A Blink of the Screen

noted that the kitchen table gleamed and was still damp from scrubbing.
    After cups had been poured and pleasantries exchanged, or at least offered by Letice and received in silence by Granny, the self-elected chairwoman wriggled in her seat and said:
    ‘There’s such a lot of interest in the Trials this year, Miss— Mistress Weatherwax.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘It does look as though witchcraft in the Ramtops is going through something of a renaissance, in fact.’
    ‘A renaissance, eh? There’s a thing.’
    ‘It’s such a good route to empowerment for young women, don’t you think?’
    Many people could say things in a cutting way, Nanny knew. But Granny Weatherwax could listen in a cutting way. She could make something sound stupid just by hearing it.
    ‘That’s a good hat you’ve got there,’ said Granny. ‘Velvet, is it? Not made local, I expect.’
    Letice touched the brim and gave a little laugh.
    ‘It’s from Boggi’s in Ankh-Morpork,’ she said.
    ‘Oh? Shop-bought?’
    Nanny Ogg glanced at the corner of the room, where a battered wooden cone stood on a stand. Pinned to it were lengths of black calico and strips of willow wood, the foundations for Granny’s spring hat.
    ‘Tailor-made,’ said Letice.
    ‘And those hatpins you’ve got,’ Granny went on. ‘All them crescent moons and cat shapes—’
    ‘You’ve got a brooch that’s crescent-shaped, too, ain’t that so, Esme?’ said Nanny Ogg, deciding it was time for a warning shot. Granny occasionally had a lot to say about jewellery on witches when she was feeling in an acid mood.
    ‘This is true, Gytha. I have a brooch what is shaped like a crescent. That’s just the truth of the shape it happens to be. Very practical shape for holding a cloak, is a crescent. But I don’t mean nothing by it. Anyway, you interrupted just as I was about to remark to Mrs Earwig how fetchin’ her hatpins are. Very witchy.’
    Nanny, swivelling like a spectator at a tennis match, glanced at Letice to see if this deadly bolt had gone home. But the woman was actually smiling. Some people just couldn’t spot the obvious on the end of a ten-pound hammer.
    ‘On the subject of witchcraft,’ said Letice, with the born chairwoman’s touch for the enforced segue, ‘I thought I might raise with you the question of your participation in the Trials.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Do you … ah … don’t you think it is unfair to other people that you win every year?’
    Granny Weatherwax looked down at the floor and then up at the ceiling.
    ‘No,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’m better’n them.’
    ‘You don’t think it is a little dispiriting for the other contestants?’
    Once again, the floor-to-ceiling search.
    ‘No,’ said Granny.
    ‘But they start off knowing they’re not going to win.’
    ‘So do I.’
    ‘Oh, no, you surely—’
    ‘I meant that I start off knowing they’re not goin’ to win, too,’ said Granny witheringly. ‘And they ought to start off knowing I’m not going to win. No wonder they lose, if they ain’t getting their minds right.’
    ‘It does rather dash their enthusiasm.’
    Granny looked genuinely puzzled. ‘What’s wrong with ’em striving to come second?’ she said.
    Letice plunged on.
    ‘What we were hoping to persuade you to do, Esme, is to accept an emeritus position. You would perhaps make a nice little speech of encouragement, present the award, and … and possibly even be, er, one of the judges …’
    ‘There’s going to be judges?’ said Granny. ‘We’ve never had judges. Everyone just used to know who’d won.’
    ‘That’s true,’ said Nanny. She remembered the scenes at the end of one or two trials. When Granny Weatherwax won, everyone knew. ‘Oh, that’s very true.’
    ‘It would be a very nice gesture,’ Letice went on.
    ‘Who decided there would be judges?’ said Granny.
    ‘Er … the committee … which is … that is … a few of us got together. Only to steer things …’
    ‘Oh. I see,’ said Granny. ‘Flags?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Are you going to have them lines of little flags? And maybe someone selling apples on a stick, that kind of thing?’
    ‘Some bunting would certainly be—’
    ‘Right. Don’t forget the bonfire.’
    ‘So long as it’s nice and safe.’
    ‘Oh. Right. Things should be nice. And safe,’ said Granny.
    Mrs Earwig perceptibly sighed with relief. ‘Well, that’s sorted out nicely,’ she said.
    ‘Is it?’ said Granny.
    ‘I thought we’d agreed