Witches Abroad

“Well, which old witch did the house land on?”
    “Nanny? No, she’s not dead. She’s just a bit stunned. But thanks all the same for asking,” said Magrat. “That’s very kind of you.”
    This seemed to puzzle the dwarfs. They went into a huddle. There was a lot of sotto voce arguing.
    Then the head dwarf turned back to Magrat. He removed his helmet and turned it around and around nervously in his hands.
    “Er,” he said, “can we have her boots?”
    “What?”
    “Her boots?” said the dwarf, blushing. “Can we have them, please?”
    “What do you want her boots for?”
    The dwarf looked at her. Then he turned and went into a huddle with his colleagues again. He turned back to Magrat.
    “We’ve just got this…feeling…that we ought to have her boots,” he said.
    He stood there blinking.
    “Well, I’ll go and ask,” said Magrat. “But I don’t think she’ll say yes.”
    As she went to close the door the dwarf twiddled his hat some more.
    “They are ruby-colored, aren’t they?” he said.
    “Well, they’re red,” said Magrat. “Is red all right?”
    “They’ve got to be red.” All the other dwarfs nodded. “It’s no good if they’re not red.”
    Magrat gave him a blank look and shut the door.
    “Nanny,” she said slowly, when she was back in the kitchen, “there’s some dwarfs outside who want your boots.”
    Nanny looked up. She’d found a stale loaf in a cupboard and was industriously chewing. It was amazing what you’d eat if the alternative was dwarf bread.
    “What d’they want ’em for?” she said.
    “Didn’t say. They just said they had a feeling they want your boots.”
    “That sounds highly suspicious to me,” said Granny.
    “Old Shaker Wistley over Creel Springs way was a devil for boots,” said Nanny, putting down the bread-knife. “Especially black button boots. He used to collect ’em. If he saw you going past in a new pair he had to go and have a lie-down.”
    “I reckon that’s a bit sophisticated for dwarfs,” said Granny.
    “Maybe they want to drink out of ’em,” said Nanny.
    “What do you mean, drink out of them?” said Magrat.
    “Ah, well, that’s what they do in foreign parts,” said Nanny. “They drink fizzy wine out of ladies’ boots.”
    They all looked down at Nanny’s boots.
    Not even Nanny could imagine why anyone would want to drink out of them, or what they would do afterward.
    “My word. That’s even more sophisticated than old Shaker Wistley,” said Nanny reflectively.
    “They seemed a bit puzzled about it,” said Magrat.
    “I expect they would be. It ain’t often people get a feeling they ought to go around pulling a decent witch’s boots off. This sounds like another story flapping around. I think,” said Granny Weatherwax, “that we ought to go and talk to these dwarfs.”
    She strode out into the passageway and opened the door.
    “Yes?” she demanded.
    The dwarfs backed away at the sight of her. There was a lot of whispering and elbowing and muttered comments in the nature of “No, you ,” and “I asked last time.” Finally a dwarf was pushed forward. It might have been the original dwarf. It was hard to tell, with dwarfs.
    “Er,” he said. “Er. Boots?”
    “What for?” said Granny.
    The dwarf scratched its head. “Damned if I know,” he said. “We were just wondering about it ourselves, ’s’matterofact. We were just coming off shift in the coal mine half an hour ago, we saw the farmhouse land on…on the witch, and…well…”
    “You just knew you had to run up and steal her boots?” said Granny.
    The dwarf’s face widened into a relieved grin.
    “That’s right!” he said. “And sing the Ding-dong song. Only she was supposed to be squashed. No offense meant,” he added quickly.
    “It’s the willow reinforcement,” said a voice behind Granny. “Worth its weight in glod.”
    Granny stared for a while, and then smiled.
    “I think you lads ought to come inside,” she said. “I’ve got some questions to ask you.”
    The dwarfs looked very uncertain.
    “Um,” said the spokesdwarf.
    “Nervous of going into a house with witches in it?” said Granny Weatherwax.
    The spokesdwarf nodded, and then went red. Magrat and Nanny Ogg exchanged glances behind Granny’s back. Something had definitely gone wrong somewhere. In the mountains dwarfs certainly weren’t afraid of witches. The problem was to stop them digging up your floor.
    “You’ve been down from the mountains for