Witches Abroad (Discworld 12)

'Oh, good. A silver lining,' said Granny, her eyes glinting evilly.

'Bit of an adventure, really,' said Nanny, grinning encouragingly. 'One day we'll look back on this and laugh.'

'Oh, good,' said Granny.

Nanny dabbed at the claw marks on her arm. Greebo, with a cat's true instinct for self-preservation, had clawed his way up his mistress and taken a flying leap to safety from the top of her head. Now he was curled up by the fire, dreaming cat dreams.

A shadow passed over them. It was Magrat, who had been combing the riverbanks.

'I think I've got nearly everything,' she said as she landed.'Here's Granny's broomstick. And. . .oh, yes. . .

* Of course, lots of dwarfs, trolls, native people, trappers, hunters and the merely badly lost had discovered it on an almost daily basis for thousands of years. But they weren't explorers and didn't count.

the wand.' She gave a brave little smile. 'Little pumpkins were bobbing to the surface. That's how I found it.'

'My word, that was lucky,' said Nanny Ogg encouragingly. 'Hear that, Esme? We shan't be wanting for food, at any rate.'

'And I've found the basket with the dwarf bread in it,' said Magrat, 'although I'm afraid it might be spoilt.'

'It won't be, take it from me,' said Nanny Ogg. 'You can't spoil dwarf bread. Well, well,' she said, sitting down again. 'We've got quite a little picnic, haven't we ... and a nice bright fire and . . . and a nice place to sit and . . . I'm sure there's lots of poor people in places like Howondaland and suchlike who'd give anything to be here right now . . .'

'If you don't stop being so cheerful, Gytha Ogg, I shall give you such a ding around the ear with the flat of my hand,' said Granny Weatherwax.

'You sure you're not catching a chill?' said Nanny Ogg.

'I'm dryin' out,' said Granny Weatherwax, 'from the inside.'

'Look, I'm really sorry,' said Magrat. 'I said I was sorry.'

Not that she was quite certain what for, she told herself. The boat wasn't her idea. She hadn't put the waterfall there. She hadn't even been in a position to see it coming. She'd turned the boat into a pumpkin, but she hadn't meant to. It could have happened to anyone.

'I managed to save Desiderata's notebooks, too,' she said.

'Well, that's a blessing,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Now we know where we're lost.'

She looked around. They were through the worst of the mountains, but there were still peaks around and high meadows stretching to the snowline. From somewhere in the distance came the clonking of goat bells.

Magrat unfolded a map. It was creased, damp, and the pencil had run. She pointed cautiously to a smudged area.

'I think we're here,' she said.

'My word,' said Nanny Ogg, whose grasp of the principles of cartography was even shakier than Granny's. 'Amazing how we can all fit on that little bit of paper.'

'I think perhaps it would be a good idea at the moment if we just followed the river,' said Magrat. 'Without in any way going on it,' she added quickly.

'I suppose you didn't find my bag?' said Granny Weatherwax. 'It had pers'nal items in.'

'Probably sank like a stone,' said Nanny Ogg.

Granny Weatherwax stood up like a general who's just had news that his army has come second.

'Come on,' she said. 'Where to next, then?'

What was next was forest - dark and ferociously coniferous. The witches flew over it in silence. There were occasional, isolated cottages half-hidden in the trees. Here and there a crag loomed over the sylvanian gloom, shrouded in mist even in mid-afternoon. Once or twice they flew past castles, if that's what you could call them; they didn't look built, more extruded from the landscape.

It was the kind of landscape that had a particular type of story attached to it, featuring wolves and garlic and frightened women. A dark and thirsty story, a story that flapped wings against the moon . . .

'Der flabberghast,' muttered Nanny.