didn’t see her here.’
‘Er . . . she’s been having a rest today.’
‘Well, thank her from me, will you?’
‘She said it’s to take into dark places.’
Oats laughed.
‘Er . . . yes. Er . . . I might come and see you off in the morning. . .’said Agnes, uncertainly.
‘That would be nice of you.’
‘So . . . until . . . you know. . .’
‘Yes.’
Agnes seemed to be struggling with some inner resistance. Then she said, ‘And, er . . . there’s something I’ve been meaning to . . . I mean, perhaps you could. . .’
‘Yes?’
Agnes’s right hand dived urgently into her pocket and she pulled out a small package wrapped in greased paper.
‘It’s a poultice,’ she blurted out. ‘It’s a very good recipe and the book says it always works and if you heat it up and leave it on it’ll do wonders for your boil.’
Oats took it gently. ‘It’s just possible that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me,’ he said.
‘Er . . . good. It’s from . . . er . . . both of us. Goodbye.’
Oats watched her leave the circle of light, and then something drew his eye upwards again.
The circling eagle had risen above the shadow of the mountains and into the light of the setting sun. For a moment it flashed gold, and then dropped into the dark again.
* * *
From up here the eagle could see for miles across the mountains.
Over Uberwald, the threatened storm had broken. Lightning scribbled across the sky.
Some of it crackled around the highest tower of Don’tgonearthe Castle, and on the rain hat that Igor wore to stop his head rusting. It raised little balls of glowing light on the big telescopic iron spike as, taking care to stand on his portable rubber mat, he patiently wound it upwards.
At the foot of the apparatus, which was already humming with high tension, was a bundle wrapped in a blanket.
The spike locked itself in position. Igor sighed, and waited.
DOWN, BOY! DOWN, I SAYI! WILL YOU STOP- LET GO! LET GO THIS MINUTE! ALL RIGHT, LOOK . . . FETCH? FETCH? THERE WE GO . . .
Death watched Scraps bound away.
He wasn’t used to this. It wasn’t that people weren’t sometimes glad to see him, because the penultimate moments of life were often crowded and complex and a cool figure in black came as something of a relief. But he’d never encountered quite this amount of enthusiasm or, if it came to it, this amount of flying mucus. It was disconcerting. It made him feel he wasn’t doing his job properly.
THERE’S A SATISFACTORY DOG. NOW . . . DROP. LET GO, PLEASE. DID YOU HEAR ME SAY LET GO? LET GO THIS MINUTE!
Scraps bounced away. This was far too much fun to end.
There was a soft chiming from within his robe. Death rubbed his hand on the cloth in an effort to get it dry and brought out a lifetimer, its sand all pooled in the bottom bulb. But the glass itself was misshapen, twisted, covered in welts of raised glass and, as Death watched, it filled up with crackling blue light.
Normally, Death was against this sort of thing but, he reasoned as he snapped his fingers, at the moment it looked as though it was the only way he’d get his scythe back.
The lightning hit.
There was a smell of singed wool.
Igor waited a while and then trudged round to the bundle, trailing molten rubber behind him. Kneeling down, he carefully unwrapped the blanket.
Scraps yawned. A large tongue licked Igor’s hand.
As he smiled with relief there came, from far down below in the castle, the sound of the mighty organ playing ‘Toccata for Young Women in Underwired Nightdresses’.
The eagle swooped on into the bowl of Lancre.
The long light glowed on the lake, and on the
big V-shaped ripple, made up of many small V-shaped ripples, that arrowed through the water towards the unsuspecting island.
The voices echoed around the mountains.
‘See you, otter!’
‘Taggit, jins ma greely!’
‘Wee free men!’
‘Nac mac Feegle!’
The eagle passed overhead, dropping fast and steep now. It drifted silently over the shadowy woods, curved over the trees, and landed suddenly on a branch beside a cottage in a clearing.