Disclaimer:

Terry Pratchett owns the rights to the Discworld. AFAIK, the rights to Alexander Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo" are in the public domain.

Timeframe:

The events in this story take place before those in Going Postal

The Count of Monte Gribeau

By

Runt Thunderbelch

Chapter 1: The Prison of Shadow Deep

"Gyntha Ogg, you are eight times crazier than crazy. I don't understand how you can keep talking me into these hair-brained stunts," Granny Weatherwax grumbled as she and Nanny Ogg crept through the inky night towards the ominous prison called Shadow Deep.

"Esme Weatherwax, go home! I don't want you here! How many times do I have to say it?" the spherical figure ahead of her whispered back.

"Ha! Reversible headology! Don't you use that one me, Gyntha. I invented it, you know."

"Any way you reverse it, I can do this better without you. Have you seen Greebo?"

"Shh! You're going to get us both caught. Breaking into a prison is a crime, you know."

"Breaking out of prison is a crime. There's no law against breaking into prison. Besides, I'm just bringing my grandson a cake. How can that be a crime?"

"Shhhh!"

"Where's Greebo? Here kitty, kitty, kitty."

CG

The rat hurried along in terror, knowing that, if it panicked, it would die. A huge, one-eyed tom cat was tracking it. The rat had caught a couple of glances of its pursuer, enough to scare the bejesus out of it. The cat was monstrous in size, grey, with one green eye and one blind, milky white eye. Half of an ear was missing, and the cat's face, neck and chest had more scars than an Igor's family reunion. This cat would have only three verbs in its vocabulary: rape, fight, eat. The rat wanted none of these three verbs applied to it.

The rat came to the Cages of Despair. Here, the bars weren't on the front of the prison cells but on the top of them. Cruel sunlight beat in during the day; the pouring rain soaked anyone inside; and the winter snows froze them. This was where prisoners were brought to die.

The rat grinned. It took a quick step out onto one of the bars and hurried along it. Ha! Let that fat, top-heavy cat try to follow it across this.

Of course Greebo did try to follow it. There was a chance for a deliciously plump meal, and this cat would never admit that a rat could do something he couldn't. About a third of away along the bar, Greebo cried out, "Rrwwwrrrr!" pawed vainly at the iron bars, and fell into the cell below.

CG

It goes without saying that witches like Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg had all kinds of magical powers. One of them was the ability to turn themselves, well, not invisible per se but rather unnoticeable. Theoretically, a person could see them, but he'd have to be concentrating really hard to do so.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Just their luck. They had to get a guard his first night on the job, one who still had the ability to stand in one spot all night and remain alert.

"Who indeed?" said Nanny Ogg cheerfully. "It is I, Nanny Ogg. And who are you, dear?" She strolled forward holding the cake. Granny Weatherwax followed warily.

"Wilberforce, ma'am. State your business."

"Business, dear, well it's hardly business. I'm merely taking my grandson this cake that I baked him."

"It's three o'clock in the blooming morning. He'll be fast asleep."

"Oh pish. All we Oggs are night owls. I'm sure he'll be up and around."

"Not if we nails have anything to say about it."

Nanny frowned. "Do you mean 'screws', dear?"

"Oh aye, 'screws.' Sorry, I'm kind of new at this."

"Well, you're doing fine."

"I have to check the cake, ma'am, to make sure you haven't baked a file into it."

"A file? A file! Oh, so he could file his way through his bars and escape? Why, the idea never occurred to me."

When the young guard stepped forward to examine the cake, Nanny Ogg smashed him in the head with it. Globs of cake exploded in every direction, leaving only a crowbar going BOING-OING-OING-OINGGGG! The lad's eyes crossed, and he pirouetted gracefully to the floor.

Granny Weatherwax stepped up. "He's right, you know. Baking a file into the cake would have been so much easier."

"Hush up, Esme. Since when do you know anything about the culinary arts?"

CG

"Who's there?"

"Rrwwwrrr." Greebo peered into the darkness with is one good eye.

A fist came out of the blackness, seized Greebo, and pinned him to the stone wall of the cell. "I can make you rich," hissed the voice. "Richer than you ever imagined!"

"Rrwwr. Hiss."

"My name is Edmund the Dentist. I have been wrongfully imprisoned for lo these many years. Yet I know where the world's greatest treasure is hidden! I will tell you the secret of its location, but in return you must make me a promise. You must use the treasure to get revenge against those who put me here. Is it a deal?"

Greebo waited.

"Their names are Jon Gilt, Mr. Slant, and Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler. Ankh-Morpork knows them as fine upstanding businessmen, but I know Gilt as an eel, Mr. Slant as a rat, and Dibbler as a pig. So? Will you do it?"

"Rrrwwwrr," agreed Greebo. They all sounded delicious.

CG

"Nana! What are you doing here?" gasp Little Willie Ogg.

"Shhhh. Esme and I have come to rescue you." Nanny Ogg applied the crowbar to the door of his cell.

"What! Get away from there!"

Nanny pulled and, with a mighty crack, the iron-barred door popped open. "Come on, child!"

The young man shook his head. "I only got a three-day sentence, and I've already served two. By noon tomorrow, uh [he looked around], by noon today, I'll be a free man."

"The prison hasn't been built that can hold an Ogg."

"Yes they have. This is it. Now skedaddle before you get yourself caught."

"You ain't commin'?"

"No!"

"Hrumph. I wished you said something earlier. You could have saved me and Esme a trip. Common, Esme." She took her crowbar and started to depart.

Suddenly, a powerful weight fell on one shoulder.

"Oh there you are, Mr. Puss-Puss. Aren't you the cutest little kitty? Oh yes, you are."

"Rrwwrr," agreed Greebo.