DEDICATION

My thanks to the people who showed me that opera was stranger than I could imagine. I can best repay their kindness by not mentioning their names here.

The wind howled. The storm crackled on the mountains. Lightning prodded the crags like an old man trying to get an elusive blackberry pip out of his false teeth.

Among the hissing furze bushes a fire blazed, the flames driven this way and that by the gusts.

An eldritch voice shrieked: 'When shall we... two... meet again?'

Thunder rolled.

A rather more ordinary voice said: 'What'd you go and shout that for? You made me drop my toast in the fire.'

Nanny Ogg sat down again.

'Sorry, Esme. I was just doing it for... you know... old time's sake... Doesn't roll off the tongue, though.'

'I'd just got it nice and brown, too.'

'Sorry.'

'Anyway, you didn't have to shout.'

'Sorry.'

'I mean, I ain't deaf. You could've just asked me in a normal voice. And I'd have said, "Next Wednesday." '

'Sorry, Esme.'

'Just you cut me another slice.'

Nanny Ogg nodded, and turned her head. 'Magrat, cut Granny ano... oh. Mind wandering there for a minute. I'll do it myself, shall I??

'Hah!' said Granny Weatherwax, staring into the fire.

There was no sound for a while but the roar of the wind and the sound of Nanny Ogg cutting bread, which she did with about as much efficiency as a man trying to chainsaw a mattress.

'I thought it'd cheer you up, coming up here,' she said after a while.

'Really.' It wasn't a question.

'Take you out of yourself, sort of thing...' Nanny went on, watching her friend carefully.

'Mm?' said Granny, still staring moodily at the fire.