The Science of Discworld II: The Globe by Terry Pratchett & Ian Stewart & Jack Cohen

Author:Terry Pratchett & Ian Stewart & Jack Cohen [Pratchett, Terry & Stewart, Ian & Cohen, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Humor
ISBN: 9781407022611
Published: 2001-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

LETTER FROM LANCRE

GRANNY WEATHERWAX, KNOWN TO ALL and not least to herself as Discworld’s most competent witch, was gathering wood in the forests of Lancre, high in the mountains and far from any university at all.

Wood gathering was a task fraught with danger for an old lady so attractive to narrativium. It was quite hard these days, when gathering firewood, to avoid third sons of kings, young swineherds seeking their destiny and others whose unfolding adventure demanded that they be kind to an old lady who would with a certainty turn out to be a witch, thus proving that smug virtue is its own reward.

There is only a limited number of times even a kindly disposed person wishes to be carried across a stream that they had, in fact, not particularly desired to cross. These days, she kept a pocket full of small stones and pine cones to discourage that kind of thing.

She heard the soft sound of hooves behind her and turned with a pine cone raised.

‘I warn you, I’m fed up with you lads always on the ear’ole for three wishes—’ she began.

Shawn Ogg, astride his official donkey, waved his hands desperately.1

‘It’s me, Mistress Weatherwax! I wish you’d stop doing this!’

‘See?’ said Granny. ‘You ain’t havin’ another two!’

‘No, no, I’ve just come up to deliver this for you …’

Shawn waved quite a thick wad of paper.

‘What is it?’

‘’Tis a clacks for you, Mistress Weatherwax! It’s only the third one we’ve ever had!’ Shawn beamed at the thought of being so close to the cutting edge of technology.

‘What’s one of them things?’ Granny demanded.

‘It’s like a letter that’s taken to bits and sent through the air,’ said Sean.

‘By them towers I keep flyin’ into?’

‘That’s right, Mistress Weatherwax.’

‘They move ’em around at night, you know,’ said Granny. She took the paper.

‘Er … I don’t think they do …’ Shawn ventured.

‘Oh, so I don’t know how to fly a broomstick right, do I?’ said Granny, her eyes glinting.

‘Actually, yes, I’ve remembered,’ said Shawn quickly. ‘They move them around all the time. On carts. Big, big carts. They …’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Granny, sitting on a stump. ‘Be quiet now, I’m readin’…’

The forest went silent, except for the occasional shuffling of paper.

Finally, Granny Weatherwax finished. She sniffed. Birdsong came back into the forest.

‘Silly old fools think they can’t see the wood for the trees, and the trees are the wood,’ she muttered. ‘Cost a lot, does it, sendin’ messages like this?’

‘That message,’ said Shawn, in awe, ‘cost more than 600 dollars! I counted the words! Wizards must be made of money!’

‘Well, I ain’t,’ said the witch. ‘How much is one word?’

‘Five pence for the sending and five pence the first word,’ said Shawn, promptly.

‘Ah,’ said Granny. She frowned in concentration, and her lips moved silently. ‘I’ve never been one for numbers,’ she said, ‘but I reckon that comes to … sixpence and one half-penny?’

Sean knew his witches. It was best to give in right at the start.

‘That’s right,’ he said.

‘You have a pencil?’ said Granny.

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