"Like that place last night," said Granny. "You'd think you'd be all right with sandwiches, wouldn't you? I mean... sandwiches? Simplest food there is in the whole world. You'd think even foreigners couldn't get sandwiches wrong. Hah!"
"They didn't call them sandwiches, Granny," said Magrat, her eyes dwelling on the owner's frying pan. "They called them... I think they called them smorgy's board."
"They was nice," said Nanny Ogg. "I'm very partial to a pickled herring."
"But they must think we're daft, not noticing they'd left off the top slice," said Granny triumphantly. "Well, I told them a thing or two! Another time they'll think twice before trying to swindle people out of a slice of bread that's theirs by rights!"
"I expect they will," said Magrat darkly.
"And I don't hold with all this giving things funny names so people don't know what they're eating," said Granny, determined to explore the drawbacks of international cookery to the full. "I like stuff that tells you plain what it is, like... well... Bubble and Squeak, or... or..."
"Spotted Dick," said Nanny absently. She was watching the progress of the pancakes with some anticipation.
"That's right. Decent honest food. I mean, take that stuff we had for lunch. I'm not saying it wasn't nice," said Granny graciously. "In a foreign sort of way, of course. But they called it Cwuissses dee Grenolly, and who knows what that means?"
"Frogs' legs," translated Nanny, without thinking.
The silence was filled with Granny Weatherwax taking a deep breath and a pale green colour creeping across Magrat's face. Nanny Ogg now thought quicker than she had done for a very long time.
"Not actual frogs' legs," she said hurriedly. "It's like Toad-in-the-Hole is really only sausage and batter puddin'. It's just a joke name."
"It doesn't sound very funny to me," said Granny. She turned to glare at the pancakes.
"At least they can't muck up a decent pancake," she said. "What'd they call them here?"
"Crap suzette, I think," said Nanny.
Granny forbore to comment. But she watched with grim satisfaction as the owner finished the dish and gave her a hopeful smile.
"Oh, now he expects us to eat them," she said. "He only goes and sets fire to them, and then he still expects us to eat them!"
It might later have been possible to chart the progress of the witches across the continent by some sort of demographic survey. Long afterwards, in some quiet, onion-hung kitchens, in sleepy villages nestling among hot hills, you might have found cooks who wouldn't twitch and try to hide behind the door when a stranger came into the kitchen.
Dear Jason,
It is defnity more warmer here, Magrat says it is because we are getting further from the Hub and, a funny thing, all the money is different. You have to change it for other money which is all different shapes and is not proper money at all in my opnion. We generally let Esme sort that out, she gets a very good rate of exchange, it is amazing, Magrat says she will write a book called Travelling on One Dollar a Day, and it's always the same dollar. Esme is getting to act just like a foreigner, yesterday she took her shawl off, next thing it will be dancing on tables. This is a picture of some famous bridge or other. Lots of love, MUM.
The sun beat down on the cobbled street, and particularly on the courtyard of a little inn.
"It's hard to imagine," said Magrat, "that it's autumn back home."
"Garkon? Mucho vino aveck zei, grassy ass."
The innkeeper, who did not understand one word and was a good-natured man who certainly did not deserve to be called a garkon, smiled at Nanny. He'd smile at anyone with such an unlimited capacity for drink.
"I don't hold with putting all these tables out in the street, though," said Granny Weatherwax, although without much severity. It was pleasantly warm. It wasn't that she didn't like autumn, it was a season she always looked forward to, but at her time of life it was nice to know that it was happening hundreds of miles away while she wasn't there.
Underneath the table Greebo dozed on his back with his legs in the air. Occasionally he twitched as he fought wolves in his sleep.
"It says in Desiderata's notes," said Magrat, turning the stiff pages carefully, "that in the late summer here they have this special traditional ceremony where they let a lot of bulls run through the street."
"That'd be something worth seeing," said Granny Weatherwax. "Why do they do it?"
"So all the young men can chase them to show how brave they are," said Magrat. "Apparently they pull their rosettes off."
A variety of expressions passed across Nanny Ogg's wrinkled face, like weather over a stretch of volcanic badlands.
"Sounds a bit strange," she said at last. "What do they do that for?"
"She doesn't explain it very clearly," said Magrat. She turned another page. Her lips moved as she read on. "What does cojones mean?"
They shrugged.
"Here, you want to slow down on that drink," said Granny, as a waiter put down another bottle in front of Nanny Ogg. "I wouldn't trust any drink that's green."
"It's not like proper drink," said Nanny. "It says on the label it's made from herbs. You can't make a serious drink out of just herbs. Try a drop."
Granny sniffed the opened bottle.
"Smells like aniseed," she said.
"It says "Absinthe" on the bottle," said Nanny.
"Oh, that's just a name for wormwood," said Magrat, who was good at herbs. "My herbal says it's good for stomach disorders and prevents sickness after meals."
"There you are, then," said Nanny. "Herbs. It's practic'ly medicine." She poured a generous measure for the other two. "Give it a go, Magrat. It'll put a chest on your chest."
Granny Weatherwax surreptitiously loosened her boots. She was also debating whether to remove her vest. She probably didn't need all three.
"We ought to be getting on," she said.
"Oh, I'm fed up with the broomsticks," said Nanny. "More than a couple of hours on a stick and I've gone rigid in the dairy air."
She looked expectantly at the other two. "That foreign for bum," she added. "Although, it's a funny thing, in some foreign parts "bum" means "tramp" and "tramp" means "hobo". Funny things, words."
"A laugh a minute," said Granny.
"The river's quite wide here," said Magrat. "There's big boats. I've never been on a proper boat. You know? The kind that doesn't sink easily?"
"Broomsticks is more witchy," said Granny, but not with much conviction. She did not have Nanny Ogg's international anatomical vocabulary, but bits of her she wouldn't even admit to knowing the names of were definitely complaining.
"I saw them boats," said Nanny. "They looked like great big rafts with houses on. You wouldn't hardly know you're on a boat, Esme. "Ere, what's he doing?"
The innkeeper had hurried out and was taking the jolly little tables back inside. He nodded at Nanny and spoke with a certain amount of urgency.
"I think he wants us to go inside," said Magrat.
"I likes it out here," said Granny. "I LIKES IT OUT HERE, THANK YOU," she repeated. Granny Weather-wax's approach to foreign tongues was to repeat herself loudly and slowly.
" ‘Ere, you stop trying to take our table away!" snapped Nanny, thumping his hands.
The innkeeper spoke hurriedly and pointed up the street.
Granny and Magrat glanced inquiringly at Nanny Ogg. She shrugged.
"Didn't understand any of that," she admitted.
"WE'RE STOPPIN' WHERE WE ARE, THANK YOU," said Granny. The innkeeper's eyes met hers. He gave in, waved his hands in the air in exasperation, and went inside.
"They think they can take advantage of you when you're a woman," said Magrat. She stifled a burp, discreetly, and picked up the green bottle again. Her stomach was feeling a lot better already.