Witches Abroad

Gra

The Oggs were what is known as an extended family - in fact not only extended but elongated, protracted and persistent. No normal sheet of paper could possibly trace their family tree, which in any case was more like a mangrove thicket. And every single branch had a low-key, chronic vendetta against every other branch, based on such well-established causes celebres as What Their Kevin Said About Our Stan At Cousin Di's Wedding and Who Got The Silver Cutlery That Auntie Em Promised Our Doreen Was To Have After She Died, I'd Like To Know, Thank You Very Much, If You Don't Mind.

Na

The Oggs contained, in just one family, enough feuds to keep an entire Ozark of normal hillbillies going for a century.

And sometimes this encouraged a foolish outsider to join in and perhaps make an uncomplimentary remark about one Ogg to another Ogg. Whereupon every single Ogg would turn on him, every part of the family closing up together like the parts of a well-oiled, blue-steeled engine to deal instant merciless destruction to the interloper.

Ramtop people believed that the Ogg feud was a blessing. The thought of them turning their immense energy on the world in general was a terrible one. Fortunately, there was no-one an Ogg would rather fight than another Ogg. It was family.

Odd things, families, when you came to think of it...

"Esme? You all right?"

"What?"

"You've got them cups rattling like nobody's business! And tea all over the tray."

Gra

"Not my damn fault if the damn cups are too small," she muttered.

The door opened.

"Morning, Magrat," she added, without looking around. "What're you doing here?"

It was something about the way the hinges creaked. Magrat could even open a door apologetically.

The younger witch sidled speechlessly into the room, face beetroot red, arms held behind her back.

"We'd just popped in to sort out Desiderata's things, as our duty to a sister witch," said Gra

"And not to look for her magic wand," said Na

"Gytha Ogg!"

Na

"Sorry, Esme."

Magrat brought her arms around in front of her.

"Er," she said, and blushed further.

"You found it!" said Na

"Uh, no," said Magrat, not daring to look Gra

The silence crackled and hummed.

"She gave it to you?" said Gra

"Uh. Yes."

Na

"Well!" said Na

"She does know you, doesn't she?" demanded Gra

"I used to come over here quite often to look at her books," Magrat confessed. "And... and she liked to cook foreign food and no-one else round here would eat it, so I'd come up to keep her company."

"Ah-hal Curryin' favour!" snapped Gra

"But I never thought she'd leave me the wand," said Magrat. "Really I didn't!"

"There's probably some mistake," said Na

"That'll be it, right enough," said Gra

She held out her hand.

Magrat's knuckles tightened on the wand.

"... she gave it me..." she said, in a tiny voice.

"Her mind was definitely wandering towards the end," said Gra

"... she gave it me..."

"Fairy godmotherin's a terrible responsibility," said Na

"... yes, but she gave it me..."

"Magrat Garlick, as senior witch I command you to give me the wand," said Gra

"Hold on, hold on," said Na

"... no..." said Magrat.

"Anyway, you ain't senior witch," said Na

"Shut up. Anyway, she's non compost mental," said Gra

"... you can't order me. Witches are non-hierarchical..." said Magrat.

"That is wanton behaviour, Magrat Garlick!"

"No it's not," said Na

She stopped. Both of the older witches watched a small piece of paper fall out of Magrat's sleeve and zigzag down to the floor. Gra

"Aha!" she said triumphantly. "Let's see what Desiderata really said..."

Her lips moved as she read the note. Magrat tried to wind herself up tighter.

A couple of muscles flickered on Gra

"Just as I thought," she said, "Desiderata says we are to give Magrat all the help we can, what with her being young and everything. Didn't she, Magrat?"

Magrat looked up into Gra

You could call her out, she thought. The note was very clear... well, the bit about the older witches was, anyway... and you could make her read it aloud. It's as plain as day. Do you want to be third witch forever? And then the flame of rebellion, burning in a very unfamiliar hearth, died.

"Yes," she muttered hopelessly, "something like that."

"It says it's very important we go to some place somewhere to help someone marry a prince," said Gra

"It's Genua," said Magrat. "I looked it up in Desiderata's books. And we've got to make sure she doesn't marry a prince."

"A fairy godmother stopping a girl from marryin" a prince?" said Na

"Should be an easy enough wish to grant, anyway," said Gra

Magrat made an effort.

"Genua really is a long way away," she said.

"I should ‘ope so," said Gra

"I mean, there'll be a lot of travelling," said Magrat wretchedly. "And you're... not as young as you were."

There was a long, crowded silence.

"We start tomorrow," said Gra

"Look," said Magrat desperately, "why don't I go by myself?"

" ‘Cos you ain't experienced at fairy godmothering," said Gra

This was too much even for Magrat's generous soul.

"Well, nor are you," she said.

"That's true," Gra

"We've got a lot of experience of not having any experience," said Na

"That's what counts every time," said Gra

There was only one small, speckled mirror in Gra

"There," she said. "Now trying spyin' on me."

It never seemed possible to people that Jason Ogg, master blacksmith and farrier, was Na

To his glowing forge were brought the stud stallions, the red-eyed and foam-flecked kings of the horse nation, the soup-plate-hoofed beasts that had kicked lesser men through walls. But Jason Ogg knew the secret of the mystic Horseman's Word, and he would go alone into the forge, politely shut the door, and lead the creature out again after half an hour, newly shod and strangely docile.