Lords and Ladies

Page 10

 

  But Diamanda had read books. She knew about stuff. Raising power at the stones, for one thing. It really worked.

  Currently she was showing them the cards.

  The wind had got up again tonight. It rattled the shutters and made soot fall down the chimney. It seemed to Perdita that it had blown all the shadows into the comers of the room-

  “Are you paying attention, sister?” said Diamanda coldly.

  That was another thing. You had to call one another sister, out of fraternity.

  “Yes, Diamanda,” she said, meekly.

  “This is the Moon,” Diamanda repeated, “for those who werent paying attention. ” She held up the card. “And what do we see here - you, Muscara?”

  “Um . . . its got a picture of the moon on it?” said Muscara (nee Susan) in a hopeful voice.

  “Of course its not the moon. Its a nonmimetic convention, not tied to a conventional referencing system, actually,” said Diamanda.

  “Ah. ”

  A gust rocked the cottage. The door burst open and slammed back against the wall, giving a glimpse of cloud-wracked sky in which a non-mimetic convention was showing a crescent.

  Diamanda waved a hand. There was a brief flash of octarine light. The door jerked shut. Diamanda smiled in what Perdita thought of as her cool, knowing way.

  She placed the card on the black velvet cloth in front of her.

  Perdita looked at it gloomily It was all very pretty, the cards were coloured like little pasteboard jewels, and they had interesting names. But that little traitor voice whispered: how the hell can they know what the future holds? Cardboard isnt very bright.

  On the other hand, the coven was helping people . . . more or less. Raising power and all that sort of thing. Oh dear, supposing she asks me?

  Perdita realized that she was feeling worried. Something was wrong. It had just gone wrong. She didnt know what it was, but it had gone wrong now. She looked up.

  “Blessings be upon this house,” said Granny Weatherwax.

  In much the same tone of voice have people said, “Eat hot lead, Kincaid,” and, “I expect youre wondering after all that excitement whether Ive got any balloons and lampshades left. ”

  Diamandas mouth dropped open.

  “ Ere, youre doing that wrong. You dont want to muck about with a hand like that,” said Nanny Ogg helpfully, looking over her shoulder. “Youve got a Double Onion there. ”

  "Who are you?

  Suddenly they were there. Perdita thought: one minute theres shadows, the next minute they were there, solid as anything.

  “Whats all the chalk on the floor, then?” said Nanny Ogg. “Youve got all chalk on the floor. And heathen writing. Not that Ive got anything against heathens,” she added. She appeared to think about it. “Im practicly one,” she added further, “but I dont write on the floor. Whatd you want to write all on the floor for?” She nudged Perdita. “Youll never get the chalk out,” she said, “it gets right into the grain. ”

  “Um, its a magic circle,” said Perdita. “Um, hello, Mrs. Ogg. Um. Its to keep bad influences away . . . ”

  Granny Weatherwax leaned forward slightly.

  “Tell me, my dear,” she said to Diamanda, “do you think its working?”

  She leaned forward further.

  Diamanda leaned backward.

  And then slowly leaned forward again.

  They ended up nose to nose.

  “Whos this?” said Diamanda, out of the comer of her mouth.

  “Um, its Granny Weatherwax,” said Perdita. “Um. Shes a witch, um. . . ”

  “What level?” said Diamanda.

  Nanny Ogg looked around for something to hide behind. Granny Weatherwaxs eyebrow twitched.

  “Levels, eh?” she said. “Well, I suppose Im level one. ”

  “Just starting?” said Diamanda.

  “Oh dear. Tell you what,” said Nanny Ogg quietly to Perdita, “if we was to turn the table over, we could probably hide behind it, no problem. ”

  But to herself she was thinking: Esme can never resist a challenge. None of us can. You aint a witch if you aint got self-confidence. But were not getting any younger. Its like being a hired swordfighter, being a top witch. You think youre good, but you know theres got to be someone younger, practicing every day, polishing up their craft, and one day youre walkin down the road and you hears this voice behind you sayin: go for your toad, or similar.

  Even for Esme. Sooner or later, shell come up against someone faster on the craftiness than she is.

  “Oh, yes,” said Granny, quietly “Just starting. Every day, just starting. ”

  Nanny Ogg thought: but it wont be today.

  “You stupid old woman,” said Diamanda, “you dont frighten me. Oh, yes. I know all about the way you old ones frighten superstitious peasants, actually. Muttering and squinting. Its all in the mind. Simple psychology. Its not real witchcraft. ”

  “Ill, er, Ill just go into the scullery and, er, see if I can fill any buckets with water, shall I?” said Nanny Ogg, to no one in particular.

  “I spect youd know all about witchcraft,” said Granny Weatherwax.

  “Im studying, yes,” said Diamanda.

  Nanny Ogg realized that she had removed her own hat and was biting nervously at the brim.

  “I spect youre really good at it,” said Granny Weatherwax.

  “Quite good,” said Diamanda.

  “Show me. ”

  She is good, thought Nanny Ogg. Shes been facing down Esmes stare for moren a minute. Even snakes generally give up after a minute.

  If a fly had darted through the few inches of space between their stares it would have flashed into flame in the air.

  “I learned my craft from Nanny Gripes,” said Granny Weatherwax, “who learned it from Goody Heggety, who got it from Nanna Plumb, who was taught it by Black Aliss, who-”

  “So what youre saying is,” said Diamanda, loading the words into the sentence like cartridges in a chamber, “that no one has actually learned anything new?”

  The silence that followed was broken by Nanny Ogg saying: “Bugger, Ive bitten right through the brim. Right through. ”

  "I see, said Granny Weatherwax.

  “Look,” said Nanny Ogg hurriedly, nudging the trembling Perdita, “right through the lining and everything. Two dollars and curing his pig that hat cost me. Thats two dollars and a pig cure I shant see again in a hurry. ”

  “So you can just go away, old woman,” said Diamanda. “But we ought to meet again,” said Granny Weatherwax.

  The old witch and the young witch weighed one another up.

  “Midnight?” said Diamanda.

  “Midnight? Nothing special about midnight. Practically anyone can be a witch at midnight,” said Granny Weatherwax. “How about noon?”

  “Certainly. What are we fighting for?” said Diamanda.

  “Fighting? We aint fighting. Were just showing each other what we can do. Friendly like,” said Granny Weatherwax.

  She stood up.

  “Id better be goin,” she said. “Us old people need our sleep, you know how it is. ”

  “And what does the winner get?” said Diamanda. There was just a trace of uncertainty in her voice now. It was very faint, on the Richter scale of doubt it was probably no more than a plastic teacup five miles away falling off a low shelf onto a carpet, but it was there.

  “Oh, the winner gets to win,” said Granny Weatherwax. “Thats what its all about. Dont bother to see us out. You didnt see us in. ”

  The door slammed back.

  “Simple psychokinesis,” said Diamanda.

  “Oh, well. Thats all right then,” said Granny Weatherwax, disappearing into the night. “Explains it all, that does. ”

  There used to be such simple directions, back in the days before they invented parallel universes - Up and Down, Right and Left, Backward and Forward, Past and Future . . .

  But normal directi
ons dont work in the multiverse, which has far too many dimensions for anyone to find their way so new ones have to be invented so that the way can be found.

  Like: East of the Sun, West of the Moon.

  Or: Behind the North Wind.

  Or: At the Back of Beyond.

  Or: There and Back Again.

  Or: Beyond the Fields We Know.

  And sometimes theres a short cut. A door or a gate. Some standing stones, a tree cleft by lightning, a filing cabinet.

  Maybe just a spot on some moor land somewhere . . .

  A place where there is very nearly here.

  Nearly, but not quite. Theres enough leakage to make pendulums swing and psychics get nasty headaches, to give a house a reputation for being haunted, to make the occasional pot hurl across a room. Theres enough leakage to make the drones fly guard.

  Oh, yes. The drones.

  There are things called drone assemblies. Sometimes, on fine summer days, the drones from hives for miles around will congregate in some spot, and fly circles in the air, buzzing like tiny early warning systems, which is what they are.

  Bees are sensible. Its a human word. But bees are creatures of order, and programmed into their very genes is a hatred of chaos.

  If some people once knew where such a spot was, if they had experience of what happens when here and there become entangled, then they might - if they knew how - mark such a spot with certain stones.

  In the hope that enough daft buggers would take it as a warning, and keep away.

  “Well, whatd you think?” said Granny, as the witches hurried home.

  “The little fat quiet ones got a bit of natural talent,” said Nanny Ogg. “I could feel it. The rest of em are just along for the excitement, to my mind. Playing at witches. You know, ooh-jar boards and cards and wearing black lace gloves with no fingers to em and paddlin with the occult. ”

  “I dont hold with paddlin with the occult,” said Granny firmly. “Once you start paddlin with the occult you start believing in spirits, and when you start believing in spirits you start believing in demons, and then before you know where you are youre believing in gods. And then youre in touble. ”

  “But all them things exist,” said Nanny Ogg.

  “Thats no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages em. ”

  Granny Weatherwax slowed to a walk.

  “What about her?” she said.

  “What exactly about her do you mean?” - “You felt the power there?”

  “Oh, yeah. Made my hair stand on end. ”

  “Someone gave it to her, and I know who. Just a slip of a gel with a head full of wet ideas out of books, and suddenly shes got the power and dont know how to deal with it. Cards! Candles! Thats not witchcraft, thats just party games. Paddlin with the occult. Did you see shed got black fingernails?”

  “Well, mine aint so clean-”

  “I mean painted. ”

  “I used to paint my toenails red when I was young,” said Nanny, wistfully.

  “Toenails is different. Sos red. Anyway,” said Granny, “you only did it to appear allurin. ”

  “It worked, too. ”

  “Hah!”

  They walked along in silence for a bit.

  “I felt a lot of power there,” Nanny Ogg said, eventually.

  “Yes. I know. ”