It was not, the highwayman thought muzzily, going to be a good night. Well, he'd be damned if he'd lose a horse as well as some wages. Who the hell were those people? He couldn't quite remember what had happened in the carriage, but it hadn't been enjoyable.
The highwayman was of that simple class of men who, having been hit by someone bigger than them, finds someone smaller than them for the purposes of retaliation. Someone else was going to suffer tonight, he vowed. He'd get another horse, at least.
And, on cue, he heard the sound of hoofbeats on the wind. He drew his sword and stepped out into the road.
'Stand and deliver!'
The approaching horse halted obediently a few feet away. This was not going to be such a bad night after all, he thought. it really was a magnificent creature, more of a warhorse than an everyday hack. It was so pale that it shone in the light of the occasional star and, by the look of it, there was silver on its harness.
The rider was heavily wrapped up against the cold.
'Your money or your life!' said the highwayman.
I'M SORRY?
'Your money,' said the highwayman, 'or your life. Which part of this don't you understand?'
OH, I SEE. WELL, I HAVE A SMALL AMOUNT OF MONEY.
A couple of coins landed on the frosty road. The highwayman scrabbled for them but could not pick them up, a fact that only added to his annoyance.
'It's your life, then!'
The mounted figure shook its head. I THINK NOT. I REALLY DO.
It pulled a long curved stick out of a holster. The highwayman had assumed it was a lance, but now a curved blade sprang out and glittered blue along its edges.
I MUST SAY THAT YOU HAVE AN AMAZING PERSISTENCE OF VITALITY said the horseman. It was not so much a voice, more an echo inside the head. IF NOT A PRESENCE OF MIND.
'Who are you?'
I'M DEATH, said Death. AND I REALLY AM NOT HERE TO TAKE YOUR MONEY. WHICH PART OF THIS DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?
Something fluttered weakly at the window of the castle mews. There was no glass in the frame, just thin wooden slats to allow some passage of air.
And there was a scrabbling, and then a faint pecking, and then silence.
The hawks watched.
Outside the window something went whoomph. Beams of brilliant light jerked across the far wall and, slowly, the bars began to char.
Nanny Ogg knew that while the actual party would be in the Great Hall all the fun would be outside, in the courtyard around the big fire. Inside it'd be all quails' eggs, goose-liver jam and little sandwiches that were four to the mouthful. Outside it'd be roasted potatoes floating in vats of butter and a whole stag on a spit. Later on, there'd be a command performance by that man who put weasels down his trousers, a form of entertainment that Nanny ranked higher than grand opera.
As a witch, of course, she'd be welcome anywhere and it was always a.good idea to remind the nobs of this, in case they forgot. It was a hard choice, but she decided to stay outside and have a good dinner of venison because, like many old ladies, Nanny Ogg was a bottomless pit for free food. Then she'd go inside and fill the gaps with the fiddly dishes. Besides, they probably had that expensive fizzy wine in there and Nanny had quite a taste for it, provided it was served in a big enough mug. But you needed a good depth of beer before you loaded up on the fancy stuff.
She picked up a tankard, ambled to the front of the queue at the beer barrel, gently nudged aside the head of a man who'd decided to spend the evening lying under the tap, and drew herself a pint.
As she turned back she saw the splay-footed figure of Agnes approaching, still slightly uneasy with the idea of wearing the new pointy hat in public.
'Wotcha, girl,' said Nanny. 'Try some of the venison, it's good stuff.'
Agnes looked doubtfully at the roasting meat.
Lancre people looked after the calories and let the vitamins go hang.
'Do you think I could get a salad?' she ventured.
'Hope not,' said Nanny happily.