Witches Abroad (Discworld 12)

'Ah, well, that's what they do in foreign parts,' said Nanny. 'They drink fizzy wine out of ladies' boots.'

They all looked down at Nanny's boots.

Not even Nanny could imagine what anyone would want to drink out of them, or what they would do afterwards.

'My word. That's even more sophisticated than old Shaker Wistley,' said Nanny reflectively.

'They seemed a bit puzzled about it,' said Magrat.

'I expect they would be. It ain't often people get a feeling they ought to go around pulling a decent witch's boots off. This sounds like another story flapping around. I think,' said Granny Weatherwax, 'that we ought to go and talk to these dwarfs.'

She strode out into the passageway and opened the door.

'Yes?' she demanded.

The dwarfs backed away at the sight of her. There was a lot of whispering and elbowing and muttered comments in the nature of 'No, yew', and 'I asked last time'. Finally a dwarf was pushed forward. It might have been the original dwarf. It was hard to tell, with dwarfs.

'Er,' he said. 'Er. Boots?'

'What for?' said Granny.

The dwarf scratched its head. 'Damned if I know,' he said. 'We were just wondering about it ourselves, 's'matterofact. We were just coming off shift in the coal mine half an hour ago, we saw the farmhouse land on ... on the witch, an' . . . well. . .'

'You just knew you had to run up and steal her boots?' said Granny.

The dwarf's face widened into a relieved grin.

'That's right!' he said. 'And sing the Ding-dong song. Only she was supposed to be squashed. No offence meant,' he added quickly.

'It's the willow reinforcement,' said a voice behind Granny. 'Worth its weight in glod.'

Granny stared for a while, and then smiled.

'I think you lads ought to come inside,' she said. 'I've got some questions to ask you.'

The dwarfs looked very uncertain.

'Um,' said the spokesdwarf.

'Nervous of going into a house with witches in it?' said Granny Weatherwax.

The spokesdwarf nodded, and then went red. Magrat and Nanny Ogg exchanged glances behind Granny's back. Something had definitely gone wrong somewhere. In the mountains dwarfs certainly weren't afraid of witches. The problem was to stop them digging up your floor.

'You've been down from the mountains for some time, I expect,' said Granny.

'Very promising seam of coal down here,' mumbled the spokesdwarf, twiddling his hat.

'Bet it's a long time since you've had proper dwarf bread, then,' said Granny.

The spokesdwarf's eyes misted over.

'Baked from the finest stone-ground grit, just like mother used to jump up and down on it,' Granny went on.

A sort of collective sigh went up from the dwarfs.

'You just can't get it down here,' said the spokesdwarf, to the ground. 'It's the water, or something. It falls to bits after hardly any years at all.'

'They puts flour in it,' said someone behind him, sourly.