Jump to new as of September 2, 1999
Jump to new as of September 12, 1999

Posted on Saturday, 2 January 1999

Years ago, a world was born. It did not bang or boom or even fizzle in an interestingly scientific manner. It just formed within the slightly deranged confines of a Mr. Pratchett's head.

The world was a flat disc that rotated on the backs of five giant elephants. The elephants stood on the back of a huge turtle called A'Tuin. The Disc was circled by a small sun and a small moon while A'Tuin swam through space.

This Mr. Pratchett did not end up in a mental institution. He wrote stories about the silly people who inhabited the Disc. These were edited and published and the little world began to spread. It began to inhabit other twisted imaginations and senses of humour. It changed, gained new characters, and expanded.

The Disc hit a mind that was already inhabited by a world that, while much older and stronger and less prone to curse, was even wittier and more sarcastic than itself. The Disc soon succumbed to the older world. And so the Discworld was used to write Jane Austen Fan Fiction on.

"Is a double onion worth more than a straight flush?"

"Oook eeek oook ook eeek." said the Librarian.*

"Well I was only asking you know," said the Dean sulkily, "No need to get so..."

"Oook eeek oook!"

"He's got a point you know." said the Senior Wrangler.

"Does he? I mean he looks rather rounded to me." said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"Har har har."

"relbboc hcaep eht ssap ,esealP" said the Bursar.

"Left pocket, old chap." said Archancellor Ridcully.

The Bursar obediently fumbled about in his old robe and produced a large vial of dried frog pills. He shoved several into his mouth and announced "I've got a spoon!"

"There's a good chap," said Ridcully, "Need to get some good exercise. Make you less nervous." Ridcully, a man designed by nature to be outdoors and cheerfully kill anything that moved, was convinced that the Bursar, a man designed by nature to sit in a small room and add up sums, only needed a little exercise and livening up despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Exercise," shuddered the Senior Wrangler, "it's not a healthy practice."

"It's not hygienic, running around and sweating."

"I had a hygiene once, but it got lost in the wash," said the Bursar.

Ridcully rolled his eyes, it was going to be one of those days.

* The Librarian of the Unseen University (the ankh-morpork university of wizardry) was turned into an orangutan in a magical accident. He has refused all efforts to turn him back into a human, saying that he prefers the long arms, prehensile toes and the freedom to scratch himself in the reference section.

Posted on Tuesday, 5 January 1999

Susan Sto-Helit really wanted to be normal. She devoted a lot of time to studying the art. It really wasn't her fault. She never asked to inherit anthropomorphic characteristics. She had never even believed in anthropomorphic anything.

It was probably her parents fault. They had tried to protect her from her grandfather and herself. They named her Susan, the most unoccult name they knew. They never taught her about the Soulcake Duck or the Hogfather or the Toothfairy. They never told her about her grandfather. They educated her.

It had been a good education. The school they sent her to did not encourage woolly thinking. Susan had liked logic and mathematics. She was good at them, very good.

Susan found out that her grandfather was Death. (Not the mere loss of life due to age or injury or illness, but the anthropomorphic personification with the bones and the scythe and the VOICE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS.) Obviously a seven-foot tall skeleton would have a bit of difficulty in the reproduction area. Her mother was adopted and her father had been hired as her grandfather's apprentice. However, in Susan's case the laws of genetics had been ignored.

Susan was a tall, thin woman, and not at all beautiful. Her hair, which was bone white with one streak of black through it, rearranged itself. She had three white streaks on her cheek that showed up when she was angry (which was frequently). She could walk through walls and speak in ALL CAPS.

She had become a governess, which was an acceptably boring occupation and socially acceptable for a duchess. Susan was scarily good at it. She was working for a rich tradesman whose wife was looking to scale the social latter and totally terrified of Susan. In her book, which was a thin book written in large easy-to-read letters, the aristocracy did not work.

The children themselves were named Gawaine and Twyla, which just goes to show that you should never trust some people with a baby name book. The former governess had taught them with large books that supposedly fascinated children with the observation that they could in fact see Spot run. Susan had gotten rid of this. What was the point of teaching children to be children when they were naturally good at it.

The monsters were a bit more difficult. The previous governess had used horrific stories to discipline children who persisted in stepping on cracks, sucking their thumbs and writing with their left hands. Susan had tried to explain that these monsters did not exist, but the children knew damn well they did. One night Susan had gotten so fed up with the children that she had reached under Twyla's bed, pulled out a boogeyman and hit him over the head with a poker. She had come to the realization that while the children would believe in monsters they could also believe in the poker. The nursery became notorious among boogey men and such.

Posted on Tuesday, 12 January 1999

Harry Gimble sat in a carriage bound for Lancre thinking nasty words. At least until he noticed that he was being beaten at it by a cheerful fat old lady in black sitting across from him. There is something vaguely shameful about being outsworn by an almost toothless old woman who seems quite happy. She was having a noisy conversation with another old woman, this one tall, skinny, with rather equine features and not nearly so cheerful.

"Esme," said the fat one, "I need to take another break."

"Again? It hasn't been twenty minutes since the last one."

"It's all the bouncing up and down. It's a bugger, that."

The skinny one nodded and the cart skidded to a halt.

Harry poked Fred until he woke up. "SNRKK... I was just resting my eyes." said Fred, who was still on autopilot.

"Come on," said Harry, "We're taking another break apparently."

"Let's hope the cat doesn't get stuck in a tree again."

"Just be glad you were asleep for the story about the very tall man and the piano. I nearly spontaneously combusted I was so embarrassed."

"Oh, is Allie still on that combustion kick? I thought she would have gotten it out of her system what with all the swamp dragons*."

"Apparently not."

"Sod it."

"You know that's a real conversation killer there. Once you've finally got up some fairly good dialogue you go and muck it up by cursing. How am I supposed to answer that?"

"You ever considered trying those dried frog pills Harry?"

"Oh forget it. Let's just get out of this stupid carriage."

"Lovely countryside this."

"Lovely countryside? It's a bloody cabbage patch."

"It is not. It is the Sto Plains, a rich and diverse area with distinctive local flora and fauna."

"Stop reading that stupid tourist brochure. Don't think I can't see it. Flora and Fauna? It's the Sto Plains for god's sake. The only flora it's got are cabbages and the only animals that live here are creatures who eat cabbage and don't mind not having any friends."

"Which god?"

"What?"

"Which god's sake is the Sto Plains for?"

"I don't know, a cabbage god I suppose."

"Is there a cabbage god?"

"There must be if there's this much cabbage."

"Oh, what's his name?"

"How should I know."

"Of course he could be a girl."

"Who could?"

"The cabbage god."

"Will you lay off the cabbage god for a minute."

"Well you were the one who brought it up."

"Are there never any intelligent conversations in this story?"

"I resent that."

"No offense. I mean, I was going just as much as you were, but really. I don't think this really has a Jane Austen parallel plot line thing. I think it's just nonsense."

"SILENCE FOUL CHARACTER OR I'LL MAKE YOU COMBUST!"

"I thought it was Death that talked in all caps, not the narrator."

"Oh right, forgot about that. Well stop criticizing my storyline, I'll get Austenish eventually. I think. Anyway, now I think I'll marry you off to Augusta Elton."

"No, no don't go Austen like that. Please don't go Austen like that."

"Then don't tick me off."

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"That's better."

"Harry, were you arguing with the narrator?"

"Well she started it. Anyway, it is a crummy little story."

"Oh Augusta." shouted the narrator from somewhere else.

"Did I say crummy, I meant marvelous. The complexity of the imagery and symbolism is astonishing. I have never read such a wonderful bit of Fan Fiction in my life."

"Well I never said you had to become a Mr. Collins on me either," mumbled Allie sulkily.

*Swamp dragons are small pathetic little lizards who live surprise surprise in swamps. They are the only species on the disc that has evolved an extremely flammable gastric system as a predator deterrent. When ever a swamp dragon is ill, happy, sad, excited, annoyed, sleepy, apathetic, or bored it combusts. This is a survival technique obviously designed for the species in general and not the individual who is now lamented to anything within a 5 meter radius.

Posted on Wednesday, 20 January 1999

Susan sat in the Gaiter's nursery reading a bed time story. "And so, after trespassing, stealing, and vandalising the Bear's property, the little girl got off scot free, because you can never trust a fairy tale."

She walked out of the bedroom and without looking up said "I thought you'd be here. Tea?"

"YES THANK YOU," said her grandfather, "SUSAN, AM I A SINGLE MAN WITH A LARGE FORTUNE?"

"I shouldn't think so. What brought that on? Sugar?"

"YES PLEASE. THE RULES SEEMED TO HAVE CHANGED. I WOULD NOT LIKE TO BE IN WANT OF A WIFE."

"Yes, anatomically speaking, that would be a bit difficult. So why should a single man with a large fortune need a wife any more than any one else? Milk?"

"YES. I DO NOT KNOW, IT IS IMPORTANT SOMEHOW."

"Well, I'll warn the next rich single guy I see. So how's Albert?"

"HE'S FINE. WHAT'S A BARONETAGE?"

"I don't know. I think it has to do with royalty hitting you on the shoulder with old weapons or something. Mrs. Gaiter has books on that sort of thing. I could look if you like."

"I WOULDN'T WANT TO BE ANY TROUBLE. AM I A WOTSIT, SOME SORT OF NARCOTIC I THINK?"

"What?"

"HEROINE. THAT'S IT."

"Well, theoretically you're a male aren't you. Males aren't usually heroines."

"GOOD. I THINK I WILL SURVIVE THE INEVITABLE OPENING LINES."

"What opening lines would that be?"

"JUST SOME NEW LAWS THAT SEEM TO HAVE COME INTO BEING NOT LONG AGO. BE CAREFULL, YOU MAY END UP ONE OF THOSE LSD THINGIES."

"I hope not. I really don't like those silly gits who run around doing totally pointless thing. Is this like the whole thing with the Hogfather?"

"NOT REALLY."

"Good."

"SO HOW IS GOVERNESSING?"

"All right."

The rest of this conversation was the usual chatter you get among relatives who haven't seen each other in a while. None of it helps the plot at all, so it has been omitted. After a while, Susan gave Death a kiss good-bye on his rather bony cheek and he climbed aboard Binky, his horse, and rode off.

Posted on Saturday, 23 January 1999

A young woman in black strode through the town of Bad Ass. There are very few women who can stride convincingly, and she was one of them. She had a face that, given the right lighting, a wind in the right direction, and a good natured liar, could be called handsome.

The woman walked into a thickly wooded path leading away from the village. She kept walking until she came to a cottage, that if a contest were given for the witchiest cottage it would take first, second, and third place. The woman headed straight for the back door.

"Wotcher, Joan," said a small dumpy old witch, "pull up a chair and call the cat a bastard."

"Hello Nanny*," said Joan, "sorry, I'm late, the broomstick was acting up again, so I had to walk."

"Tea?"

"Yes, please. No cream or sugar. Where's Granny?"

"She had to go to the privy. Be back in a minute."

"So, how is the Ogg tribe?"

"Well, Pewsey tried to bite off the cat's ear, but we soon got him fixed back up."

"How badly hurt was he?"

"We had to give that kid eighteen stitches."

"Hello, Joan," said Granny Weatherwax, from the doorway.

"Wotcher Esme," said Nanny Ogg.

"Give me a slice of bread will you, Gytha?"

Nanny nodded and said, "Joan, cut Granny a slice of bread."

Joan did and said as she was cutting it, "Have you noticed anything strange happening lately?"

"Well, there was that episode down in Slice when Mrs. Twinter's cow spontaneously combusted."

"No, I mean, like, you know that space between Skund and Mad Stoat. Suddenly there is this great big town called Tub there and everyone swears it's always been there."

"Maybe it's a wandering city."

"A wandering city?" Granny cut in, "why would there be a wandering city."

"Well you get wandering shops don't you? So maybe they grow up into wandering cities."

"Wandering shops come from shop owners who piss off meddling wizards, and you know it."

"So maybe this Tub place ticked off a lot of bloody stupid wizards." said Joan.

"That sounds like something stupid enough for wizards to do, but I think we should have seen more of them if it was possible."

"Probably. If this Tub place disappears in a few days, then we won't have anything to worry about. If it doesn't we'll think about it."

"Oh no, Esme, not that.

"Yes that."

There is nothing quite so terrible as a witch who has decided to think about things. Not anything, I can think of at any rate.

*Not an actual professional baby sitter. When they reach a certain age, witches gain titles like Granny, Nanny, Goodie, and Gammer. These titles have nothing to do with rank, witches don't hold with rank. They are simply titles.

Posted on Friday, 5 February 1999

Trolls, dwarfs, and humans flocked to Tub with suspicious but effective fliers. They read "THE PERFECT PLACE TO MEET SAPIENT LIFE FORMS IS TUB!!!", "NEED A PLACE TO SET BITS FOR AN INSIGHTFUL AND WITTY SOCIAL PARODY OR TWO? TRY TUB!!!", "FIVE OUT OF FIVE HEDGEHOGS RECOMEND TUB, LANCRE!!!", and simply "TUB, LANCRE: GO THERE". This sort of thing makes you want laws against perpetrating horrifying overpunctuation.

Mr. Cotter, the real estate agent, looked up at his newest customers. There were three people, two men and a woman. It was impossible to not like the short blond man, it would be like kicking a huge puppy. He had an aura of pure warm fluffiness. His friend did not share this aura, or this ability to be liked. This man was not nearly so pleasant or happy. Mr. Cotter avoided looking at the woman because of the pain her outfit caused his eyes. She wore a floppy bright green velvet hat, several pounds of orange eyeshadow and a startling fuscia dress that would have been clinging had she anything to cling to. She looked as if given half the chance she would have cut all of the fingers off of her gloves, painted her toe nails black and applied large amounts of plum colored lipstick.

Mr. Cotter looked back at the requirements that had been specified. "At least one woman and two men. One man must be likable and easily influenced, the other man not at all happy to be in the country side or near the woman but inexplicably in the countryside anyway. The woman must be badly dressed, preferably in orange and annoying. All must be single and unattached. Preferably another sister and her husband, but not required."

"So," said Mr. Cotter, "are you emotionally attached to one another or someone not present?"

"What sort of a question is that?" asked the not so fluffy man.

"Look, the lady who is owns the house is very particular, though why I don't know. She wants everyone emotionally unattached."

"Oh, well we are." said the fluffy man.

"Good. Now, what are your names?"

"Bob Fry," said the fluffy man.

"Audrey Fry," said the woman.

"Harrison," said the not so fluffy man.

"And what is your first name Mr. Harrison?"

"Harrison."

"Ah, and what is your last name?"

"Harrison."

"Harrison Harrison? Damn confusing that."

"It's worse. My full name is Harrison Harrison Harrison."

"Were your parents' sadists?"

"No, just a bit forgetful."

"A bit?"

"Well, a big bit."

"Anyway, are we going to sit about discussing his name or get to looking at this house?" the woman interrupted.

"Sure, right this way."

As they turned to leave Mr. Cotter noticed that something was written on the men's backs. He did not recognize the language, so he just forgot about it. The inscription on the men's backs was in the Matchmaker-Gossip dialect of the language Woman. On Bob's back the number 5,000 was inscribed, while the number 10,000 was on Harrison's. Cue the spooky music.

Posted on Saturday, 13 February 1999

Joan walked back to her own cottage. She would be glad when Magrat gave birth and could go back to witching. Joan was only a substitute covener while Magrat was a bit busy being pregnant. Joan wasn't a good covener really. It wasn't that she didn't like Nanny and Granny. She did in her own sort of grudging way. They needed someone rather soppy to run about and get people to apologize to one another. Joan's sense of self preservation was a bit too strong for that sort of thing, and she kept out of Nanny and Granny's arguments if she could. Joan came to her cottage and walked through the back door. A Lancre woman, especially a witch, goes through the front door three times in her life and she's carried all three times. Joan had been through the first time and was in no hurry to get to the second. Or the third for that matter although she knew precisely when and how she would go.

She started up the fire and sat down to think about things.

Harrison Harrison Harrison went to his room and began to unpack. He really couldn't remember why he was actually here. He wasn't easily persuaded sort of person, and he wasn't at all inclined to leave Ankh-Morpork. Even if his friend Bob asked him he usually wouldn't go, but he hadn't even needed very much wine to convince him. Perhaps he had taken a bit more than he had thought, but he could remember the discussion over the trip quite clearly. Harrison could here Bob and Audrey shouting at each other from their rooms.

"Audrey," said Bob, "have you seen my socks? I could have sworn I packed them."

"Have you looked in all of the luggage?" asked Audrey. "Yes, I can't find them."

"Well, if they don't turn up we'll go shopping for them later today, finish unpacking your other things"

Audrey looked down at the socks in her hand and stuffed them under her mattress. The things she had to do to get a shopping trip. Of course, the stores wouldn't be like those in Ankh-Morpork, but they were stores and that was what really mattered. Perhaps she could find some black nail polish.

Harrison stretched out on his bed and began to drift off. He began to feel slightly optimistic to his disgust. Oh well, the beds were comfortable at any rate.

Harrison looked up into the rather silly looking face of Bob Fry. He jumped and then remembered where he was. He must have slept a bit longer than he had planned.

"I thought you'd never wake up," said Bob, "my sister drug me to every shop in the bloody entire town, for a pair of socks I bought in the first shop we went to. It's already time for dinner."

"Dinner?" asked Harrison, "did your sister cook. Quite frankly I'd rather starve."

"No, the house keeper is cooking."

"We have a house keeper?"

"Apparently she comes with the house. Not half bad is it."

"I'll wait until after I eat to judge that."

"Oh come on. I'm starving."

The men walked into the dining room where a plump middle aged woman was setting out bowls of food that could clog your arteries by simmering quietly in the next room. They sat down, Audrey came in and sat down and they commenced eating.

"Pass the fried things."

"Which ones?"

"The nobby ones."

"Pass the... the wobbly greasy things."

"The green or the yellow?"

"Both."

"Mmmf... these... er... crunchy brown things aren't half bad."

"Pass the...um...mushy purple things."

"Don't try the black crusty stuff, what ever you do."

"Do you think anything on this table hasn't been fried or boiled for days on end?"

"I think some of it has been fried and boiled, if that helps."

"Somehow, I don't think it does."

Posted on Friday, 26 February 1999

Mrs. Gaiter bustled into the nursery. It was a rather uncertain sort of bustle, the type brought about by being unsure if you should be bustling or if you could find a more genteel manner of moving from place to place. "Susan," she said quaking slightly, "Bill is having one of his cousins to visit."

"What has that got to do with me?"

"Well, I just thought you might be wondering why there's some man hanging about the house all the time."

"Ah, yes. I think I should be able to figure it out all the same."

"Well, he's foreign you see. 'S a goblin or something."

"What, you mean my employer is related to a goblin?

"No, his name sounds like some sort of goblin."

"Really?"

"I'll go ask Bill what his name was again."

Mrs. Gaiter bustled out again and returned in a little while. "Imp!" she said triumphantly.

"What?"

"Bill's cousin's name is Imp."

"Oh, that. Yes I had forgotten about that. Imp you say? Ring's a bell. What's his last name."

"I'll have to ask Mr. Gaiter."

"Don't do that," said Susan a bit too late. Mrs. Gaiter was out the door again.

After a bit Mrs. Gaiter entered once again and announced "y Celyn!"

"What?"

"y Celyn."

"Why do you keep saying y Celyn?"

"That's his last name."

"Whose last name?"

"Oh, now I've forgotten his first name. Bill's foreign cousin."

"Yes. Thank you Mrs. Gaiter. Good-bye"

"Good-bye."

"Imp y Celyn. Imp y Celyn. Where have I heard that name before?" Susan thought, but no sooner had she gotten out those thoughts but she remembered where she had heard that name before.

She gazed vaguely into space and announced to the empty room, "allie, I want a word with you...don't make me use the voice...ALLIE GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, AND NO PLAYING THE UNSEEN VOICE EITHER."

A rather spotty little girl appeared. "Oh, you take the fun out of everything," she said.

"I didn't ask to get put in a story by a demented fourteen year old, did I?"

"No, but I am the author you see. I'm supposed to be in charge of it all, and here you come ordering me about and stuff."

"Don't you give me that. Now stop your stupid little game right now. Bill Gaiter's cousin a Llamedese bard? At least try to have a logical plotline."

"Wont"

"Yes you will, do you hear me. And if you think I'm going to suddenly fall in love with some silly musician you're dead wrong."

"Of course not."

"What?"

"Of course you won't fall in love with some silly musician. Ha, you're far too sensible for that sort of thing aren't you? Well, that annoying little musician won't get more than a paragraph."

"He's gotten more than a paragraph all ready in case you haven't noticed."

"Well, he won't get more than a paragraph that he actually participates in, all right."

"No, this is way to easy. You're going to stop pushing the enter button aren't you?"

"No."

"And use lots of semi colons."

"Look, if you don't want to get involved with the dude in the nightie that's fine with me. I get tired of pushing the L button just thinking about it."

"Well, good."

"I can probably find someone much more suited towards him. Someone a bit less skeletal for a start."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, and a bit more musical, and a lot less bossy. Sounds good to me. Don't you think it sounds right up his...um... thing that you live on?

"What, a disc?"

"No, not a disc. A baby street."

"Look, I don't think I want to have anything more to do with someone who describes small things as 'baby'."

"Suit yourself."

"Wait. You're really going to hitch this guy up with someone."

"Yes, I think I know just the girl."

"Oh, so you're going heterosexual?"

"Yeah, I didn't think it was the wisest choice either. We better stick with another male. Of course Imp will probably take some persuasion to falling for another guy, but you know, looks elvish, plays the harp, wears a nightie. Kind of always seemed a bit less likely to date women than some."

"Really? He didn't seem to have any sort of hang ups on women when I..."

"There you go. I told you not to get involved with him."

"I'm not getting involved with him. Hell, I haven't even seen him for years, and I never liked him that much."

"Well, since that's settled, I better go set in on Imp about his new sexuality, shall I."

"I think you'd better wait a while before you start that."

"Well... if you're sure you want him straight.

"I don't care."

"Sure you don't. Well, I'll be off shall I?"

"Please."

"G'bye."

Posted on Tuesday, 9 March 1999

Joan sat in her rocking chair motionless. She began to twitch. She giggled quietly. The giggles got a bit louder and clearer. Then they were more chortles than giggles. Then they were full fledged laughter. Then they were guffaws bordering on cackles. She fell out of the chair, tears streaming down her face, cackling hysterically.

Harrison sneezed violently. He had run out of clean handkerchiefs several hours ago. Now he was just trying to find ones that would bend. The housekeeper, Mrs. something or another, had been prattling about witches or something for what seemed like an eternity. If this cold kept up much longer he might just have to try the old crone. She was probably better at healing than a doctor at any rate. Of course so were typhoons.

Imp y Celyn was practicing his harp, which was what he did for most of his free time. Of course, being a musician and all, he did it on his not free time too, when anybody came along who wanted to pay him, which wasn't as often as he'd like. He managed to scrape up enough money to live off of, if you had a very loose definition of the word live.

Suddenly a slightly drawled voice from apparently no where announced, "Imp y Celyn, you have some relatives in Ankh-Morpork you're going to visit."

Imp was not bothered by hearing voices. He had heard them before, although they usually did not make very much sense and he only heard them after he had to go for a while without eating something that science had classified. "I didn't know I had any," he said.

"Well, you do."

"Really? Well, why haven't they sent me an invitation? It's rude to go uninvited."

"This is your invitation."

"The last time I listened to a disembodied voice, I wound up in a sewer wearing a chicken costume."

"Really? How do sewers wear chicken costumes?"

"I was the one wearing the chicken costume."

"Oh, well, that sounds like a very interesting story."

"It is, but I don't think I'll tell it to you."

"Drat."

"Do you have a written invitation for me? Only please not with that smelly perfume on it, it gives me the sniffles."

"Look, I've already told them you're coming, so just go."

"I don't know where they live, and I don't have an invitation. I'm no Hat* worshiper you know."

"Fine, here," said the voice. Suddenly there was a plain white card in Imp's hand. It said Would you visit us for a while, Mr. and Mrs. Gaiter.

"I still don't know where they live," said Imp.

"Look on the other side of the card," said the voice.

Imp looked and there was an address. He shrugged and decided to start packing his meager belongings together.

"All right, all right. I'll go see the witch," said Harrison, "but I've got to know where she is."

"It's not the witch, it's a witch. The closest one is a ten minute walk or so," said Bob.

"Well, that's lovely, but that's no direction is it. At least give me a road name."

"You don't know the names of the roads."

"Yes, but at least I'll have something to tell the people I ask directions to."

"Why do you need directions to ask directions?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you should."

"Look, I'm in no mood for these totally unproductive conversations. Just show me where it is or show me someone who can tell me."

"Okay, I'll go get Mrs... Mrs... Whatever her name is."

Some time later Bob and Harrison were at the door of a rather old cottage that appeared to be nothing more than a series of sloppy repairs. They hadn't had much problem finding it, they just followed the laughter. They knocked on the front door several times, but she probably couldn't hear them over the laughter. They had been having some interesting thoughts about a witch who apparently tortured people with a feather duster for some time.

Bob tried to open the door, but it was stuck. Finally he had struck off around the house in search of another way in.

He found a back door which was apparently unlocked and let himself and Harrison in.

Harrison was busily wiping his nose with some leaves he had found. It was funny the way the leaves came in threes like that. Rather pretty really.

Bob walked through the extremely messy and very unoccult looking kitchen. In the next room he discovered a young woman in black rolling around on the floor, shaking with laughter.

"Um... excuse me," he said.

The woman looked up at him and began to laugh, apparently at him.

"Um... would you please stop laughing at me. I'm looking for a witch. You see my friend is rather ill."

"Sorry," the woman gasped between her fits of laughter, "hang on a moment." She seemed to get control of herself and the laughter subsided to a slight giggle.

"Right then," she said, "I'm a witch. My name is Joan Halifax. Sorry about that, things just seem to be a bit funnier than usual."

"I guess so. My names Bob Fry. And I think my friend Harrison is ransacking your kitchen for handkerchiefs."

Joan seemed to loose control again because she started laughing hysterically. "You people almost as funny as the priests." she gasped out between cackles.

"It's nice to know you find me so amusing, but could you please stop laughing long enough to help my friend. I think I'm going to kill myself if he doesn't stop whining and trying to blow his nose on my socks. I just finished buying new ones and he took two pair and filled them before I found out."

Joan managed to stop laughing. She picked up her pointy hat off the floor and set it on her head. She seemed to sober up as soon as she put it on. "Now, let's see to your Harrison, Bob," she said and walked into the kitchen.

When she looked around the kitchen she noticed some very damp poison ivy leaves and a very sickly looking man going through her cupboards. "Look, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop that," she said.

Harrison looked up and stopped. "Do oo haf a hadkercheib?" he asked.

Joan handed him a handkerchief and said "Keep it."

"Dank oo." The man blew his nose loudly.

"Why are these leaves here?"

"I oosed dem do blow by dose."

"This is poison ivy."

"I didn't eat id."

"How long ago was it that you blew your nose?"

"Dever sinse we god on de drail."

"Come with me now. We've got to get you in a bath."

"ere iss da witch?"

"That's me. No time for modesty, if we don't get you in a bath you'll be regretting failing botany.

*Hat, god of uninvited guests. Generally followed by mother-in-laws and relatives given to clipping their toenails at the breakfast table and performing songs on their nasal passages.

Posted on Friday, 12 March 1999

"Look, we haven't got time for this," said Joan testily, "I have four brothers, you haven't got anything I haven't seen. You need to be in that tub right now or you'll be covered in very unpleasant rash. I'm going to draw some more water and by the time I get back I expect you to be ready."

Imp loaded his bag onto the carriage and climbed aboard. He was still not worried that he was following directions from an unseen voice and an invitation that had suddenly come into being. It's a musician thing.

"YEAOOOWWW DAT'S COLD!!!"

"Stop that. If there's one thing I can't stand it's over punctuation. We didn't have time to heat the water up because someone made such a big fuss and wasted time."

"Id's c-c-c-cold."

"Look, there's some water heating up in the fire place. You'll have to do as well as you can for now."

YARGH DAT'S HOT!"

"I trust you can wash yourself. I'm going to go try and clean the poison ivy out of my kitchen."

Harrison scowled at his friend who was hanging sheepishly around the tub. He scrubbed his skin furiously.

"You needn't look like that. There was nothing I could do to stop her, and she is doing her best to keep you healthy, you know." Said Bob.

"She didn'd haf do be ere."

"Yes she did. As she said, we only had about ten minutes or so to get you rinsed down, and she had to help bring in the water. Anyway, she hardly gawped at you and she left as soon as she wasn't needed."

Harrison scowled a bit more. Of course, his friend was right. He just wished Bob wasn't. He wished Bob would leave too. For some reason, he felt as self conscious around Bob as he did a female he had just met a few minutes ago. Bob probably looked at him a good deal more than Joan did.

Being careful not to touch any poison ivy, Joan used a broom to sweep the leaves out of the door. It's times like this I wish I had more cooperative characters. A good fan fiction story would have Joan thinking something dreadfully important to the story line. Actually she was thinking about goats.

Harrison's arrival was announced by several large sneezes. He was clothed again, but looked a good deal redder than before. He was followed by Bob, who was apparently trying to disappear as tactfully as possible.

"Hello," said Joan, "now that's over, back to this cold you came here about."

"Do oo haf adoder handkercheif? Dis one's full," said Harrison.

"Here. You can keep this one too. Other than sinus problems, what are your symptoms?"

"Dausea, a fefer and a headache."

"Any vomiting?"

"Doh, just dausea."

"Well first things first. I'd like you to go draw yourself some water and eat this. It will clear your sinuses, at least temporarily," Joan said, handing him a very small green pepper, "While your doing that, I'll start preparing your medicine."

"Oday," said Harrison as he popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds then stopped and went racing to the well. It was probably the fastest anyone had ever drawn water.

Joan grinned from the window where she could see Harrison dousing his tongue. She began to pull down bottles of colored water and impressive-looking plants that didn't actually do anything but make a bad taste. The importance of a cure was not how well it worked, but how well the patient thought it worked.

Posted on Friday, 26 March 1999

Author's Note: Apologies to Terry Pratchett and anyone involved in Keeping Up Appearances. Please don't sue me, I have no money.

Imp y Celyn stood on the doorstep of a rather large house and rang the doorbell. The door was answered by a red-faced middle-aged woman.

"Hellllo," said Imp, "I got this letter and I..."

"Oh, you must be Bill's foreign cousin. Come in, wipe your shoes and mind the walls."

"Thank you."

"I am Hyacinth Gaitaihr. We got a room all ready for you," she said as she showed him into a rather large room, "I'll let you unpack and fetch Bill."

It took Imp all of five minutes to cram his meager belongings into a drawer. There was a knock at the door and at it were Hyacinth and a man so non-descript that even this description takes a good deal of effort.

"Hello," said the man, "you must be Imp. I'm Bill."

"Hellllo, Billll. Why am I here?"

"Well, no ones really sure. Some people think it involves the great creator having a sever case of allergies."

"No, I mean why did you invite me here?"

"I don't know."

"Were you visited by an invisible voice too?"

"Um, I think you might want to have a bit of a lie down after your trip. I'll send one of the kids up to wake you at dinner time."

Imp sat at the dinner table, between a horrible leering little girl and Mrs. Gaiter, pronounced Gaitaihr because she believes there is some Quirmian blood in here husband's family, although it has now been completely diluted and they have no foreign habits, no offense meant of course.

"Was that Susan Sto Hellit I saw leaving?" he asked, all ready knowing the answer because there is something very memorable about a girl who can speak in all caps and has hair that rearranges itself.

"Thusan'th our governeth," said Twyla.

"You know Susan?" asked Mr. Gaiter, not pronounced Gaitaihr because his wife is completely wrong and they had always been Gaiters, but don't say that around his wife or she'll go spare and he didn't just say that.

"Not very wellll, but she's memorable. I haven't seen her in a while."

"Are you a member of the foreign aristocracy?" asked Hyacinth. "Susan's a duchess you know."

"No, I'm not. I don't think we've ever had an aristocracy in Llamedose. It's to soggy for them, I think."

"Oh."

"Last night Susan pulled a boogey man from under my bed by its nose and hit it on the head with a poker, because she was feeling kind. And then she threw it out the window," said the small boy who was trying to stealthily spear his sister with his fork.

"Hush, Gawaine," said his mother, "Boogeymen are not polite dinner conversation."

Then the small girl yelped and shoved a pea into her brother's ear.

"So, what do you do for a living, Hemp?" asked Hyacinth.

"Um, my name is Imp."

Bill rolled his eyes sympathetically and shrugged.

Posted on Monday, 5 April 1999

Imp was hardly very attached to Susan. They had dated a grand total of three times, if you could call it dating. Still, he was rather hurt by her reaction to him. She had looked at him and said "Oh, you again," and walked out the door. She could have asked about his health, or said hello, or something. Something other than "Oh, you again".

He was probably being far to touchy about things, he knew it. Why should she have something to say to him. He was here, he was upright, what more should she need to know? She could have pretended to be interested at least.

Susan was not thinking about Imp in the least bit. She had gone out for a curry down at Mr. Goriff's place and had decided to stop by Biers for a drink. Biers was the bar for the undea- differently alive. Everyone drank alone at Biers, even when they were in groups or, as the case may be, packs.

She sat behind her gin and tonic at the bar. It paid to have a clear drink at Biers. Igor, the bar man, had some very interesting ideas as to what should be stick at the end of a toothpick umbrella. Biers wasn't a very nice sort of bar, but it was nice to go where everyone knows your shape.

"Hello," said a familiar voice.

Susan looked up to see the former Oh, god* Bilious and Violet Bottler.

"Hello," she said, "I thought you two wouldn't have anything to do with alcohol."

"Well, we don't have to drink the stuff. Igor does a fruit drink you know," replied Violet.

"Ah, a transparent fruit drink?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"Is it your first time ordering this fruit drink?"

"Yes, how'd you guess."

"Um, just a bit of woman's intuition, you know."

"Not really," said Bilious.

"I think you'd better just get your drinks."

"Yes, right then," said Violet. They ordered their drinks as Susan watched them, smiling slightly. This should be good.

Captain Carrot was patrolling in the Shades that night. He walked down the dank streets with that peculiar policeman's walk that is designed to get a person where they are going with the least amount of effort. He heard some shouting from the direction of the undead bar. Carrot did not start running towards the bar. Igor usually took care of brawls with astonishing efficiency.

"Hello, Duchess Sto Helit," he said to a passing figure, "have you had an amusing night?"

"Very amusing, Captain," said the figure. "I'm sorry I can't stop to chat."

"Oh, yes. Well, have a good night."

"Good night, Captain Carrot."

Susan rolled her eyes. She had tried to get Carrot to stop calling her that, but it didn't seem to work. He just said "Yes, Duchess Sto Helit." She'd be supremely annoyed if he wasn't so damn likeable.

"Oook ook ook eeek ook ook," said the Librarian

"SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK," replied the Death of Rats.

"Oook?"

"SQEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK."

"Eek ook ook."

"SQEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK.

"Ook."

The librarian handed, or rather footed, a large volume to the skeletal rat, who attempted to take it from him unsuccessfully.

"SQUEAK SQUEAK?" asked the Death of Rats

"Oook, ook ook." stated the Librarian as he knuckled off purposefully.

He returned after a few minutes with a much smaller book and said "Ook eek ook ook."

"SQUEAK," said the skeletal rat as he took the small book.

The raven was kicked awake by a small skeletal hind paw. "SQEAK!" said the Death of Rats, "SQUEAK SQEAK SQUEAK. SQUEAK SQUEAK."

"What, you could only carry the Cleft's notes? Well, that doesn't help us much."

"SQEAK SQUEAK."

"Yes, I suppose your right."

"SQUEAK."

"Hmm. Will you take a look at this?"

"SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK."

"You took the words right out of my beak. Oh, bugger. I think we're in trouble."

"SQUEAK."

*Bilious was the Oh, god of hangovers, but became dissatisfied with his job and became a freelance temporary god.

Posted on Saturday, 10 April 1999

Gratuitous Monty Python Scene

Joan ran through the streets (or rather street) of Lancre chased by a mob of angry villager types. They actually looked a bit more like dirty British comedians, but they had pitchforks. "Burn her! Burn her!" they shouted enthusiastically.

Verence walked out of the castle. "Quiet!" he shouted. When the noise died down he continued. "Why do you want to burn her?"

"She's a witch! A witch! Burn her! Burn her!"

"Why do you want to burn witches?"

This seemed to have confused the mob, which isn't a very difficult thing to do.

"They make a pleasant sort of blaze?" said one hesitantly.

"I knew why a moment ago." said another.

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

"Perhaps they're made of wood?" said another.

"Wood?"

"Yes wood."

"She's not made of wood. If she were made of wood she'd go all stiff like."

"Yes. Yes. Not wood. Not wood." murmured the crowd.

"Ooh, ooh, I know. She turned me into a chicken."

"A chicken?" asked Verence.

"I got better."

"I didn't turn him into a chicken. I just made him think he was a chicken." said Joan. "At any rate, it only lasted for a few hours. I wasn't going to leave him thinking he was a chicken forever."

"Why did you make him think he was a chicken?" asked Verence

"He wasn't showing proper respect."

Verence nodded. In some ways, Joan was very like Granny Weatherwax. Both of them understood the importance of respect, for one thing. Joan tended to be a bit kinder, though.

"Well, since you have not thought up a good reason to burn this witch, I might want to say I can think up two very good reasons to not burn her."

"Wot's that then?" said the mob.

"Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg, who happen to be standing behind you lot."

It was probably the quickest a mob had ever dispersed. It wasn't even a proper dispersion. In a dispersion you get people shuffling off sheepishly, and one or two standing around looking lost. This was automatic geographical relocation. People who were located in the square, and now were located behind barred doors.

Joan herself was laughing heartily. There are few women who can laugh as heartily as Joan. It was something about her laugh that put one in mind of, well, heartiness.

She and Verence were the only two people in Lancre Square, and Verence seemed to be feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Verence," said Joan, "you learn fast."

"I've got to," said Verence, "Learning fast is even more important than swallows to a king."

"Well, say hi to Magrat for me."

"Sure."

Posted on Thursday, 22 April 1999

"A witch? Oh, did she have a skull and black lace and dribbly candles and that green squishy stuff?" asked Audrey Fry, a bit to enthusiastically for her brother's comfort.

"Audrey..."

What about books of evil and death that no one should look upon?"

"Audrey..."

"Oh, and black nail polish? I bet she makes it with toad bits. Well, don't just stand there, answer my damn question." said Audrey.

"Well if you'd shut up for a minute I would." Bob replied full of fraternal affection. "No, she didn't have black lace curtains or nail polish or any such thing. She had a rather messy kitchen and a pointy black hat and a sensible black dress."

"Did the kitchen have oozy green stuff?"

"No. It had dirty pots and pans stacked in a basin. And there were no spangly beads either. Joan Halifax is an extremely sensible person not some goofy gel who parades about with no drawers own at night."

"Well, did she fly at least?"

"I don't know. She had a broom, it could just be for sweeping her bloody house."

"I'm afraid you've been hoodwinked."

"What?"

"Yes, you haven't got a witch. You've just got some sort of impostor."

"Impostor?"

"Oh, yes. If she were a witch she'd be darkly beautiful and have dangly beads and lots of jewelry and and be bloody witchy."

"Audrey, I hate to break this to you, but she was a real witch. She didn't mumble occult mantras or anything, but she did patch up Harrison pretty damn well, and that's the whole point."

"Some people are far to gullible."

"Gullible?"

"Yes."

"Aaaargh," stated Bob in a most reasonable fashion as he ran out of the room in search of a wall to bang his head own.

Harrison walked into the dining room and inquired why his friend was hitting his head on the coffee table.

"I don't know," said Audrey, "why don't you ask him?"

"I did, but he just said 'yargh' which really wasn't all that informative."

"I was trying to explain to him that he had been taken in by an impostor pretending to possess magical powers."

"Really? He believed you had magical powers. I thought he had a bit more sense than that."

"I don't pretend to have magical powers."

"You could have fooled me. What's all this with the woogy woogy black lace and nail polish and ugly hats and stuff like that?"

"I'm expressing my individuality."

"Really? As I recall, you only started dressing like that when you met up with that silly group of pasty gels and boys with black lines painted on their faces."

"So?"

"So, it seems to me that your individuality belongs to an entire group."

"I can dress however I want to, you know."

"Sure, sure. I don't care how you dress."

"Fine."

"Fine? what sort of answer is that to my statement. You don't really resent my not paying attention to your clothing, do you?"

"Of course not."

"Then why the fine?"

"I couldn't think of anything else to say, and I want the last word."

"Oh, all right."

"Fine."

"Oh, hellllo Susan," said Imp.

"What is it?"

"You could pretend to care you know."

"Pretend to care? What are you talking about?"

"I try to be nice and allll I get is 'oh, you again' and 'what is it?'. You could try being civill every once and a while."

"Why?" asked Susan. "Oh, now don't cry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry I was rude to you. Now please stop blubbering."

"You-you-you a-a-are just saying that. You're n-n-not s-s-sorry. You're never s-s-sorry."

"Look, I'm extremely sorry I upset you. I didn't mean to be rude, I've just been rather busy."

"Realllly?"

"Yes, really. Here, wipe your nose. It's dripping all over the place."

"Th-thank you."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Do you need another handkerchief?"

"Pllease."

"Now where did I put that... Oh, yes here it is."

"Th-thank you again."

"You really are very high strung these days."

"W-w-what does that mean?"

"I just meant that you're very sensitive, no don't start crying again. Of course your sensitive, you have to be. It's part of the job right."

"I-I suppose s-s-so."

"Do you want to go out somewhere and relax a little?"

"That woulld be n-nice."

"Yes, I think too much time around Hyacinth Gaiter would drive any one to tears. The kids are out for the moment, come on."

Posted on Saturday, 15 May 1999

A rather strange pair were walking through the streets of Ankh-Morpork. NOT a couple. Probably as un-couplish as you could get without standing on opposite continents.

"So where are we going, Susan?" asked Imp.

"Who cares. As long as Hyacinth isn't there it doesn't matter," replied Susan.

"Sounds good to me. I'm feelling rather guillty about that crying fit. I realllly can't help it that that woman was driving me to tears."

"So why should it worry you?"

"Wellll, I'm afraid I'm not sticking with the stoic tough guy in breaches who does serves basicalllly as a means to end the book happilly."

"Are you supposed to be a hero then?"

"I guess so."

"Well, I'm not sure your the hero, but I wouldn't worry about it. Have you seen Sense and Sensibility? At least you don't stutter constantly."

"Oh, yes. I forgot about that...Wait a minute, we're not supposed to have seen any Emma Thompson films. This is the disc worlld."

"Oh, please. If you haven't noticed that nothing makes since in this story by now, you really should get yourself some funny trousers and look for a city called London that doesn't exist."

"That's sensiblle. How do you think they get those trousers to poke out on the sides, anyway?

"I don't know, stuff their pockets."

"Those are some very long pockets then."

"Look, I've had enough of this discussion."

"Wellll, I was onlly being sociablle. Why do you think they wear them?"

"Wear what?"

"Those poky out breeches."

"All this coming from a man who runs about in a nightie."

"It's not a nightie. It's a traditionall bardic robe."

"Whatever."

Posted on Saturday, 29 May 1999

There was a knock at the door. Joan got up and opened it to see an empty yard.

"Down here," said a voice that sounded a bit peeved.

"Oh, there you are," said Joan looking down at a dwarf. "I wasn't expecting you this early."

"Well, I got time off a little earlier than I expected," replied Hrolf.

"Come in. How's the new shaft coming?"

"We ran into some minor problems with some loose shale, but we've delt with that. The seam is really quite promising."

"Oh, good. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes."

"No milk, two sugars, right?"

"Right. So how's the witching going?"

"It's all right. There's this new town that just appeared and we're getting lots of city idiots. Just the other day, I got some guy who wiped his nose with poison ivy. After him there was a woman with crabs and a serious case of superstition."

"Crabs? You mean like pubic lice?"

"No, I mean like the spidery looking things in the ocean."

"How did she get a case of them? There not even found up here."

"From what I could make out, it all had to do with her second cousin Ned and a bottle of laundry detergent."

"Laundry detergent."

"She was a bit hysterical."

"I would be too if I had a bunch of clawed sea thingies all over me."

"I wouldn't."

"You're never hysterical though. You're so sane you're really quite mad."

"I know, it's a curse, excessive sanity."

"I'm glad it's not a problem I'm in any danger of. How'd you get 'em off her?"

"What?"

"The crabs, how'd you get 'em off her?"

"Hit 'em with the skillet. Had to do a bunch of chanting and stuff to appease the woman, though. That reminds me, are you staying for dinner?"

"What's for dinner?"

"Crab cakes."

"I should have known."

"Are you staying then?"

"Sure. Is Obsy coming tonight."

"Yeah, I got some fresh shale all ready."

"Oh, then we should have a good deal of fun. Want to play Cripple Mr. Onion?"

"All right."

"Susan, If you're a governess, how come you aren't with the chilldren?" asked Imp.

"Mrs. Gaiter feels that it's healthy to spend some time with her children."

"Poor kids."

"I know. Bob put it into her head because he thought it might help me. He's really quite nice, you know, in his own way."

"He hasn't killlled himsellf or her yet, he's a saint."

"I think he's pretty much mastered the art of not listening."

"What about Twylla and Gawaine?"

"They don't spend much time around their mother. They usually are protected by Bob or with me."

"How llong have you been with them?"

"Oh, about a year or so."

"How can you stand it."

"Hyacinth is terrified of me. She leaves me alone."

"You're llucky. Ever since she figured out that a bard is not a fllying animall, she keeps singing at me."

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot help you. Why on the disc have you stuck around?"

"Because...because...I realllly don't think I know why. Somehow, I don't think I can lleave just yet."

"Don't tell me, it's your duty as a stoic austen hero. Run for it before she drives you mad."

"I can't. I can't leave Bob allone in that house."

"He's not alone, I'm there and so are the kids."

"But the kids are stillll smallll, and you tend to be a bit...um..."

"What?"

"You."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, please."

"I just mean that are a bit unsympathetic."

"Unsympathetic? I get you out of that house and I'm unsympathetic."

"Well, not unsympathetic, but sensiblle and...um..."

"Wierd."

"Yes, I mean no, of course not."

"Sure you do."

"Llook, can we not end this conversation without one of your cynicall and sarcastic remarks."

"All right."

Posted on Saturday, 19 June 1999

Completely Pointless Low Budget Talk Show Scene

An announcer with a large chin, a larger gap between his front teeth, and a silly walk announced to an audience made entirely of the homeless, winos, insomniacs, and/or complete and utter loonies (except for the three badly lost Japanese tourists) "Hello and welcome to the late late late late late show. We've got a great show tonight everybody. Our first guest has starred in everything from Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal to Monty Python Sketches. Please give a big welcome to Death."

A skeleton entered from the left (No it's not Calista Flockheart).

"Hey Death, it's great to have you hear, when your not on duty that is."

"WHY IS IT THAT ONLY VERY STRANGE PEOPLE ARE HAPPY TO SEE ME?"

"I'll ask the questions. So Death, have a seat. What brings you here?"

"BINKY."

"What's Binky?"

"MY HORSE."

"Oh, you like animals then."

Death gave a very bony sort of shrug.

"So, tell us about this new fan fiction thing you're in."

"WELL, IT'S BASED ON SENS... NO, THAT'S NOT RIGHT, IT'S BASED ON PRI... NO, IT'S BASED ON EM... NO, I THINK IT'S BASED ON NOR... NO, THAT DOESN'T FIT... OH, I KNOW, IT'S BASED ON PER.... ON SECOND THOUGHT, NO IT'S NOT... THEN IT MUST BE BASED ON MAN... NO, WHO WOULD WANT TO WRITE A STORY ABOUT THAT BORING EDMUND AND HIS SLIGHTLY LESS BORING COUSIN? ANY WAY, IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE AUSTEN BASED."

"Thank you for that enlightening description."

"WELL I'M NOT THE WON WHO'S WRITING THE DAMN THING. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M DOING IN THIS BLOODY TALK SHOW."

"Neither do I."

"THAT INSPIRES CONFIDENCE."

"Well, our director thinks he's a lamp post, and my cohost ran off weeping because he found our he wasn't Emma Thompson, and I have no lower half, which is why I've got this bleeding desk. What did you expect, this is a late night talk show."

"POINT TAKEN."

"All right, our next gues..."

"AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO GO TO COMMERCIALS EVERY FIVE SECONDS?"

"Well, we were planning to, but no one would pay for this time slot."

"OH, RIGHT. CARRY ON THEN."

"Our next guest is a small skeletal rodent, who has, as far as I know, not much in the way of a film career. Here's the Death of Rats."

Death moves over to accommodate a the Death of Rats.

"Hello, Death of Rats. So what's been going on lately?"

"SQUEAK SQUEAK twitch scratch nose SQUEAK SQUEAK. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. SQUEAK SQUEAK sniff."

"Umhmm."

"SQEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. SQUEEEAK SQUEAK twitch."

"Go on."

"SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. SNH SNH SNH."

"I didn't understand a word of that."

"GOOD."

"Any way, we're moving on to our next guest. Please welcome, the writer of this bit of tripe and quite possibly the pastiest non-albino in the multiverse, allie."

Death and the Death of Rats moved over to allow a liberally freckled, extremely pale girl to sit down."

"So, allie, tell us about this half-assed attempt at a Jane Austen-Terry Pratchett story. What's it based on."

"Well," said allie, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Top secret is it?"

"I can't tell you that, or I'll have to kill you."

"Oooh. Say no more. Say no more. Nudge Nudge. Wink wink. A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat." said the announcer, who rapidly becoming yet another monty python ripoff.

"Stop that, it's silly."

"Silly, silly, 'e said knowingly. Say no more. Say no more."

"Look, if you don't stop that, I really will kill you."

"Oooh, kill eh. Nudge nudge wink wink."

"All right, you asked for it," said allie.

The announcer spontaneously combusted.

"DON'T YOU THINK THAT SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION NONSENSE IS GETTING A BIT OLD?"

"This is fan fiction. Nothing gets old here. Why that nutella thing has been going on forever, and it still gets laughs."

"OH, RIGHT THEN."

"SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK?"

"This whole talk show scene... well actually it's just a shoddy attempt to get some of my favorite characters back into the story."

"SQUEAK SQUEAK?"

"Didn't you just hear me. I can't tell what it's based on. It's a secret."

"SQUEAK."

"Don't you take that tone of voice with me."

"SQUEAK sniff"

"You're right, this talk show thing is getting awfully stale. Okay, cue the next set."

"We 'aven't got a next set." said a stage hand.

"What?"

"You 'aven't written it so we 'aven't got it."

"Oh, dear. Then I guess I'll just stop writing until I've come up with it."

"Right you are then."

Posted on Friday, 9 July 1999

Susan and Imp returned to the Gaiter household after picking up a curry down at the Klatchian Gardens. Imp wandered off and Susan retreated into the nursery. There she found Twyla and Gawaine perched atop her Grandfather's rather bony knees.

"You're all knobby," complained Gawaine.

"IF IT'S UNCOMFORTABLE WHY DON'T YOU GET DOWN?" Death answered.

"You're funny," was Twyla's answer.

"When you eat, does the food fall through you?" asked Gawaine.

"NO."

"Why not?"

"I DON'T KNOW, IT JUST NEVER HAS."

"Oh," said Gawaine as he turned his attention to pulling on his sister's hair.

"Susan, Gawaine pulled my hair," Twyla whined as she pulled her brother's hair in return.

"If you don't stop that this instant, I'll tear your arms off and stuff them up your nose," Susan stated.

The children giggled, squirmed off of Death's knees and generally went about the sort of things that small children do. *

"Two visits in one month, who'd have thought it," said Susan, "what brings you here this time?"

"WELL, IT'S SIMILAR TO THE LAST VISIT. YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS A STORY BASED ON JANE AUSTEN NOVELS, OF COURSE."

"Yes, everybody knows that."

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT JANE AUSTEN NOVEL IT'S BASED ON?"

"I've never read one. They don't usually exist on this world.

"AH, YES. I'VE LOOKED INTO THE NOVELS MYSELF, AND THERE SEEMS TO BE ONE MAJOR PROBLEM."

"What's that?"

"AS FAR AS I KNOW OF THERE ARE NO FWOODS OR HENRY 'MUSLINMAN' TILNEYS RUNNING ABOUT THE DISC."

"Fwood? What's a Fwood?"

"IT'S A HERO."

"An Ephebian sandwich?"

"NO, HERO, A PRINCIPAL MALE CHARACTER PORTRAYED IN A POSITIVE MANNER, OFTEN TIMES THE PROTAGONIST OR PROTAGONIST'S ROMANTIC INTEREST. NOT A GYRO."

"Oh, a hero, not a hero?"

"NO, THE SANDWICH IS SPELLED WITH A BLOODY G. I MEAN HERO WITH AN H."

"Right then. What were you saying?"

"I DON'T REMEMBER NOW."

"It had something to do with a Fwood, didn't it?"

"OH, YES, NOW I REMEMBER. THERE ARE USUALLY TWO WAYS OF GOING ABOUT FAN FICTION. RIGHT?"

"I don't know."

"JUST SAY YES."

"Yes."

"YOU CAN WRITE AN EPILOUGE OR A PROLOUGE OR SOMETHING, BUT YOU HAVE TO WORK AN AUSTEN CHARACTER, NAME AND ALL, INTO THE STORY OR IT WON'T GET POSTED. THE OTHER WAY IS TO RETELL A STORY JANE AUSTEN THOUGHT UP. THAT DOES NOT REQUIRE THE SAME NAMES, BUT THE CHARACTERS HAVE TO BEAR SOME SIMILARITY TO THOSE OF JANE AUSTEN."

"So, what does this have to do with Fwood and fabric guy."

"WELL, IF THIS WAS AN EPILOUGE OR PROLOUGE, WE'D NEED THE SAME NAMES TO CLUE US IN. BUT SINCE THERE AREN'T ANY AUGUSTA ELTONS WHO JUST SPONTANEOUSLY SPRANG INTO BEING..."

"Who?"

"CAN I FINISH PLEASE?"

"Sorry."

"SINCE THERE AREN'T ANY CHARACTERS WITH JANE AUSTEN NAMES, THIS MUST BE A RETELLING OF ONE OF THE JA STORIES."

"Ja?"

"JANE AUSTEN."

"Oh, right. So, how does all this involve me?"

"WELL, I THINK YOU MIGHT BE IN DANGER OF A STORY LINE, ALTHOUGH WHAT I DON'T KNOW. THAT WHOLE LLAMADESE GUY SHOWING UP ON THE DOORSTEP DEAL SEEMS PRETTY ENGINEERED."

"I already had a little chat with allie. She said she wanted to fix him up with a man, so I needn't worry."

"STILL, I'D WATCH OUT UNTIL I CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT STORY SHE'S TRYING TO RECREATE."

"Why do you need to know."

"I AM A NATURAL FORCE, AND THIS WHOLE NONSENSE DOES INVOLVE ME. IF ANYONE'S DADDY IS GOING TO DROP DEAD I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT IT."

"Won't you know about it anyway?"

"UNCERTAINTY IS NEVER A GOOD THING FOR AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION."

"Oh, so you're just curious."

"I AM NOT."

"Are so."

"AM NOT."

"Are so."

"AM NOT."

"This isn't getting us anywhere."

"I WON."

"Did not."

"DID TOO."

"Oh, stop that."

"SUSAN, WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T GET INVOLVED IN THIS INVESTIGATION. INFACT, DON'T DO ANYTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY."

"Shouldn't I read the books to know what to look out for."

"NO."

Susan was suddenly filled with a tremendous desire to read those books. Damn it if she was going to get stuck in somebody else's novel.

*anything potentially dangerous and/or creates a huge mess

Posted on Wednesday, 18 August 1999

"Aargh hay!" exclaimed hay Ob bay ust jay efore bay e hay ollapsed cay. E bay ad hay een bay itting hay is hay ead hay on hay e thay offe cay able tay or fay e thay ast lay ifteen fay inutes may.

"Ob bay," aid say Arrison hay oncerned cay about hay is hay iend fray.

"At whay are hay ou yay elling yay at hay Ob bay?" asked hay Audrey hay.

"E hay as hay opped stay elling yay and hay umping thay is hay ead hay. I'm hay oing gay o tay ee say if hay e hay is hay all hay ight ray."

"Is hay e hay okay hay?"

"I hay on't day ink thay o say."

Audrey hay an ray into hay e thay oom ray. En whay e shay aught cay ight say of hay er hay other's bray oody blay ead hay e shay ainted fay.

Arrison hay aid say "It shay, it shay, it shay."

Ob bay as way aying lay accross hay e thay oor flay unconscious hay and hay is hay ead hay as way eeding blay alarmingly hay on hay e thay ug ray.

"Oan jay! Oan jay!" elled yay Arrison hay as hay e hay an ray ough thray e thay oor day.

"At whay is hay it hay?" asked hay Oan jay.

"It's hay Ob bay. E hay is hay unconscious hay and hay eeding blay. Audrey hay ainted fay."

"O whay are hay Ob bay and Audrey hay?" asked hay Olf hray.

"Y may iend fray and hay is hay ister say."

"Ow hay id day e hay et gay ut cay?"

"E hay anged bay is hay ead hay on hay e thay able tay."

"Ell way, Olf hray, it hay ooks lay ike lay I hay ill way ave hay o tay eave lay," aid say Oan jay as hay e shay ot gay er hay ings thay ogether tay.

"I'll hay ay stay ere hay and hay ait way or fay Obsy hay."

"E bay ack bay as hay oon say as hay I hay an cay."

"Ye bay."

"Ome Cay on hay, Arrison hay." Aid say Oan jay, abbing gray er hay oom bray and hay unning ray out hay e thay oor day.

"At whay is hay e thay oom bray or fay?"

"E're way ying flay."

"Ying flay!"

"Ang hay on hay."

"IT SHAY."

Posted on Tuesday, 24 August 1999

Imp was wandering around the house. He found a door and opened it, because that's what you do to doors. Some linen and Bill Gaiter fell out and onto the floor "Illll Bay?" said Imp, "Illll Bay? At whay are hay ou yay oing day in hay ere thay?"*

"What?" asked a perplexed and slightly dazed Bill.

"I hay aid say at whay are hay ou yay oing day in hay ere thay."**

"Oh, great, it's bad enough with the accent. Now he's speaking some foreign gabble."

"I hay esent ray at thay."***

"Wait a minute, Susan knows foreign languages and stuff. We'll go ask her. Come on Imp."

"Susan," called Mr. Gaiter. "Susan, oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

"Mr. Gaiter, have you met my grandfather?"

"Pleased to meet you." Bill said, looking at the... thin... very thin... almost sickly figure... very sick by the looks of things.

"NICE TO MEET YOU." said Death pleasantly, "I'M SORRY I CAN'T STAY AND CHAT. I HAVE A VERY DEMANDING SCHEDULE."

"Oh, yes of course. Don't let me keep you."

"I WON'T," said Death, "GOODBYE."

"Goodbye," said Susan, Twyla, Gawaine, and Bill.

"Oodbye gay,"**** said Imp.

"Oh, yes, that reminds me, Susan," said Bill, "I came in here because Imp here is talking some foreign lingo. I thought you might know it."

"Really? Imp, what do you have to say to all this?"

"At whay?"^ said Imp, who had stopped listening some time ago.

"Imp, why are you speaking in pig latin? That was a one section thing."

"I hay ellt fay eft llay out hay."^^

"What ever for? You know it gets very tiring typing in pig latin."

"Ut bay, I hay anted way o tay e bay in hay e thay ig pay atin llay it bay."^^^ Said Imp, begining to sniffle.

"Oh, now, don't start crying again. Why did you want to be in a pig latin bit any way?"

"Ecause bay, I hay ike llay ig pay atin llay. Y whay oulldn't cay allllie hay ut pay e may in hay a ig pay atin llay ory stay art pay. It's hay ot nay air fay."^^^^

"Don't cry... Oh, well too late for don't cry I suppose."

Twylla and Gawaine giggled nervously. They had never seen a grown man cry, at least when it didn't heavily involve their mother.

"ALLIE," said Susan angrily, "DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE. YOU COME RIGHT DOWN HERE AND APPOLOGIZE NOW."

"Oh, all right," said allie.

"What do you say?"

"'m sorry."

"About what?"

"'ot putting Imp inna pig latin story."

"There, now Imp what do you say to allie? No pig latin now."

"'our forgiven."

"Okay, now, kiss and make up."

"no"

"KISS AND MAKE UP."

The writer and the character exchanged very nervous pecks on their cheeks while the children rolled on the ground with helpless laughter.

For Leigh :

* "Billll? Billll? What are you doing in there?"

** "I said what are you doing in there."

*** "I resent that."

**** "Goodbye."

^ "What?"

^^ "I fellt lleft out."

^^^ "But, I wanted to be in the pig llatin bit."

^^^^ "Because, I llike pig llatin. Why coulldn't allllie put me in a pig latin story part. It's not fair."

Posted on Friday, 27 August 1999

Imp and allie were sitting in a room some time (not much, not a little, what am I a watch?)after the ordeal. There is nothing like enduring an extremely embarrassing and pointless ordeal when it comes to bonding.* Susan had obviously spent way too much time in child care.

"Allllie," said Imp, "I was wondering, if you're down here, who's writing this story?"

"I don't know," said allie.

"But, aren't you supposed to be the omnipresent, omniscient narrator?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I know everything."

"Actualllly, yes it does."

"Oh."

"This worries me a great deall. I mean, if I'm a fictionall character, I have everything in my llife carefulllly mapped out and rewritten severall times."

"Uh......"

"Oh, no, you don't."

"Well, you see, my computer's kind of screwy and I can't copy things down off of a word processor or anything. So anyway, I kind of, make it up as I go along."

"I am not hearing this. This is some sort of joke. I'm a fictionall character, I'm exempt from allll uncertainty."

"Well..."

"You've got my entire llife mapped out. Oh, pllease stop joking now. You've got everything organized."

"Um...well..."

"Oh, stop saying 'Um' and 'well'"

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"I won't say um or well, only I just did, you see?"

"Arrgh, my fate is in your hands?"

"Not at the moment, seeing as I'm not at the computer at the moment."

"Then who's typing this?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"How can you be so damn compllacent? This is serious. My fate and yours are nonexistant. Anything coulld happen. I could expllode this minute. You've got to get back to writing right now!"

"Obviously your not very familiar with my writing style."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Why don't you just chill out for a minute Imp. You're a musician. You're supposed to be all spontaneous and a free spirit and junk."

"It's a llot easier to be a free spirit when you know that you're never going to starve because an author might want to write another story about you."

"But you could, someone could write a tragedy about you."

"Oh, thanks, that was comforting."

"I don't know why your making such a fuss about uncertainty. I live in uncertainty every day. It's rather pleasant once you get used to it. Of course there are some people who think it isn't uncertainty, but I think they're a bunch of loonies."

"You don't understand what it is to llive your wholle llife in words, and then suddenlly discover that your own actions could be disastrous."

"No, I don't. However, there are plenty of fictional characters that live their lives entirely based on their own choices. At least they do when I write about them."

"Name one."

"Susan."

"Susan?"

"Yes, Susan. You know I was supposed to make up some sort of Jane Austen parallel with Susan and Susan refuses to have anything to do with it. I think the only way I can get her to do anything at all is telling her not to do it."

"Yes, but then you're stillll controlling her fate in some way."

"Not realllly, she choses what she is going to do. I've got another female character, Joan. She is just ignoring me entirely. I tried to make another Jane Austen parallel there, but she didn't want to do it."

"But, who is writing this story now."

"Who knows? I don't. Chill out, I don't think that my computer is going to suddenly become possessed by Herman Melville."

"Is it just me or is this room rocking?"

"Well, it doesn't seem very exciting to me..." said allie before she notice the furniture sliding back and forth. She tried to stand up and immediately realized that this was a very bad idea.

Shouting came from somewhere above the room. There was a strange tapping and shuffling on the ceilling.

Imp and allie managed to stumble out of the room. They saw a ladder. Allie tried to climb the ladder, because Imp did not want her to see up his skirt. It did not occur to allie that climbing a ladder is a bit more difficult when you're rocking back and forth.

Had anyone been listening above they would have heard a loud thump and an "Oof," and a bit later an "Allllie, woulld you pllease get off. I can't breathe."

Again, this was a bit more difficult to do when rocking back an forth.

Finally, Imp and allie managed to climb the ladder and found themselves on the deck of a very old looking ship. No one really seemed to mind a girl in trousers and a young man in a dress. They were all off in little boats. There was a large spout and a huge mass of flesh appeared under the ocean.

"This can't be good," Imp muttered.

'Oh, look, it's a whale. What are they doing?' thought allie, before it dawned on her she should have paid a little more attention in English class. "They're going to kill it! There going to kill the poor whale. That's, that's against the law. They can't do that."

As a large man lept up and through a spear at the hulk Imp remarked, "It woulld appear that they can."

"Hey, hey, hey you. What do you think you're doing, you you fascists." yelled allie, who was obviously not in touch with reality at the moment. Unsurprisingly, the whalers niether heard allie nor would have cared if they did.

"You're the author, can't you stop this," said Imp.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," said allie. She tried to return to somewhere else, but she couldn't seem to get there. "I'm stuck. I can't get out. Who ever's writing this story won't let me. And I've got Bob Fry lying over in tub with his head cut open too."

"Can't you do something?"

"I could pitch a fit."

"Llet me rephrase that, can't you do something usefullll."

"I can't do the Death voice, I'm just a narrator."

"But Susan can."

"Susan's not here."

"Coulld you bring her here?"

"I don't know, I could try."

Suddenly a rather disoriented looking Susan Sto-Hellit appeared. Just as suddenly a rather disoriented looking Susan Sto-Hellit fell down. Allie and Imp would have helped her up, if they hadn't fallen down as well.

"Why am I in a boat?" asked Susan.

"I don't know," said allie.

"You're supposed to be omniscient."

"Well I'm not, and at the moment, I'm not writing the story either. You've got to use the voice to get Herman Melville to stop killing whales and let me have my computer back."

"Only if you tell me what Jane Austen story this is supposed to be."

"I don't know, all right, is that what you want to hear? I have no idea what story this is supposed to be. I keep trying to make it fan fiction, but no one will cooperate with me at all. And if I don't get Austenish soon, I'll have to leave the board, and then I'll be sad."

"I'll help you, but you've got to promise me something. No trying to force people into stories they don't want to be in. You've just got to let things happen of their own accord."

"Sure, fine," said allie who in a surprising moment of tact decided that she had made that decision many posts ago.

"STOP KILLING THOSE WHALES," said Susan, "IT'S STUPID AND MESSY. HERMAN YOU GET OFF THAT COMPUTER RIGHT NOW AND COME DOWN HERE."

The whalers and the dead guy obeyed, much to their own amazement.

"Herman," said Susan to the stunned but translucent figure, "you took allie's computer away from her. That was very naughty of you Herman. Wasn't it?"

"'es"

"Herman, say your sorry for taking her story away."

"'orry"

"Sorry for what?"

"'orry for taking you're story away."

"Now allie it was very naughty of you to insult Herman's book and not pay attention during English class. Wasn't it?"

"'es"

"Appologize to Herman for belittling his masterpiece."

"'orry for making fun of your book."

"Now kiss and make up...KISS AND MAKE UP."

"All right, now allie, you go back to writing your story."

*Anyone in the military or who knows someone in the military will acknowledge this fact.

Posted on Thursday, 2 September 1999

"And they're off," said the obnoxious caffeine addicted announcer who just appeared for no apparent reason. "It's Far Fig Newton in first, with Lucky Day in second, and Why Do Racehorses Always Have Such Long and Obnoxious Names Anyway IV in third.

"Wait, Lucky Day is falling back. Yes, Why Do Racehorses Always Have Such Long and Obnoxious Names IV in second, and Lucky Day in third, and Moveit II in fourth. Or is it Why Do Racehorses Always Have Such Long and Obnoxious Names II in fourth and Moveit IV in second?

"Oh, wait, Far Fig Newton is no longer in the lead. Why is pulling ahead. Who Cares is coming up strong, they're rounding the bend with Who passing Moveit and Lucky Day. And hard on Who Cares' heals is yes, This Is Getting Really Annoying.

And they're crossing the finish-line it's Why, followed by Who Cares with This is Getting Really Annoying hard on his heals."

"I hay am hay oing gay o tay ie day!" shouted Harrison.

"Look, you can stop all that pig latin nonsense. It's been over for quite some time now. And anyway, in case you haven't noticed, We've all ready landed," said Joan.

Harrison opened his eyes and found that he was indeed on the ground.

"Oh," he said, and then remembering that he had left his friend bleeding on the carpet added "I don't think we can afford to waste time, come on."

He opened the front door. Joan looked at him. He looked at Joan.

"Don't you remember anything?" asked Joan. "Males, typical. Open the bloody back door."

"What?"

"Look, I don't have time to tell you what I've all ready told you, so just do it."

Harrison went and opened the back door. They went inside. They walked through some rooms and found the room where Bob and his sister were lying across the floor. Joan bent down, inspected Bob's head, and pulled out a needle and some very thin thread from her pocket.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" said Harrison.

"Yes, you can go make a cup of tea."

"Oh, all right."

Joan laughed to herself and wiped the slightly crusty blood off of Bob's forehead with her handkerchief. The cut wasn't very deep, and, in all probability, Bob had not beaten himself senseless. It was far more likely that he had seen the blood and fainted. She put a few stitches in the fluffy man's forehead and turned to look at Audrey Fry.

This turned out to be more difficult than one would have expected. Audrey had a sort of reverse camouflage. She wore her clothes so garishly bright your eyes instinctively drew away from her. 'Interesting' thought Joan as she glanced back at the limp figure.

"I got some water boiling, but I don't know where the tea is," said a distraught Harrison Harrison Harrison. "We gave Mrs. What'shername a day off every day we're in Tub. Will Bob be able to pull through without any tea?"

"No, you've got to run out into the streets of this strange town and fetch me some tea this instant. His life is in your hands," replied Joan, who wanted to see if Harrison would believe her.

He did. The man was close to tears. He ran out the door, frantically wishing he had gone shopping with Audrey and Bob instead of sleeping.

Joan laughed, felt slightly guilty, and then laughed harder. She walked into the kitchen and got some water, which she used to revive the her patient and his sister.

"Oh, no, I must have wet myself again," said Bob before he noticed Joan and Audrey.

"Um, Bob, is there something you want to tell me?" asked Audrey.

"I...I...it was a joke."

"Really?"

"Yes really."

"Hello, Joan," said Bob, "I don't think you've met my sister. Joan, this is Audrey, Audrey this is Joan."

They exchanged hellos.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't think I'll stay lying in a puddle any longer. Why is the carpet all red?"

"It's blood," said Joan.

"Who's been coming in here and bleeding all over my carpets. This is a rental house you know, and I can't afford to let any punks cut themselves around these carpets."

"You bled on them."

Bob looked back at the carpet and then ran for the lavatory. Some interesting sounds came from that lavatory, none of which lend themselves to onomatopoeia.

Audrey grimaced and then excused herself. She didn't really enjoy lying in a puddle any more than her brother.

Posted on Saturday, 11 September 1999

Harrison rushed off through the streets of Tub. There weren't all that many streets of Tub, but they liked to pretend that there were. They tried to cram urbane dirtiness and crowdedness inside their own little dirty roads.

He bumped into a cart as he scanned the roads for a shop that might carry tea. What sort of shops carried tea? He was sure that he had bought tea before. He just couldn't seem to remember how he had gone about it.

"'Ere, wot you think you're doin', bumping into me cart and going for a 'ole paragraph without me. You're mum should 'ave taught you some manners."

"I'm sorry," said Harrison, looking at the oddly familiar figure.

"Now, there. Could I interest you in a cart. Prime carts mate. Five dollars a piece and I'm chopping me own nose off."

"Ah, your name wouldn't happen to be Dibbler would it?"

"As a matter of fact it is. For a man so intuitive as you, I'll give you a special offer. I'll throw some dwarf bread in as well," said Chop-Me-Own-Nose-Off Dibbler.

"What, dwarf bread? How can a dibbler sell dwarf bread? What can you do to dwarf bread?"

"'Ere, look at it. Premium quality, mountain dwarf bread."

"What, that's not dwarf bread."

"Of course it's dwarf bread. Authentic stuff, fresh from the dwarf mines."

"It's a lump of granite you painted brown."

"Fresh from the dwarf mines. Authentic, ain't it."

"Authentic, it's a bloody lump of granite that no troll not so up on slab* that his brain was oozing out his ears would touch."

"There you are. Dwarf bread you see. Trolls don't like dwarfs, you know. Wouldn't dream of eating it."

"Uh-huh."

"This cart's a real beauty. Look at that seat, they don't make them like that anymore."

"That would be because they learned better."

"I've got a couple of 'orses, I might be willing to sell for another five dollars, and I'm cutting me own nose off. They can't run under ten miles an hour."

Harrison looked at the pair of sickly creatures. "Ten miles an hour. That one's not even a horse."

"Yes he is."

"No it isn't, it's a cow with a brown cloth cover to hide it's udders."

"They're you go."

"What? Look I don't have time for this, I need some tea."

"Tea you say. I think I may 'ave just the ticket right here."

"How much"

"5p"

"Here you go," said Harrison, walking off quickly before Dibbler managed to sell him anything else. He looked down at the grubby tin that smelled rather suspicious and began walking down the road that he thought led back to the house.

"Don't you think we should have gotten clearer directions than Tub?"

"Hrolf didn't know where they were going off to. She's bound to turn up somewhere."

"Esme, I think that Joan is over there in that pub."

"Why would she be there, Gytha?"

"I've just got this intuition."

"Yes and I have got this odd intuition that if we go in looking for Joan we'll wind up without Joan and with one drunk old baggage dancing on table tops and singing that song "

"What song, Esme?"

"You know the one. The one about the hedgehog that can't be bothered by anything."

"Oh, you mean the Hedgehog Can't Be Bug-"

"That's enough Gytha. You promised me you wouldn't sing it anymore."

"It's traditional folk music, that is."

"That's precisely why you shouldn't sing it."

*a troll hallucinogen. It turns troll brains into putty and has become a real problem in Ankh-Morpork. Detritus of the Watch heads a campaign against this called Just Say ARRGHOHPLEASENOTTHATNO.