The Sea And The Little Fishes

'Yes?'

'Do you... ah... don't you think it is unfair to other people that you win every year?'

Granny Weatherwax looked down at the floor and then up at the ceiling. 'No,' she said, eventually. 'I'm better'n them.'

'You don't think it is a little dispiriting for the other contestants?'

Once again, the floor to ceiling search.

'No,' said Granny.

'But they start off knowing they're not going to win.'

'So do I.'

'Oh, no, you surely -'

'I meant that I start off knowing they're not goin' to win too,' said Granny witheringly. 'And they ought to start off knowing I'm not going to win. No wonder they lose, if they ain't getting their minds right.'

'It does rather dash their enthusiasm.'

Granny looked genuinely puzzled. 'What's wrong with 'em striving to come second?' she said.

Letice plunged on.'What we were hoping to persuade you to do, Esme, is to accept an emeritus position. You would perhaps make a nice little speech of encouragement, present the award, and ... and possibly even be, er, one of the judges ...

'There's going to be judges?' said Granny. 'We've never had judges. Everyone just used to know who'd won.'

'That's true,' said Nanny. She remembered the scenes at the end of one or two trials. When Granny Weatherwax won, everyone knew. 'Oh, that's very true.'

'It would be a very nice gesture,' Letice went on.

'Who decided there would be judges?' said Granny.

'Er... the committee... which is... that is.... few of us got together. Only to steer things'.

'Oh. I see,' said Granny. 'Flags?'

'Pardon?'

'Are you going to have them lines of little flags? And maybe someone selling apples on a stick, that kind of thing?'

'Some bunting would certainly be -'

'Right. Don't forget the bonfire.'

'So long as it's nice and safe.'

'Oh. Right. Things should be nice. And safe,' said Granny.

Mrs Earwig perceptibly sighed with relief. 'Well, that's sorted out nicely,' she said.

'Is it?' said Granny.

'I thought we'd agreed that -,

'Had we? Really?' She picked up the poker from the hearth and prodded fiercely at the fire. 'I'll give matters my consideration.'

'I wonder if I may be frank for a moment, Mistress Weatherwax?'

said Letice. The poker paused in mid-prod.

'Yes?'

'Times are changing, you know. Now, I think I know why you feel it necessary to be so overbearing and unpleasant to everyone, but believe me when I tell you, as a friend, that you'd find it so much easier if you just relaxed a little bit and tried being nicer, like our sister Gytha here.'

Nanny Ogg's smile had fossilized into a mask. Letice didn't seem to notice.

'You seem to have all the witches in awe of you for fifty miles around,' she went on. 'Now, I daresay you have some valuable skills, but witchcraft isn't about being an old grump and frightening people any more.

I'm telling you this as a friend -'

'Call again whenever you're passing,' said Granny.

This was a signal. Nanny Ogg stood up hurriedly.

'I thought we could discuss -' Letice protested.

'I'll walk with you all down to the main track,' said Nanny,

hauling the other witches out of their seats.

'Gytha!' said Granny sharply, as the group reached the door.

'Yes, Esme?'

'You'll come back here afterwards, I expect.'

'Yes, Esme.'

Nanny ran to catch up with the trio on the path.

Letice had what Nanny thought of as a deliberate walk. It had been wrong to judge her by the floppy jowls and the over-fussy hair and the silly way she waggled her hands as she talked. She was a witch, after all. Scratch any witch and ... well, you'd be facing a witch you'd just scratched.

'She is not a nice person,' Letice trilled. But it was the trill of some large hunting bird.

'You're right there,' said Nanny. 'But -'

'It's high time she was taken down a peg or two!'

'We-ell ..

'She bullies you most terribly, Mrs Ogg. A married lady of your mature years, too!'

Just for a moment, Nanny's eyes narrowed.

'It's her way,' she said.

'A very petty and nasty way, to my mind!'

'Oh, yes,' said Nanny simply. 'Ways often are. But look, you -

'Will you be bringing anything to the produce stall, Gytha?' said Gammer Beavis quickly.

'Oh, a couple of bottles, I expect,' said Nanny, deflating.

'Oh, homemade wine?' said Letice. 'How nice.'

'Sort of like wine, yes. Well, here's the path,' said Nanny.

'I'll just, I'll just nip back and say goodnight -'

'It's belittling, you know, the way you run around after her,' said Letice.

'Yes. Well. You get used to people. Goodnight to you.'

When she got back to the cottage Granny Weatherwax was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor with a face like an unmade bed and her arms folded. One foot tapped on the floor.

'She married a wizard,' said Granny, as soon as her friend had entered.

'You can't tell me that's right.'

'Well, wizards can marry, you know. They just have to hand in the staff and pointy hat. There's no actual law says they can't, so long as they gives up wizarding. They're supposed to be married to the job.'

'I should reckon it's a job being married to her,' said Granny.

Her face screwed up in a sour smile.

'Been pickling much this year?' said Nanny, employing a fresh association of ideas around the word 'vinegar' which had just popped into her head.

'My onions all got the screwfly.'

'That's a pity. You like onions.'

'Even screwflies've got to eat,' said Granny. She glared at the door. 'Nice,' she said.

'She's got a knitted cover on the lid in her privy,' said Nanny.

'Pink?'

'Yes.'

'Nice.'

'She's not bad,' said Nanny. 'She does good work over in Fiddler's Elbow. People speak highly of her.'

Granny sniffed. 'Do they speak highly of me?' she said.

'No, they speaks quietly of you, Esme.'

'Good. Did you see her hatpins?'

'I thought they were rather ... nice, Esme.'

'That's witchcraft today. All jewellery and no drawers.'

Nanny, who considered both to be optional, tried to build an embankment against the rising tide of ire.

'You could think of it as an honour, really, them not wanting you to take part.'

'That's nice.'

Nanny sighed.

'Sometimes nice is worth tryin', Esme,' she said.

I never does anyone a bad turn if I can't do 'em a good one, Gytha, you know that. I don't have to do no frills or fancy labels.'

Nanny sighed. Of course, it was true. Granny was an old-fashioned witch. She didn't do good for people, she did right by them.

But Nanny knew that people don't always appreciate right. Like old Pollirt the other day, when he fell off his horse. What he wanted was a painkiller. What he needed was the few seconds of agony as Granny popped the joint back into place. The trouble was, people remembered the pain.

You got on a lot better with people when you remembered to put frills round it, and took an interest and said things like 'How are you?'. Esme didn't bother with that kind of stuff because she knew already.

Nanny Ogg knew too, but also knew that letting on you knew gave people the serious willies.

She put her head on one side. Granny's foot was still tapping.

'You planning anything, Esme? I know you. You've got that look.'

'What look, pray?'

'That look you had when that bandit was found naked up a tree and cryin' all the time and goin' on about the horrible thing that was after him. Funny thing, we never found any pawprints. That look.'

'He deserved more'n that for what he done.'

'Yeah ... well, you had that look just before ole Hoggett was found beaten black and blue in his own pigsty and wouldn't talk about it.'

'You mean old Hoggett the wife-beater? Or old Hoggett who won't never lift his hand to a woman no more?' said Granny. The thing her lips had pursed into may have been called a smile.

'And it's the look you had the time all the snow slid down on ole Milison's house just after he called you an interfering old baggage,' said Nanny.

Granny hesitated. Nanny was pretty sure that had been natural causes, and also that Granny knew she suspected this, and that pride was fighting a battle with honesty -

'That's as may be,' said Granny, noncommittally.

'Like someone who might go along to the Trials and... do something,' said Nanny.

Her friend's glare should have made the air sizzle.

'Oh? So that's what you think of me? That's what we've come to, have we?'

'Letice thinks we should move with the times -'

'Well? I moves with the times. We ought to move with the times.

No one said we ought to give them a push. I expect you'll be wanting to be going, Gytha. I want to be alone with my thoughts!'

Nanny's own thoughts, as she scurried home in relief, were that Granny Weatherwax was not an advertisement for witchcraft. Oh, she was one of the best at it, no doubt about that. At a certain kind, certainly. But a girl starting out in life might well say to herself, is this it? You worked hard and denied yourself things and what you got at the end of it was hard work and self-denial?

Granny wasn't exactly friendless, but what she commanded mostly was respect. People learned to respect stormclouds, too. They refreshed the ground. You needed them. But they weren't nice.

Nanny Ogg went to bed in three flannelette nightdresses, because sharp frosts were already pricking the autumn air. She was also in a troubled frame of mind.