The Folklore of Discworld

In Scotland, you had to be initiated into a secret society and swear blood-curdling oaths. In East Anglia, you had to kill a toad, leave it on an ant-hill for a month till the bones were picked clean, then on the next night of the full moon put the bones in a stream (ignoring the eldritch sounds which would break out just behind you). One single bone would float upstream . Take it home, rub it with oils, grind it to powder. That powder holds the power.
    In Lancre, the blacksmith and farrier Jason Ogg has no need of all that palaver, but he does have a more immediately practical approach. He can calm the wildest stallion by whispering a definitely non-magical Word in its ear – he simply points out what all those pliers and hammers could be used for, ‘if you don’t stand still right now, you bugger’.
Royal Phantoms
    Curiously, the royal family of Lancre have one strong superstition, though it only affects them once they are dead. They believe that they are bound to the stones of their ancient castle (especially if they happen to have been murdered on the premises), and must haunt it indefinitely. When this happened to King Verence I, he found he disliked most of his fellow-ghosts:
    Champot was all right, if a bit tiresome. But Verence had backed away at the first sight of the Twins, toddling hand in hand along the midnight corridors, their tiny ghosts a memorial to a deed darker even than the usual run of regicidal unpleasantness.
    And then there was the Troglodyte Wanderer, a rather faded monkeyman in a furry loincloth who apparently happened to haunt the castle merely because it had been built on his burial mound. For no obvious reason a chariot with a screaming woman in it occasionally rumbled through the laundry room. [ Wyrd Sisters ]
    Being not entirely stupid, King Verence found a way of escape. He persuaded Nanny Ogg to help him, pleading, ‘Pray carry a stone out of the palace so’s I can haunt it, good mother, it’s so bloody boring in here.’ So he left the castle, clinging to a bit of rock that Nanny broke off the battlements and put in her apron pocket, and took up residence in her cottage. Unfortunately all the other ghosts came along too, but she got used to them in the end.
Magpies
    Creatures which in other parts of the multiverse are a topic for wild rumour and proliferating legend are regarded in Lancre simply as rare and interesting species. To see the occasional phoenix or unicorn is sometimes a surprise, always a pleasure, but never an omen, eitherfor good or ill. (Details of these and other remarkable fauna are to be found in the chapter on ‘Beasties’.) But there is one exception – magpies are definitely bodeful.
    The magpies which come down into Lancre from Uberwald are the spies and messengers of a powerful vampire, Count de Magpyr. But even apart from that, magpies are unpopular there for their thieving ways and for being omens.
    Something chattered at them from a nearby branch …
    ‘Good morning, Mister Magpie,’ said Agnes automatically.
    ‘Bugger off, you bastard,’ said Nanny, and reached down for a stick to throw. The bird swooped off to the other side of the clearing.
    ‘That’s bad luck,’ said Agnes.
    ‘It will be if I get a chance to aim,’ said Nanny. ‘Can’t stand those maggoty-pies.’
    ‘ “One for sorrow”,’ said Agnes, watching the bird hop along a branch.
    ‘I always take the view there’s prob’ly going to be another one along in a minute,’ said Nanny, dropping the stick.
    ‘ “Two for joy”?’ said Agnes.
    ‘It’s “two for mirth”.’
    ‘Same thing, I suppose.’
    ‘Dunno about that,’ said Nanny. ‘I was joyful when our Jason was born, but I can’t say I was laughin’ at the time.’
    Two more magpies landed on the cottage’s antique thatch.
    ‘That’s “three for a girl—”,’ said Agnes nervously.
    ‘ “Three for a funeral” is what I learned,’ said Nanny. ‘But there’s lots of magpie rhymes.’ …
    ‘ “Seven for a secret never to be told”,’ said Agnes.
    ‘ “Seven’s a devil, his own sel’ ”,’ said Nanny darkly. ‘You’ve got your rhyme, I’ve got mine.’ [ Carpe Jugulum ]
    *
    Things are much the same on the Earth, where magpies (also known as pies, pyats, mags, or maggoty-pies) are sinister and unpopular birds. They are shameless thieves, snatching anything bright and glittery and carrying it off to decorate their extremely untidy and badly built nests – behaviour which earned one