'Are you going to trust him?' said Magrat.
'I'm a good judge of character, me,' said Nanny. 'And you can always rely on a man with stitches all round his head.'
'Waley, waley, waley!'
'Ta' can onlie be one t'ousan!'
'Bigjobs!'
A fox peered cautiously around a tree.
Through the rain-swept woods a man was moving at speed, while apparently lying down. He wore a nightcap, the bobble of which bounced on the ground.
By the time the fox realized what was going on it was too late. A small blue figure leapt out from under the rushing man and landed on its nose, smacking it between the eyes with his head.
'Seeyu? Grich' ta' bones outa t'is yan!'
The Nac mac Feegle leapt down as the fox collapsed, grabbed its tail with one hand and ran after the others, punching the air triumphantly.
'Obhoy! We 'gan eat t'nicht!'
They'd pulled the bed out into the middle of the room. Now Agnes and Oats sat on either side of it, listening to the distant sounds of Hodgesaargh feeding the birds. There was the rattle of tins and the occasional yelp as he tried to remove a bird from his nose.
'Sorry?' said Agnes.
'Pardon?'
I thought you whispered something,' said Agnes. 'I was, er, saying a short prayer,' said Oats.
'Will that help?' said Agnes.
'Er... it helps me. The Prophet Brutha said that Om helps those who help one another.'
'And does he?'
'To be honest, there are a number of opinions of what was meant.'
'How many?'
'About one hundred and sixty, since the Schism of 10.30 a.m., February 23. That was when the ReUnited Free Chelonianisis (Hubwards Convocation) schismed from the Re-United Free Chelonianists (Rimwards Convocation). It was rather serious.'
'Blood spilled?' said Agnes. She wasn't really interested, but it took her mind off whatever might be waking up in a minute.
'No, but there were fisticuffs and a deacon had ink spilled on him.'
'I can see that was pretty bad.'
'There was some serious pulling of beards as well.'
'Gosh.' Sects maniacs, said Perdita.
'You're making fun of me,' said Oats solemnly.
'Well, it does sound a little... trivial. You're always arguing?'
'The Prophet Brutha said, "Let there be ten thousand voices,"' said the priest. 'Sometimes I think he meant that it was better to argue amongst ourselves than go out putting unbelievers to fire and the sword. It's all very complicated.' He sighed. 'There are a hundred pathways to Om. Unfortunately I sometimes think someone left a rake lying across a lot of them. The vampire was right. We've lost the fire...'
'But you used to burn people with it.'