Witches Abroad

win,” said Magrat. “And you know how she hates losing,” she added.
    Granny Weatherwax was not a good loser. From her point of view, losing was something that happened to other people.
    “It’s her eggo,” said Nanny Ogg. “Everyone’s got one o’ them. A eggo. And she’s got a great big one. Of course, that’s all part of bein’ a witch, having a big eggo.”
    “She’s bound to use magic,” said Magrat.
    “It’s tempting Fate, using magic in a game of chance,” said Nanny Ogg. “Cheatin’s all right. That’s practic’ly fair . I mean, anyone can cheat. But using magic—well, it’s tempting Fate.”
    “No. Not Fate,” said Magrat darkly.
    Nanny Ogg shivered.
    “Come on,” said Magrat. “We can’t let her do it.”
    “It’s her eggo,” said Nanny Ogg weakly. “Terrible thing, a big eggo.”

    “I got,” said Granny, “three little pictures of kings and suchlike and three of them funny number one cards.”
    The three men beamed and winked at one another.
    “That’s Triple Onion!” said the one who had introduced Granny to the table, and who had turned out to be called Mister Frank.
    “And that’s good, is it?” said Granny.
    “It means you win yet again, dear lady!” He pushed a pile of pennies toward her.
    “Gosh,” said Granny. “That means I’ve got…what would it be…almost five dollars now?”
    “Can’t understand it,” said Mister Frank. “It must be the famous beginner’s luck, eh?”
    “Soon be poor men if it goes on like this,” said one of his companions.
    “She’ll have the coats off our backs, right enough,” said the third man. “Haha.”
    “Think we should give up right now,” said Mister Frank. “Haha.”
    “Haha.”
    “Haha.”
    “Oh, I want to go on,” said Granny, grinning anxiously. “I’m just getting the hang of it.”
    “Well, you’d better give us a sporting chance to win a little bit back, haha,” said Mister Frank. “Haha.”
    “Haha.”
    “Haha.”
    “Haha. What about half a dollar a stake? Haha?”
    “Oh, I reckon she’ll want a dollar a stake, a sporting lady like her,” said the third man.
    “Haha!”
    Granny looked down at her pile of pennies. For a moment she looked uncertain and then, they could see, she realized: how much could she lose, the way the cards were going?
    “Yes!” she said. “A dollar a stake!” She blushed. “This is exciting , isn’t it!”
    “Yeah,” said Mister Frank. He drew the pack toward him.
    There was a horrible noise. All three men stared at the bar, where shards of mirror were cascading to the floor.
    “What happened?”
    Granny gave him a sweet old smile. She hadn’t appeared to look around.
    “I reckon the glass he was polishing must of slipped out of his hand and smashed right into the mirror,” she said. “I do hope he don’t have to pay for it out of his wages, the poor boy.”
    The men exchanged glances.
    “Come on,” said Granny, “I’ve got my dollar all ready.”
    Mister Frank looked nervously at the ravaged frame. Then he shrugged.
    The movement dislodged something somewhere. There was a muffled snapping noise, like a mousetrap carrying out the last rites. Mister Frank went white and gripped his sleeve. A small metal contraption, all springs and twisted metal, fell out. A crumpled-up Ace of Cups was tangled up in it.
    “Whoops,” said Granny.

    Magrat peered through the window into the saloon.
    “What’s she doin’ now?” hissed Nanny Ogg.
    “She’s grinning again,” said Magrat.
    Nanny Ogg shook her head. “Eggo,” she said.

    Granny Weatherwax had that method of play that has reduced professional gamblers to incoherent rage throughout the multiverse.
    She held her cards tightly cupped in her hands a few inches from her face, allowing the merest fraction of each one to protrude. She glared at them as if daring them to offend her. And she never seemed to take her eyes off them, except to watch the dealing.
    And she took far too long. And she never, ever, took risks.
    After twenty-five minutes she was down one dollar and Mister Frank was sweating. Granny had already helpfully pointed out three times that he’d accidentally dealt cards off the bottom of the deck, and she’d asked for another pack “because, look, this one’s got all little marks on the back.”
    It was her eyes, that was what it was. Twice he’d folded on a perfectly good three-card Onion only to find that she’d been holding a lousy double Bagel. Then the third time,