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'No.'
'Amazin'.'
Nanny Ogg sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant noises of the market and summoning her powers.
'What's it called?'
'Gumbo.'
'It's good.'
'I know.'
'I reckon anyone who could cook like that could do anything' - Nanny Ogg concentrated - 'Mrs . . . Gogol.'
She waited.
'Pretty near, Mrs Ogg.'
The two women stared at one another's shadowy outline, like plotters who had given the sign and countersign and were waiting to see what would happen next.
'Where I come from, we call it witchcraft,' said Nanny, under her breath.
'Where I come from, we call it voodoo,' said Mrs Gogol.
Nanny's wrinkled forehead wrinkled still further.
'Ain't that all messin' with dolls and dead people and stuff?' she said.
'Ain't witchcraft all runnin' around with no clothes on and stickin' pins in people?' said Mrs Gogol levelly.
'Ah,' said Nanny. 'I sees what you mean.'
She shifted uneasily. She was a fundamentally honest woman.
'I got to admit, though . . .' she added, 'sometimes . . . maybe just one pin . . .'
Mrs Gogol nodded gravely. 'Okay. Sometimes . . . maybe just one zombie,' she said.
'But only when there ain't no alternative.'
'Sure. When there ain't no alternative.'
'When . . . you know . . . people ain't showing respect, like.'
'When the house needs paintin'.'
Nanny grinned, toothily. Airs Gogol grinned, outnumbering her in teeth by a factor of thirty.
'My full name's Gytha Ogg,' she said. 'People calls me Nanny.'
'My full name's Erzulie Gogol,' said Mrs Gogol. 'People call me Mrs Gogol.'
"The way I saw it,' said Nanny, 'this is foreign parts, so maybe there's a different kind of magic. Stands to reason. The trees is different, the people is different, the drinks is different and has got banana in 'em, so the magic'd be different too. Then I thought . . . Gytha, my girl, you're never too old to learn.'
'Sure thing.'
'There's something wrong with this city. Felt it as soon as we set foot here.'
