“Where're we going?” he said weakly
“Place I know, up in the hills,” said Nanny “Ages since I've been there. Esme won't go near it, and Magrat's too young to be tole. I used to go there a lot, though. When I was a girl. Girls used to go up there if they wanted to get-oh, bugger. . .”
“What?”
“Thought I saw something fly across the moon, and I'm damn sure it wasn't Esme.”
Casanunda tried to look around while keeping his eyes shut.
“Elves can't fly,” he muttered.
“That's all you know,” said Nanny. “They ride yarrow stalks.”
“Yarrow stalks?”
“Yep. Tried it meself, once. You can get some lift out of 'em, but it plays merry hell with the gussets. Give me a nice bundle of bristles every time. Anyway,” she nudged Casanunda, “you should be right at home on one of these. Magrat says a broomstick is one of them sexual metaphor things.”[39]
Casanunda had opened one eye just long enough to see a rooftop drift silently below him. He felt sick.
“The difference being,” said Nanny Ogg, “that a broomstick stays up longer. And you can use it to keep the house clean, which is more than you can say for - are you all right?”
“I really don't like this at all, Mrs. Ogg.”
“Just trying to cheer you up, Mr. Casanunda.”
“'Cheer' I like, Mrs. Ogg,” said the dwarf, “but can we avoid the 'up'?”
“Soon be down.”
“That I like.”
Nanny Ogg's boots scraped along the hard-packed mud of the smithy's yard.
“I'll leave the magic running, won't be a mo,” she said. Ignoring the dwarfs bleat for help, she hopped off the stick and disappeared through the back door.
The elves hadn't been there, at least. Too much iron. She pulled a crowbar from the toolbench and hurried out again.
“You can hold this,” she said to Casanunda. She hesitated. “Can't have too much luck, can we?” she said, and scurried back into the forge. This time she was out again much faster, slipping something into her pocket.
“Ready?” she said. ' “No.”
“Then let's go. And keep a look out. With your eyes open.”
“I'm looking for elves?” said Casanunda, as the stick rose into the moonlight.
“Could be. It wasn't Esme, and the only other one ever flying around here is Mr. Ixolite the banshee, and he's very good about slipping us a note under the door when he's going to be about. For air traffic control, see?”
Most of the town was dark. The moonlight made a black and silver checkerboard across the country. After a while, Casanunda began to feel better about things. The motion of the broomstick was actually quite soothing.
“Carried lots of passengers, have you?” he said.
“On and off, yes,” said Nanny.
Casanunda appeared to be thinking about things. And then he said, in a voice dripping with scientific inquiry, “Tell me, has anyone ever tried to mak-”
“No,” said Nanny Ogg firmly. “You'd fall off.”
“You don't know what I was going to ask.”