Equal Rites (Discworld 3)

Treatle peered nervously into the gloom.

“I've got to stand somewhere,” he said.

“I mean give us a hand!” snapped Cutangle, rising from the wavelets like a fat and angry Venus. “The lady first, of course.”

He turned to Granny, who was fishing around in the water.

“I've lost my hat,” she said.

Cutangle sighed. “Does that really matter at a time like this?”

“A witch has got to have a hat, otherwise who's to know?” said Granny. She made a grab as something dark and sodden drifted by, cackled triumphantly, tipped out the water and rammed the hat on her head. It had lost its stiffening and flopped rather rakishly over one eye.

“Right,” she said, in a tone of voice that suggested the whole universe had just better watch out.

There was another brilliant flash of lightning, which shows that even the weather gods have a well-developed sense of theatre.

“It rather suits you,” said Cutangle.

“Excuse me,” said Trestle, “but isn't she the w-”

“Never mind that,” said Cutangle, taking Granny's hand and helping her up the steps. He flourished the staff.

“But it's against the lore to allow w-”

He stopped and stared as Granny reached out and touched the damp wall by the door. Cutangle tapped him on the chest.

“Show me where it's written down,” said Cutangle.

“They're in the Library,” Granny interrupted.

“It was the only dry place,” said Treatle, “but -”

“This building is frightened of thunderstorms,” said Granny. “It could do with comforting.”

“But the lore -”repeated Treatle desperately.

Granny was already striding down the passage, with Cutangle hopping along behind. He turned.

“You heard the lady,” he said.

Treatle watched them go, with his mouth hanging open. When their footsteps had died away in the distance he stood silently for a moment, thinking about life and where his could have gone wrong.

However, he wasn't going to be accused of disobedience.

Very carefully, without knowing exactly why, he reached out and gave the wall a friendly pat.

“There, there,” he said.

Strangely enough, he felt a lot better.

It occurred to Cutangle that he ought to lead the way in his own premises, but Granny in a hurry was no match for a nearterminal nicotine addict and he kept up only by a sort of crabwise leaping.

“It's this way,” he said, splashing through the puddles.

“I know. The building told me.”

“Yes, I was meaning to ask about that,” said Cutangle, “because you see it's never said anything to me and I've lived here for years.”