Carpe Jugulum

blade sprang out and glittered blue along its edges.
    I must say that you have an amazing persistence of vitality, said the horseman. It was no so much a voice, more an echo inside the head. If not a presence of mind.
    “Who are you?”
    I’m Death, said Death. And I really am not here to take your money. Which part of this don’t you understand?

Something fluttered weakly at the window of the castle mews. There was no glass in the frame, just thin wooden slats to allow some passage of air.
    And there was a scrabbling, and then a faint pecking, and then silence.
    The hawks watched.
    Outside the window something went whoomph .
    Beams of brilliant light jerked across the far wall and, slowly, the bars began to char.

Nanny Ogg knew that while the actual party would be in the Great Hall all the fun would be outside, in the courtyard around the big fire. Inside it’d be all quails’ eggs, goose-liver jam and little sandwiches that were four to the mouthful. Outside it’d be roasted potatoes floating in vats of butter and a whole stag on a spit. Later on, there’d be a command performance by that man who put weasels down his trousers, a form of entertainment that Nanny ranked higher than grand opera.
    As a witch, of course, she’d be welcome anywhere and it was always a good idea to remind the nobs of this, in case they forgot. It was a hard choice, but she decided to stay outside and have a good dinner of venison because, like many old ladies, Nanny Ogg was a bottomless pit for free food. Then she’d go inside and fill the gaps with the fiddly dishes. Besides, they probably had that expensive fizzy wine in there and Nanny had quite a taste for it, provided it was served in a big enough mug. But you needed a good depth of beer before you loaded up on the fancy stuff.
    She picked up a tankard, ambled to the front of the queue at the beer barrel, gently nudged aside the head of a man who’d decided to spend the evening lying under the tap, and drew herself a pint.
    As she turned back she saw the splay-footed figure of Agnes approaching, still slightly uneasy with the idea of wearing the new pointy hat in public.
    “Wotcha, girl,” said Nanny. “Try some of the venison, it’s good stuff.”
    Agnes looked doubtfully at the roasting meat. Lancre people looked after the calories and let the vitamins go hang.
    “Do you think I could get a salad?” she ventured.
    “Hope not,” said Nanny happily
    “Lot of people here,” said Agnes.
    “ Everyone got a invite,” said Nanny. “Magrat was very gracious about that, I thought.”
    Agnes craned her head. “Can’t see Granny around anywhere, though.”
    “She’ll be inside, tellin’ people what to do.”
    “I haven’t seen her around much at all, lately,” said Agnes. “She’s got something on her mind, I think.”
    Nanny narrowed her eyes.
    “You think so?” she said, adding to herself: you’re getting good , miss.
    “It’s just that ever since we heard about the birth,” Agnes waved a plump hand to indicate the general high-cholesterol celebration around them, “she’s been so…stretched, sort of. Twanging.”
    Nanny Ogg thumbed some tobacco into her pipe and struck a match on her boot.
    “You certainly notice things, don’t you,” she said, puffing away. “Notice, notice, notice. We’ll have to call you Miss Notice.”
    “I certainly notice you always fiddle around with your pipe when you’re thinking thoughts you don’t much like,” said Agnes. “It’s displacement activity.”
    Through a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke Nanny reflected that Agnes read books. All the witches who’d lived in her cottage were bookish types. They thought you could see life through books but you couldn’t, the reason being that the words got in the way.
    “She has been a bit quiet, that’s true,” she said. “Best to let her get on with it.”
    “I thought perhaps she was sulking about the priest who’ll be doing the Naming,” said Agnes.
    “Oh, old Brother Perdore’s all right,” said Nanny. “Gabbles away in some ancient lingo, keeps it short and then you just give him sixpence for his trouble, fill him up with brandy and load him on his donkey and off he goes.”
    “What? Didn’t you hear?” said Agnes. “He’s laid up over in Skund. Broke his wrist and both legs falling off his donkey.”
    Nanny Ogg took her pipe out of her mouth.
    “Why wasn’t I told?” she said.
    “I don’t know, Nanny. Mrs. Weaver told me