Part 10 (2/2)
At home Granny Weatherwax slept with open windows and an unlocked door, secure in the knowledge that the Ramtops' various creatures of the night would rather eat their own ears than break in. In dangerously civilized lands, however, she took a different view.
”I really don't think we need need to shove the bed in front of the door, Esme,” said Nanny Ogg, heaving on her end. to shove the bed in front of the door, Esme,” said Nanny Ogg, heaving on her end.
”You can't be too careful,” said Granny. ”Supposing some man started rattlin' the k.n.o.b in the middle of the night?”
”Not at our time of life,” said Nanny sadly.
”Gytha Ogg, you are the most-”
Granny was interrupted by a watery sound. It came from behind the wall and went on for some time.
It stopped, and then started again-a steady splas.h.i.+ng that gradually became a trickle. Nanny started to grin.
”Someone fillin' a bath?” said Granny.
”...or I suppose it could be someone fillin' a bath,” Nanny conceded.
There was the sound of a third jug being emptied. Footsteps left the room. A few seconds later a door opened and there was a rather heavier tread, followed after a brief interval by a few splashes and a grunt.
”Yes, a man gettin' into a bath,” said Granny. ”What're you doin', Gytha?”
”Seein' if there's a knothole in this wood somewhere,” said Nanny. ”Ah, here's one-”
”Come back here!”
”Sorry, Esme.”
And then the singing started. It was a very pleasant tenor voice, given added timbre by the bath itself.
”Show me the way to go home, I'm tired and I want to go to bed-”
”Someone's enjoyin' themselves, anyway,” said Nanny.
”-wherever I may roam-”
There was a knock at the distant bathroom door, upon which the singer slipped smoothly into another language: ”-per via di terra, mare o schiuma-”
The witches looked at one another.
A m.u.f.fled voice said, ”I've brought you your hot-water bottle, sir.”
”Thank you verr' mucha,” said the bather, his voice dripping with accent.
Footsteps went away in the distance.
”-Indicame la strada... to go home.” Splash, splash. ”Good eeeeevening, frieeeends...” to go home.” Splash, splash. ”Good eeeeevening, frieeeends...”
”Well, well, well,” said Granny, more or less to herself. ”It seems once again that our Mr. Slugg is a secret polyglot.”
”Fancy! And you haven't even looked through the knothole,” said Nanny.
”Gytha, is there anything in the whole world you can't make sound grubby?”
”Not found it yet, Esme,” said Nanny brightly.
”I meant meant that when he mutters in his sleep and sings in his bath he talks just like us, but when he thinks people are listening he comes over all foreign.” that when he mutters in his sleep and sings in his bath he talks just like us, but when he thinks people are listening he comes over all foreign.”
”That's probably to throw that Basilica person off the scent,” Nanny said.
”Oh, I reckon Mr. Basilica is very close to Henry Slugg,” said Granny. ”In fact, I reckon that they're one and-”
There was a gentle knock at the door.
”Who's there?” Granny demanded.
”It's me, ma'am. Mr. Slot. This is my tavern.”
The witches pushed the bed aside and Granny opened the door a fraction.
”Yes?” she said suspiciously.
”Er...the coachman said you were...witches?”
”Yes?”
”Maybe you could...help us?”
”What's wrong?”
”It's my boy...”
Granny opened the door farther and saw the woman standing behind Mr. Slot. One look at her face was enough. There was a bundle in her arms.
Granny stepped back. ”Bring him in and let me have a look at him.”
She took the baby from the woman, sat down on the room's one chair, and pulled back the blanket. Nanny Ogg peered over her shoulder.
”Hmm,” said Granny, after a while. She glanced at Nanny, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
”There's a curse on this house, that's what it is,” said Slot. ”My best cow's been taken mortally sick, too.”
”Oh? You have a cowshed?” said Granny. ”Very good place for a sickroom, a cowshed. It's the warmth. You better show me where it is.”
<script>