A Blink of the Screen

a hammer.’
    ‘What’s she planning, Mrs Ogg? She’s got a weak and vengeful nature,’ said Letice. ‘You’re her friend,’ she added, her tone suggesting that this was as much an accusation as a statement.
    ‘I don’t know what she’s thinking, Mrs Earwig.’
    ‘I thought she was staying away.’
    ‘She said she was going to take an interest and encourage the young ’uns.’
    ‘She is planning something,’ said Letice, darkly. ‘Those cakes are a plot to undermine my authority.’
    ‘No, that’s how she always cooks,’ said Nanny. ‘She just hasn’t got the knack.’ Your authority, eh?
    ‘She’s nearly finished the flags,’ Gammer reported. ‘Now she’s going to try to make herself useful again.’
    ‘Well … I suppose we could ask her to do the Lucky Dip.’
    Nanny looked blank. ‘You mean where kids fish around in a big tub full of bran to see what they can pull out?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’re going to let Granny Weatherwax do that?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Only she’s got a funny sense of humour, if you know what I mean.’
    ‘Good morning to you all!’
    It was Granny Weatherwax’s voice. Nanny Ogg had known it for most of her life. But it had that strange edge to it again. It sounded nice.
    ‘We were wondering if you could supervise the bran tub, Miss Weatherwax.’
    Nanny flinched. But Granny merely said, ‘Happy to, Mrs Earwig. I can’t wait to see the expressions on their little faces as they pull out the goodies.’
    Nor can I, Nanny thought.
    When the others had scurried off she sidled up to her friend.
    ‘Why’re you doing this?’ she said.
    ‘I really don’t know what you mean, Gytha.’
    ‘I seen you face down terrible creatures, Esme. I once seen you catch a unicorn, for goodness’ sake. What’re you plannin’?’
    ‘I still don’t know what you mean, Gytha.’
    ‘Are you angry ’cos they won’t let you enter, and now you’re plannin’ horrible revenge?’
    For a moment they both looked at the field. It was beginning to fill up. People were bowling for pigs and fighting on the greasy pole. The Lancre Volunteer Band was trying to play a medley of popular tunes, and it was only a pity that each musician was playing a different one. Small children were fighting. It was going to be a scorcher of a day, probably the last one of the year.
    Their eyes were drawn to the roped-off square in the centre of the field.
    ‘Are you going to enter the Trials, Gytha?’ said Granny.
    ‘You never answered my question!’
    ‘What question was that?’
    Nanny decided not to hammer on a locked door. ‘Yes, I am going to have a go, as it happens,’ she said.
    ‘I certainly hope you win, then. I’d cheer you on, only that wouldn’t be fair to the others. I shall merge into the background and be as quiet as a little mouse.’
    Nanny tried guile. Her face spread into a wide pink grin, and she nudged her friend.
    ‘Right, right,’ she said. ‘Only … you can tell me, right? I wouldn’t like to miss it when it happens. So if you could just give me a little signal when you’re going to do it, eh?’
    ‘What’s it you’re referring to, Gytha?’
    ‘Esme Weatherwax, sometimes I could really give you a bloody good slap!’
    ‘Oh dear.’
    Nanny Ogg didn’t often swear, or at least use words beyond the boundaries of what the Lancrastrians thought of as ‘colourful language’. She looked as if she habitually used bad words, and had just thought up a good one, but mostly witches are quite careful about what they say. You can never be sure what the words are going to do when they’re out of earshot. But now she swore under her breath and caused small brief fires to start in the dry grass.
    This put her in just about the right frame of mind for the Cursing.
    It was said that once upon a time this had been done on a living, breathing subject, at least at the start of the event, but that wasn’t right for a family day out and for several hundred years the Curses had been directed at Unlucky Charlie, who was, however you looked at it, nothing more than a scarecrow. And since curses are generally directed at the mind of the cursed, this presented a major problem, because even ‘May your straw go mouldy and your carrot fall off’ didn’t make much impression on a pumpkin. But points were given for general style and inventiveness.
    There wasn’t much pressure for those in any case. Everyone knew what event counted, and it wasn’t Unlucky Charlie.
    One year Granny