‘Everyone’s pretty well at the moment,’ said Nanny diplomatically.
‘Any old folk want cheerin’ up?’
It was taken for granted by both women that old people did not include them. A witch aged ninety-seven would not have included herself. Old people happened to other people.
‘All fairly cheerful right now,’ said Nanny
‘Maybe I could tell stories to the kiddies?’
Nanny nodded. Granny had done that once before, when the mood had briefly taken her. It had worked pretty well, as far as the children were concerned. They’d listened with open-mouthed attention and apparent enjoyment to a traditional old folk legend. The problem had come when they’d gone home afterwards and asked the meaning of words like ‘disembowelled’.
‘I could sit in a rocking chair while I tell ‘em,’ Granny added. ‘That’s how it’s done, I recall. And I could make them some of my special treacle-toffee apples. Wouldn’t that be nice?’
Nanny nodded again, in a sort of horrified reverie. She realised that only she stood in the way of a wholesale rampage of niceness.
‘Toffee,’ she said. ‘Would that be the sort you did that shatters like glass, or that sort where our boy Pewsey had to have his mouth levered open with a spoon?’
‘I reckon I know what I did wrong last time.’
‘You know you and sugar don’t get along, Esme. Remember them all-day suckers you made?’
‘They did last all day, Gytha.’
‘Only ‘cos our Pewsey couldn’t get it out of his little mouth until we pulled two of his teeth, Esme. You ought to stick to pickles.
You and pickles goes well.’
‘I’ve got to do something, Gytha. I can’t be an old grump all the time. I know! I’ll help at the Trials. Bound to be a lot that needs doing, eh?’
Nanny grinned inwardly. So that was it.
‘Why, yes. I’m sure Mrs Earwig will be happy to tell you what to do.’ And more fool her if she does, she thought, because I can tell you’re planning something.
‘I shall talk to her,’ said Granny. ‘I’m sure there’s a million things I could do to help, if I set my mind to it.’
‘And I’m sure you will,’ said Nanny heartily. ‘I’ve a feelin’ you’re going to make a big difference.’
Granny started to rummage in the bag again.
‘You are going to be along as well, aren’t you, Gytha?’
‘Me?’ said Nanny. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for worlds.’
Nanny got up especially early. If there was going to be any unpleasantness she wanted a ringside seat.
What there was, was bunting. It was hanging from tree to tree in terrible brightly-coloured loops as she walked towards the Trials.
There was something oddly familiar about it, too. It should not technically be possible for anyone with a pair of scissors to be unable to cut out a triangle, but someone had managed it. And it was also obvious that the flags had been made from old clothes, painstakingly cut up.
Nanny knew this because not many real flags have collars.
In the trials field, people were setting up stalls and falling over children. The committee were standing uncertainly under a tree, occasionally glancing up at a pink figure at the top of a very long ladder.
‘She was here before it was light,’ said Letice, as Nanny approached. ‘She said she’d been up all night making the flags.’
‘Tell her about the cakes,’ said Gammer Beavis darkly.
‘She made cakes?’ said Nanny. ‘But she can’t cook!’
The committee shuffled aside. A lot of the ladies contributed to the food for the Trials. It was a tradition and an informal competition in its own right. At the centre of the spread of covered plates was a large platter piled high with … things, of indefinite colour and shape. It looked as though a herd of small cows had eaten a lot of raisins and then been ill. They were Ur-cakes, prehistoric cakes, cakes of great weight and presence that had no place among the iced dainties.
‘She’s never had the knack of it,’ said Nanny weakly. ‘Has anyone tried one?’
‘Hahaha,’ said Gammer solemnly.
‘Tough, are they?’
‘You could beat a troll to death.’
‘But she was so … sort of … proud of them,’ said Letice.
‘And then there’s … the jam.’
It was a large pot. It seemed to be filled with solidified purple lava.
‘Nice … colour,’ said Nanny. ‘Anyone tasted it?’
‘We couldn’t get the spoon out,’ said Gammer.
‘Oh, I’m sure – ‘
‘We only got it in with a hammer.’
‘What’s she planning, Mrs Ogg? She’s got a weak and vengeful nature,’ said Letice. ‘You’re her friend,’ she added, her tone suggesting that this was as much an accusation as a statement.
‘I don’t know what she’s thinking, Mrs Earwig.’
‘I thought she was staying away.’
‘She said she was going to take an interest and encourage the young ‘uns.’
‘She is planning something,’ said Letice, darkly. ‘Those cakes are a plot to undermine my authority.’
‘No, that’s how she always cooks,’ said Nanny. ‘She just hasn’t got the knack.’ Your authority, eh?
‘She’s nearly finished the flags,’ Gammer reported. ‘Now she’s going to try to make herself useful again.’
‘Well … I suppose we could ask her to do the Lucky Dip.’
Nanny looked blank. ‘You mean where kids fish around in a big tub full of bran to see what they can pull out?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re going to let Granny Weatherwax do that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only she’s got a funny sense of humour, if you know what I mean.’
‘Good morning to you all!’
It was Granny Weatherwax ‘s voice. Nanny Ogg had known it for most of her life. But it had that strange edge to it again. It sounded nice.
‘We was wondering if you could supervise the bran tub, Miss Weatherwax.’
Nanny flinched. But Granny merely said: ‘Happy to, Mrs Earwig. Ican’t wait to see the expressions on their little faces as they pull out the goodies.’
Nor can I, Nanny thought.
When the others had scurried off she sidled up to her friend.
‘Why’re you doing this?’ she said.
‘I really don’t know what you mean, Gytha.’
‘I seen you face down terrible creatures, Esme. I once seen you catch a unicorn, for goodness’ sake. What’re you plannin’?’
‘I still don’t know what you mean, Gytha.’
‘Are you angry ‘cos they won’t let you enter, and now you’re plannin’ horrible revenge?’
For a moment they both looked at the field. It was beginning to fill up. People were bowling for pigs and fighting on the greasy pole.
The Lancre Volunteer Band was trying to play a medley of popular tunes, and it was only a pity that each musician was playing a different one.
Small children were fighting. It was going to be a scorcher of a day, probably the last one of the year.
Their eyes were drawn to the roped-off square in the centre of the field.
‘Are you going to enter the Trials, Gytha?’ said Granny.
‘You never answered my question!’
‘What question was that?’
Nanny decided not to hammer on a locked door. ‘Yes, I am going to have a go, as it happens,’ she said.
‘I certainly hope you win, then. I’d cheer you on, only that wouldn’t be fair to the others. I shall merge into the background and be as quiet as a little mouse.’
Nanny tried guile. Her face spread into a wide pink grin, and she nudged her friend.
‘Right, right,’ she said. ‘Only… you can tell me, right? I wouldn’t like
to miss it when it happens. So if you could just give me a little signal when you’re going to do it, eh?’
‘What’s it you’re referring to, Gytha?’
‘Esme Weatherwax, sometimes I could really give you a bloody good slap!’
‘Oh dear.’
Nanny Ogg didn’t often swear, or at least use words beyond the boundaries of what the Lancrastrians thought of as ‘colourful language’.
She looked as if she habitually used bad words, and had just thought up a good one, but mostly witches are quite careful about what they say. You can never be sure what the words are going to do when they’re
out of earshot. But now she swore under her breath and caused small
brief fires to start in the dry grass.
This put her in just about the right frame of mind for the Cursing.
It was said that once upon a time this had been done on a living, breathing subject, at least at the start of the event, but that wasn’t right for a family day out and for several hundred years the Curses had been directed at Unlucky Charlie who was, however you looked at it, nothing more than a scarecrow. And since curses are generally directed at the mind of the cursed, this presented a major problem, because even ‘May your straw go mouldy and your carrot fall off’ didn’t make much impression on a pumpkin. But points were given for general style and inventiveness.