The Sea And The Little Fishes

"Evening, Gytha. How are you keeping, in yourself?' said Gammer Beavis.

Nanny took her pipe out of her mouth. 'Fit as a fiddle. Come on in.'

'Ain't this rain dreadful?' said Mother Dismass. Nanny looked at the sky. It was frosty purple. But it was probably raining wherever Mother's mind was at.

'Come along in and dry off, then,' she said kindly.

'May fortunate stars shine on this our meeting,' said Letice.

Nanny nodded understandingly. Letice always sounded as though she'd learned her witchcraft out of a not very imaginative book.

'Yeah, right,' she said.

There was some polite conversation while Nanny prepared tea and scones. Then Gammer Beavis, in a tone that clearly indicated that the official part of the visit was beginning, said,

'We're here as the Trials committee, Nanny.'

'Oh? Yes?'

'I expect you'll be entering?'

'Oh, yes. I'll do my little turn.' Nanny glanced at Letice.

There was a smile on that face that she wasn't entirely happy with.

'There's a lot of interest this year,' Gammer went on. 'More girls are taking it up lately.'

'To get boys, one feels,' said Letice, and sniffed. Nanny didn't comment.

Using witchcraft to get boys seemed a damn good use for it as far as she was concerned. It was, in a way, one of the fundamental uses.

'That's nice,' she said. 'Always looks good, a big turnout. But.'

'I beg your pardon?' said Letice.

'I said "but",' said Nanny, "cos someone's going to say "but", right? This little chat has got a big "but" coming up. I can tell.'

She knew this was flying in the face of protocol. There should be at least seven more minutes of small talk before anyone got around to the point, but Letice's presence was getting on her nerves.

'It's about Esme Weatherwax,' said Gammer Beavis.

'Yes?' said Nanny, without surprise.

'I suppose she's entering?'

'Never known her stay away.'

Letice sighed.

'I suppose you ... couldn't persuade her to . .. not to enter this year?'

Nanny looked shocked.

'With an axe, you mean?'

In unison, the three witches sat back.

'You see -' Gammer began, a bit shamefaced.

'Frankly, Mrs Ogg,' said Letice, 'it is very hard to get other people to enter when they know that Miss Weatherwax is entering. She always wins.'

'Yes,' said Nanny. 'It's a competition.'

'But she always wins!'

'So?'

'In other types of competition,' said Letice, 'one is normally only allowed to win for three years in a row and then one takes a back seat for a while.'

'Yeah, but this is witching,' said Nanny. 'The rules is different.'

'How so?'

'There ain't none.'

Letice twitched her skirt. 'Perhaps it is time there were,' she said.

'Ah,' said Nanny. 'And you just going to go up and tell Esme that? You up for this, Gammer?'

Gammer Beavis didn't meet her gaze. Old Mother Dismass was gazing at last week.

'I understand Miss Weatherwax is a very proud woman,' said Letice.

Nanny Ogg puffed at her pipe again.

'You might as well say the sea is full of water,' she said.

The other witches were silent for a moment.

'I daresay that was a valuable comment,' said Letice, 'but I didn't understand it.'

'If there ain't no water in the sea, it ain't the sea,' said Nanny Ogg. 'It's just a damn great hole in the ground. Thing about Esme is ...'

Nanny took another noisy pull at the pipe, 'she's all pride, see? She ain't just a proud person.'

'Then perhaps she should learn to be a bit more humble...'

'What's she got to be humble about?' said Nanny sharply.

But Letice, like a lot of people with marshmallow on the outside, had a hard core that was not easily compressed.

'The woman clearly has a natural talent and, really, she should be grateful for...

Nanny Ogg stopped listening at this point. The woman, she thought. So that was how it was going.

It was the same in just about every trade. Sooner or later someone decided it needed organizing, and the one thing you could be sure of was that the organizers weren't going to be the people who, by general acknowledgement, were at the top of their craft. They were working too hard. To be fair, it generally wasn't done by the worst, neither. They were working hard, too. They had to.

No, it was done by the ones who had just enough time and inclination to scurry and bustle. And, to be fair again, the world needed people who scurried and bustled. You just didn't have to like them very

much.

The lull told her that Letice had finished.

'Really? Now, me,' said Nanny, 'I'm the one who's nat'rally talented.

Us Oggs've got witchcraft in our blood. I never really had to sweat at it. Esme, now ... she's got a bit, true enough, but it ain't a lot. She just makes it work harder'n hell. And you're going to tell her she's not to?'

'We were rather hoping you would,' said Letice.

Nanny opened her mouth to deliver one or two swearwords, and then stopped.

'Tell you what,' she said, 'you can tell her tomorrow, and I'll come with you to hold her back.'

Granny Weatherwax was gathering Herbs when they came up the track.

Everyday herbs of sickroom and kitchen are known as simples.

Granny's Herbs weren't simples. They were complicateds or they were nothing. And there was none of the airy-fairy business with a pretty basket and a pair of dainty snippers. Granny used a knife. And a chair held in front of her. And a leather hat, gloves and apron as secondary lines of defence.

Even she didn't know where some of the Herbs came from. Roots and seeds were traded all over the world, and maybe further. Some had flowers that turned as you passed by, some fired their thorns at passing birds and several were staked, not so that they wouldn't fall over, but so they'd still be there next day.

Nanny Ogg, who never bothered to grow any herb you couldn't smoke or stuff a chicken with, heard her mutter, 'Right, you buggers - '

'Good morning, Miss Weatherwax,' said Letice Earwig loudly.

Granny Weatherwax stiffened, and then lowered the chair very carefully and turned around.

'It's Mistress,' she said.

'Whatever,' said Letice brightly. 'I trust you are keeping well?'

'Up till now,' said Granny. She nodded almost imperceptibly at the other three witches.

There was a thrumming silence, which appalled Nanny Ogg. They should have been invited in for a cup of something. That was how the ritual went. It was gross bad manners to keep people standing around.

Nearly, but not quite, as bad as calling an elderly unmarried witch 'Miss'.

'You've come about the Trials,' said Granny. Letice almost fainted.

'Er, how did -'

"Cos you look like a committee. It don't take much reasoning,' said Granny, pulling off her gloves. 'We didn't used to need a committee. The news just got around and we all turned up. Now suddenly there's folk arrangin' things.' For a moment Granny looked as though she was fighting some serious internal battle, and then she added in throwaway tones: 'Kettle's on. You'd better come in.'

Nanny relaxed. Maybe there were some customs even Granny Weatherwax wouldn't defy, after all. Even if someone was your worst enemy, you invited them in and gave them tea and biscuits. In fact, the worser your enemy, the better the crockery you got out and the higher the quality of the biscuits. You might wish black hell on 'em later, but while they were under your roof you'd feed 'em till they choked.

Her dark little eyes noted that the kitchen table gleamed and was still damp from scrubbing.

After cups had been poured and pleasantries exchanged, or at least offered by Letice and received in silence by Granny, the self-elected chairwoman wriggled in her seat and said:

'There's such a lot of interest in the Trials this year, Miss... Mistress Weatherwax.'

'Good.'

'It does look as though witchcraft in the Ramtops is going through something of a renaissance, in fact.'

'A renaissance, eh? There's a thing.'

'It's such a good route to empowerment for young women, don't you think?'

Many people could say things in a cutting way, Nanny knew. But Granny Weatherwax could listen in a cutting way. She could make something sound stupid just by hearing it.

'That's a good hat you've got there,' said Granny. 'Velvet, is it? Not made local, I expect.'

Letice touched the brim and gave a little laugh.

'It's from Boggi's in Ankh-Morpork,' she said.

'Oh? Shop-bought?'

Nanny Ogg glanced at the corner of the room, where a battered wooden cone stood on a stand. Pinned to it were lengths of black calico and strips of willow wood, the foundations for Granny's spring hat.

'Tailor-made,' said Letice.

'And those hatpins you've got,' Granny went on. 'All them crescent moons and cat shapes -,

'You've got a brooch that's crescent-shaped, too, ain't that so, Esme?' said Nanny Ogg, deciding it was time for a warning shot. Granny occasionally had a lot to say about jewellery on witches when she was

feeling in an acid mood.

'This is true, Gytha. I have a brooch what is shaped like a crescent.

That's just the truth of the shape it happens to be. Very practical shape for holding a cloak, is a crescent. But I don't mean nothing by it. Anyway, you interrupted just as I was about to remark to Mrs Earwig how fetchin' her hatpins are. Very witchy.'

Nanny, swivelling like a spectator at a tennis match, glanced at Letice to see if this deadly bolt had gone home. But the woman was actually smiling. Some people just couldn't spot the obvious on the end of a

ten-pound hammer.

'On the subject of witchcraft,' said Letice, with the born chairwoman's touch for the enforced segue, 'I thought I might raise with you the question of your participation in the Trials.'