Maskerade: A Novel of Discworld by Terry Pratchett

Author:Terry Pratchett [Pratchett, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 2009-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

When the witches arrived at Goatberger’s offices next morning they found a very large troll sitting on the stairs. It had a club across its knees and held up a shovel-sized hand to prevent them going any farther.

“No one’s allowed in,” it said. “Mr. Goatberger is in a meetin’.”

“How long is this meetin’ going to be?” said Granny.

“Mr. Goatberger is a very elongated meeter.”

Granny gave the troll an appraising stare. “You been in publishin’ long?” she said.

“Since dis mornin’,” said the troll proudly.

“Mr. Goatberger gave you the job?”

“Yup. Come up Quarry Lane and picked me special for . . .”—the troll’s brow creased as it tried to remember the unfamiliar words—“. . . the fast track inna fast-movin’ worlda publishin’.”

“And what exactly is your job?”

“’Ead ’itter.”

“’Scuse me,” said Nanny, pushing forward. “I’d know that strata anywhere. You’re from Copperhead in Lancre, ain’t you?”

“So what?”

“We’re from Lancre, too.”

“Yeah?”

“This is Granny Weatherwax, you know.”

The troll gave her a disbelieving grin, and then its brow corrugated again, and then it looked at Granny.

She nodded.

“The one you boys call Aaoograha hoa, you know?” said Nanny. “‘She Who Must Be Avoided’?”

The troll looked at its club as if seriously considering the possibility of beating itself to death.

Granny patted it on the lichen-encrusted shoulder. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Carborundum, miss,” it mumbled. One of its legs began to tremble.

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to make a good life for yourself here in the big city,” said Granny.

“Yes, why don’t you go and start now?” said Nanny.

The troll gave her a grateful look and fled, without even bothering to open the door.

“Do they really call me that?” said Granny.

“Er. Yes,” said Nanny, kicking herself. “It’s a mark of respect, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Er . . .”

“I’ve always done my best to get along with trolls, you know that.”

“Oh, yes.”

“How about the dwarfs?” said Granny, as someone might who had found a hitherto unsuspected boil and couldn’t resist poking it. “Have they got a name for me, too?”

“Let’s go and see Mr. Goatberger, shall we?” said Nanny brightly.

“Gytha!”

“Er . . . well . . . I think it’s K’ez’rek d’b’duz,” said Nanny.

“What does that mean?”

“Er . . . ‘Go Around the Other Side of the Mountain’,” said Nanny.

“Oh.”

Granny was uncharacteristically silent as they made their way up the stairs.

Nanny didn’t bother to knock. She opened the door and said, “Coo-ee, Mr. Goatberger! It’s us again, just like you said. Oh, I shouldn’t try to get out of the window like that—you’re three flights up and that bag of money is a bit dangerous if you’re climbing around.”

The man edged around the room so that his desk was between him and the witches.

“Wasn’t there a troll downstairs?” he said.

“It’s decided to break out of publishing,” said Nanny. She sat down and gave him a big smile. “I ’spect you’ve got some money for us.”

Mr. Goatberger realized that he was trapped. His face contorted into a series of twisted expressions as he experimented with some replies. Then he smiled as widely as Nanny and sat down opposite her.

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