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'Excuzee moir, young homme,' she began.*
The barman gave her a disinterested look and went on polishing a glass. v
'What can I do for you, old crone?' he said.
There was only the faintest suggestion of a flicker in Granny's expression of elderly imbecility.
'Oh . . . you can understand me?' she said.
'We get all sorts on the river,' said the barman.
'Then I was wondering if you could be so kind as to loan me a deck, I thinks it's called, of cards,' quavered Granny.
'Going to play a game of Old Maid, are you?' said the barman.
There was a chilly flicker across Granny's eyes again as she said, 'No. Just Patience. I'd like to try and get the hang of it.'
He reached under the counter and tossed a greasy pack towards her.
She thanked him effusively and tottered off to a small table in the shadows, where she dealt a few cards randomly on the drink-ringed surface and stared at them.
It was only a few minutes later that a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder. She looked up into a friendly, open face that anyone would lend money to. A gold tooth glittered as the man spoke.
'Excuse me, good mother,' he said, 'but my friends
* Something about Nanny Ogg rubbed off on people.
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and I' - he gestured to some more welcoming faces at a nearby table - 'would feel much more comfortable in ourselves if you were to join us. It can be very dangerous for a woman travelling by herself.'
Granny Weatherwax smiled nicely at him, and then waved vaguely at her cards.
' I can never remember whether the ones are worth more or less than the pictures,' she said. 'Forget my own head next, I expect!'
They all laughed. Granny hobbled to the other table. She took the vacant seat, which put the mirror right behind her shoulder.
She smiled to herself and then leaned forward, all eagerness.
'So tell me,' she said, 'how do you play this game, then?'
All witches are very conscious of stories. They can feel stories, in the same way that a bather in a little pool can feel the unexpected trout.
Knowing how stories work is almost all the battle.
For example, when an obvious innocent sits down with three experienced card sharpers and says 'How do you play this game, then?', someone is about to be shaken down until their teeth fall out.
Magrat and Nanny Ogg sat side by side on the narrow bunk. Nanny was distractedly tickling Greebo's stomach, while he purred.
'She'll get into terrible trouble if she uses magic to win,' said Magrat. 'And you know how she hates losing,' she added.
Granny Weatherwax was not a good loser. From her point of view, losing was something that happened to other people.
'It's her eggo,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Everyone's got one o' them. A eggo. And she's got a great big one. Of course, that's all part of bein' a witch, having a big eggo.'
'She's bound to use magic,' said Magrat.
'It's tempting Fate, using magic in a game of chance,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Cheatin's all right. That's practic'ly fair. I mean, anyone can cheat. But using magic - well, it's tempting Fate.'
