Witches Abroad

“There’s nothing wrong with happy endings,” said Magrat hotly.
“Listen, happy endings is fine if they turn out happy,” said Granny, glaring at the sky. “But you can’t make ’em for other people. Like the only way you could make a happy marriage is by cuttin’ their heads off as soon as they say ‘I do’, yes? You can’t make happiness…”
Granny Weatherwax stared at the distant city.
“All you can do,” she said, “is make an ending.”

Mrs Gogol stopped and raised an arm. There was a flurry of wings.

Greebo, who had been rubbing obsequiously against Nanny’s leg, looked up and hissed. The largest and blackest cockerel Nanny had ever seen had settled on Mrs Gogol’s shoulder. It turned on her the most intelligent stare she had ever seen on a bird.

‘My word,’ she said, taken aback. ‘That’s the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a few in my time.’

Mrs Gogol raised one disapproving eyebrow.

‘She never had no proper upbringing,’ said Granny.

‘What with living next to a chicken farm and all, is what I was going to say next,’ said Nanny.

‘Mean little devils. You should see the prices they tries to charge me when I takes my broom to be repaired,’ said Granny.

‘Yes, but you never pay,’ said Magrat.

‘That’s not the point,’ said Granny Weatherwax. ‘They shouldn’t be allowed to charge that sort of money. That’s thievin’, that is.’

‘I don’t see how it can be thieving if you don’t pay anyway,’ Magrat persisted.

‘I never pay for anything,’ said Granny. ‘People never let me pay. I can’t help it if people gives me things the whole time, can I? When I walks down the street people are always running out with cakes they’ve just baked, and fresh beer, and old clothes that’ve hardly been worn at all. “Oh, Mistress Weatherwax, pray take this basket of eggs”, they say. People are always very kind. Treat people right an’ they’ll treat you right. That’s respect. Not having to pay,’ she finished, sternly, ‘is what bein’ a witch is all about.’

She heard Nanny say: ‘Beats me why they’re always putting invisible runes on their doors. I mean, you pays some wizard to put invisible runes on your door, and how do you know you’ve got value for money?’

She heard Granny say: ‘No problem there. If you can’t see ’em, you know you’ve got proper invisible runes.’

Magrat stared at the pile of rocks. She shut her eyes. She took a deep breath. She tried to make her mind a serene picture of cosmic harmony. It was all very well for monks to go on about cosmic harmony, she reflected, when they were nicely tucked away on snowy mountains with only yetis to worry about. They never tried seeking inner peace with Granny Weatherwax glaring at them.

She waved the wand in a vague way and tried to put pumpkins out of her mind.

She felt the air move. She heard Nanny gasp.

She said, ‘Has anything happened?’

After a while Nanny Ogg said, ‘Yeah. Sort of. I hope they’re hungry, that’s all.’

And Granny Weatherwax said, ‘That’s fairy godmothering, is it?’

Magrat opened her eyes.

There was still a heap, but it wasn’t rock any more.

‘There’s a, wait for it, there’s a bit of a squash in here,’ said Nanny.

Magrat opened her eyes wider.

‘Still pumpkins?’

‘Bit of a squash. Squash,’ said Nanny, in case anyone hadn’t got it.

The top of the heap moved. A couple of small pumpkins rolled down almost to Magrat’s feet, and a small dwarfish face appeared in the hole.

It stared down at the witches.

Granny Weatherwax shook the snow off her hat and looked around.

She was impressed, despite herself. You didn’t often see proper dwarf halls these days. Most dwarfs were off earning big money in the cities down in the lowlands, where it was much easier to be a dwarf — for one thing, you didn’t have to spend most of your time underground hitting your thumb with a hammer and worrying about fluctuations in the international metal markets. Lack of respect for tradition, that was the trouble these days. And take trolls. There were more trolls in Ankh-Morpork now than in the whole mountain range. Granny Weatherwax had nothing against trolls but she felt instinctively that if more trolls stopped wearing suits and walking upright, and went back to living under bridges and jumping out and eating people as nature intended, then the world would be a happier place.

Nothing happened for a while. Then a section of rock swung in a few inches. Magrat saw the glint of a suspicious eye.

‘Yes?’

‘Dwarfs?’ said Magrat.

Granny Weatherwax leaned down until her nose was level with the eye.

‘My name,’ she said, ‘is Granny Weatherwax.’

She straightened up again, her face glowing with self-satisfaction.

‘Who’s that, then?’ said a voice from somewhere below the eye. Granny’s expression froze.

Nanny Ogg nudged her partner.

‘We must be more’n fifty miles away from home,’ she said. ‘They might not have heard of you in these parts.’

Granny leaned down again. Accumulated snowflakes cascaded off her hat.

‘I ain’t blaming you,’ she said, ‘but I know you’ll have a King in there, so just you go and tell him Granny Weatherwax is here, will you?’

‘He’s very busy,’ said the voice. ‘We’ve just had a bit of trouble.’

‘Then I’m sure he don’t want any more,’ said Granny.

The invisible speaker appeared to give this some consideration.

‘We put writing on the door,’ it said sulkily. ‘In invisible runes. It’s really expensive, getting proper invisible runes done.’

‘I don’t go around readin’ doors,’ said Granny.

The speaker hesitated.

‘Weatherwax, did you say?’

‘Yes. With a W. As in “witch”.’

The door slammed. When it was shut, there was barely a visible crack in the rock.

The snow was falling fast now. Granny Weatherwax jiggled up and down a bit to keep warm.

‘That’s foreigners for you,’ she said, to the frozen world in general.

‘I don’t think you can call dwarfs foreigners,’ said Nanny Ogg.

‘Don’t see why not,’ said Granny. ‘A dwarf who lives a long way off has got to be foreign. That’s what foreign means.’

‘Yeah? Funny to think of it like that,’ said Nanny.

They watched the door, their breath forming three little clouds in the darkening air. Magrat peered at the stone door.

‘I didn’t see any invisible runes,’ she said.

‘’Corse not,’ said Nanny. ‘That’s ’cos they’re invisible.’

‘Yeah,’ said Granny Weatherwax. ‘Don’t be daft.’

The door swung open again.

‘I spoke to the King,’ said the voice.

‘And what did he say?’ said Granny expectantly.

‘He said, “Oh, no! Not on top of everything else!”’

Granny beamed. ‘I knew ’e would have heard of me,’ she said.

‘Look,’ said Magrat desperately, ‘why don’t I go by myself?’

‘’Cos you ain’t experienced at fairy godmothering,’ said Granny Weatherwax.

This was too much even for Magrat’s generous soul.

‘Well, nor are you,’ she said.

‘That’s true,’ Granny conceded. ‘But the point is … the point is … the point is we’ve not been experienced for a lot longer than you.’

‘We’ve got a lot of experience of not having any experience,’ said Nanny Ogg happily.

‘That’s what counts every time,’ said Granny.

“Am I dead?”
THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES.

The nobles of Genua had enough experience to know what it means when a ruler says something is not compulsory.