"Oh," said Granny darkly, "one of them things."
" But no-one can stop Mardi Gras," she read." If anything canne be done it be on Samedi Nuit Morte, the last night of carnivale, the night halfway between the Living and the Dead, when magic flows in the streets. If L. is vooneruble it is then, for carnivale is everythinge she hates..."
Granny Weatherwax pulled her hat down over her eyes to shield them from the sun.
"It says here they have a great big carnival every year," she said. "Mardi Gras, it's called."
"That means Fat Lunchtime," said Nanny Ogg, international linguist. "Garkon! Etcetra gross Mint Tulip avec petit bowl de peanuts, pour favour!"
Granny Weatherwax shut the book.
She would not of course admit it to a third party, least of all another witch, but as Genua drew nearer Granny was becoming less and less confident.
She was waiting in Genua. After all this time! Staring at her out of the mirror! Smiling!
The sun beat down. She tried defying it. Sooner or later she was going to have to give in, though. It was going to be time to remove another vest.
Nanny Ogg sat and drew cards for her relatives for a while, and then yawned. She was a witch who liked noise and people around her. Nanny Ogg was getting bored. It was a big boat, more like a floating inn, and she felt certain there was some excitement somewhere.
She laid her bag on her seat and wandered away to look for it.
The trolls plodded on.
The sun was red, fat and low when Granny Weatherwax awoke. She looked around guiltily from the shelter of her hatbrim in case anyone had noticed her asleep. Falling asleep during the day was something only old women did, and Granny Weatherwax was an old woman only when it suited her purposes.
The only spectator was Greebo, curled up on Nanny's chair. His one good eye was fixed on her, but it wasn't so terrifying as the milky white stare of his blind one.
"Just considerin' our strategy," she muttered, just in case.
She closed the book and strode off to their cabin. It wasn't a big one. Some of the staterooms looked huge, but what with the herbal wine and everything Granny hadn't felt up to using any Influence to get one.
Magrat and Nanny Ogg were sitting on a bunk, in gloomy silence.
"I feels a bit peckish," said Granny. "I smelled stew on the way here, so let's go and have a look, eh? What about that?"
The other two continued to stare at the floor.
"I suppose there's always pumpkin," said Magrat. "And there's always the dwarf bread."
"There's always dwarf bread," said Nanny automatically. She looked up, her face a mask of shame.
"Er, Esme... er... you know the money..."
"The money what we all gave you to keep in your knickers for safety?" said Granny. Something about the way the conversation was going suggested the first few pebbles slipping before a major landslide.
"That's the money I'm referrin' to... er..."
"The money in the big leather bag that we were goin' to be very careful about spendin'?" said Granny.
"You see... the money..."
"Oh, that money," said Granny.
"... is gone..." said Nanny.
"Stolen?"
"She's been gambling," said Magrat, in tones of smug horror. "With men."
"It wasn't gambling!" snapped Nanny. "I never gamble! They were no good at cards! I won no end of games!"
"But you lost money," said Granny.
Nanny Ogg looked down again, and muttered something.
"What?" said Granny.
"I said I won nearly all of them," said Nanny. "And then I thought, here, we could really have a bit of money to, you know, spend in the city, and I've always been very good at Cripple Mr Onion..."
"So you decided to bet heavily," said Granny.
"How did you know that?"
"Got a feelin' about it," said Granny wearily. "And suddenly everyone else was lucky, am I right ?"
"It was weird," said Nanny.
"Hmm."
"Well, it's not gambling," said Nanny. "I didn't see it was gambling. They were no good when I started playing. It's not gambling to play against someone who's no good. It's common sense."
"There was nearly fourteen dollars in that bag," said Magrat, "not counting the foreign money."
"Hmm."
Granny Weatherwax sat down on the bunk and drummed her fingers on the woodwork. There was a faraway look in her eyes. The phrase ‘card sharp' had never reached her side of the Ramtops, where people were friendly and direct and, should they encounter a professional cheat, tended to nail his hand to the table in an easy and outgoing manner without asking him what he called himself. But human nature was the same everywhere.
"You're not upset, are you, Esme?" said Nanny anxiously.
"Hmm."
"I expect I can soon pick up a new broom when we get home."
"Hm... what?"
"After she lost all her money she bet her broom," said Magrat triumphantly.
"Have we got any money at all?" said Granny.
A trawl of various pockets and knicker legs produced forty-seven pence.
"Right," said Granny. She scooped it up. "That ought to be enough. To start with, anyway. Where are these men?"
"What are you going to do?" said Magrat.
"I'm going to play cards," said Granny.
"You can't do that!" said Magrat, who had recognized the gleam in Granny's eye. "You're going to use magic to win! You mustn't use magic to win! Not to affect the laws of chance! That's wicked^
The boat was practically a floating town, and in the balmy night air no-one bothered much about going indoors. The riverboat's flat deck was dotted with groups of dwarfs, trolls and humans, lounging among the cargo. Granny threaded her way between them and headed for the long saloon that ran almost the entire length of the boat. There was the sound of revelry within.
The riverboats were the quickest and easiest transport for hundreds of miles. On them you got, as Granny would put it, all sorts, and the riverboats going downstream were always crowded with a certain type of opportunist as Fat Lunchtime approached.
She walked into the saloon. An onlooker might have thought it had a magic doorway. Granny Weatherwax, as she walked towards it, strode as she usually strode. As soon as she passed through, though, she was suddenly a bent old woman, hobbling along, and a sight to touch all but the wickedest heart.
She approached the bar, and then stopped. Behind it was the biggest mirror Granny had ever seen. She stared fixedly at it, but it seemed safe enough. Well, she'd have to risk it.
She hunched her back a little more and addressed the barman.
"Excuzee moir, young homme," she began.*
The barman gave her a disinterested look and went on polishing a glass.
"What can I do for you, old crone?" he said.
There was only the faintest suggestion of a flicker in Granny's expression of elderly imbecility.
"Oh... you can understand me?" she said.
"We get all sorts on the river," said the barman.
"Then I was wondering if you could be so kind as to loan me a deck, I thinks it's called, of cards," quavered Granny.
"Going to play a game of Old Maid, are you?" said the barman.
There was a chilly flicker across Granny's eyes again as she said, "No. Just Patience. I'd like to try and get the hang of it."
He reached under the counter and tossed a greasy pack towards her.
She thanked him effusively and tottered off to a small table in the shadows, where she dealt a few cards randomly on the drink-ringed surface and stared at them.
It was only a few minutes later that a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder. She looked up into a friendly, open face that anyone would lend money to. A gold tooth glittered as the man spoke.
"Excuse me, good mother," he said, "but my friends and I" - he gestured to some more welcoming faces at a nearby table - "would feel much more comfortable in ourselves if you were to join us. It can be very dangerous for a woman travelling by herself."