Once More With Footnotes

there next day.
     
                  Nanny Ogg, who never bothered to grow any herb you couldn't smoke or stuff a chicke n with, heard her mutter, "Right, you buggers — "
     
                  "Good morning, Miss Weatherwax," said Letice Earwig loudly.
     
                  Granny Weatherwax stiffened, and then lowered the chair very carefully and turned around.
     
                  "It's Mistress," she said.
     
                  "Whatever," said Letice brightly. "I trust you are keeping well?"
     
                  "Up till now," said Granny. She nodded almost imperceptibly at the other three witches.
     
                  There was a thrumming silence, which appalled Nanny Ogg. They should have been invited in for a cup of something. That wa s how the ritual went. It was gross bad manners to keep people standing around. Nearly, but not quite, as bad as calling an elderly unmarried witch "Miss".
     
                  "You've come about the Trials," said Granny. Letice almost fainted.
     
                  "Er, how did — "
     
                  " 'Cos you look like a committee. It don't take much reasoning," said Granny, pulling off her gloves. "We didn't used to need a committee. The news just got around and we all turned up. Now suddenly there's folk arrangin' things." For a moment Granny looked as though she was fighting some serious internal battle, and then she added in throwaway tones, "Kettle's on. You'd better come in."
     
                  Nanny relaxed. Maybe there were some customs even Granny Weatherwax wouldn't defy, after all. Even if someone was your worst enemy , you invited them in and gave them tea and biscuits. In fact, the worser your enemy, the better the crockery you got out and the higher the quality of the biscuits. You might wish black hell on 'em later, but while they were under your roof you'd feed 'e m till they choked.
     
                  Her dark little eyes noted that the kitchen table gleamed and was still damp from scrubbing.
     
                  After cups had been poured and pleasantries exchanged, or at least offered by Letice and received in silence by Granny, the self-elected cha irwoman wriggled in her seat and said:
     
                  "There's such a lot of interest in the Trials this year, Miss — Mistress Weatherwax."
     
                  "Good."
     
                  "It does look as though witchcraft in the Ramtops is going through something of a renaissance, in fact. "
     
                  " A renaissance , eh? There's a thing."
     
                  "It's such a good route to empowerment for young women, don't you think?"
     
                  Many people could say things in a cutting way, Nanny knew. But Granny Weatherwax could listen in a cutting way. She could make something sound stupid just by hearing it.
     
                  "That's a good hat you've got there," said Granny. "Velvet, is it? Not made local, I expect."
     
                  Letice touched the brim and gave a little laugh.
     
                  "It's from Boggi's in Ankh-Morpork," she said.
     
                  "Oh? Shop-bought?"
     
                  Nanny Ogg glanced at the corner of the room, where a battered wooden cone stood on a stand. Pinned to it were lengths of black calico and strips of willow wood, the foundations for Granny's spring hat.
     
                  "Tailor-made, "said Letice.
     
                  "And those hatpins you've got," Granny went on. "All them crescent moons and cat shapes — "
     
                  "You've got a brooch that's crescent-shaped, too, ain't that so, Esme?" said Nanny Ogg, deciding it was time for a warning shot. Granny occasionally had a lot to say about jewellery on witches when she was f eeling in an acid mood.
     
                  "This is true, Gytha. I have a brooch what is shaped like a crescent. That's just the truth of the shape it happens to be. Very practical shape for holding a cloak, is a crescent. But I don't mean nothing by it. Anyway, you interr upted just as I was about to remark to Mrs. Earwig how fetchin' her hatpins are. Very witchy."
     
                  Nanny, swivelling like a spectator at a tennis match, glanced at Letice to