Carpe Jugulum

feel it ebbing from her mind. Down below, when things were quiet, she was always aware of the buzz of minds around her. Human and animal, they all stirred up together in some great mental stew. But here there were mainly the slow thoughts of the trees, which were frankly boring after the first few hours and could be safely ignored. Snow, still quite thick in the hollows and on the shadow sides of trees, was dissolving in a drizzle of rain.
    She stepped into a clearing and a small herd of deer on the far edge raised their heads to watch her. Out of habit she stopped and gently let herself unravel, until from the deer’s point of view there was hardly anyone there.
    When she began to walk forward again a deer stepped out of some bushes and stopped and turned to face her.
    She’d seen this happen before. Hunters talked about it sometimes. You could track a herd all day, creeping silently among the trees in search of that one clean shot, and just as you were aiming, a deer would step out right in Ffront of you, turn and watch—and wait. Those were the times when a hunter found out how good he was…
    Granny snapped her fingers. The deer shook itself, and galloped off.
    She climbed higher, following the stony bed of a stream. Despite its swiftness, there was a border of ice along its banks. Where it dropped over a series of small waterfalls she turned and looked back down into the bowl of Lancre.
    It was full of clouds.
    A few hundred feet below she saw a black and white magpie skim across the forest roof.
    Granny turned and scrambled quickly up the dripping, icy rocks and onto the fringes of the moorland beyond.
    Up here there was more sky. Silence clamped down. Far overhead, an eagle wheeled.
    It seemed to be the only other life. No one ever came up here. The furze and heather stretched away for a mile between the mountains, unbroken by any path. It was matted, thorny stuff that would tear unprotected flesh to ribbons.
    She sat down on a rock and stared at the unbroken expanse for a while. Then she reached into her sack and took out a thick pair of socks.
    And set off, onward and upward.

Nanny Ogg scratched her nose. She very seldom looked embarrassed, but there was just a hint of embarrassment about her now. It was even worse than Nanny Ogg upset.
    “I ain’t sure if this is the right time,” she said.
    “Look, Nanny,” said Agnes, “we need her. If there’s something I ought to know, then tell me.”
    “It’s this business with…you know…three witches,” she said. “The maiden, the mother and…”
    “—the other one,” said Agnes. “Oh yes, I know that . But that’s just a bit of superstition, isn’t it? Witches don’t have to come in threes.”
    “Oh no. Course not,” said Nanny. “You can have any number up to about, oh, four or five.”
    “What happens if there’s more, then? Something awful?”
    “Bloody great row, usually,” said Nanny. “Over nothin’ much. And then they all goes off and sulks. Witches don’t like being compressed up, much. But three…sort of…works well. I don’t have to draw you a picture, do I?”
    “And now Magrat’s a mother —” said Agnes.
    “Ah, well, that’s where it all goes a bit runny,” said Nanny. “This maiden and mother thing…it’s not as simple as you’d think, see? Now you,” she prodded Agnes with her pipe, “are a maiden. You are , aren’t you?”
    “Nanny! That’s not the sort of thing people discuss!”
    “Well, I knows you are, ’cos I’d soon hear if you wasn’t,” said Nanny, the kind of person who discussed that kind of thing all the time. “But that ain’t really important, because it ain’t down to technicalities , see? Now me, I don’t reckon I was ever a maiden ment’ly. Oh, you don’t need to go all red like that. What about your Aunt May over in Creel Springs? Four kids and she’s still bashful around men. You got your blush from her. Tell her a saucy joke and if you’re quick you can cook dinner for six on her head. When you’ve been around for a while, miss, you’ll see that some people’s bodies and heads don’t always work together.”
    “And what’s Granny Weatherwax, then?” said Agnes, and added, a little nastily because the reference to the blush had gone home, “Ment’ly.”
    “Damned if I’ve ever worked that out,” said Nanny. “But I reckon she sees there’s a new three here. That bloody invitation must’ve been the last straw. So she’s gone.” She poked at her pipe.