Carpe Jugulum

couple of ’em knocked at my door !”
    “Well, that is what a door is f—”
    “ And they shoved a leaflet under it saying ‘Repent!’” Nanny Ogg went on. “Repent? Me? Cheek! I can’t start repenting at my time of life. I’d never get any work done. Anyway,” she added, “I ain’t sorry for most of it.”
    “You’re getting a bit excited, I think—”
    “They set fire to people!” said Nanny.
    “I think I read somewhere that they used to, yes,” said Agnes, panting with the effort of keeping up. “But that was a long time ago, Nanny! The ones I saw in Ankh-Morpork just handed out leaflets and preached in a big tent and sang rather dreary songs—”

    “Hah! The leopard does not change his shorts, my girl!”
    They ran along a corridor, and out from behind a screen into the hubbub of the Great Hall.
    “Knee-deep in nobs,” said Nanny, craning. “Ah, there’s our Shawn…”
    Lancre’s standing army was lurking by a pillar, probably in the hope that no one would see him in his footman’s powdered wig, which had been made for a much bigger footman.
    The kingdom didn’t have much of an executive arm of government, and most of its actual hands belonged to Nanny Ogg’s youngest son. Despite the earnest efforts of King Verence, who was quite a forward-looking ruler in a nervous kind of way, the people of Lancre could not be persuaded to accept a democracy at any price and the place had not, regrettably, attracted much in the way of government. A lot of the bits it couldn’t avoid were done by Shawn. He emptied the palace privies, delivered its sparse mail, guarded the walls, operated the Royal Mint, balanced the budget, helped out the gardener in his spare time and, on those occasions these days when it was felt necessary to man the borders, and Verence felt that yellow and black striped poles did give a country such a professional look, he stamped passports, or at a pinch any other pieces of paper the visitor could produce, such as the back of an envelope, with a stamp he’d carved quite nicely out of half a potato. He took it all very seriously. At times like this, he buttled when Spriggins the butler was not on duty, or if an extra hand was needed he footed as well.
    “Evening, our Shawn,” said Nanny Ogg. “I see you’ve got that dead lamb on your head again.”
    “Aoow, Mum ,” said Shawn, trying to adjust the wig.
    “Where’s this priest that’s doing the Naming?” said Nanny.
    “What, Mum? Dunno, Mum. I stopped shouting out the names half an hour ago and got on to serving the bits of cheese on sticks—aoow, Mum, you shouldn’t take that many, Mum!” *
    Nanny Ogg sucked the cocktail goodies off four sticks in one easy movement, and looked speculatively at the throng.
    “I’m going to have a word with young Verence,” said Nanny.
    “He is the king, Nanny,” said Agnes.
    “That’s no reason for him to go around acting like he was royalty.”
    “I think it is, actually.”
    “None of that cheek. You just go and find this Omnian and keep an eye on him.”
    “What should I look for?” said Agnes sourly. “A column of smoke?”
    “They all wear black,” said Nanny firmly. “Hah! Typical!”
    “Well? So do we.”
    “Right! But ours is…ours is…” Nanny thumped her chest, causing considerable ripples, “ours is the right black, right? Now, off you go and look inconspicuous,” added Nanny, a lady wearing a two-foot-tall pointed black hat. She stared around at the crowd again, and nudged her son.
    “Shawn, you did deliver an invite to Esme Weatherwax, didn’t you?”
    He looked horrified. “Of course , Mum.”
    “Shove it under her door?”
    “No, Mum. You know she gave me an ear-bashin’ when the snails got at that postcard last year. I put it under a stone, good and tight.”
    “There’s a good boy,” said Nanny.
    Lancre people didn’t bother much with letterboxes. Mail was infrequent but biting gales were not. Why have a slot in the door to let in unsolicited winds? So letters were left under large stones, wedged firmly in flowerpots or slipped under the door.
    There were never very many. * Lancre operated on the feudal system, which was to say, everyone feuded all the time and handed on the fight to their descendants. The chips on some shoulders had been passed down for generations. Some had antique value. A bloody good grudge, Lancre reckoned, was like a fine old wine. You looked after it carefully and left it to your children.
    You never