“Nope,” she said. “Still all at sea this end.”
“Well, I'm not saying anymore.”
“Everyone's gone to the Entertainment,” said Nanny Ogg.
No reply.
“And later they'll be back.” A further absence of dialogue.
“Then there'll be carousing and jugglers and fellas that put weasels down their trousers,” said Nanny. Silence.
“And then it'll be tomorrow, and then what're you going to do?”
Silence.
“You can always go back to your cottage. No one's moved in. Or you can stop along of me, if you like. But you'll have to decide, d'you see, because you can't stay locked in there.”
Nanny leaned against the wall.
“I remember years ago my granny telling me about Queen Amonia, well, I say queen, but she never was queen except for about three hours because of what I'm about to unfold, on account of them playing hide-and-seek at the wedding party and her hiding in a big heavy old chest in some attic and the lid slamming shut and no one finding her for seven months, by which time you could definitely say the wedding cake was getting a bit stale.”
Silence.
“Well, if you ain't telling me, I can't hang around all night,” said Nanny. “It'll all be better in the morning, you'll see.”
Silence.
“Why don't you have an early night?” said Nanny. “Our Shawn'll do you a hot drink if you ring down. It's a bit nippy out here, to tell you the truth. It's amazing how these old stone places hang on to the chill.”
Silence.
“So I'll be off then, shall I?” said Nanny, to the unyielding silence. “Not doing much good here, I can see that. Sure you don't want to talk?”
Silence.
“Stand before your god, bow before your king, and kneel before your man. Recipe for a happy life, that is,” said Nanny, to the world in general. “Well, I'm going away now. Tell you what, I'll come back early tomorrow, help you get ready, that sort of thing. How about it?”
Silence.
“So that's all sorted out then,” said Nanny. “Cheerio.” She waited a full minute. By rights, by the human mechanics of situations like this, the bolts should have been drawn back and Magrat should have peeped out into the corridor, or possibly even called out to her. She did not.
Nanny shook her head. She could think of at least three ways of getting into the room, and only one of them involved going through the door. But there was a time and a place for witchcraft, and this wasn't it. Nanny Ogg had led a long and generally happy life by knowing when not to be a witch, and this was one of those times.
She went down the stairs and out of the castle. Shawn was standing guard at the main gate, surreptitiously practicing karate chops on the evening air. He stopped and looked embarrassed as Nanny Ogg approached.
“Wish I was going to the Entertainment, Mum.”
“I daresay the king will be very generous to you come payday on account of your duty,” said Nanny Ogg. “Remind me to remind him.”
“Aren't you going?”
“Well, I'm . . . I'm just going for a stroll into town,” said Nanny. “I expect Esme went with 'em, did she?”
“Couldn't say, Mum.”
“Just a few things I got to do.”
She hadn't gone much further before a voice behind her said, “Ello, oh moon of my delight.”
“You do sneak up on people, Casanunda.”
“I've arranged for us to have dinner at the Goat and Bush,” said the dwarf Count.
“Ooo, that's a horrible expensive place,” said Nanny Ogg. “Never eaten there.”
“They've got some special provisions in, what with the wedding and all the gentry here,” said Casanunda. “I've made special arrangements.”
These had been quite difficult.
Food as an aphrodisiac was not a concept that had ever caught on in Lancre, apart from Nanny Ogg's famous Carrot and Oyster Pie.[32] As far as the cook at the Goat and Bush was concerned, food and sex were only linked in certain humorous gestures involving things like cucumbers. He'd never heard of chocolate, banana skins, avocado and ginger, marshmallow and the thousand other foods people had occasionally employed to drive an A-to-B freeway through the rambling pathways of romance. Casanunda had spent a busy ten minutes sketching out a detailed menu, and quite a lot of money had changed hands.
He'd arranged a careful romantic candlelit supper. Casanunda had always believed in the art of seduction.
Many tall women accessible by stepladder across the continent had reflected how odd it was that the dwarfs, a race to whom the aforesaid art of seduction consisted in the main part of tactfully finding out what sex, underneath all that leather and chain-mail, another dwarf was, had generated someone like Casanunda.
It was as if Eskimos had produced a natural expert in the care and attention of rare tropical plants. The great pent up waters of dwarfish sexuality had found a leak at the bottom of the dam-small, but with enough power to drive a dynamo.
Everything that his fellow dwarfs did very occasionally as nature demanded he did all the time, sometimes in the back of a sedan chair and once upside down in a tree - but, and this is important, with care and attention to detail that was typically dwarfish. Dwarfs would spend months working on an exquisite piece of jewellery, and for broadly similar reasons Casanunda was a popular visitor to many courts and palaces, for some strange reason generally while the local lord was away. He also had a dwarfish ability with locks, always a useful talent for those awkward moments sur la boudoir.
And Nanny Ogg was an attractive lady, which is not the same as being beautiful. She fascinated Casanunda. She was an incredibly comfortable person to be around, partly because she had a mind so broad it could accommodate three football fields and a bowling alley.
* * *
“I wish I had my crossbow,” muttered Ridcully. “With that head on my wall I'd always have a place to hang my hat.”
The unicorn tossed its head and pawed the ground. Steam rose from its flanks.
“I ain't sure that would work,” said Granny. “You sure you've got no whoosh left in them fingers of yours?”
“I could create an illusion,” said the wizard. “That's not hard.”
“It wouldn't work. The unicorn is an elvish creature. Magic don't work on 'em. They see through illusions. They ought to, they're good enough at 'em. How about the bank? Reckon you could scramble up it?”
They both glanced at the banks. They were red clay, slippery as priests.
“Let's walk backward,” said Granny. “Slowly.”
“How about its mind? Can you get in?”
“There's someone in there already. The poor thing's her pet. It obeys only her.”