Carpe Jugulum

Mr. Oats?”
    “Are you sure you can walk?”
    “Of course I can!”
    Oats gave up. Granny smirked triumphantly at the crowd and strode through them and toward the stables, with him trotting after her.
    When he hurried around the corner he almost collided with her, standing as stiff as a rod.
    “Is there anyone watchin’ me?” she said.
    “What? No, I don’t think so. Apart from me, of course.”
    “You don’t count,” said Granny.
    She sagged, and almost collapsed. He caught her, and she pummeled him on the arm. The wowhawk flapped its wings desperately.
    “Let go! I just lost my footin’, that’s all!”
    “Yes, yes, of course. You just lost your footing,” he said soothingly.
    “And don’t try to humor me, either.”
    “Yes, yes, all right .”
    “It’s just that it don’t do to let things slide, if you must know.”
    “Like your foot did just then…”
    “Exactly.”
    “So perhaps I’ll take your arm, because it’s very muddy.”
    He could just make out her face. It was a picture, but not one you’d hang over the fireplace. Some sort of inner debate was raging.
    “Well, if you think you’re going to fall over…” she said.
    “That’s right, that’s right,” said Oats, gratefully. “I nearly hurt my ankle back there as it is.”
    “I’ve always said young people today don’t have the stamina,” said Granny, as if testing out an idea.
    “That’s right, we don’t have the stamina.”
    “And your eyesight is prob’ly not as good as mine owin’ to too much readin’,” said Granny.
    “Blind as a bat, that’s right.”
    “All right.”
    And so, at cross purposes, and lurching occasionally, they reached the stables.
    The mule shook its head at Granny Weatherwax when they arrived at its loose box. It knew trouble when it saw her.
    “It’s a bit cantankerous,” said Oats.
    “Is it?” said Granny. “Then we shall see what we can do.”
    She walked unsteadily over to the creature and pulled one of its ears down to the level of her mouth. She whispered something. The mule blinked.
    “That’s sorted out, then,” she said. “Help me up.”
    “Just let me put the bridle on—”
    “Young man, I might be temp’ry not at my best, but when I need a bridle on any creature they can put me to bed with a shovel. Give me a hand up, and kindly avert your face whilst so doing.”
    Oats gave up, and made a stirrup of his hands to help her into the saddle.
    “Why don’t I come with you?”
    “There’s only one mule. Anyway, you’d be a hindrance. I’d be worrying about you all the time.”
    She slid gently off the other side of the saddle and landed in the straw. The wowhawk fluttered up and perched on a beam, and if Oats had been paying attention he’d have wondered how a hooded bird could fly so confidently.
    “Drat!”
    “Madam, I do know something about medicine! You are in no state to ride anything!”
    “Not right now, I admit,” said Granny, her voice slightly muffled. She pulled some straw away from her face and waved a hand wildly to be helped up. “But you just wait until I find my feet…”
    “All right! All right ! Supposing I ride and you hang on behind me? You can’t weigh more than the harmonium, and he managed that all right.”
    Granny looked owlishly at him. She seemed drunk, at that stage when hitherto unconsidered things seem a good idea, like another drink. Then she appeared to reach a decision.
    “Oh…if you insist…”
    Oats found a length of rope and, after some difficulties caused by Granny’s determined belief that she was doing him some sort of favor, got her strapped into a pillion position.
    “Just so long as you understand that I didn’t ax you to come along and I don’t need your help,” said Granny.
    “Ax?”
    “Ask, then,” said Granny. “Slipped into a bit of rural there.”
    Oats stared ahead for a while. Then he dismounted, lifted Granny down, propped her up while she protested, disappeared into the night, came back shortly carrying the ax from the forge, used more rope to tie it to his waist, and mounted up again.
    “You’re learnin’,” said Granny.
    As they left she raised an arm. The wowhawk fluttered down and settled on her wrist.

    The air in the rocking coach was acquiring a distinct personality.
    Magrat sniffed. “I’m sure I changed Esme not long ago…”
    After a fruitless search of the baby they looked under the seat. Greebo was lying asleep with his legs in the air.
    “Isn’t that just like