The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld by Stephen Briggs Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online Page A

with a second scone halfway to her mouth.
    ‘Something comes,’ she said.
    ‘Can you tell by the pricking of your thumbs?’ said Magrat earnestly. Magrat had learned a lot about witchcraft from books.
    ‘The pricking of my ears,’ said Granny.
    *
    ‘I didn’t become a soldier for this. Not to go round killing people.’
    *
    ‘If I was you, I’d become a sailor,’ said Granny thoughtfully. ‘Yes, a nautical career. I should start as soon as possible. Now, in fact. Run off, man. Run off to sea where there are no tracks. You will have a long and successful life, I promise.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment, and added, ‘At least, longer than it’s likely to be if you hang around here.’
    *
    Lancre Castle was built on an outcrop of rock by an architect who had heard about Gormenghast but hadn’t got the budget. He’d done his best, though, with a tiny confection of cut-price turrets, bargain basements, buttresses, crenellations, gargoyles, towers, courtyards, keeps and dungeons; in fact, just about everything a castle needs except maybe reasonable foundations and the kind of mortar that doesn’t wash away in a light shower.
    *
    ‘There is a knocking without,’ the porter said.
    ‘Without what?’ said the Fool.
    ‘Without the door, idiot.’
    The Fool gave him a worried look. ‘A knocking without a door?’ he said suspiciously. ‘This isn’t some kind of Zen, is it?’
    *
    ‘How many times have you thrown a magic ring into the deepest depths of the ocean and then, when you get home and have a nice bit of turbot for your tea, there it is?’
    They considered this in silence.
    ‘Never,’ said Granny irritably. ‘And nor have you.’
    *
    It was one of the few sorrows of Granny Weatherwax’s life that, despite all her efforts, she’d arrived at the peak of her career with a complexion like a rosy apple and all her teeth. No amount of charms could persuade a wart to take root on her handsome if slightly equine features, and vast intakes of sugar only served to give her boundless energy.
    *
    Granny explains her view on the proposition that replicas can be more convincing than the real thing:
    ‘Things that try to look like things often do look more like things than things.’
    The best you could say for Magrat was that she was decently plain and well-scrubbed and as flat-chested as an ironing board with a couple of peas on it.
    *
    The duke has sent some guards to arrest a witch. They come back empty-handed.
    ‘Admit it - she offered you hedonistic and licentious pleasures known only to those who dabble in the carnal arts, didn’t she?’
    ‘No, sir. She offered me a bun.’
    ‘A bun?’
    ‘Yes, sir. It had currants in it.’
    Felmet sat absolutely still while he fought for internal peace. Finally, all he could manage was, ‘And what did your men do about this?’
    ‘They had a bun too, sir. All except young Roger, who isn’t allowed fruit, sir, on account of his trouble. He had a biscuit, sir.’
    *
    ‘Fool?’
    ‘Marry, sir—’ said the Fool nervously.
    ‘I am already extremely married. Advise me, my Fool.’
    ‘I’ faith, nuncle—’ said the Fool.
    ‘Nor am I thy nuncle. I feel sure I would have remembered,’ said Lord Felmet, leaning down until the prow of his nose was a few inches from the Fool’s stricken face. ‘If you preface your next remark with nuncle, i’ faith or marry, it will go hard with you.’
    ‘How do you feel about Prithee?’
    The duke knew when to allow some slack. ‘Prithee I can live with,’ he said. ‘So can you.’
    *
    Magrat tried. Every morning her hair was long, thick and blond, but by the evening it had always returned to its normal worried frizz. To ameliorate the effect she had tried to plait violets and cowslips in it. The result was not all she had hoped. It gave the impression that a window box had fallen on her head.
    *
    The Fool fumbled in his sleeve and produced a rather soiled red and yellow handkerchief embroidered with bells. The duke