Read Online Maskerade by Terry Pratchett - Free Book Online Page B

to smell.
    No one knew where it came from. It was not associated with any known orifice. It was just that, after five minutes’ doze, the air above Greebo had a penetrating smell of fermented carpets.
    He was now trying it out on the very large man. It wasn’t working. At last Greebo had found a stomach too big for him. Also, the continuing going up and down was beginning to make him feel ill.
    The snores reverberated around the coach.
    “Wouldn’t like to come between him and his pudding,” said Nanny Ogg.
    Granny was staring out of the window. At least, her face was turned that way, but her eyes were focused on infinity.
    “Gytha?”
    “Yes, Esme?”
    “Mind if I ask you a question?”
    “You don’t normally ask if I mind,” said Nanny.
    “Doesn’t it ever get you down, the way people don’t think properly?”
    Oh-oh, thought Nanny. I reckon I got her out just in time. Thank goodness for literature.
    “How d’you mean?” she said.
    “I means the way they distracts themselves.”
    “Can’t say I ever really thought about it, Esme.”
    “Like…s’pose I was to say to you, Gytha Ogg, your house is on fire, what’s the first thing you’d try to take out?”
    Nanny bit her lip. “This is one of them personality questions, ain’t it?” she said.
    “That’s right.”
    “Like, you try to guess what I’m like by what I say…”
    “Gytha Ogg, I’ve known you all my life, I knows what you’re like. I don’t need to guess. But answer me, all the same.”
    “I reckon I’d take Greebo.”
    Granny nodded.
    “’Cos that shows I’ve got a warm and considerate nature,” Nanny went on.
    “No, it shows you’re the kind of person who tries to work out what the right answer’s supposed to be,” said Granny. “Untrustworthy. That was a witch’s answer if ever I heard one. Devious.”
    Nanny looked proud.
    The snores changed to a blurt-blurt noise and the handkerchief quivered.
    “…treacle pudding, with lots of custard…”
    “Hey, he just said something,” said Nanny.
    “He talks in his sleep,” said Granny Weatherwax. “He’s been doing it on and off.”
    “I never heard him!”
    “You were out of the coach.”
    “Oh.”
    “At the last stop he was going on about pancakes with lemon,” said Granny. “And mashed potatoes with butter.”
    “Makes me feel hungry just listening to that,” said Nanny. “I’ve got a pork pie in the bag somewhere—”
    The snoring stopped abruptly. A hand came up and moved the handkerchief aside. The face beyond was friendly, bearded and small. It gave the witches a shy smile which turned inexorably toward the pork pie.
    “Want a slice, mister?” said Nanny. “I’ve got some mustard here, too.”
    “Oo, would you, dear lady?” said the man, in a squeaky voice. “Don’t know when I last had a pork pie—oh, dear…”
    He grimaced as if he’d just said something wrong, and then relaxed.
    “Got a bottle of beer if you want a drop, too,” said Nanny. She was one of those women who enjoy seeing people eat almost as much as eating itself.
    “Beer?” said the man. “Beer? You know, they don’t let me drink beer. Hah, it’s supposed to be the wrong ambience. I’d give anything for a pint of beer—”
    “Just a ‘thank you’ would do,” said Nanny, passing it over.
    “Who’s this ‘they’ to whom you refers?” said Granny.
    “’S my fault really,” said the man, through a faint spray of pork crumbs. “Got caught up, I suppose…”
    There was a change in the sounds from outside. The lights of a town were going past and the coach was slowing down.
    The man forced the last of the pie into his mouth and washed it down with the dregs of the beer.
    “Oo, lovely,” he said. Then he leaned back and put the handkerchief over his face.
    He raised a corner. “Don’t tell anyone I spoke to you,” he said, “but you’ve made a friend of Henry Slugg.”
    “And what do you do, Henry Slugg?” said Granny, carefully.
    “I’m…I’m