Read Online Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online

She’d given up so much, but she’d earned a lot…
    It was a sign. She knew it’d come, sooner or later…They’d realized it, and now she was no more use…
    What had she ever earned? The reward for toil had been more toil. If you dug the best ditches, they gave you a bigger shovel.
    And you got these bare walls, this bare floor, this cold cottage.
    The darkness in the corners grew out into the room and began to tangle in her hair.
    They didn’t ask her!
    She’d never, ever asked for anything in return. And the trouble with not asking for anything in return was that sometimes you didn’t get it.
    She’d always tried to face toward the light. She’d always tried to face toward the light. But the harder you stared into the brightness the harsher it burned into you until, at last, the temptation picked you up and bid you turn around to see how long, rich, strong and dark, streaming away behind you, your shadow had become—
    Someone mentioned her name.
    There was a moment of light and noise and bewilderment.
    And then she awoke, and looked at the darkness flowing in, and saw things in black and white.

“So sorry…delays on the road, you know how it is…”
    The newcomers hurried in and joined the crowd, who paid little attention because they were watching the unplanned entertainment around the thrones.
    “Note Spelling?”
    “Definitely a bit tricky,” said Nanny. “Esmerelda, now, that was a good one. Gytha would have been good too, but Esmerelda, yes, you can’t argue with it. But you know kids. They’ll all be calling her Spelly.”
    “If she’s lucky,” said Agnes gloomily.
    “I didn’t expect anyone to say it!” Magrat hissed. “I just wanted to make sure she didn’t end up with ‘Magrat’!”
    Mightily Oats was standing with his eyes cast upward and his hands clasped together. Occasionally he made a whimpering sound.
    “We can change it, can’t we?” said King Verence. “Where’s the Royal Historian?”
    Shawn coughed. “It’s not Wednesday evening and I’ll have to go and fetch the proper hat, sire—”
    “Can we change it or not, man?”
    “Er…it has been said , sire. At the official time. I think it’s her name now, but I’ll need to go and look it up. Everyone heard it, sire.”
    “No, you can’t change it,” said Nanny, who as the Royal Historian’s mum took it as read that she knew more than the Royal Historian. “Look at old Moocow Poorchick over in Slice, for one.”
    “What happened to him, then?” said the King sharply.
    “His full name is James What the Hell’s That Cow Doing in Here Poorchick,” said Magrat.
    “That was a very strange day, I do remember that,” said Nanny.
    “And if my mother had been sensible enough to tell Brother Perdore my name instead of coming over all bashful and writing it down, life would have been a whole lot different,” said Magrat. She glanced nervously at Verence. “Probably worse, of course.”
    “So I’ve got to take Esmerelda out to her people and tell them one of her middle names is Note Spelling?” said Verence.
    “Well, we did once have a king called My God He’s Heavy the First,” said Nanny. “And the beer’s been on for the last couple of hours so, basic’ly, you’ll get a cheer whatever you say.”
    Besides, thought Agnes, I know for a fact there’s people out there called Syphilidae Wilson and Yodel Lightley and Total Biscuit. *
    Verence smiled. “Oh well…let me have her…”
    “Whifm…” said Mightily Oats.
    “…and perhaps someone ought to give this man a drink.”
    “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry,” whispered the priest, as the King walked between the lines of guests.
    “Been on the drink already, I expect,” said Nanny.
    “I never ever touch alcohol!” moaned the priest. He dabbed at his streaming eyes with a handkerchief.
    “I knew there was something wrong with him as soon as I looked at him,” said Nanny. “Where’s Esme, then?”
    “I don’t know , Nanny!” said