Witches Abroad

quiet, some men are going to come looking for us.”
    They scurried after her toward their tiny cabin.
    “You weren’t using magic?” said Magrat.
    “No.”
    “And not cheating?” said Nanny Ogg.
    “No. Just headology,” said Granny.
    “Where did you learn to play like that?” Nanny demanded.
    Granny stopped. They cannoned into her.
    “Remember last winter, when Old Mother Dismass was taken really bad and I went and sat up with her every night for almost a month?”
    “Yes?”
    “You sit up every night dealing Cripple Mister Onion with someone who’s got a detached retina in her second sight and you soon learn how to play,” said Granny.
Dear Jason and everyone,
What you get more of in foreign parts is smells, I am getting good at them. Esme is shouting at everyone, I think she thinks they’re bein foreign just to Spite her, don’t know when I last saw her enjoi herselfe so much. Mind you they need a good Shakin up if you ask me, for lunch we stopped somehwere and they did Steak Tartere and they acted VERY snooty just becos I wanted myne well done. All the best, MUM
    The moon was closer here.
    The orbit of the Discworld’s moon meant that it was quite high when it passed over the high Ramtops. Here, nearer to the Rim, it was bigger. And more orange.
    “Like a pumpkin,” said Nanny Ogg.
    “I thought we said we weren’t going to mention pumpkins,” said Magrat.
    “Well, we didn’t have any supper,” said Nanny.
    And there was another thing. Except during the height of summer the witches weren’t used to warm nights. It didn’t seem right, gliding along under a big orange moon over dark foliage that clicked and buzzed and whirred with insects.
    “We must be far enough from the river now,” said Magrat. “Can’t we land, Granny? No one could have followed us!”
    Granny Weatherwax looked down. The river in this countryside meandered in huge glistening curves, taking twenty miles to cover five. The land between the snaking water was a patchwork of hillsides and woodlands. A distant glow might have been Genua itself.
    “Riding a broomstick all night is a right pain in the itinerant,” said Nanny.
    “Oh, all right .”
    “There’s a town over there,” said Magrat. “And a castle.”
    “Oh, not another one…”
    “It’s a nice little castle,” said Magrat. “Can’t we just call in? I’m fed up with inns.”
    Granny looked down. She had very good night vision.
    “Are you sure that’s a castle?” she said.
    “I can see the turrets and everything,” said Magrat. “Of course it’s a castle.”
    “Hmm. I can see more than turrets,” said Granny. “I think we’d better have a look at this, Gytha.”

    There was never any noise in the sleeping castle, except in the late summer when ripe berries fell off the bramble vines and burst softly on the floor. And sometimes birds would try to nest in the thorn thickets that now filled the throne room from floor to ceiling, but they never got very far before they, too, fell asleep. Apart from that, you’d need very keen hearing indeed to hear the growth of shoots and the opening of buds.
    It had been like this for ten years. There was no sound in the—“Open up there!”
    “Bony fidy travelers seeking sucker!”
    —no sound in the—
    “Here, give us a leg up, Magrat. Right. Now…”
    There was a tinkle of broken glass.
    “You’ve broken their window!”
    — not a sound in the—
    “You’ll have to offer to pay for it, you know.”
    The castle gate swung open slowly. Nanny Ogg peered around it at the other two witches, while pulling thorns and burrs from her hair.
    “It’s bloody disgusting in here,” she said. “There’s people asleep all over the place with spiders’ webs all over ’em. You were right, Esme. There’s been magic going on.”
    The witches pushed their way through the overgrown castle. Dust and leaves had covered the carpets. Young sycamores were making a spirited attempt to take over the courtyard. Vines festooned every wall.
    Granny Weatherwax pulled a slumbering soldier to his feet. Dust billowed off his clothes.
    “Wake up,” she demanded.
    “Fzhtft,” said the soldier, and slumped back.
    “It’s like that everywhere,” said Magrat, fighting her way through a thicket of bracken that was growing up from the kitchen regions. “There’s the cooks all snoring and nothing but mold in the pots! There’s even mice asleep in the pantry!”
    “Hmm,” said Nanny. “There’ll be a spinning