Once More With Footnotes

was a loose assortment of chronic non-joiners; a group of witches wasn't a coven, it was a small war — there was always this a wareness of position. It had nothing to do with anything the other world thought of as status. Nothing was ever said. But if an elderly witch died the local witches would attend her funeral for a few last words, and then go solemnly home alone, with the l i ttle insistent thought at the back of their minds: I've moved up one.
     
                  And newcomers were watched very, very carefully.
     
                  " 'Morning, Mrs. Ogg," said a voice behind her. "I trust I find you well?"
     
                  "How'd'yer do, Misttess Shimmy," said Nanny, turning. He r mental filing system threw up a card: Clarity Shimmy, lives over toward Cutshade with her old mum, takes snuff, good with animals. "How's your mother keepin'?"
     
                  "We buried her last month, Mrs. Ogg."
     
                  Nanny Ogg quite liked Clarity, because she didn't se e her very often. "Oh dear ..." she said.
     
                  "But I shall tell her you asked after her, anyway," said Clarity. She glanced briefly towards the ring.
     
                  "Who's the fat girl on now?" she asked. "Got a backside on her like a bowling ball on a short seesaw. "
     
                  " Th at's Agnes Nitt."
     
                  "That's a good cursin' voice she's got there. You know you've been cursed with a voice like that."
     
                  "Oh yes, she's been blessed with a good voice for cursin'," said Nanny politely. "Esme Weatherwax an' me gave her a few tips," she adde d.
     
                  Clarity's head turned.
     
                  At the far edge of the field, a small pink shape sat alone behind the Lucky Dip. It did not seem to be drawing a big crowd. Clarity leaned closer. "What's she ... er ... doing?"
     
                  "I don't know," said Nanny. "I think she's dec ided to be nice about it. "
     
                  " Esme? Nice about it?"
     
                  "Er ... yes," said Nanny. It didn't sound any better now she was telling someone.
     
                  Clarity stared at her. Nanny saw her make a little sign with her left hand, and then hurry off.
     
                  The pointy hats were b unching up now. There were little groups of three or four. You could see the points come together, cluster in animated conversation, and then open out again like a flower, and turn toward the distant blob of pinkness. Then a hat would leave that group and head off purposefully to another one, where the process would start all over again. It was a bit like watching very slow nuclear fission. There was a lot of excitement, and soon there would be an explosion.
     
                  Every so often someone would turn and look at N anny, so she hurried away among the sideshows until she fetched up beside the stall of the dwarf Zakzak Sttonginthearm, maker and purveyor of occult knicknackery to the more impressionable. He nodded at her cheerfully over the top of a display saying LUCK Y HORSESHOES $2 EACH.
     
                  "Hello, Mrs. Ogg," he said.
     
                  Nanny realized she was flustered.
     
                  "What's lucky about 'em?" she said, picking up a horseshoe. "Well, I get two dollars each for them," said Stronginthearm. "And that makes them lucky?"
     
                  "Lucky for me, " said Stronginthearm. "I expect you'll be wanting one, too, Mrs. Ogg? I'd have fetched along another box if I'd known they'd be so popular. Some of the ladies've bought two."
     
                  There was an inflection to the word "ladies".
     
                  "Witches have been buying luck y horseshoes?" said Nanny.
     
                  "Like there's no tomorrow," said Zakzak. He frowned for a moment. They had been witches, after all. "Er ... there will be ... won't there?" he added.
     
                  "I'm very nearly certain of it," said Nanny, which didn't seem to comfort h im.
     
                  "Suddenly been doing a roaring trade in protective herbs, too," said Zakzak. And, being a dwarf, which meant that he'd see the Flood as a marvelous opportunity to sell towels, he added, "Can I interest you,