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She muttered something under her breath.
Magrat saw the man look down to take another swig and stare, wide-eyed, into the mug. Then he dropped it and fought his way out of the room, clutching at his throat.
'What did you do to his drink?' she said.
'You ain't old enough to be tole,' said Nanny.
At home, if a witch wanted a table to herself it ... just happened. The sight of the pointy hat was enough. People kept a polite distance, occasionally sending free drinks to her. Even Magrat got respect, not particularly because anyone was in awe of her, but because a slight to one witch was a slight to all witches and no-one wanted Granny Weatherwax coming around to explain this to them. Here they were being jostled, as if they were ordinary. Only Nanny Ogg's warning hand on Granny Weatherwax's arm was keeping a dozen jovial drinkers from unnatural amphibianhood, and even Nanny's usually very elastic temper was beginning to twang. She always prided herself on being as ordinary as muck, but there was ordinary and there was ordinary. It was like being that Prince Whatsisname, in the nursery story, who liked to wander around his kingdom dressed up as a commoner; she'd always had a shrewd suspicion that the little pervert made sure people knew who he was beforehand, just in case anyone tried to get too common. It was like getting muddy. Getting muddy when you had a nice hot tub to look forward to was fun; getting muddy when all you had to look forward to was more mud was no fun at all. She reached a conclusion.
'Hey, why don't we have a drink?' said Nanny Ogg brightly. 'We'd all feel better for a drink.'
'Oh no,' said Granny. 'You caught me with that herbal drink last time. I'm sure there was alcohol in that. I def'nitely felt a bit woozy after the sixth glass. I ain't drinking any more foreign muck.'
'You've got to drink something,' said Magrat soothingly. 'I'm thirsty, anyway.' She looked vaguely at the crowded bar. 'Perhaps they do some kind of fruit cup, or something.'
'Bound to,' said Nanny Ogg. She stood up, glanced at the bar, and surreptitiously removed a hatpin from her hat. 'Shan't be a moment.'
The two of them were left in their own private gloom. Granny sat staring fixedly in front of her.
'You really shouldn't take it so bad, just because people aren't showing you any respect,' said Magrat, pouring soothing oil on the internal fires. 'They've hardly ever shown me any respect at all. It's not a problem.'
'If you ain't got respect, you ain't got a thing,' said Granny distantly.
'Oh, I don't know. I've always managed to get along,' said Magrat.
'That's 'cos you're a wet hen, Magrat Garlick,' said Granny.
There was a short, hot silence, ringing with the words that shouldn't have escaped and a few grunts of pained surprise from the direction of the bar.
I know she's always thought that, Magrat told herself within the glowing walls of her embarrassment. I just never thought she'd ever say it. And she'll never say sorry, because that's not the kind of thing she does. She just expects people to forget things like that. I was just trying to be friends again. If she ever really has any friends.
'Here we are then,' said Nanny Ogg, emerging from the crush with a tray. 'Fruit drinks.'
She sat down and looked from one to the other.
'Made from bananas,' she said, in the hope of striking a spark of interest from either woman. 'I remember our Shane brought a banana home once. My, we had a good laugh about that. I said to the man, “What kind of fruit drinks do people drink around here?” and this is what he gave me. Made from bananas. A banana drink. You'll like it. It's what everyone drinks here. It's got bananas in it.'
'It's certainly very. . . strongly flavoured,' said Magrat, sipping hers cautiously. 'Has it got sugar in it too?'
'Very likely,' said Nanny. She looked at Granny's middle-distance frown for a moment, and then picked up her pencil and licked the end professionally.
Anywey one good thing is the drink here is v. cheap theres this one called a Bananana dakry which is basicly Rum with a banananana* in it. I can feel it doin me good. It is v. damp here. I hope we find somewhere to stay tonigt I expect we shal becaus Esme alweys falls on her feet or at any rate on someones feet. I have drawern a picture of a banananana dakry you can see it is empty right down to the bottom. Love, MUM XXXX
In the end they found a stable. It was, as Nanny Ogg cheerfully commented, probably warmer and more hygienic than any of the inns and there were millions of people in foreign parts who'd give their right arms for such a comfy, dry place to sleep.
This cut about as much ice as a soap hacksaw.
It doesn't take much to make witches fall out.
Magrat lay awake, using her sack of clothes as a pillow and listening to the warm soft rain on the roof.
It's all gone wrong before we've even started, she thought. I don't know why I let them come with me. I'm perfectly capable of doing something by myself for once, but they always treat me as if I was a ... a wet hen. I don't see why I should have to put up with her sulking and snapping at me the whole time. What's so special about her, anyway? She hardly ever does anything really magical, whatever Nanny says. She really does just shout a lot and bully people. And as for Nanny, she means well but she has no sense of responsibility, I thought I'd die when she started singing the Hedgehog Song in the inn, I just hope to goodness the people didn't know what the words meant.
I'm the fairy godmother around here. We're not at home now. There's got to be different ways of doing things, in foreign parts.
She got up at first light. The other two were asleep,
* Nanny Ogg knew how to start spelling 'banana', but didn't know how you stopped.
