Carpe Jugulum (Discworld, #23; Witches, #6)

by Terry Pratchett

The little cup of valleys, glowing in the last shreds of evening sunlight, was the kingdom of Lancre. From its highest points, people said, you could see all the way to the rim of the world. It was also said, although not by the people who lived in Lancre, that below the rim, where the seas thundered continuously over the edge, their home went through space on the back of four huge elephants that in turn stood on the shell of a turtle that was as big as the world. The people of Lancre had heard of this. They thought it sounded about right. The world was obviously flat, although in Lancre itself the only truly flat places were tables and the top of some people’s heads, and certainly turtles could shift a fair load. Elephants, by all accounts, were pretty strong too. There didn’t seem any major gaps in the thesis, so Lancrastrians left it at that. It wasn’t that they didn’t take an interest in the world around them. On the contrary, they had a deep, personal and passionate involvement in it, but instead of asking “why are we here?” they asked “is it going to rain before the harvest?” A philosopher might have deplored this lack of mental ambition, but only if he was really certain about where his next meal was coming from. In fact Lancre’s position and climate bred a hardheaded and straightforward people who often excelled in the world down below. It had supplied the plains with many of their greatest wizards and witches and, once again, the philosopher might have marveled th...

In Ghat they believe in vampire watermelons, although folklore is silent about what they believe about vampire watermelons. Possibly they suck back.

She sang in harmony. Not, of course, with her reflection in the glass, because that kind of heroine will sooner or later end up singing a duet with Mr. Bluebird and other forest creatures and then there’s nothing for it but a flamethrower.

For tonight’s event he’d selected William the buzzard, who could be depended upon. All Hodgesaargh’s birds could be depended upon, but more often than not they could be depended upon to viciously attack him on sight. William, however, thought that she was a chicken, and she was usually safe in company.

He could tell the highwayman was stone dead. Living people are expected to have some blood in them.

“Wotcha, girl,” said Nanny. “Try some of the venison, it’s good stuff.” Agnes looked doubtfully at the roasting meat. Lancre people looked after the calories and let the vitamins go hang. “Do you think I could get a salad?” she ventured. “Hope not,” said Nanny happily

Lancre operated on the feudal system, which was to say, everyone feuded all the time and handed on the fight to their descendants.

We’re part of a big world. We have to play that part. For example, what about the Muntab question?” Nanny Ogg asked the Muntab question. “Where the hell’s Muntab?” she said. “Several thousand miles away, Mrs. Ogg. But it has ambitions Hubward, and if there’s war with Borogravia we will certainly have to adopt a position.”

It’s all right . . . as witches we believe in religious toleration . . .” “That’s right,” said Nanny Ogg. “But only for the right religions, so you watch your step!”

The reward for toil had been more toil. If you dug the best ditches, they gave you a bigger shovel.

“I thought you’d like this sort of thing, dear,” said the Countess. “It’s the sort of thing your crowd does, isn’t it?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” said the girl. “Oh, staying up until gone noon, and wearing brightly colored clothes, and giving yourselves funny names,” said the Countess. “Like Gertrude,” sneered Vlad. “And Pam. They think it’s cool.” Lacrimosa turned on him furiously, nails out. He caught her wrist, grinning. “That’s none of your business!” “Lady Strigoiul said her daughter has taken to calling herself Wendy,” said the Countess. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to, when Hieroglyphica is such a nice name for a girl.

“Rabbits sound dull.” “They have their ups and downs.”

Vampires are very anal retentive, you see?” “I shouldn’t like meeting one that was the opposite,” said Nanny.

“Nanny Ogg says you must take time by the foreskin,” Agnes said, and darted forward as the last wagon rumbled past. “She does?” “I’m afraid so. You get used to it.”

“Ooaauooow!” . . . but there was probably no combination of vowels that could do justice to the cry Nanny Ogg made on seeing a young baby. It included sounds known only to cats.

“Er, are you going to do some magic?” said Oats, behind them. “What’s the problem?” said Nanny. “I mean, does it involve, er . . .” he colored up, “er . . . removing your garments and dancing around and summoning lewd and salacious creatures? Only I’m afraid I couldn’t be a party to that. The Book of Om forbids consorting with false enchanters and deceitful soothsayers, you see.” “I wouldn’t consort with false enchanters neither,” said Nanny. “Their beards fall off.” “We’re real,” said Magrat. “And we certainly don’t summon lewd and salacious creatures,” said Agnes. “Unless we want to,” said Nanny Ogg, almost under her breath.

Agnes heard Perdita think I don’t like Magrat. She’s not like she used to be. Well, of course she’s not. But she’s taking charge, she’s not cringing slightly like she used to, she’s not WET. That’s because she’s a mother, Agnes thought. Mothers are only slightly damp.

They regarded the bridge. It had a certain negative quality. That is to say, while it was possible at the limits of probability that if they tried to cross the chasm by walking out over thin air this might just work—because of sudden updrafts, or air molecules suddenly all having a crazy idea at the same time—trying to do the same thing via the bridge would clearly be laughable. There was no mortar in it. The pillars had been piled up out of rocks laid like a drystone wall, and then a series of big flat stones dropped across the top. The result would have been called primitive even by people who were too primitive to have a word yet for “primitive.” It creaked ominously in the wind. They could hear stone grind against stone. “That’s not right,” said Magrat. “It wouldn’t stand up to a gale.” “It wouldn’t stand up to a dead calm,” said Agnes.

It wasn’t that he’d lacked faith. But faith wasn’t enough. He’d wanted knowledge.

The night was silver with rain. Heads down, the witches dashed through the murk. “I’ve got to change the baby!” “For a raincoat’d be favorite,” muttered Nanny.

The Lancrastians didn’t go digging themselves, reckoning in their uncomplicated country way that it was bad luck to have your head torn off by a vengeful underground spirit.

“You know how she can even be silent in her own special way.” “Oh yes. No one can be quiet like Esme. You can hardly hear yourself think for the silence.”

“Mistress Weatherwax, you are a natural disputant.” “No I ain’t!”

“There’s no grays, only white that’s got grubby. I’m surprised you don’t know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That’s what sin is.” “It’s a lot more complicated than that—” “No. It ain’t. When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they’re getting worried that they won’t like the truth. People as things, that’s where it starts.” “Oh, I’m sure there are worse crimes—” “But they starts with thinking about people as things . . .”

“You strong in your faith, then?” she said, as if she couldn’t leave things alone. Oats sighed. “I try to be.” “But you read a lot of books, I’m thinking. Hard to have faith, ain’t it, when you read too many books.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I really don’t,” said Nanny. “I mean, it’s flattering and everything, but I really don’t think I could be goin’ out with a man with a limp.” “Limp what?”

An Igor learnth houthehold thurgery on hith father’th knee,” said Igor. “And then practitheth on hith grandfather’th kidneyth.”

In the far corner of the barrow half a dozen pixies backed out of the hole they’d hacked into the next chamber, dragging a sword. For bronze, it was quite well preserved—the old chieftains of Lancre reckoned to be buried with their weapons in order to fight their enemies in the next world, and since you didn’t become a chieftain of ancient Lancre without sending a great many enemies to the next world, they liked to take weapons that could be relied upon to last.

“It’th a mob-proof door,” said Igor. “And Thcrapth ith nine-thirty-eighth Rottweiler.” “Which parts, as a matter of interest?” “Two legth, one ear, lotth of tubeth and lower jaw,” said Igor promptly, as they hurried off again. “Yes, but he’s got a spaniel brain,” said Nanny. “It’th in the bone,” said Igor. “He holdth people in hith jawth and beatth them thentheleth with hith tailth.” “He wags people to death?” “Thometimeth he drownth them in dribble,” said Igor.

Granny slowly collapsed backward, folding up like an empty dress. He rushed forward and caught her before she landed in the mud. One thin white hand gripped his wrist so hard that he yelped. Then she relaxed, and sagged in his grasp. Something made Oats look up. A hooded figure sat on a white horse a little way away, outlined in the faintest blue fire. “Go away!” he screamed. “You be gone right now or . . . or . . .” He lowered the body onto some tufts of grass, grabbed a handful of mud and flung it into the gloom. He ran after it, punching wildly at a shape which was suddenly no more than shadows and curling mist. He dashed back, picked up Granny Weatherwax, slung her over his shoulder and ran on, downhill. The mist behind him formed a shape on a white horse. Death shook his head. IT WASN’T EVEN AS IF I SAID ANYTHING, he said.

He was trying to find some help in the ancient military journals of General Tacticus, whose intelligent campaigning had been so successful that he’d lent his very name to the detailed prosecution of martial endeavor, and had actually found a section headed What to Do If One Army Occupies a Well-fortified and Superior Ground and the Other Does Not, but since the first sentence read “Endeavor to be the one inside” he’d rather lost heart.

“I told you!” she said. “That’s Esme Weatherwax down there, that is. I told you! I knew she was just biding her time! Hah, I’d like to see the bloodsucker who could put one over on her!” “I wouldn’t,” said Igor, fervently.