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Nanny Ogg pounded up another flight of stairs and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.
It had to be somewhere round here.
'Another time you'll learn to keep your mouth shut, Gytha Ogg,' she muttered.
'I expect we're leaving the hurly-burly of the ball for an intimate tete-a-tete somewhere?' said Casanunda hopefully, trotting along behind her.
Nanny tried to ignore him and ran along a dusty passage. There was a balcony rail on one side, looking down into the ballroom. And there . . .
... a small wooden door.
She rammed it open with her elbow. Within, mechanisms whirred in counterpoint to the dancing figures below as if the clock was propelling them, which, in a metaphorical sense, it was.
Clockwork, Nanny thought. Once you know about clockwork, you know about everything.
I wish I bloody well knew about clockwork.
'Very cosy,' said Casanunda.
She squeezed through the gap and into the clock space. Cog-wheels clicked past her nose.
She stared at them for a moment.
Lawks. All this just to chop Time up into little bits.
'It might be just the teensiest bit cramped,' said Casanunda, from somewhere near her armpit. 'But needs must, ma'am. I remember once in Quirm, there was this sedan chair and . . .'
Let's see, thought Nanny. This bit is connected to that bit, this one turns, that one turns faster, this spiky bit wobbles backwards and forwards . . .
Oh, well. Just twist the first thing you can grab, as the High Priest said to the vestal virgin.*
Nanny Ogg spat on her hands, gripped the largest cogwheel, and twisted.
It carried on turning, pulling her with it.
Blimey. Oh, well . . .
Then she did what neither Granny Weatherwax nor Magrat would have dreamed of doing in the circumstances. But Nanny Ogg's voyages on the sea of inter-sexual dalliance had gone rather further than twice around the lighthouse, and she saw nothing demeaning in getting a man to help her.
She simpered at Casanunda.
'Things would be a lot more comfortable in our little pie-de-terre if you could just push this little wheel around a bit,' she said. 'I'm sure you could manage it,' she added.
'Oh, no problejn, good lady,' said Casanunda. He reached up with one hand. Dwarfs are immensely strong for their size. The wheel seemed to offer him no resistance at all.
Somewhere in the mechanism something resisted for a
* This is the last line of a Discworld joke lost, alas, to posterity.
moment and then went clonk. Big wheels turned reluctantly. Little wheels screamed on their axles. A small important piece flew out and pinged off Casanunda's small bullet head.
And, much faster than nature had ever intended, the hands sped round the face.
A new noise right overhead made Nanny Ogg look up.
Her self-satisfied expression faded. The hammer that struck the hours was swinging slowly backwards. It struck Nanny that she was standing right under the bell at the same time as the bell, too, was struck.
Bong . . .
