Witches Abroad

'There you go, honey.'



Granny took it, hesitated for a moment, and then took a swig. She nudged Magrat and passed on the bottle.



'Frgtht!! Gizeer!' she said.



'What?' shouted Magrat, above the noise of a marching band.



'The man wants us to pass it on,' said Granny.



Magrat looked at the bottle neck. She tried surreptitiously to wipe it on her dress, despite the self-evident fact that germs on it would have burned off long ago. She ventured a brief nip, and then nudged Nanny Ogg.



'Kwizathugner!' she said, and dabbed at her eyes.



Nanny up-ended the bottle. After a while Magrat nudged her again.



'I think we're meant to pass it on?' she ventured.



Nanny wiped her mouth and passed the now rather lighter jug randomly to a tall figure on her left.



'Here you go, mister,' she said.



THANK YOU.



'Nice costume you got there. Them bones are painted on really good.'



Nanny turned back to watch a procession of juggling fire-eaters. Then a connection appeared to be made somewhere in the back of her mind. She looked up. The stranger had wandered off.



She shrugged.



'What shall we do next?' she said.



Granny Weatherwax was staring fixedly at a group of ground-zero limbo dancers. A lot of the dances in the parades had this in common: they expressed explicitly what things like maypoles only hinted at. They covered it with sequins, too.



'You'll never feel safe in the privy again, eh?' said Nanny Ogg. At her feet Greebo sat primly watching some dancing women wearing nothing but feathers, trying to work out what to do about them.



'No. I was thinkin' of something else. I was thinkin' about . . . how stories work. And now ... I think I'd like something to eat,' said Granny weakly. She rallied a bit. 'And I mean some proper food, not somethin' scraped off the bottom of a pond. And I don't want any of this cuisine stuff, neither.'



'You ought to be more adventurous, Granny,' said Magrat.



'I ain't against adventure, in moderation,' said Granny, 'but not when I'm eatin'.'



'There's a place back there that does alligator sandwiches,' said Nanny, turning away from the parade. 'Can you believe that? Alligators in a sandwich?'



"That reminds me of a joke,' said Granny Weatherwax. Something was nagging at her consciousness.



Nanny Ogg started to cough, but it didn't work.



'This man went into an inn,' said Granny Weatherwax, trying to ignore the rising uneasiness. 'And he saw this sign. And it said “We serve all kinds of sandwiches.” And he said, “Get me an alligator sandwich - and I want it right away!”'



'I don't think alligator sandwiches is very kind to alligators,' said Magrat, dropping the observation into the leaden pause.



'I always say a laugh does you good,' said Nanny.



Lilith smiled at the figure of Ella, standing forlornly between the snake women.



'And such a raggedy dress, too,' she said. 'And the door to the room was locked. Tut-tut. However can it have happened?'



Ella stared at her feet.



Lilith smiled at the sisters. 'Well,' she said, 'we'll just have to do the best we can with what we've got. Hmm? Fetch me . . . fetch me two rats and two mice. I know you can always find rats and mice. And bring in the big pumpkin.'



She laughed. Not the mad, shrill laughter of the bad fairy who's been defeated, but the rather pleasant laughter of someone who's just seen the joke.



She looked reflectively at the wand.



'But first,' she said, transferring her gaze to Ella's pale face, 'you'd better bring in those naughty men who let themselves get so drunk. That's not respectful. And if you haven't got respect, you haven't got anything.'



The clicking of the wand was the only sound in the kitchen.



Nanny Ogg poked at the tall drink in front of her.



'Beats me why they puts an umbrella in it,' she said, sucking the cocktail cherry off the stick. 'I mean, do they want to stop it getting wet or something?'



She grinned at Magrat and Granny, who were both staring gloomily at the passing celebrations.



'Cheer up,' she said. 'Never seen such a pair of long faces in all my puff.'



'That's neat rum you're drinking,' said Magrat.



'You're telling me,' said Nanny, taking a swig. 'Cheers!'



'It was too easy,' said Granny Weatherwax.



'It was only easy 'cos we done it,' said Nanny. 'You want something done, we're the girls to do it, eh? You show me anyone else who could have nipped in there and done all that in the nick of time, eh? Especially the coach bit.'



'It doesn't make a good story,' said Granny.



'Oh, bugger stories,' said Nanny loftily. 'You can always change a story.'



'Only at the right places,' said Granny. 'Anyway, maybe they could get her a new dress and horses and a coach and everything.'



'Where? When?' said Nanny. 'It's a holiday. And there's no time, anyway. They'll be starting the ball at any moment.'



Granny Weatherwax's fingers drummed on the edge of the cafe table.



Nanny sighed.



'Now what?' she said.



'It doesn't happen like this,' said Granny.



'Listen, Esme, the only kind of magic that'd work right now is wand magic. And Magrat's got the wand.' Nanny nodded at Magrat. 'Ain't that so, Magrat?'



'Um,' said Magrat.



'Not lost it, have you?'



'No, but - '



'There you are, then.'



'Only. . . um . . . Ella said she'd got two godmothers . . .'



Granny Weatherwax's hand thumped down on the table. Nanny's drink flew into the air and overturned.



'That's rightl' roared Granny.



'That was nearly full. That was a nearly full drink,' said Nanny reproachfully.



'Come on!'



'Best part of a whole glass of- '



'Gytha!'



'Did I say I wasn't coming? I was just pointing out - '



'Now!'



'Can I just ask the man to get me ano- '



'Gytha!'



The witches were halfway up the street when a coach rattled out of the driveway and trundled away.



'That can't be it!' said Magrat. 'We got rid of it!'



'We ort to have chopped it up,' said Nanny. 'There's good eating on a pumpk-'



'They've got us,' said Granny, slowing down to a stop.



'Can't you get into the minds of the horses?' said Magrat.



The witches concentrated.



'They ain't horses,' said Nanny. 'They feel like ..."



'Rats turned into horses,' said Granny, who was even better at getting into people's minds than she was at getting under their skins. 'They feel like that poor old wolf. Minds like a firework display.' She winced at the taste of them in her own head.



'I bet,' said Granny, thoughtfully, as the coach skidded around the corner, 'I bet I could make the wheels fall right off.'



'That's not the way,' said Magrat. 'Anyway, Ella's in there!'



'There may be another way,' said Nanny. 'I know someone who could get inside them minds right enough.'



'Who?' said Magrat.



'Well, we've still got our brooms,' said Nanny. 'It should be easy to overtake it, right?'



The witches landed in an alleyway a few minutes ahead of the coach.



'I don't hold with this,' said Granny. 'It's the sort of thing Lily does. You can't expect me to like this. Think of that wolf!'



Nanny lifted Greebo out of his nest among the bristles.



'But Greebo's nearly human anyway," she said.



'Hah!'



'And it'll only be temp'ry, even with the three of us doing it,' she said. 'Anyway, it'll be int'resting to see if it works.'



'Yes, but it's wrong,' said Granny.



'Not for these parts, it seems,' said Nanny.



'Besides,' said Magrat virtuously, 'it can't be bad if we're doing it. We're the good ones.'



'Oh yes, so we is,' said Granny, 'and there was me forgetting it for a minute there.'



Nanny stood back. Greebo, aware that something was expected of him, sat up.



'You must admit we can't think of anything better, Granny,' said Magrat.



Granny hesitated. But under all the revulsion was the little treacherous flame of fascination with the idea. Besides, she and Greebo had hated one another cordially for years. Almost human, eh? Give him a taste of it, then, and see how he likes it ... She felt a bit ashamed of the thought. But not much.



'Oh, all right.'



They concentrated.



As Lily knew, changing the shape of an object is one of the hardest magics there is. But it's easier if the object is alive. After all, a living thing already knows what shape it is. All you have to do is change its mind.



Greebo yawned and stretched. To his amazement he went on stretching.



Through the pathways of his feline brain surged a tide of belief. He suddenly believed he was human. He wasn't simply under the impression that he was human; he believed it implicitly. The sheer force of the unshakeable belief flowed out into his morphic field, overriding its objections, rewriting the very blueprint of his self.



Fresh instructions surged back.



If he was human, he didn't need all this fur. And he ought to be bigger . . .



The witches watched, fascinated.



'I never thought we'd do it,' said Granny.



... no points on the ears, the whiskers were too long . . .



... he needed more muscle, all these bones were the wrong shape, these legs ought to be longer . . .



And then it was finished.



Greebo unfolded himself and stood up, a little unsteadily.



Nanny stared, her mouth open.



Then her eyes moved downwards.



'Cor,' she said.



'I think,' said Granny Weatherwax, 'that we d better imagine some clothes on him right now.'



That was easy enough. When Greebo had been clothed to her satisfaction Granny nodded and stood back.



'Magrat, you can open your eyes,' she said.



'I hadn't got them closed.'



'Well, you should have had.'



Greebo turned slowly, a faint, lazy smile on his scarred fpce. As a human, his nose was broken and a black patch covered his bad eye. But the other one glittered like the sins of angels, and his smile was the downfall of saints. Female ones, anyway.



Perhaps it was pheromones, or the way his muscles rippled under his black leather shirt. Greebo broadcast a kind of greasy diabolic sexuality in the megawatt range. Just looking at him was enough to set dark wings fluttering in the crimson night.



'Uh, Greebo,' said Nanny.



He opened his mouth. Incisors glittered.



'Wrowwwwl,' he said.



'Can you understand me?'



'Yessss, Nannyyy.'



Nanny Ogg leaned against the wall for support.



There was the sound of hooves. The coach had turned into the street.



'Get out there and stop that coach!'



Greebo grinned again, and darted out of the alley.



Nanny fanned herself with her hat.



'Whoo-eee,' she said. 'And to think I used to tickle his tummy . . . No wonder all the lady cats scream at night.'



'Gytha!'



'Well, you've gone very red, Esme.'



'I'm just out of breath,' said Granny.



'Funny, that. It's not as if you've been running.'



The coach rattled down the street.



The coachmen and footmen were not at all sure what they were. Their minds oscillated wildly. One moment they were men thinking about cheese and bacon rinds. And the next they were mice wondering why they had trousers on.



As for the horses . . . horses are a little insane anyway, and being a rat as well wasn't any help.



So none of them were in a very stable frame of mind when Greebo stepped out of the shadows and grinned at them.



He said, 'Wrowwwl.'



The horses tried to stop, which is practically impossible with a coach still piling along behind you. The coachmen froze in terror.



'Wrowwwl?'



The coach skidded around and came up broadside against a wall, knocking the coachmen off. Greebo picked one of them up by his collar and bounced him up and down while the maddened horses fought to get out of the shafts.