the world to arrange itself so that she arrived at her destination. This meant that she occasionally had to climb down trees sheâd never climbed up. This she did now, dropping the last few feet and daring anyone to comment.
âWell, now weâre all here,â said Magrat brightly.
It didnât work. Granny Weatherwaxâs eyes focused immediately somewhere around Magratâs knees.
âAnd what do you think youâre wearing?â she said.
âAh. Um. I thought . . . I mean, it gets cold up there . . . what with the wind and everything,â Magrat began. She had been dreading this, and hating herself for being so weak. After all, they were practical. The idea had come to her one night. Apart from anything else, it was almost impossible to do Mr Lobsang Dibblerâs cosmic harmony death kicks when your legs kept getting tangled in a skirt.
âTrousers?â
âTheyâre not exactly the same as ordinaryââ
âAnd thereâs men âere lookinâ,â said Granny. âI think itâs shameful!â
âWhat is?â said Nanny Ogg, coming up behind her.
âMagrat Garlick, standinâ there bifurcated,â said Granny, sticking her nose in the air.
âJust so long as she got the young manâs name and address,â said Nanny Ogg amiably.
âNanny!â said Magrat.
âI think they look quite comfy,â Nanny went on. âA bit baggy, though.â
âI donât âold with it,â said Granny. âEveryone can see her legs.â
âNo they canât,â said Nanny. âThe reason being, the material is in the way.â
âYes, but they can see where her legs are ,â said Granny Weatherwax.
âThatâs silly. Thatâs like saying everyoneâs naked under their clothes,â said Magrat.
âMagrat Garlick, may you be forgiven,â said Granny Weatherwax.
âWell, itâs true!â
â Iâm not,â said Granny flatly, âI got three vests on.â
She looked Nanny up and down. Gytha Ogg, too, had made sartorial preparations for foreign parts. Granny Weatherwax could find little to disapprove of, although she made an effort.
âAnd will you look at your hat,â she mumbled. Nanny, who had known Esme Weatherwax for seventy years, merely grinned.
âAll the go, ainât it?â she said. âMade by Mr Vernissage over in Slice. Itâs got willow reinforcing all the way up to the point and eighteen pockets inside. Can stop a blow with a hammer, this hat. And how about these?â
Nanny raised the hem of her skirt. She was wearing new boots. As boots, Granny Weatherwax could find nothing to complain of in them. They were of proper witch construction, which is to say that a loaded cart could have run over them without causing a dent in the dense leather. As boots, the only thing wrong with them was the colour.
â Red? â said Granny. âThatâs no colour for a witchâs boots!â
âI likes âem,â said Nanny.
Granny sniffed. âYou can please yourself, Iâm sure,â she said. âIâm sure in foreign parts they goes in for all sorts of outlandish things. But you know what they say about women who wear red boots.â
âJust so long as they also say theyâve got dry feet,â said Nanny cheerfully. She put her door key into Jasonâs hand.
âIâll write you letters if you promise to find someone to read them to you,â she said.
âYes, mum. What about the cat, mum?â said Jason.
âOh, Greeboâs coming with us,â said Nanny Ogg.
âWhat? But heâs a cat!â snapped Granny Weatherwax. âYou canât take cats with you! Iâm not going travellinâ with no cat! Itâs bad enough travellinâ with trousers and provocative boots!â
âHeâll miss his mummy if heâs left behind,