CARPE JUGULUM
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CARPE JUGULUM
A Discworld® Novel
Terry Pratchett
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 1998 by Doubleday an imprint of Transworld Publishers
This edition published in Great Britain in 2016
Copyright © Terry and Lyn Pratchett 1998
Discworld® is a trademark registered by Terry Pratchett
Terry Pratchett has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
CARPE JUGULUM
THROUGHTHESHREDDED
blackcloudsafiremoved likeadyingstar,fallingbacktoearth— —theearth,thatis,oftheDiscworld— —butunlikeanystarhade verdonebefore, itsometimesmanagedtosteeritsfall,sometimes rising,sometimestwisting,butinevitablyheading down.
Snowglowedbrieflyonthemountainslopeswhen itcrackledoverhead.
Underit,thelanditselfstartedtofallaway.Thefire wasreflectedoffwallsofblueiceasthelightdropped intothebeginningsofacanyonandthunderednow throughitstwistsandturns.
Thelightsnappedoff.Somethingstillglideddown themoonlitribbonbetweentherocks.
Itshotoutofthecanyonatthetopofacliff,where meltwaterfromaglacierplungeddownintoadistant pool.
Againstallreasontherewasavalleyhere,oranetworkofvalleys,clingingtotheedgeofthemountains beforethelongfalltotheplains.Asmalllakegleamed inthewarmerair.Therewereforests.Thereweretiny fields,likeapatchworkquiltthrownacrosstherocks. Thewindhaddied.Theairwaswarmer. Theshadowbegantocircle.
T ERRY P RATCHETT
Farbelow,unheededandunheeding,something elsewasenteringthislittlehandfulofvalleys.Itwas hardtoseeexactlywhatitwas;furzerippled,heather rustled,asifaverylargearmymadeofverysmall creatureswasmovingwithonepurpose.
Theshadowreachedaflatrockthatoffereda magnificentviewofthefieldsandwoodbelow,and there thearmycameoutfromamongtheroots.Itwas madeupofverysmallbluemen,somewearingpointy bluecapsbutmostofthemwiththeirredhairuncovered.Theycarriedswords.Noneofthemwas morethansixincheshigh.
Theylinedupandlookeddownintothenewplace andthen,weaponswaving,raisedabattlecry.Itwould havebeenmoreimpressiveifthey’dagreedonone before,butasitwasitsoundedasthougheverysingle smallwarriorhadabattlecryofhisveryownand wouldfightanyonewhotriedtotakeitawayfromhim.
‘NacmacFeegle!’
‘Ach,stickityertrakkans!’
‘Gieyousichakickin’!’
‘Bigjobs!’
‘Derec’nonliebewhint’ousand!’
‘NacmacFeeglewhahae!’
‘Whahaeyersel,yaboggin!’
Thelittlecupofvalleys,glowinginthelastshredsof eveningsunlight,wasthekingdomofLancre.From itshighestpoints,peoplesaid,youcouldseeallthe waytotherimoftheworld.
Itwasalsosaid,althoughnotbythepeoplewho livedinLancre,that below therim,wheretheseas
thunderedcontinuouslyovertheedge,theirhome wentthroughspaceonthebackoffourhuge elephantsthatinturnstoodontheshellofaturtle thatwasasbigastheworld.
ThepeopleofLancrehadheardofthis.They thoughtitsoundedaboutright.Theworldwas obviouslyflat,althoughinLancreitselftheonlytruly flatplacesweretablesandthetopofsomepeople’s heads,andcertainlyturtlescouldshiftafairload. Elephants,byallaccounts,wereprettystrongtoo. Theredidn’tseemanymajorgapsinthethesis,so Lancrastiansleftitatthat.
Itwasn’tthattheydidn’ttakeaninterestin theworldaroundthem.Onthecontrary,they hadadeep,personalandpassionateinvolvementinit, butinsteadofasking,‘Whyarewehere?’theyasked, ‘Isitgoingtorainbeforetheharvest?’
Aphilosophermighthavedeploredthislackof mentalambition,butonlyifhewas reallycertain aboutwherehisnextmealwascomingfrom.
InfactLancre’spositionandclimatebredahardheadedandstraightforwardpeoplewhooften excelledintheworlddownbelow.Ithadsuppliedthe plainswithmanyoftheirgreatestwizardsandwitches and,onceagain,thephilosophermighthave marvelledthatsuchafour-squarepeoplecouldgive theworldsomanysuccessfulmagicalpractitioners, beingquiteunawarethatonlythosewiththeirfeeton rockcanbuildcastlesintheair.
AndsothesonsanddaughtersofLancrewent offintotheworld,carvedoutcareers,climbed thevariousladdersofachievement,andalways
rememberedtosendmoneyhome.
Apartfromnotingthereturnaddressesonthe envelope,thosewhostayeddidn’tthinkmuchabout theworldoutside.
Theworldoutsidethoughtaboutthem,though. Thebigflat-toppedrockwasdesertednow,buton themoorbelow,theheathertrembledina v-shapeheadingtowardsthelowlands.
‘Gin’sahaddie!’ ‘NacmacFeegle!’
Therearemanykindsofvampires.Indeed,itissaid thatthereareasmanykindsofvampiresasthereare typesofdisease.*Andthey’renotjusthuman(if vampiresarehuman).AllalongtheRamtopsmaybe foundthebeliefthatanyapparentlyinnocenttool,be ithammerorsaw,willseekbloodifleftunusedfor morethanthreeyears.InGhattheybelievein vampirewatermelons,althoughfolkloreissilent about what theybelieveaboutvampirewatermelons. Possiblytheysuckback.
Twothingshavetraditionallypuzzledvampire researchers.Oneis:whydovampireshavesomuch power?Vampires’resoeasytokill,theypointout. Thereare dozens ofwaystodespatchthem,quite apartfromthestakethroughtheheart,whichalso worksonnormalpeoplesoifyouhaveanystakesleft overyoudon’thavetowastethem.Classically,they spentthedayinsomecoffinsomewhere,withno
*Whichpresumablymeansthatsomearevirulentanddeadly,and othersjustmakeyouwalkinafunnywayandavoidfruit.
guardotherthananelderlyhunchbackwhodoesn’t lookallthatspry,andshouldsuccumbtoquitea smallmob.Yetjustonecankeepawholecommunity inastateofsullenobedience...
Theotherpuzzleis: whyarevampiresalwaysso stupid?Asifwearingeveningdressalldaywasn’tan undeadgiveaway,whydotheychoosetoliveinold castleswhichoffersomuchinthewayofwaysto defeatavampire,likeeasilytorncurtainsandwall decorationsthatcanreadilybetwistedintoareligious symbol?Dothey really thinkthatspellingtheirname backwardsfoolsanyone?
Acoachrattledacrossthemoorlands,manymiles awayfromLancre.Fromthewayitbouncedoverthe ruts,itwastravellinglight.Butdarknesscamewithit.
Thehorseswereblack,andsowasthecoach,except forthecoatofarmsonthedoors.Eachhorsehada blackplumebetweenitsears;therewasablackplume ateachcornerofthecoachaswell.Perhapsthese causedthecoach’sstrangeeffectoftravellingshadow. Itseemedtobedraggingthenightbehindit.
Onthetopofthemoor,whereafewtreesgrewout oftherubbleofaruinedbuilding,itcreakedtoahalt.
Thehorsesstoodstill,occasionallystampingahoof ortossingtheirheads.Thecoachmansathunched overthereins,waiting.
Fourfiguresflewjustabovetheclouds,inthesilvery moonlight.Bythesoundoftheirconversationsomeone wasannoyed,althoughthesharpunpleasanttonetothe voicesuggestedthatabetterwordmightbe‘vexed’.
‘Youletitget away!’Thisvoicehadawhinetoit, thevoiceofachroniccomplainer.
‘It was wounded,Lacci.’ This voicesounded conciliatory,parental,butwithjustahintofa represseddesiretogivethefirstvoiceathickear.
‘Ireally hate thosethings.They’reso...soppy!’
‘Yes,dear.Asymbolofacredulouspast.’
‘If I couldburnlikethatIwouldn’tskulkaround justlookingpretty.Whydotheydoit?’
‘Itmusthavebeenofusetothematonetime,I suppose.’
‘Thenthey’re...whatdidyoucallthem?’
‘Anevolutionarycul-de-sac,Lacci.Amarooned survivorontheseasofprogress.’
‘ThenI’mdoingthemafavourbykillingthem?’
‘Yes,thatisapoint.Now,shall—’
‘Afterall,chickensdon’tburn,’saidthevoicecalled Lacci.‘Noteasily,anyway.’
‘Weheardyouexperiment.Killingthemfirstmight havebeenagoodidea.’Thiswasathirdvoice–young, male,andalsosomewhatwearywiththefemale.It had‘olderbrother’harmonicsoneverysyllable.
‘What’sthepointinthat?’
‘Well,dear,itwouldhavebeenquieter.’
‘Listentoyourfather,dear.’Andthis,thefourth voice,couldonlybeamother’svoice.It’dlovethe othervoiceswhatevertheydid.
‘You’re so unfair!’
‘Wedidletyoudroprocksonthepixies,dear.Life can’tbeallfun.’
Thecoachmanstirredasthevoicesdescended throughtheclouds.Andthenfourfigureswerestandingalittlewayoff.Heclambereddownand,with difficulty,openedthecoachdoorastheyapproached.
‘Mostofthewretchedthingsgotaway,though,’said Mother.
‘Nevermind,mydear,’saidFather. ‘Ireallyhatethem.Aretheyadeadendtoo?’said Daughter.
‘Notquitedeadenoughasyet,despiteyourvaliant efforts.Igor!OntoLancre.’
Thecoachmanturned.
‘Yeth,marthter.’
‘Oh,forthelasttime,man...isthatanywayto talk?’
‘It’ththeonlywayIknow,marthter,’saidIgor.
‘AndItoldyoutotaketheplumesoffthecoach, youidiot.’
Thecoachmanshifteduneasily.
‘Gottahaveblackplumeth,marthter.It’th tradithional.’
‘Removethematonce!’Mothercommanded.
‘What will peoplethink?’
‘Yeth,mithtreth.’
TheoneaddressedasIgorslammedthedoorand lurchedbackaroundtothehorse.Heremovedthe plumesreverentiallyandplacedthemunderhis seat.
Insidethecoachthevexedvoicesaid,‘IsIgoran evolutionarydeadendtoo,Father?’
‘Wecanbuthope,dear.’
‘Thod,’saidIgortohimself,ashepickedupthe reins.
Thewordingbegan:
‘Youarecordiallyinvited ...’
...andwasinthatposhrunnywritingthatwas hardtoreadbuteversoofficial.
NannyOgggrinnedandtuckedthecardbackon themantelpiece.Shelikedtheideaof‘cordially’.Ithad arich,athickandaboveallan alcoholic sound.
Shewasironingherbestpetticoat.Thatistosay, shewassittinginherchairbythefirewhileoneofher daughters-in-law,whosenameshecouldn’trememberjustatthismoment,wasdoingtheactualwork. Nannywashelpingbypointingoutthebitsshe’d missed.
Itwasadamngoodinvite,shethought.Especially thegoldedging,whichwasasthickassyrup.Probably notrealgold,butimpressivelyglitteryallthesame.
‘There’sabittherethatcoulddowithgoin’over again,gel,’shesaid,toppingupherbeer.
‘Yes,Nanny.’
Anotherdaughter-in-law,whosenameshe’d certainlybeabletorecallafterafewseconds’thought, wasbuffingupNanny’sredboots.Athirdwasvery carefullydabbingthelintoffNanny’sbestpointyhat, onitsstand.
Nannygotupagainandwanderedovertoopenthe backdoor.Therewaslittlelightleftintheskynow, andafewragsofcloudwerescuddingovertheearly stars.Shesniffedtheair.Winterhungonlateuphere inthemountains,buttherewasdefinitelyatasteof springonthewind.
Agoodtime,shethought.Besttime,really.Oh,she knewthattheyearstartedonHogswatchnight,when thecoldtideturned,butthe new yearstartednow, withgreenshootsboringupwardsthroughthelastof
thesnow.Changewasintheair,shecouldfeelitinher bones.
Ofcourse,herfriendGrannyWeatherwaxalways saidyoucouldn’ttrustbones,butGrannyWeatherwax saidalotofthingslikethatallthetime.
NannyOggclosedthedoor.Inthetreesattheend ofhergarden,leaflessandscratchyagainstthesky, somethingrustleditswingsandchatteredasaveilof darkcrossedtheworld.
InherowncottageafewmilesawaythewitchAgnes Nittwasintwomindsabouthernewpointyhat. Agneswasgenerallyintwomindsaboutanything.
Asshetuckedinherhairandobservedherself criticallyinthemirrorshesangasong.Shesangin harmony.Not,ofcourse,withherreflectionintheglass, because that kindof heroinewillsoonerorlaterendup singingaduetwithMrBlueBirdandotherforestcreaturesandthenthere’snothingforitbutaflamethrower.
Shesimplysanginharmonywithherself.Unless sheconcentrateditwashappeningmoreandmore thesedays.Perditahadratherareedyvoice,butshe insistedonjoiningin.
Thosewhoareinclinedtocasualcrueltysaythat insideafatgirlisathingirlandalotofchocolate. Agnes’sthingirlwasPerdita.
Shewasn’tsurehowshe’dacquiredtheinvisible passenger.Hermotherhadtoldherthatwhenshewas smallshe’dbeeninthehabitofblamingaccidentsand mysteries,suchasthedisappearanceofabowlofcream orthebreakingofaprizedjug,on‘theotherlittlegirl’. Onlynowdidsherealizethatindulgingthissortof
T ERRY P RATCHETT
thingwasn’tagoodideawhen,despiteyourself, you’vegotabitofnaturalwitchcraftinyourblood. Theimaginaryfriendhadsimplygrownupandhad nevergoneawayandhadturnedouttobeapain.
AgnesdislikedPerdita,whowasvain,selfishand vicious,andPerditahatedgoingaroundinsideAgnes, whomsheregardedasafat,pathetic,weak-willedblob thatpeoplewouldwalkalloverwereshenotso steep.
Agnestoldherselfshe’dsimplyinventedthename Perditaassomeconvenientlabelforallthose thoughtsanddesiressheknewsheshouldn’thave,as anameforthattroublesomelittlecommentatorthat livesoneveryone’sshoulderandsneers.ButsometimesshethoughtPerditahadcreatedAgnesfor somethingtopummel.
Agnestendedtoobeyrules.Perditadidn’t.Perdita thoughtthatnotobeyingruleswassomehow cool. Agnesthoughtthatruleslike‘Don’tfallintothishuge pitofspikes’werethereforapurpose.Perdita thought,totakeanexampleatrandom,thatthings liketablemannerswereastupidandrepressiveidea. Agnes,ontheotherhand,wasagainstbeinghitby flyingbitsofotherpeople’scabbage.
Perditathoughtawitch’shatwasapowerful symbol ofauthority.Agnes thoughtthatadumpy girl shouldnotwearatallhat,especiallywithblack.It madeherlookasthoughsomeonehaddroppeda liquorice-flavouredice-creamcone.
ThetroublewasthatalthoughAgneswasright,so wasPerdita.Thepointyhatcarriedalotofweightin theRamtops.Peopletalkedtothehat,nottothe
personwearingit.Whenpeoplewereinserious troubletheywenttoawitch.*
Youhadtowearblack,too. Perdita likedblack. Perditathoughtblackwascool.Agnesthoughtthat blackwasn’tagoodcolourforthecircumferentially challenged...oh,andthat‘cool’wasadumbwordused onlybypeoplewhosebrainswouldn’tfillaspoon.
MagratGarlickhadn’twornblackandhadprobablyneverinherlifesaid‘cool’exceptwhen commentingonthetemperature.
Agnesstoppedexaminingherpointinessinthe mirrorandlookedaroundthecottagethathadbeen Magrat’sandwasnowhers,andsighed.Hergazetook intheexpensive,gold-edgedcardonthemantelpiece.
Well,Magrathadcertainlyretirednow,andhad goneofftobeQueenandiftherewaseveranydoubt aboutthatthentherecouldbenodoubttoday.Agnes waspuzzledatthewayNannyOggandGranny Weatherwaxstilltalkedabouther,though.Theywere proud(moreorless)thatshe’dmarriedtheKing,and agreedthatitwastherightkindoflifeforher,but whiletheyneveractuallyarticulatedthethoughtit hungintheairovertheirheadsinflashingmental colours: Magrathadsettledforsecondprize.
Agneshadalmostburstoutlaughingwhenshefirst realizedthis,butyouwouldn’tbeabletoarguewith them.Theywouldn’tevenseethatthere could bean argument.
GrannyWeatherwaxlivedinacottagewithathatch sooldtherewasquiteasprightlyyoungtreegrowing
*Sometimes,ofcourse,tosay,‘Pleasestopdoingit.’
init,andgotupandwenttobedalone,andwashedin therainbarrel.AndNannyOggwasthemost local personAgneshadevermet.She’dgoneofftoforeign parts,yes,butshealwayscarriedLancrewithher,like asortofinvisiblehat.Buttheytookitforgrantedthat theyweretopofeverytree,andtherestoftheworld wasthereforthemtotinkerwith.
Perditathoughtthatbeingaqueenwasjustabout thebestthingyoucouldbe.
Agnesthoughtthebestthingyoucouldbewasfar awayfromLancre,andgoodsecondbestwouldbeto bealoneinyourownhead.
Sheadjustedthehatasbestshecouldandleftthe cottage.
Witchesneverlockedtheirdoors.Theynever neededto.
Asshesteppedoutintothemoonlight,two magpieslandedonthethatch.
ThecurrentactivitiesofthewitchGranny Weatherwaxwouldhavepuzzledahiddenobserver.
Shepeeredattheflagstonesjustinsideherbackdoor andliftedtheoldragruginfrontofitwithhertoe.
Thenshewalkedtothefrontdoor,whichwasnever used,anddidthesamethingthere.Shealsoexamined thecracksaroundtheedgesofthedoors.
Shewentoutside.Therehadbeenasharpfrost duringthenight,aspitefullittletrickbythedying winter,andthedriftsofleavesthathungoninthe shadowswerestillcrisp.Intheharshairshepoked aroundintheflowerpotsandbushesbythefrontdoor. Thenshewentbackinside.
Shehadaclock.Lancrastianslikedclocks,although theydidn’tbothermuchaboutactual time inany lengthmuchshorterthananhour.Ifyouneededto boilanegg,yousangfifteenversesof‘WhereHasAll TheCustardGone?’underyourbreath.Butthetick wasacomfortonlongevenings.
Finallyshesatdowninherrockingchairandglared atthedoorway.
Owlswerehootingintheforestwhensomeonecame runningupthepathandhammeredonthedoor.
Anyonewhohadn’theardaboutGranny’sironselfcontrol,whichyoucouldbendahorseshoeround, mightjusthavethoughttheyheardhergiveatinysigh ofrelief.
‘Well,it’sabouttime—’shebegan.
Theexcitementupatthecastlewasjustadistanthum downinthemews.Thehawksandfalconssat hunchedontheirperches,lostinsomeinnerworldof stoopandupdraught.Therewastheoccasionalclink ofachainorflutterofawing.
Hodgesaarghthefalconerwasgettingreadyinthe tinyroomnextdoorwhenhefeltthechangein theair.Hesteppedoutintoasilentmews.Thebirds wereallawake,alert, expectant.EvenKingHenrythe eagle,whomHodgesaarghwouldonlygonearat themomentwhenhewaswearingfullplatearmour, waspeeringaround.
Yougotsomethinglikethiswhentherewasaratin theplace,butHodgesaarghcouldn’tseeone.Perhaps ithadgone.
Fortonight’seventhe’dselectedWilliamthebuzzard,
T ERRY P RATCHETT
whocouldbedependedupon.AllHodgesaargh’sbirds couldbedependedupon,butmoreoftenthannot theycouldbedependedupontoviciouslyattackhim onsight.William,however,thoughtthatshewasa chicken,andshewasusuallysafeincompany.
ButevenWilliamwaspayingalotofattentionto theworld,whichdidn’toftenhappenunlessshe’d seensomecorn.
Odd,thoughtHodgesaargh.Andthatwasall.
Thebirdswentonstaringup,asthoughtheroof simplywasnotthere.
GrannyWeatherwaxloweredhergazetoared,round andworriedface.
‘Here,you’renot—’Shepulledherselftogether. ‘You’retheWattleyboyfromoverinSlice,aren’tyou?’
‘Y’g’t...’Theboyleanedagainstthedoorjamband foughtforbreath.‘Youg’t—’
‘Justtakedeepbreaths.Youwantadrinkofwater?’ ‘Youg’tt’—’
‘Yes,yes,allright.Just breathe ...’
Theboygulpedairafewtimes.
‘YougottocometoMrsIvyandherbabymissus!’ Thewordscameoutinonequickstream.
Grannygrabbedherhatfromitspegbythedoor andpulledherbroomstickoutofitslodginginthe thatch.
‘IthoughtoldMrsPatternosterwasseeingtoher,’ shesaid,rammingherhatpinsintoplacewiththe urgencyofawarriorpreparingforsuddenbattle.
‘Shesaysit’sallgonewrongmiss!’ Grannywasalreadyrunningdownhergardenpath.
Therewasasmalldropontheothersideofthe clearing,withatwenty-footfalltoabendinthetrack. Thebroomhadn’tfiredbythetimeshereacheditbut sheranon,swingingalegoverthebristlesasit plunged.
Themagiccaughthalfwaydownandherboots draggedacrossthedeadbrackenasthebroomsoared upintothenight.
Theroadwoundoverthemountainslikeadropped ribbon.Upheretherewasalwaysthesoundofthe wind.
Thehighwayman’shorsewasabigblackstallion.It wasalsoquitepossiblytheonlyhorsewithaladder strappedbehindthesaddle.
Thiswasbecausethehighwayman’snamewas Casanunda,andhewasadwarf.Mostpeoplethought ofdwarfsasreserved,cautious,law-abidingandvery reticentonmattersoftheheartandothervaguely connectedorgans,andthiswasindeedtrueofalmost alldwarfs.Butgeneticsrollsstrangediceonthegreen baizeoflifeandsomehowthedwarfshadproduced Casanunda,whopreferredfuntomoneyanddevoted towomenallthepassionthatotherdwarfsreserved forgold.
Healsoregardedlawsasusefulthingsandhe obeyedthemwhenitwasconvenient.Casanunda despisedhighwaymanning,butitgotyououtinthe freshairofthecountryside,whichwasverygood foryou,especiallywhenthenearbytownswere lousywithhusbandscarryingagrudgeandabig stick.
Thetroublewasthatnooneontheroadtookhim seriously.Hecouldstopthecoachesallright,but peopletendedtosay,‘What?Isay,it’salowwayman. Whatup?Abitshort,areyou?Hur,hur,hur,’andhe wouldbeforcedtoshootthemintheknee.
Heblewonhishandstowarmthem,andlookedup atthesoundofanapproachingcoach.
Hewasabouttorideoutofhismeagrehidingplace inthethicket when he saw the other highwaymantrot outfromthewoodopposite.
Thecoachcametoahalt.Casanundacouldn’thear whattranspired,butthehighwaymanrodearoundto oneofthedoorsandleaneddowntospeaktothe occupants...
...andahandreachedoutandpluckedhimoffhis horseandintothecoach.
Itrockedonitsspringsforawhile,andthenthe doorburstopenandthehighwaymantumbledout andlaystillontheroad.
Thecoachmovedon...
Casanundawaitedalittlewhileandthenrode downtothebody.Hishorsestoodpatientlywhilehe untiedtheladderanddismounted.
Hecouldtellthehighwaymanwasstonedead.Living peopleareexpectedtohavesomebloodinthem.
Thecoachstoppedatthetopofariseafewmiles furtheron,beforetheroadbeganthelongwinding falltowardsLancreandtheplains.
Thefourpassengersgotoutandwalkedtothestart ofthedrop.
Thecloudswererollinginbehindthembuthere
theairwasfrostyclear,andtheviewstretchedallthe waytotheRimunderthemoonlight.Down below,scoopedoutofthemountains,wasthelittle kingdom.
‘Gatewaytotheworld,’saidtheCountdeMagpyr. ‘Andentirelyundefended,’saidhisson.
‘Onthecontrary.Possessedofsomeextremely effective defences,’saidtheCount.Hesmiledinthe night.‘Atleast...untilnow...’
‘Witchesshouldbeon our side,’saidtheCountess.
‘She willbesoon,atanyrate,’saidtheCount.‘A most...interestingwoman.Aninteresting family. Uncleusedtotalkabouthergrandmother.The Weatherwaxwomenhavealwayshadonefootin shadow.It’sintheblood.Andmostoftheirpower comesfromdenyingit.However,’andhisteethshone ashegrinnedinthedark,‘shewillsoonfindouton whichsideherbreadisbuttered.’
‘Orhergingerbreadisgilded,’saidtheCountess.
‘Ah,yes.Hownicelyput.That’sthepenaltyfor beingaWeatherwaxwoman,ofcourse.Whentheyget oldertheystarttoheartheclangofthebigovendoor.’
‘I’veheardshe’sprettytough,though,’saidthe Count’sson.‘Averysharpmind.’
‘Let’skillher!’saidtheCount’sdaughter.
‘Really,Laccidear,youcan’tkill everything.’ ‘Idon’tseewhynot.’
‘No.Iratherliketheideaofherbeing...useful. Andsheseeseverythinginblackandwhite.That’s alwaysatrapforthepowerful.Oh, yes.Amindlike thatissoeasily...led.Withalittlehelp.’
Therewasawhirrofwingsunderthemoonlight
andsomethingbi-colouredlandedontheCount’s shoulder.
‘And this ...’saidtheCount,strokingthemagpie andthenlettingitgo.Hepulledasquareofwhitecard fromaninnerpocketofhisjacket.Itsedgegleamed briefly.‘Canyoubelieveit?Hasthissortofthing everhappenedbefore?Anewworldorderindeed...’
‘Doyouhaveahandkerchief,sir?’saidtheCountess. ‘Giveittome,please.Youhaveafewspecks...’
Shedabbedathischinandpushedthebloodstainedhandkerchiefbackintohispocket.
‘There,’shesaid.
‘Thereareotherwitches,’saidtheson,likesomeone turningoveramouthfulthatwasprovingrather toughtochew.
‘Oh,yes.Ihopewewillmeetthem.Theycouldbe entertaining.’
Theyclimbedbackintothecoach.
Backinthemountains,themanwhohadtriedtorob thecoachmanagedtogettohisfeet,whichseemed foramomenttobecaughtinsomething.Herubbed hisneckirritablyandlookedaroundforhishorse, whichhefoundstandingbehindsomerocksalittle wayaway.
Whenhetriedtolayahandonthebridleitpassed straightthroughtheleatherandthehorse’sneck,like smoke.Thecreaturerearedupandgallopedmadly away.
Itwasnot,thehighwaymanthoughtmuzzily,going tobeagoodnight.Well,he’dbedamnedifhe’dlosea horseaswellassomewages.Whothehellwerethose
people?Hecouldn’tquiterememberwhathad happenedinthecarriage,butithadn’tbeen enjoyable.
Thehighwaymanwasofthatsimpleclassofmen who,havingbeenhitbysomeonebiggerthanthem, findssomeonesmallerthanthemforthepurposesof retaliation.Someoneelsewasgoingtosuffertonight, hevowed.He’dgetanotherhorse,atleast.
And,oncue,heheardthesoundofhoofbeatson thewind.Hedrewhisswordandsteppedoutintothe road.
‘Standanddeliver!’
Theapproachinghorsehaltedobedientlyafewfeet away.Thiswasnotgoingtobesuchabadnightafter all,hethought.Itreallywasamagnificentcreature, moreofawarhorsethananeverydayhack.Itwasso palethatitshoneinthelightoftheoccasionalstar and,bythelookofit,therewassilveronitsharness.
Theriderwasheavilywrappedupagainstthecold. ‘Yourmoneyoryourlife!’saidthehighwayman. I’MSORRY?
‘Yourmoney,’saidthehighwayman,‘oryourlife. Whichpartofthisdon’tyouunderstand?’
OH,I SEE.WELL,I HAVEASMALLAMOUNTOFMONEY.
Acoupleofcoinslandedonthefrostyroad.The highwaymanscrabbledforthembutcouldnotpick themup,afactthatonlyaddedtohisannoyance.
‘It’syourlife,then!’
Themountedfigureshookitshead.I THINKNOT.I REALLYDO.
Itpulledalongcurvedstickoutofaholster.The highwaymanhadassumeditwasalance,butnowa
curvedbladesprangoutandglitteredbluealongits edges.
I MUSTSAYTHATYOUHAVEANAMAZINGPERSISTENCE OFVITALITY,saidthehorseman.Itwasnotsomucha voice,moreanechoinsidethehead.IFNOTAPRESENCE OFMIND.
‘Who are you?’
I’M DEATH,saidDeath.AND I REALLYAMNOTHERE TOTAKEYOURMONEY.WHICHPARTOFTHISDON’TYOU UNDERSTAND?
Somethingflutteredweaklyatthewindowofthe castlemews.Therewasnoglassintheframe,justthin woodenslatstoallowsomepassageofair.
Andtherewasascrabbling,andthenafaint pecking,andthensilence.
Thehawkswatched.
Outsidethewindowsomethingwent whoomph. Beamsofbrilliantlightjerkedacrossthefarwalland, slowly,thebarsbegantochar.
NannyOggknewthatwhiletheactualpartywouldbe intheGreatHallallthefunwouldbeoutside,inthe courtyardaroundthebigfire.Insideit’dbeallquails’ eggs,goose-liverjamandlittlesandwichesthatwere four to the mouthful.Outside it’dbe roasted potatoes floatinginvatsofbutterandawholestagonaspit. Lateron,there’dbeacommandperformancebythat manwhoputweaselsdownhistrousers,aformof entertainmentthatNannyrankedhigherthangrand opera.
Asawitch,ofcourse,she’dbewelcomeanywhere
anditwasalwaysagoodideatoremindthenobsof this,incasetheyforgot.Itwasahardchoice,butshe decidedtostayoutsideandhaveagooddinnerof venisonbecause,likemanyoldladies,NannyOggwas abottomlesspitforfreefood.Thenshe’dgoinside andfillthegapswiththefiddlydishes.Besides,they probablyhadthatexpensivefizzywineinthereand Nannyhadquiteatasteforit,provideditwasserved inabigenoughmug.Butyouneededagooddepthof beerbeforeyouloadeduponthefancystuff.
Shepickedupatankard,ambledtothefront ofthequeueatthebeerbarrel,gentlynudgedaside theheadofamanwho’ddecidedtospendtheevening lyingunderthetap,anddrewherselfapint.
Assheturnedbackshesawthesplay-footedfigure ofAgnesapproaching,stillslightlyuneasywiththe ideaofwearingthenewpointyhatinpublic.
‘Wotcha,girl,’saidNanny.‘Trysomeofthevenison, it’sgoodstuff.’
Agneslookeddoubtfullyattheroastingmeat. Lancrepeoplelookedafterthecaloriesandletthe vitaminsgohang.
‘DoyouthinkIcouldgetasalad?’sheventured. ‘Hopenot,’saidNannyhappily.
‘Lotofpeoplehere,’saidAgnes.
‘Everyone gotainvite,’saidNanny.‘Magratwasvery graciousaboutthat,Ithought.’
Agnescranedherhead.‘Can’tseeGrannyaround anywhere,though.’
‘She’llbeinside,tellin’peoplewhattodo.’
‘Ihaven’tseenheraroundmuchatalllately,’said Agnes.‘She’sgotsomethingonhermind,Ithink.’
Nannynarrowedhereyes.
‘Youthinkso?’shesaid,addingtoherself:you’re getting good,miss.
‘It’sjustthateversinceweheardaboutthebirth,’ Agneswavedaplumphandtoindicatethegeneral high-cholesterolcelebrationaroundthem,‘she’sbeen so...stretched,sortof.Twanging.’
NannyOggthumbedsometobaccointoherpipe andstruckamatchonherboot.
‘Youcertainlynoticethings,don’tyou?’shesaid, puffingaway.‘Notice,notice,notice.We’llhavetocall youMissNotice.’
‘Icertainly notice youalwaysfiddlearoundwith yourpipewhenyou’rethinkingthoughtsyoudon’t muchlike,’saidAgnes.‘It’sdisplacementactivity.’
Throughacloudofsweet-smellingsmokeNanny reflectedthatAgnesreadbooks.Allthewitcheswho’d livedinhercottagewerebookishtypes.Theythought youcouldseelifethroughbooksbutyoucouldn’t,the reasonbeingthatthewordsgotintheway.
‘Shehasbeenabitquiet,that’strue,’shesaid.‘Best tolethergetonwithit.’
‘Ithoughtperhapsshewassulkingaboutthepriest who’llbedoingtheNaming,’saidAgnes.
‘Oh,oldBrotherPerdore’sallright,’saidNanny. ‘Gabblesawayinsomeancientlingo,keepsitshort andthenyoujustgivehimsixpenceforhistrouble, fillhimupwithbrandyandloadhimonhisdonkey andoffhegoes.’
‘What?Didn’tyouhear?’saidAgnes.‘He’slaidup overinSkund.Brokehiswristandbothlegsfallingoff thedonkey.’
NannyOggtookherpipeoutofhermouth.
‘Whywasn’tItold?’shesaid.
‘Idon’tknow,Nanny.MrsWeavertoldme yesterday.’
‘Oo,thatwoman!Ipassedherinthestreetthis morning!Shecould’vesaid!’
Nannypokedherpipebackinhermouthas thoughstabbingalluncommunicativegossips. ‘Howcanyoubreakbothyourlegsfallingoffa donkey?’
‘ItwasgoingupthatlittlepathonthesideofSkund Gorge.Hefellsixtyfeet.’
‘Oh?Well...that’satalldonkey,rightenough.’
‘SotheKingsentdowntotheOmnianmissionin Ohulantosendusupapriest,apparently,’said Agnes.
‘Hedid what?’saidNanny.
Asmallgreytentwasinexpertlypitchedinafieldjust outsidethetown.Therisingwindmadeitflap,and toreattheposterwhichhadbeenpinnedontoan easeloutside.
Itread:GOODNEWS!OmWelcomesYou!!!
InfactnoonehadturneduptothesmallintroductoryservicethatMightilyOatshadorganizedthat afternoon,butsincehehadannouncedonehehad goneaheadwithitanyway,singingafewcheerful hymnstohisownaccompanimentonthesmall portableharmoniumandthenpreachingaveryshort sermontothewindandthesky.
NowtheQuiteReverendOatslookedathimselfin themirror.Hewasabituneasyaboutthemirror,to
behonest.MirrorshadledtooneoftheChurch’s innumerableschisms,onesidesayingthatsincethey encouragedvanitytheywerebad,andtheothersayingthatsincetheyreflectedthegoodnessofOmthey wereholy.Oatshadnotquiteformedhisown opinion,beingbynaturesomeonewhotriestosee somethinginbothsidesofeveryquestion,butatleast themirrorshelpedhimtogethiscomplicatedclerical collaronstraight.
Itwasstillverynew.TheVeryReverendMekkle, who’dtakenPastoralPractice,hadadvisedthatthe rulesaboutstarchwereonlyreallyaguideline,but Oatshadn’twantedtoputafootwrongandhiscollar couldhavebeenusedasarazor.
Hecarefullyloweredhisholyturtlependantinto place,notingitsgleamwithsomesatisfaction,and pickeduphisfinelyprintedgraduationcopyofthe BookofOm.Someofhisfellowstudentshadspent hourscarefullyrufflingthepagestogivethemthat certainstraight-and-narrowcredibility,butOatshad refrainedfromthisaswell.Besides,heknewmostof itbyheart.
Feelingratherguilty,becausetherehadbeensome admonitionsatthecollegeagainstusingholywrit merelyforfortunetelling,heshuthiseyesandletthe bookflopopenatrandom.
Thenheopenedhiseyesquicklyandreadthefirst passagetheyencountered.
ItwassomewhereinthemiddleofBrutha’sSecond LettertotheOmish,gentlychidingthemfornot replyingtotheFirstLettertotheOmish.
‘... silenceisananswerthatbegsthreemore
questions.Seekandyouwillfind,butfirstyoushould knowwhatyouseek ...’
Oh,well.Heshutthebook.
Whataplace!Whata dump.He’dhadashortwalk aftertheserviceandeverypathseemedtoendina clifforasheerdrop.Neverhadheseensucha vertical country.Thingshadrustledathiminthebushes,and he’dgothisshoesmuddy.Asforthepeoplehe’dmet ...well,simpleignorantcountryfolk,saltofthe earth,obviously,butthey’djuststaredathimcarefully fromadistance,asiftheywerewaitingforsomething tohappentohimanddidn’tcaretobetoocloseto himwhenitdid.
Butstill,hemused,it did sayinBrutha’sLetterto theSimonitesthatifyouwishedthelighttobeseen youhadtotakeitintodarkplaces.Andthiswas certainlyadarkplace.
Hesaidasmallprayerandsteppedoutintothe muddy,windydarkness.
Grannyflewhighabovetheroaringtreetops,undera halfmoon.
Shedistrustedamoonlikethat.Afullmooncould onlywane,anewmooncouldonlywax,butahalf moon,balancingsoprecariouslybetweenlightand dark...well,itcoulddoanything.
Witchesalwayslivedontheedgesofthings.Shefelt thetingleinherhands.Itwasnotjustfromthefrosty air.Therewasan edge somewhere.Somethingwas beginning.
OntheothersideoftheskytheHublightswere burningaroundthemountainsatthecentreofthe
world,brightenougheventofightthepalelightofthe moon.Greenandgoldflamesdancedintheairover thecentralmountains.Itwasraretoseethematthis timeoftheyear,andGrannywonderedwhatthat mightsignify.
Slicewasperchedalongthesidesofacleftinthe mountainsthatcouldn’tbedignifiedbythenameof valley.Inthemoonlightshesawthepaleupturned facewaitingintheshadowsofthegardenasshecame intoland.
‘Evening,MrIvy,’shesaid,leapingoff.‘Upstairs,is she?’
‘Inthebarn,’saidIvyflatly.‘Thecowkickedher... hard.’
Granny’sexpressionstayedimpassive.
‘Weshallsee,’shesaid,‘whatmaybedone.’
Inthebarn,onelookatMrsPatternoster’sfacetold herhowlittlethatmightnowbe.Thewomanwasn’t awitch,butsheknewallthepracticalmidwiferythat canbepickedupinanisolatedvillage,beitfrom cows,goats,horsesorhumans.
‘It’sbad,’shewhispered,asGrannylookedatthe moaningfigureonthestraw.‘Ireckonwe’llloseboth ofthem...ormaybejustone...’
Therewas,ifyouwerelisteningforit,justthe suggestionofaquestioninthatsentence.Granny focusedhermind.
‘It’saboy,’shesaid.
MrsPatternosterdidn’tbothertowonderhow Grannyknew,butherexpressionindicatedthatalittle moreweighthadbeenaddedtoaburden.
‘I’dbettergoandputittoJohnIvy,then,’shesaid.
She’dbarelymovedbeforeGrannyWeatherwax’s handlockedonherarm.
‘He’snopartinthis,’shesaid. ‘Butafterall,he is the—’ ‘He’snopartinthis.’
MrsPatternosterlookedintothebluestareandknew twothings.OnewasthatMrIvyhadnopartinthis, andtheotherwasthatanythingthathappenedin thisbarnwasnever,ever,goingtobementionedagain.
‘IthinkIcanbring’emtomind,’saidGranny, lettinggoandrollinguphersleeves.‘Pleasantcouple, asIrecall.He’sagoodhusband,byallaccounts.’She pouredwarmwaterfromitsjugintothebowlthatthe midwifehadsetuponamanger.
MrsPatternosternodded.
‘Ofcourse,it’sdifficultforamanworkingthese steeplandsalone,’Grannywenton,washingher hands.MrsPatternosternoddedagain,mournfully.
‘Well,Ireckonyoushouldtakehimintothecottage, MrsPatternoster,andmakehimacupoftea,’Granny commanded.‘YoucantellhimI’mdoingallIcan.’
Thistimethemidwifenoddedgratefully.
Whenshehadfled,GrannylaidahandonMrsIvy’s dampforehead.
‘Wellnow,FlorenceIvy,’shesaid,‘letusseewhat mightbedone.Butfirstofall...nopain...’
Asshemovedherheadshecaughtsightofthe moonthroughtheunglazedwindow.Betweenthe lightandthedark...well,sometimesthat’swhere youhadtobe.
INDEED.
Grannydidn’tbothertoturnround.
‘Ithoughtyou’dbehere,’shesaid,assheknelt downinthestraw.
WHEREELSE?saidDeath.
‘Doyouknowwhoyou’reherefor?’ THATISNOTMYCHOICE.ONTHE VERY EDGEYOUWILL ALWAYSFINDSOMEUNCERTAINTY.
Grannyfeltthewordsinherheadforseveral seconds,likelittlemeltingcubesofice.Onthevery, veryedge,then,therehadtobe...judgement.
‘There’stoomuchdamagehere,’shesaid,atlast. ‘Toomuch.’
Afewminuteslatershefeltthelifestreampasther. Deathhadthedecencytoleavewithoutaword.
WhenMrsPatternostertremulouslyknockedonthe doorandpusheditopen,Grannywasinthecow’sstall. Themidwifesawherstandup,holdingapieceofthorn.
‘Beeninthebeast’slegallday,’shesaid.‘Nowonder itwasfretful.Tryandmakesurehedoesn’tkillthe cow,youunderstand?They’llneedit.’
MrsPatternosterglanceddownattherolled-up blanketinthestraw.Grannyhadtactfullyplacedit outofsightofMrsIvy,whowassleepingnow.
‘I’lltellhim,’saidGranny,brushingoffherdress. ‘Asforher,well,she’sstrongandyoungandyouknow whattodo.Youkeepaneyeonher,andmeorNanny Oggwilldropinwhenwecan.Ifshe’suptoit,they mayneedawetnurseupatthecastle,andthatmaybe goodforeveryone.’
ItwasdoubtfulthatanyoneinSlicewoulddefy GrannyWeatherwax,butGrannysawthefaintestgrey shadowofdisapprovalinthemidwife’sexpression.
‘YoustillreckonIshould’veaskedMrIvy?’shesaid.
‘That’swhatIwouldhavedone...’thewoman mumbled.
‘Youdon’tlikehim?Youthinkhe’sabadman?’said Granny,adjustingherhatpins.
‘No!’
‘Thenwhat’sheeverdoneto me,thatIshouldhurt himso?’
Agneshadtoruntokeepup.NannyOgg,when roused,couldmoveasthoughpoweredbypistons.
‘Butwegetalotofpriestsuphere,Nanny!’ ‘NotliketheOmnians!’snappedNanny.‘Wehad ’emupherelastyear.Acoupleof’em knocked atmy door!’
‘Well,that is whatadoorisf—’
‘And theyshovedaleafletunderitsaying“Repent!”’ NannyOggwenton.‘Repent?Me?Cheek!Ican’tstart repentingatmytimeoflife.I’dnevergetanywork done.Anyway,’sheadded,‘Iain’tsorryformostofit.’
‘You’regettingabitexcited,Ithink—’ ‘Theysetfiretopeople!’saidNanny.
‘IthinkIreadsomewherethattheyusedto,yes,’ saidAgnes,pantingwiththeeffortofkeepingup.‘But thatwasalongtimeago,Nanny!TheonesIsawin Ankh-Morporkjusthandedoutleafletsandpreached inabigtentandsangratherdrearysongs—’
‘Hah!Theleoparddoesnotchangehisshorts,my girl!’
Theyranalongacorridorandoutfrombehinda screenintothehubbuboftheGreatHall.
‘Knee-deepinnobs,’saidNanny,craning.‘Ah, there’sourShawn...’
Lancre’sstandingarmywaslurkingbyapillar, probablyinthehopethatnoonewouldseehiminhis footman’spowderedwig,whichhadbeenmadefora muchbiggerfootman.
Thekingdomdidn’thavemuchofanexecutivearm ofgovernment,andmostofitsactualhandsbelonged toNannyOgg’syoungestson.Despitetheearnest effortsofKingVerence,whowasquiteaforwardlookingrulerinanervouskindofway,thepeopleof Lancrecouldnotbepersuadedtoacceptademocracy atanypr iceandtheplacehadnot,regrettably, attractedmuchinthewayofgovernment.Alotofthe bitsitcouldn’tavoidweredonebyShawn.He emptiedthepalaceprivies,delivereditssparsemail, guardedthewalls,operatedtheRoyalMint,balanced thebudget,helpedoutthegardenerinhissparetime and,onthoseoccasionsthesedayswhenitwasfelt necessarytomantheborders,andVerencefeltthat yellowandblackstripedpoles did giveacountrysuch a professional look,hestampedpassports,orata pinchanyotherpiecesofpaperthevisitorcould produce,suchasthebackofanenvelope,witha stamphe’dcarvedquitenicelyoutofhalfapotato.He tookitallveryseriously.Attimeslikethis,hebuttled whenSprigginsthebutlerwasnotonduty,orifan extrahandwasneededhefootedaswell.
‘Evening,ourShawn,’saidNannyOgg.‘Iseeyou’ve gotthatdeadlambonyourheadagain.’
‘Aoow, Mum,’saidShawn,tryingtoadjustthe wig.
‘Where’sthispriestthat’sdoingtheNaming?’said Nanny.
‘What,Mum?Dunno,Mum.Istoppedshouting outthenameshalfanhouragoandgotontoserving thebitsofcheeseonsticks–aoow,Mum,you shouldn’ttakethatmany,Mum!’*
NannyOggsuckedthecocktailgoodiesofffour sticksinoneeasymovement,andlookedspeculatively atthethrong.
‘I’mgoingtohaveawordwithyoungVerence,’said Nanny.
‘He is theKing,Nanny,’saidAgnes.
‘That’snoreasonforhimtogoaroundactinglike hewasroyalty.’
‘Ithinkitis,actually.’
‘Noneofthatcheek.Youjustgoandfindthis Omnianandkeepaneyeonhim.’
‘WhatshouldIlookfor?’saidAgnessourly.‘A columnofsmoke?’
‘Theyallwearblack,’saidNannyfirmly.‘Hah! Typical!’
‘Well?Sodowe.’
‘Right!Butoursis...oursis...’Nannythumped herchest,causingconsiderableripples,‘oursisthe right black,right?Now,offyougoandlookinconspicuous,’addedNanny,aladywearinga
*Itstruckpeopleasoddthat,whileLancrepeoplerefusedpointblanktohaveanytruckwithdemocracy,onthebasisthatgoverning waswhattheKingoughttodoandthey’dbesuretotellhimifhe wentwrong,theydidn’tmakeverygoodservants.Oh,theycould cookanddigandwashandfootleandbuttleanddiditverywellbut couldneverquitegetthehangoftheservingmentality.King Verencewasquiteunderstandingaboutthis,andputupwithShawn usheringguestsintothediningroomwithacryof‘Lovelygrub,get itwhileit’shot!’
two-foot-tallpointedblackhat.Shestaredaroundat thecrowdagain,andnudgedherson.
‘Shawn,you did deliveraninvitetoEsme Weatherwax,didn’tyou?’
Helookedhorrified.‘Of course,Mum.’
‘Shoveitunderherdoor?’
‘No,Mum.Youknowshegavemeanearbashin’ whenthesnailsgotatthatpostcardlastyear.Iwedged itinthehinges,goodandtight.’
‘There’sagoodboy,’saidNanny.
Lancrepeopledidn’tbothermuchwithletterboxes. Mailwasinfrequentbutbitinggaleswerenot.Why haveaslotinthedoortoletinunsolicitedwinds?So letterswereleftunderlargestones,wedgedfirmlyin flowerpotsorslippedunderthedoor.
Therewereneververymany.*Lancreoperatedon thefeudalsystem,whichwastosay,everyonefeuded allthetimeandhandedonthefighttotheir descendants.Thechipsonsomeshouldershadbeen passeddownforgenerations.Somehadantique value.Abloodygoodgrudge,Lancrereckoned,was likeafineoldwine.Youlookedafteritcarefullyand leftittoyourchildren.
Younever wrote toanyone.Ifyouhadanythingto say,yousaidittotheirface.Itkepteverythingnice andhot.
Agnesedgedintothecrowd,feelingstupid.She oftendid.NowsheknewwhyMagratGarlickhad
*Apartfromtheonescontainingsmallpostalordersattachedto letterswhich,generally,saidprettymuchthesamething:DearMum andDad,IamdoingprettywellinAnkh-MorporkandthisweekI earnedawholesevendollars...