"'Ello, my little rosebud," said a cheerful, hopeful voice.
Nanny didn't even turn around.
"You do turn up where people aren't looking," she said.
"Famed for it, Mrs. Ogg."
There was silence from inside the forge. Then they could make out the tap-tap-tap of Jason's hammer.
"What they doing in there?" said Ridcully.
"It's stopping it kicking, whatever it is," said Nanny
"What was in the sack, Mrs. Ogg?" said Casanunda.
"What she told me to get," said Nanny "Her old silver tea set. Family heirloom. I've only ever seen it but twice, and once was just now when I put it in the sack. I don't think she's ever used it. It's got a cream jug shaped like a humorous cow."
More people had arrived outside the forge. The crowd stretched all the way across the square.
The hammering stopped. Jason's voice, quite close, said:
"We're coming out now."
"They're coming out now," said Nanny
"What'd she say?"
"She said they're coming out now."
"They're coming out now!"
The crowd pulled back. The doors swung open.
Granny emerged, leading the unicorn. It walked sedately, muscles moving under its white coat like frogs in oil. And its hooves clattered on the cobbles. Ridcully couldn't help noticing how they shone.
It walked politely alongside the witch until she reached the centre of the square. Then she turned it loose, and gave it a light slap on the rump.
It whinnied softly, turned, and galloped down the street, toward the forest. . .
Nanny Ogg appeared silently behind Granny Weatherwax as she watched it go.
"Silver shoes?" she said quietly "They'll last no time at all."
"And silver nails. They'll last for long enough," said Granny, speaking to the world in general. "And she'll never get it back, though she calls it for a thousand years."
"Shoeing the unicorn," said Nanny, shaking her head. "Only you'd think of shoeing a unicorn, Esme."
"I've been doing it all my life," said Granny.
Now the unicorn was a speck on the moor land. As they watched, it disappeared into the evening gloom.
Nanny Ogg sighed, and broke whatever spell there was.
"So that's it, then."
"Yes."
"Are you going to the dance up at the castle?"
"Are you?"
"Well. . . Mr. Casanunda did ask if I could show him the Long Man. You know. Properly. I suppose it's him being a dwarf. They're very interested in earthworks."
"Can't get enough of them," said Casanunda.
Granny rolled her eyes.
"Act your age, Gytha."
"Act? Don't have to act, can do it automatic," said Nanny. "Acting half my age . . . now that's the difficult trick. Anyway, you didn't answer me."
To the surprise of Nanny, and of Ridcully, and possibly even of Granny Weatherwax herself, she slipped her arm around Ridcully's arm.
"Mr. Ridcully and I are going to have a stroll down to the bridge."
"We are?" said Ridcully
"Oh, that's nice."
"Gytha Ogg, if you keep on looking at me like that I
shall give you a right ding around the ear."
"Sorry, Esme," said Nanny.
"Good."
"I expect you want to talk about old times," Nanny volunteered.
"Maybe old times. Maybe other times." The unicorn reached the forest, and galloped onward.
The waters of the Lancre gushed below. No one crossed the same water twice, even on a bridge.
Ridcully dropped a pebble. It went plunk.
"It all works out," said Granny Weatherwax, "somewhere. Your young wizard knows that, he just puts daft words around it. He'd be quite bright, if only he'd look at what's in front of him."
"He wants to stay here for a while," said Ridcully
gloomily. He flicked another pebble into the depths. "Seems fascinated by the stones. I can't say no, can I? The king's all for it. He says other kings have always had fools, so he'll try having a wise man around, just in case that works better."
Granny laughed. "And there's young Diamanda going to be up and about any day now," she said. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing. That's the thing about the future. It could turn out to be anything. And everything."
She picked up a pebble. It hit the water at the same time as one of Ridcully's own, making a double plunk.
"Do you think," said Ridcully, "that . . . somewhere . . .
it all went right?"
"Yes. Here!" Granny softened at the sight of his sagging shoulders.
"But there, too," she said.
"What?"
"I mean that somewhere Mustrum Ridcully married Esmerelda Weatherwax and they lived-" Granny gritted her teeth "-lived happily ever after. More or less. As much as anyone does."
"How d'you know?"
"I've been picking up bits of her memories. She seemed happy enough. And I ain't easily pleased."
"How can you do that?"
"I try to be good at everything I do."
"Did she say anything about-"
"She didn't say nothing! She don't know we exist! Don't ask questions! It's enough to know that everything happens somewhere, isn't it?"
Ridcully tried to grin.
"Is that the best you can tell me?" he said.
"It's the best there is. Or the next best thing."
* * *
Where does it end[45]?
On a summer night, with couples going their own ways, and silky purple twilight growing between the trees. From the castle, long after the celebrations had ended, faint laughter and the ringing of little silver bells. And from the empty hillside, only the silence of the elves.
Notes
1
Probably at the first pawn.
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2
Gods like a joke as much as anyone else.
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3
Which is another country.
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4
Which, no matter how carefully coiled, will always uncoil overnight and tie the lawnmower to the bicycles.
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5
This happens all the time, everywhere in the multiverse, even on cold planets awash with liquid methane. No one knows why it is, but in any group of employed individuals the only naturally early riser is always the office manager, who will always leave reproachful little notes (or, as it might be, engraved helium crystals) on the desks of their subordinates. In fact the only place this does not happen very often is the world Zyrix, and this is only because Zyrix has eighteen suns and it is only possible to be an early riser there once every 1,789.6 years, but even then, once every 1,789.6 years, resonating to some strange universal signal, smallminded employers slither down to the office with a tentacle full of small reproachful etched frimpt shells at the ready.
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6
He lived on his nerves.
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7
The study of invisible writings was a new discipline made available by the discovery of the bi-directional nature of Library-Space. The thaumic mathematics are complex, but boil down to the fact that all books, everywhere, affect all other books. This is obvious: books inspire other books written in the future, and cite books written in the past. But the General Theory[8] of L-Space suggests that, in that case, the contents of books as 'yet unwritten can be deduced from books now in existence.
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8
There's a Special Theory as well, but no one bothers with it much because it's self-evidently a load of marsh gas.
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9
It was largely dark.
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10
Three times outright, once after eleven hours extra time, and twice when the other finalists ran away.
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11
&
nbsp; Who was also general poacher, cesspit cleaner, and approximate carpenter[12].
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12
With a couple of nails it'll stay up all right.
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13
The thing about iron is that you generally don't have to think fast in dealing with it.
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14
Well, it's like this . . . The Carter parents were a quiet and respectable Lancre family who got into a bit of a mix-up when it came to naming their children. First, they had four daughters, who were christened Hope, Chastity, Prudence, and Charity, because naming girls after virtues is an ancient and unremarkable tradition. Then their first son was born and out of some misplaced idea about how this naming business was done he was called Anger Carter, followed later by Jealousy Carter, Bestiality Carter, and Covetousness Carter. Life being what it is. Hope turned out to be a depressive. Chastity was enjoying life as a lady of negotiable affection in Ankh-Morpork, Prudence had thirteen children, and Charity expected to get a dollar's change out of seventy-five pence — whereas the boys had grown into amiable, well-tempered men, and Bestiality Carter was, for example, very kind to animals.
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15
Ponder was one hundred percent wrong about this.
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16
Verence and Magrat had a lot in common, really.
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17
If it wasn't a big stick.
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18
It was here that the thaum, hitherto believed to be the smallest possible particle of magic, was successfully demonstrated to be made up of resons[19] or reality fragments. Currently research indicates that each reson is itself made up of a combination of at least five "flavours," known as "up," "down," "sideways," "sex appeal," and "peppermint" .
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19
Lit; "Thing-ies".
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20
Except for Nanny Ogg, who did it all the time, although not on purpose.
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21
As has been pointed out earlier in the Discworld chronicles, entire agricultural economies have been based on the lifting power of little old ladies in black dresses.
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22
i.e., having a lot of bosk.
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23
Really true. That's why people stand aside when kings go past.
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24
The Lancratians did not consider geography to be a very original science.
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25
Troll, a lifeform on silicon rather than carbon, can't in fact digest people. But there's always someone ready to give it a try.
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26
Insert the usual "red-hot curried marbles" description here, if you like.
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27
In the case of the A-Z Street Mappe of Ankh-Morpork, this would be The Sunshine Home for Sick Dragons in Morphic Street, Please Leave Donations of Coal by Side Door. Remember, A Dragon is For Life, Not Just for Hogswatchnight.
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28
Shawn Ogg[29].
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29
Except when he was lying down.
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30
But not huge, by wig standards. There have, in the course of decadent history, been many large wigs, often with built-in gewgaws to stop people having to look at boring hair all the time. There had been ones big enough to contain pet mice or clockwork ornaments. Mme. Cupidor, mistress of Mad King Soup II, had one with a bird cage in it, but on special state occasions wore one containing a perpetual calendar, a floral clock, and a take-away linguini shop.
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31
i.e., far enough so's not to look like you're intruding on the conversation, but close enough to get a pretty good idea of what is going on.
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32
Carrots so you can see in the dark, she'd explain, and oysters so's you've got something to look at.
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33
The Librarian, an ape of simple but firmly held tastes, considered an episode with custard pies, buckets of whitewash, and especially that bit when someone takes someone else's hat off, fills it with something oozy, and replaces it on the deadpan head while the orchestra plays "WHAH . . . Whah . . . whah . . . whaaaa . . ." to be an absolutely essential part of any theatrical performance. Since a roasted peanut is a dangerous and painful item when hurled with pinpoint accuracy, directors in Ankh-Morpork had long ago taken the hint. This made some of the grand guignol melodramas a little unusual, but it was considered that plays like "The Blood-Soaked Tragedy of the Mad Monk of Quirm (with Custard-Pie scene)" were far better than being deaf in one ear for five days.
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34
Made it up.
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35
Had read a lot of stuff that other people had made up, too.
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36
"He's just an old soppy really" — from the Nanny Ogg Book of Cat Sayings.
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37
He knew this because the previous month's issue of Popular Armour had run a feature entitled "We Test The Top Twenty Sub — $50 Helmets." It had also run a second feature called "Battleaxes: We Put The Ten Best Through Their Paces" and had advertised for half a dozen new testers.
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38
The shortest unit of time in the multiverse is the New York Second, defined as the period of time between the traffic lights turning green and the cab behind you honking.
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39
Although this is a phallusy.
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40
There are many recipes for the flat round loaves of Lancre dwarf bread, but the common aim of all of them is to make a field ration that is long-lasting, easily packed, and can disembowel the enemy if skimmed through the air hard enough. Edibility is a kind of optional extra. Most recipes are a closely guarded secret, apart from the gravel.
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41
Hence the term "wholesale destruction".
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42
The Monks of Cool, whose tiny and exclusive monastery is hidden in a really cool and laid-back valley in the lower Ramtops, have a passing-out test for a novice. He is taken into a room full of all types of clothing and asked: Yo[43], my son, which of these is the most stylish thing to wear? And the correct answer is: Hey, whatever I select.
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43
Cool, but not necessarily up to date.
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44
Nanny Ogg was also a great picker-up of unconsidered trifles.
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45
When Hwel the playwright turned up with the rest of the troupe the next day, they told him all about it, and he wrote it down. But he left out all the bits that wouldn't fit on a stage, or were too expensive, or which he didn't believe. In any case, he called it The Taming of the Vole, because no one would be interested in a play called Things that Happened on A Midsummer Night.
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