“A lot.”
“Yes.”
“I'm not saying you couldn't beat her,” said Nanny quickly. “I'm not saying that. But I don't reckon I could, and it seemed to me it'd raise a bit of a sweat even on you. You'll have to hurt her to beat her.”
“I'm losin' my judgment, aren't I?”
“Oh, I-”
“She riled me, Gytha. Couldn't help myself. Now I've got to duel with a gel of seventeen, and if I wins I'm a wicked bullyin' old witch, and if I loses . . .”
She kicked up a drift of old leaves.
“Can't stop myself, that's my trouble.”
Nanny Ogg said nothing.
“And I loses my temper over the least little-”
“Yes, but-”
“I hadn't finished talkin'.”
“Sorry, Esme.”
A bat fluttered by. Granny nodded to it.
“Heard how Magrat's getting along?” she said, in a tone of voice which forced casualness embraced like a corset.
“Settling in fine, our Shawn says.”
“Right.”
They reached a crossroads; the white dust glowed very faintly in the moonlight. One way led into Lancre, where Nanny Ogg lived. Another eventually got lost in the forest, became a footpath, then a track, and eventually reached Granny Weatherwax's cottage.
“When shall we . . . two . . . meet again?” said Nanny
Ogg.
“Listen,” said Granny Weatherwax. “She's well out of it, d'you hear? She'll be a lot happier as a queen!”
“I never said nothing,” said Nanny Ogg mildly.
“I know you never! I could hear you not saying anything! You've got the loudest silences I ever did hear from anyone who wasn't dead!”
“See you about eleven o'clock, then?”
“Right!”
The wind got up again as Granny walked along the track to her cottage.
She knew she was on edge. There was just too much to do. She'd got Magrat sorted out, and Nanny could look after herself, but the Lords and the Ladies . . . she hadn't counted on them.
The point was . . .
The point was that Granny Weatherwax had a feeling she was going to die. This was beginning to get on her nerves.
Knowing the time of your death is one of those strange bonuses that comes with being a true magic user. And, on the whole, it is a bonus.