Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett Page A

behind the pastor. “No sloshing water or oil or sand around or cutting any bits off and if I hears a single word I understand, well, I’m standing behind you with a pointy stick.” *
    From the other side he heard, “He’s not some kind of horrible inquisitor, Nanny!”
    “But my pointy stick’s still a pointy stick, my girl!”
    What’s got into her? Agnes thought, watching the pastor’s ears turn red. That’s the way Granny would act. Perdita added: Perhaps she thinks she’s got to carry on like that because that old bat’s not here yet.
    Agnes was quite shocked at hearing herself think that.
    “You do things our way here, all right?” said Nanny.
    “The, um, King did explain it all to me, um,” said the pastor. “Er, do have anything for a headache. I’m afraid I—”
    “You put the key in one hand and let her grip the crown with the other,” Nanny Ogg went on.
    “Yes, um, he did —”
    “Then you tell her what her name is and her mum’s name and her dad’s name, mumbling a bit over the latter if the mum ain’t sure—”
    “Nanny! This is royalty !”
    “Hah, I could tell you stories, gel…and then, see, you give her to me and I tell her, too, and then I give her back and you tell the people what her name is, an’ then you give her to me, and then I give her to her dad, and he takes her out through the doors and shows her to everyone, everyone throws their hats in the air and shouts ‘hoorah!’ and then it’s all over bar the drinks and horses’ doovers and findin’ your own hat. Start extemporizin’ on the subject of sin and it’ll go hard with you.”
    “What is, um, your role, madam?”
    “I’m the godmother!”
    “Which, um, god?” The young man was trembling slightly.
    “It’s from Old Lancre,” said Agnes hurriedly. “It’s means something like ‘goodmother.’ It’s all right…as witches we believe in religious toleration…”
    “That’s right,” said Nanny Ogg. “But only for the right religions, so you watch your step!”
    The royal parents had reached the thrones. Magrat took her seat and, to Agnes’s amazement, gave her a sly wink.
    Verence didn’t wink. He stood there and coughed loudly.
    “Ahem!”
    “I’ve got a pastille somewhere,” said Nanny, her hand reaching toward her knicker leg.
    “Ahem!” Verence’s eyes darted toward his throne.
    What had appeared to be a gray cushion rolled over, yawned, gave the King a brief glance, and started to wash itself.
    “Oh, Greebo!” said Nanny. “I was wonderin’ where you’d got to…”
    “Could you please remove him, Mrs. Ogg?” said the King.
    Agnes glanced at Magrat. The Queen had half turned away, with her elbow on the arm of the throne and her hand covering her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking.
    Nanny grabbed her cat off the throne.
    “A cat can look at a king,” she said.
    “Not with that expression, I believe,” said Verence. He waved graciously at the assembled company, just as the castle’s clock began to strike midnight.
    “Please begin, Reverend.”
    “I, um, did have a small suitable homily on the subject of, um, hope for the—” the Quite Reverend Oats began, but there was a grunt from Nanny and he suddenly seemed to jerk forward slightly. He blinked once or twice and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “But alas I fear we have no time,” he concluded quickly.
    Magrat leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear. Agnes heard him say, “Well, dear, I think we have to, whether she’s here or not…”
    Shawn scurried up, slightly out of breath and with his wig on sideways. He was carrying a cushion. On the faded velvet was the big iron key of the castle.
    Millie Chillum carefully handed the baby to the priest, who held it gingerly.
    It seemed to the royal couple that he suddenly started to speak very hesitantly. Behind him, Nanny Ogg’s was an expression of extreme interest that was nevertheless made up of one hundred percent artificial additives. They