Carpe Jugulum

belongs to the King!”
    “Ah. Well, what’s his is yours, so give ’em the island and Verence can sign a bit o’ paper later on. It’s worth it,” Nanny added. “A rent of not stealing our cows is well worth it. Otherwise you’ll see cows zippin’ around very fast. Backward, sometimes.”
    “Without their legs moving?” said Agnes.
    “Right!”
    “Well—” Magrat began.
    “And they’ll be useful,” Nanny added, lowering her voice. “Fighting’s what they like best.”
    “Whist, yon fellaight fra’ aquesbore!”
    “Drinkin’s what they like best,” Nanny corrected herself.
    “Nae, hoon a scullen!”
    “Drinkin’ and fightin’s what they like best,” said Nanny.
    “An’ snaflin’ coobeastie.”
    “And stealing cows,” said Nanny. “Drinkin’, fightin’ and stealin’ cows is what they like best. Listen, Magrat, I’d rather have ’em in here pissin’ out than outside pissin’ in. There’s more of them and they’ll make your ankles all wet.”
    “But what can they do ?” said Magrat.
    “Well…Greebo’s frightened of ’em,” said Nanny.
    Greebo was two worried eyes, one yellow, one pearly white, in the shadows. The witches were impressed. Greebo had once brought down an elk. There was practically nothing that he wouldn’t attack, including architecture.
    “I’d have thought they’d have no trouble with vampires, then,” said Agnes.
    “Ach, c’na flitty-flitty! Ye think we’re flowers o’ the forest fairies?” sneered a blue man.
    “They can’t fly,” said Nanny.
    “It’s quite a nice island, even so…” Magrat mumbled.
    “Gel, your husband was messin’ around with politics, which is why we’re in this trouble, and to get you’ve got to give. Now he’s ill and you’re Queen so you can do as you like, right? There’s no one who can tell you what to do, isn’t that so?”
    “Yes, I suppos—”
    “So damn well give ’em the island and then they’ve got somethin’ here to fight for. Otherwise they’ll just push on through anyway and nick all our livestock on the way. Dress that up in fancy talk, and you’ve got politics.”
    “Nanny?” said Agnes.
    “Yup?”
    “Don’t get angry, but you don’t think Granny’s doing this on purpose, do you? Keeping back, I mean, so that we have to form a three and work together?”
    “Why’d she do that?”
    “So we develop insights and pull together and learn valuable lessons,” said Magrat.
    Nanny paused with his pipe halfway to her lips. “No,” she said, “I don’t reckon Granny’d be thinking like that, because that’s soppy garbage. Here, you blokes…here’s the key to the drinks cupboard in the scullery. Bugger off and have fun, don’t touch the stuff in the green bottles, because it’s—Oh, I expect you’ll be all right.”
    There was a blue blur, and the room was cleared.
    “We got things Granny ain’t got,” said Nanny.
    “Yes?” said Agnes.
    “Magrat’s got a baby. I’ve got no scruples. And we’ve both got you.”
    “What good will I be?”
    “Well, for one thing…you’re in two minds about everything—”
    There was a tinkle of glass from the scullery, and a scream of “Ach, ya skivens! Yez lukin’ at a faceful o’ heid!”
    “Crives! Sezu? Helweit! Summun hol’ me cote! Gude! Now, summun hol’ his arms!”
    “Stitch this, f’ra ma brinnit goggel!” Some more glass broke.
    “We’ll all go back into the castle,” said Nanny. “On our terms. Face this count down. And we’ll take garlic and lemons and all the other stuff. And some of Mr. Oats’s holy water. You can’t tell me all that stuff together won’t work.”
    “And they’ll let us in, will they?” said Agnes.
    “They’ll have a lot to think about,” said Nanny. “What with a mob at the gates. We can nip in round the back.”
    “What mob?” said Magrat.
    “We’ll organize one,” said Nanny.
    “You don’t organize a mob, Nanny,” said Agnes. “A mob is something that happens spontaneously.”
    Nanny Ogg’s eyes gleamed.
    “There’s seventy-nine Oggs in these parts,” she said. “Spon-taneous it is, then.”
    Her gaze fell for a moment on the forest of familial pictures, and then she removed a boot and hammered on the wall beside her. After a few seconds they heard a door bang and footsteps pass in front of the window.
    Jason Ogg, blacksmith and head male of the Ogg clan, poked his head around the front door.
    “Yes, Mum?”
    “There’s going to be a spontaneous mob