Witches Abroad

thing.”
    “I think she could be very ruthless,” said Magrat.
    “I’ve got nothing but the greatest respect for Mrs. Gogol,” said Granny. “A fine woman. But talks a bit too much. If I was her, I’d have had a couple of big nails right through that thing by now.”
    “You would, too,” said Nanny. “It’s a good thing you’re good, ain’t it.”
    “Right,” said Granny, raising her voice again. “I’m going to find my sister, Mrs. Gogol. This is family .”
    She walked steadfastly toward the stairs.
    Magrat took out the wand.
    “If she does anything bad to Granny, she’s going to go through the rest of her life bright orange and round, with seeds in,” she said.
    “I don’t think Esme would like it if you did something like that,” said Nanny. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t believe all that stuff about pins and dolls.”
    “She doesn’t believe anything . But that doesn’t matter!” said Magrat. “Mrs. Gogol does! It’s her power! It’s what she thinks that matters.”
    “Don’t you reckon Esme knows that too?”
    Granny Weatherwax reached the foot of the stairs.
    “Mistress Weatherwax!”
    Granny turned.
    Mrs. Gogol had a long sliver of wood in her hand. Shaking her head desperately, she jabbed it into the doll’s foot.
    Everyone saw Esme Weatherwax wince.
    Another sliver was thrust into a raggedy arm.
    Slowly, Granny raised her other hand and shuddered when she touched her sleeve. Then, limping slightly, she continued to climb the stairs.
    “I can do the heart next, Mistress Weatherwax!” shouted Mrs. Gogol.
    “I’m sure you can. You’re good at it. You know you’re good at it,” said Granny, without looking around.
    Mrs. Gogol stuck another sliver into a leg. Granny sagged, and clutched at the banister. Beside her, one of the big torches flamed.
    “Next time!” said Mrs. Gogol. “Right? Next time. I can do it!”
    Granny turned around.
    She looked at the hundreds of upturned faces.
    When she spoke, her voice was so quiet that they had to strain to hear.
    “I know you can too, Mrs. Gogol. You really believe. Just remind me again—we’re playin’ for Lily, right? And for the city?”
    “What does that matter now?” said Mrs. Gogol. “Ain’t you going to give in?”
    Granny Weatherwax thrust a little finger into her ear and wiggled it thoughtfully.
    “No,” she said. “No, I don’t reckon that’s what I do now. Are you watchin’, Mrs. Gogol? Are you watchin’ real close?”
    Her gaze traveled the room and rested for just a fraction of a second on Magrat.
    Then she reached over, carefully, and thrust her arm up to the elbow into the burning torch.
    And the doll in Erzulie Gogol’s hands burst into flame.
    It went on blazing even after the witch had screamed and dropped it onto the floor. It went on burning until Nanny Ogg ambled over with a jug of fruit juice from the buffet, whistling between her teeth, and put it out.
    Granny withdrew her hand. It was unscathed.
    “ That’s headology,” she said. “It’s the only thing that matters. Everything else is just messin’ about. Hope I didn’t hurt you, Mrs. Gogol.”
    She went on up the stairs.
    Mrs. Gogol kept on staring at the damp ashes. Nanny Ogg patted her companionably on the shoulder.
    “How did she do that?” said Mrs. Gogol.
    “She didn’t. She let you do it,” said Nanny. “You got to watch yourself around Esme Weatherwax. I’d like to see one of them Zen buggers come up against her one day.”
    “And she’s the good one?” said Baron Saturday.
    “Yeah,” said Nanny. “Funny how things work out, really.”
    She looked thoughtfully at the empty fruit juice jug in her hand.
    “What this needs,” she said, in the manner of one reaching a conclusion after much careful consideration, “is some bananas and rum and stuff in it—”
    Magrat grabbed her dress as Nanny strode determinedly dak’rywards.
    “Not now,” she said. “We’d better get after Granny! She might need us!”
    “Shouldn’t think so for one minute,” said Nanny. “I wouldn’t like to be in Lily’s shoes when Esme catches up with her.”
    “But I’ve never seen Granny so agitated,” said Magrat. “Anything could happen.”
    “Good job if it does,” said Nanny. She nodded meaningfully at a flunkey who, being quick on the uptake, leapt to attention.
    “But she might do something—dreadful.”
    “Good. She’s always wanted to,” said Nanny. “Another banana dak’ry, mahatma coat,