'The old marthter uthed to whip me every day!' said Igor proudly.
'You liked that?' said Magrat.
'Of courthe not! But it'th proper! He wath a gentleman, whothe bootth I wath not fit to lick clean...'
'But you did, though?' said Nanny.
Igor nodded. 'Every morning. Uthed to get a lovely thine, too.'
'Well, help us out and I'll see you're flogged with a scented bootlace,' said Nanny.
'Thankth all the thame, but I'm leaving anyway,' said Igor, tightening a strap. 'I'm thick up to here with thith lot. They thouldn't be doing thith! They're a dithgrathe to the thpethieth!'
Nanny wiped her face. 'I like a man who speaks his mind,' she said, 'and is always prepared to lend a towel - did I say towel? I mean hand.'
'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.