Witches Abroad (Discworld 12)

'You're all right,' said Nanny. She looked up at Esme Weatherwax.

'We shouldn't leave the girl, whatever you say. In a house with snakes walking around thinking they're human,' she said.

'It's worse than that. They're walking around thinking they're snakes,' said Granny.

'Well, whatever. You never do that sort of thing. The worst you ever did was make people a bit confused about what they was.'

'That's because I'm the good one,' said Granny bitterly.

Magrat shuddered.

'So are we going to get her out?' said Nanny.

'Not yet. There's going to be a proper time,' said Granny. 'Can you hear me, Magrat Garlick?'

'Yes, Granny,' said Magrat.

'We've got to go somewhere and talk,' said Granny. 'About stories.'

'What about stories?' said Magrat.

'Lily is using them,' said Granny. 'Don't you see that? You can feel it in this whole country. The stories collect round here because here's where they find a way out. She feeds 'em. Look, she don't want your Ella to marry that Duc man just because of politics or something. That's just an ... explanation. 'S not a reason. She wants the girl to marry the prince because that's what the story demands.'

'What's in it for her?' said Nanny.

'In the middle of 'em all, the fairy godmother or the wicked witch . . . you remember? That's where Lily is putting herself, like . . . like . . .' she paused, trying to find the right word. 'Remember that time last year when the circus thing came to Lancre?'

'I remember,' said Nanny. 'Them girls in the spangly tights and the fellows pourin' whitewash down their trousers. Never saw a elephant, though. They said there'd be elephants and there wasn't any. It had elephants on the posters. I spent a whole tuppence and there wasn't a single ele - '

'Yes, but what I'm sayin',' said Granny, as they hurried along the street, 'is there was that man in the middle, you remember. With the moustache and the big hat?'

'Him? But he didn't do anything much,' said Nanny. 'He just stood in the middle of the tent and sometimes he cracked his whip and all the acts just went on round him.'

"That's why he was the most important one there,' said Granny. 'It was the things going on around him that made him important.'

'What's Lily feeding the stories?' said Magrat.

'People,' said Granny. She frowned.

'Stories!' she said. 'Well, we'll have to see about that. . .'

Green twilight covered Genua. The mists curled up from the swamp.

Torches flared in the streets. In dozens of yards shadowy figures moved, pulling the covers off floats. In the darkness there was a flash of sequins and a jingle of bells.

All year the people of Genua were nice and quiet. But history has always allowed the downtrodden one night somewhere in any calendar to restore temporarily the balance of the world. It might be called the Feast of Fools, or the King of the Bean. Or even Samedi Nuit Mort, when even those with the most taxing and responsible of duties can kick back and have fun.

Most of them, anyway . . .

The coachmen and the footmen were sitting in their shed at one side of the stable yard, eating their dinner and complaining about having to work on Dead Night. They were also engaging in the time-honoured rituals that go therewith, which largely consist of finding out what their wives have packed for them today and envying the other men whose wives obviously cared more.

The head footman raised a crust cautiously.

'I've got chicken neck and pickle,' he said. 'Anyone got any cheese?'

The second coachman inspected his box. 'It's boiled bacon again,' he complained. 'She always gives me boiled bacon. She knows I don't like it. She don't even cut the fat off.'

'Is it thick white fat?' said the first coachman.