Witches Abroad (Discworld 12)

'You ought to have got some fresh vegetables,' said Magrat the dietitian.

'I did. There's some garlic,' said Nanny happily, cutting a generous slice of eye-watering sausage. 'And I think I definitely saw something like pickled onions on one of the shelves.'

'Yes? Then we're going to need at least two rooms for tonight,' said Granny sternly.

'Three,' said Magrat, very quickly.

She risked another look around the room. The silent villagers were staring at them intently, with a look she could only describe to herself as a sort of hopeful sadness. Of course, anyone who spent much time in the company of Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg got used to being stared at; they were the kind of people that filled every space from edge to edge. And probably people in these parts didn't often see strangers, what with the thick forests and all. And the sight of Nanny Ogg eating a sausage with extreme gusto would even outrank her pickled onion number as major entertainment anywhere.

Even so ... the way people were staring . . .

Outside, deep in the trees, a wolf howled.

The assembled villagers shivered in unison, as though they had been practising. The landlord muttered something to them. They got up, reluctantly, and filed out of the door, trying to keep together. An old lady laid her hand on Magrat's shoulder for a moment, shook her head sadly, sighed, and then scuttled away. But Magrat was used to this, too. People often felt sorry for her when they saw her in Granny's company.

Eventually the landlord lurched across to them with a lighted torch, and motioned them to follow him.

'How did you make him understand about the beds?' said Magrat.

'I said, “Hey mister, jigajig toot sweet all same No. 3”,' said Nanny Ogg.

Granny Weatherwax tried this under her breath, and nodded.

'Your lad Shane certainly gets around a bit, doesn't he,' she remarked.

'He says it works every time,' said Nanny Ogg.

In fact there were only two rooms, up a long, winding and creaky stairway. And Magrat got one to herself. Even the landlord seemed to want it that way. He'd been very attentive.

She wished he hadn't been so keen to bar the shutters, though. Magrat liked to sleep with a window open. As it was, it was too dark and stuffy.

Anyway, she thought, I am the fairy godmother. The others are just accompanying me.

She peered hopelessly at herself in the room's tiny cracked mirror and then lay and listened to them on the far side of the paper-thin wall.

'What're you turning the mirror to the wall for, Esme?'

'I just don't like 'em, staring like that.'

'They only stares if you're staring at 'em, Esme.'

Silence, and then: 'Eh, what's this round thing for, then?'

'I reckon it's supposed to be a pillow, Esme.'

'Hah! 7 don't call it a pillow. And there's no proper blankets, even. What'd you say this thing's called?'

'I think it's called a duvit, Esme.'

' We call them an eiderdown where I come from. Hah!'

There was a respite. Then:

'Have you brushed your tooth?'

And another pause. Then:

'Oo, you haven't half got cold feet, Esme.'