“It's certain death anyway,” said Ridcully. “That's the thing about Death, certainty.”

“We'd have no chance at all,” said Nanny.

“Actually, we'd have one chance,” said Ridcully. “I don't understand all this continuinuinuum stuff, but from what young Stibbons says it means that everything has to happen somewhere, d'y'see, so that means it could happen here. Even if it's a million to one chance, ma'am.”

“That's all very well,” said Nanny, "but what you're saying is, for every Mr. Ridcully that survives tonight's work,

999,999 are going to get killed?"

“Yes, but I'm not bothered about those other buggers,” said Ridcully. “They can look after themselves. Serve 'em right for not inviting me to their weddings.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Shawn was hopping from one foot to the other. “We ought to be fighting 'em. Mum!”

“Look at everyone!” said Nanny. “They're dog tired and wet and confused! That's not an army!”

“Mum, Mum, Mum!”

“What?”

“I'll pussike 'em up, Mum! That's what you have to do before troops go into battle. Mum! I read about that in books! You can take a rabble of thingy and make the right kind of speech and pussike them up and turn 'em into a terrible fighting force. Mum!”

“They look terrible anyway!”

“I mean terrible like fierce. Mum!”

Nanny Ogg looked at the hundred or so Lancre subjects. The thought of them managing to fight anyone at all took some getting used to.

“You been studyin' this, Shawn?” she inquired. “I've got five years' worth of Bows and Ammo, Mum,” said Shawn reproachfully.

“Give it a try, then. If you think it'll work.” Trembling with excitement, Shawn climbed on to a table, drew his sword with his good hand, and banged it on the planks until people were silent. He made a speech.

He pointed out that their king had been captured and their prospective queen had gone out to save him. He pointed out their responsibility as loyal subjects. He pointed out that other people currently not here but at home hiding under the bed would, after the glorious victory, wish they'd been there too instead of under the aforesaid bed which they were hiding under, you know, the bed he'd just mentioned. In fact it was better that there were so few here to face the enemy, because that meant that there would be a higher percentage of honour per surviving head. He used the word “glory” three times. He said that in times to come people would look back on this day, whatever the date was, and proudly show their scars, at least those who'd survived would show their scars, and be very proud and probably have drinks bought for them. He advised people to imitate the action of the Lancre Reciprocating Fox and stiffen some sinews while leaving them flexible enough so's they could move their arms and legs, in fact, probably it'd be better to relax them a bit now and stiffen them properly when the time came. He suggested that Lancre expected everyone to do their duty. And urn. And uh. Please?

The silence that followed was broken by Nanny Ogg, who said, “They're probably considering it a bit, Shawn. Why don't you take Mr. Wizard here up to his room and help him with his crossbow?”

She nodded meaningfully in the direction of the stairs.

Shawn wavered, but not for long. He'd seen the glint in his mother's eye.

When he'd gone. Nanny climbed up on the same table.

“Well,” she said, “it's like this. If you go out there you may have to face elves. But if you stops here, you definitely have to face me. Now, elves is worse than me, I'll admit. But I'm persistent.”

Weaver put up a tentative hand.

“Please, Mrs. Ogg?”

“Yes, Weaver?”

“What exactly is the action of the Reciprocating Fox?”

Nanny scratched her ear.

“As I recall,” she said, “its back legs go like this but its front legs go like this.”

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net