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'At least they can't muck up a decent pancake,' she said. 'What'd they call them here?'
'Crap suzette, I think,' said Nanny.
Granny forbore to comment. But she watched with grim satisfaction as the owner finished the dish and gave her a hopeful smile.
'Oh, now he expects us to eat them,' she said. 'He only goes and sets fire to them, and then he still expects us to eat them!'
It might later have been possible to chart the progress of the witches across the continent by some sort of demographic survey. Long afterwards, in some quiet, onion-hung kitchens, in sleepy villages nestling among hot hills, you might have found cooks who wouldn't twitch and try to hide behind the door when a stranger came into the kitchen.
Dear Jason,
It is defnity more warmer here, Magrat says it is because we are getting further from the Hub and, a funny thing, all the money is different. You have to change it for other money which is all different shapes and is not proper money at all in my opnion. We generally let Esme sort that out, she gets a very good rate of exchange, it is amazing, Magrat says she will write a book called Travelling on One Dollar a Day, and it's always the same dollar. Esme is getting to act just like a foreigner, yesterday she took her shawl off, next thing it will be dancing on tables. This is a picture of some famous bridge or other. Lots of love, MUM.
The sun beat down on the cobbled street, and particularly on the courtyard of a little inn.
'It's hard to imagine,' said Magrat, 'that it's autumn back home.'
'Garkon? Mucho vino aveck zei, grassy ass.'
The innkeeper, who did not understand one word and was a good-natured man who certainly did not deserve to be called a garkon, smiled at Nanny. He'd smile at anyone with such an unlimited capacity for drink.
'I don't hold with putting all these tables out in the street, though,' said Granny Weatherwax, although without much severity. It was pleasantly warm. It wasn't that ^he didn't like autumn, it was a season she always looked forward to, but at her time of life it was nice to know that it was happening hundreds of miles away while she wasn't there.
Underneath the table Greebo dozed on his back with his legs in the air. Occasionally he twitched as he fought wolves in his sleep.
'It says in Desiderata's notes,' said Magrat, turning the stiff pages carefully, 'that in the late summer here they have this special traditional ceremony where they let a lot of bulls run through the street.'
'That'd be something worth seeing,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'Why do they do it?'
'So all the young men can chase them to show how brave they are,' said Magrat. 'Apparently they pull their rosettes off.'
A variety of expressions passed across Nanny Ogg's wrinkled face, like weather over a stretch of volcanic badlands.
'Sounds a bit strange,' she said at last. 'What do they do that for?'
'She doesn't explain it very clearly,' said Magrat. She turned another page. Her lips moved as she read on. 'What does cojones mean?'
They shrugged.
'Here, you want to slow down on that drink,' said Granny, as a waiter put down another bottle in front of Nanny Ogg. 'I wouldn't trust any drink that's green.'
'It's not like proper drink,' said Nanny. 'It says on the label it's made from herbs. You can't make a serious drink out of just herbs. Try a drop.'
Granny sniffed the opened bottle.
'Smells like aniseed,' she said.
'It says “Absinthe” on the bottle,' said Nanny.
'Oh, that's just a name for wormwood,' said Magrat, who was good at herbs. 'My herbal says it's good for stomach diforders and prevents sicknefs after meals.'
'There you are, then,' said Nanny. 'Herbs. It's practic'ly medicine.' She poured a generous measure for the other two. 'Give it a go, Magrat. It'll put a cheft on your cheft.'
Granny Weatherwax surreptitiously loosened her boots. She was also debating whether to remove her vest. She probably didn't need all three.
'We ought to be getting on,' she said.
'Oh, I'm fed up with the broomsticks,' said Nanny. 'More than a couple of hours on a stick and I've gone rigid in the dairy air.'
