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The Shades, in brief, were an abode of discredited gods and unlicensed thieves, ladies of the night and peddlers in exotic goods, alchemists of the mind and strolling mummers; in short, all the grease on civilization's axle.
And yet, despite the fact that these people tend to appreciate the soft magics, there was a remarkable shortage of witches. Within hours the news of Granny's arrival had seeped through the quarter and a stream of people crept, sidled or strutted towards her door, seeking potions and charms and news of the future and various personal and specialised services that witches traditionally provide for those whose lives are a little clouded or full of stormy weather.
She was at first annoyed, and then embarrassed, and then flattered; her clients had money, which was useful, but they also paid in respect, and that was a rock-hard currency.
In short, Granny was even wondering about the possibility of acquiring slightly larger premises with a bit of garden and sending for her goats. The smell might be a problem, but the goats would just have to put up with it.
They had visited the sights of Ankh-Morpork, its crowded docks, its many bridges, its souks, its casbahs, its streets lined with nothing but temples. Granny had counted the temples with a thoughtful look in her eyes; gods were always demanding that their followers acted other than according to their true natures, and the human fallout this caused made plenty of work for witches.
The terrors of civilisation had so far failed to materialise, although a cutpurse had tried to make off with Granny's handbag. To the amazement of passers-by Granny called him back, and back he came, fighting his feet which had totally ceased to obey him. No one quite saw what happened to her eyes when she stared into his face or heard the words she whispered in his cowering ear, but he gave her back all her money plus quite a lot of money belonging to other people, and before she let him go had promised to have a shave, stand up straight, and be a better person for the rest of his life. By nightfall Granny's description was circulated to all the chapter houses of the Guild of Thieves, Cutpurses, Housebreakers and Allied Trades[1], with strict instructions to avoid her at all costs.
Thieves, being largely creatures of the night themselves, know trouble when it stares them in the face.
Granny had also written two more letters to the University. There had been no reply.
“I liked the forest best,” said Esk.
“I dunno,” said Granny. “This is a bit like the forest, really. Anyway, people certainly appreciate a witch here.”
“They're very friendly,” Esk conceded. “You know the house down the street, where that fat lady lives with all those young ladies you said were her relatives?”
A very respectable body which in fact represented the major law enforcement agency in the city. The reason for this is as follows: the Guild was given an annual quota which represented a socially acceptable level of thefts, muggings and assassinations, and in return saw to it in very definite and final ways that unofficial crime was not only rapidly stamped out but knifed, garrotted, dismembered and left around the city in an assortment of paper bags as well. This was held to be a cheap and enlightened arrangement, except by those malcontents who were actually mugged or assassinated and refused to see it as their social duty, and it enabled the city's thieves to plan a decent career structure, entrance examinations and codes of conduct similar to those adopted by the city's other professions- which, the gap not being very wide in any case, they rapidly came to resemble.
“Mrs Palm,” said Granny cautiously. “Very respectable lady.”
“People come to visit them all night long. I watched. I'm surprised they get any sleep.”
“Um,” said Granny.
“It must be a trial for the poor woman with all those daughters to feed, too. I think people could be more considerate.”
“Well now,” said Granny, “I'm not sure that -”
She was rescued by the arrival at the gates of the University of a large, brightly painted wagon. Its driver reined in the oxen a few feet from Granny and said: “Excuse me, my good woman, but would you be so kind as to move, please?”
Granny stepped aside, affronted by this display of downright politeness and particularly upset at being thought of as anyone's good woman, and the driver saw Esk.
It was Treatle. He grinned like a worried snake.
“I say. It's the young lady who thinks women should be wizards, isn't it?”
“Yes,” said Esk, ignoring a sharp kick on the ankle from Granny.
“What fun. Come to join us, have you?”
“Yes,” said Esk, and then because something about Treatle's manner seemed to demand it, she added, “sir. Only we can't get in.”
“We?” said Treatle, and then glanced at Granny, “Oh, yes, of course. This would be your aunt?”
“My granny. Only not really my granny, just sort of everyone's granny.”
Granny gave a stiff nod.
“Well, we cannot have this,” said Treatle, in a voice as hearty as a plum pudding. “My word, no. Our first lady wizard left on the doorstep? That would be a disgrace. May I accompany you?”
Granny grasped Esk firmly by the shoulder.
“If it's all the same to you -”she began. But Esk twisted out of her grip and ran towards the cart.
