Wyrd Sisters

‘Went away. It had brought them there, it let them go.’

‘No-one et anyone else?’

‘Not where I saw.’

‘Funny thing.’

‘Right enough.’

Nanny Ogg stared at the setting sun.

‘I don’t reckon a lot of kingdoms do that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘You saw the theatre. Kings and such are killing one another the whole time. Their kingdoms just make the best of it. How come this one takes offence all of a sudden?’

‘It’s been here a long time,’ said Granny.

‘So’s everywhere,’ said Nanny, and added, with the air of a lifetime student, ‘Everywhere’s been where it is ever since it was first put there. It’s called geography.’

‘That’s just about land,’ said Granny. ‘It’s not the same as a kingdom. A kingdom is made up of all sorts of things. Ideas. Loyalties. Memories. It all sort of exists together. And then all these things create some kind of life. Not a body kind of life, more like a living idea. Made up of everything that’s alive and what they’re thinking. And what the people before them thought.’

Magrat reappeared and began to lay the fire with the air of one in a trance.

‘I can see you’ve been thinking about this a lot,’ said Nanny, speaking very slowly and carefully. ‘And this kingdom wants a better king, is that it?’

‘No! That is, yes. Look—’ she leaned forward —’it doesn’t have the same kind of likes and dislikes as people, right?’

Nanny Ogg leaned back. ‘Well, it wouldn’t, would it,’ she ventured.

‘It doesn’t care if people are good or bad. I don’t think it could even tell, any more than you could tell if an ant was a good ant. But it expects the king to care for it.’

‘Yes, but,’ said Nanny wretchedly. She was becoming a bit afraid of the gleam in Granny’s eye. ‘Lots of people have killed each other to become king of Lancre. They’ve done all kinds of murder.’

‘Don’t matter! Don’t matter!’ said Granny, waving her arms. She started counting on her fingers. ‘For why,’ she said. ‘One, kings go round killing each other because it’s all part of destiny and such and doesn’t count as murder, and two, they killed for the kingdom. That’s the important bit. But this new man just wants the power. He hates the kingdom.’

‘It’s a bit like a dog, really,’ said Magrat. Granny looked at her with her mouth open to frame some suitable retort, and then her face softened.

‘Very much like,’ she said. ‘A dog doesn’t care if its master’s good or bad, just so long as it likes the dog.’

‘Well, then,’ said Nanny. ‘No-one and nothing likes Felmet. What are we going to do about it?’

‘Nothing. You know we can’t meddle.’

‘You saved that baby,’ said Nanny.

‘That’s not meddling!’

‘Have it your way,’ said Nanny. ‘But maybe one day he’ll come back. Destiny again. And you said we should hide the crown. It’ll all come back, mark my words. Hurry up with that tea, Magrat.’

‘What are you going to do about the burghers?’ said Granny.

‘I told them they’ll have to sort it out themselves. Once we use magic, I said, it’d never stop. You know that.’

‘Right,’ said Granny, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

‘I’ll tell you this, though,’ said Nanny. ‘They didn’t like it much. They was muttering when they left.’

Magrat blurted out, ‘You know the Fool, who lives up at the castle?’

‘Little man with runny eyes?’ said Nanny, relieved that the conversation had returned to more normal matters.

‘Not that little,’ said Magrat. ‘What’s his name, do you happen to know?’

‘He’s just called Fool,’ said Granny. ‘No job for a man, that. Running around with bells on.’

‘His mother was a Beldame, from over Blackglass way,’ said Nanny Ogg, whose knowledge of the genealogy of Lancre was legendary. ‘Bit of a beauty when she was younger. Broke many a heart, she did. Bit of a scandal there, I did hear. Granny’s right, though. At the end of the day, a Fool’s a Fool.’

‘Why d’you want to know, Magrat?’ said Granny Weatherwax.

‘Oh … one of the girls in the village was asking me,’ said Magrat, crimson to the ears.

Nanny cleared her throat, and grinned at Granny Weatherwax, who sniffed aloofly.

‘It’s a steady job,’ said Nanny. ‘I’ll grant you that.’

‘Huh,’ said Granny. ‘A man who tinkles all day. No kind of husband for anyone, I’d say.’

‘You—she’d always know where he was,’ said Nanny, who was enjoying this. ‘You’d just have to listen.’

‘Never trust a man with horns on his hat,’ said Granny flatly.

Magrat stood up and pulled herself together, giving the impression that some bits had to come quite a long way.

‘You’re a pair of silly old women,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m going home.’

She marched off down the path to her village without another word.

The old witches stared at one another.

‘Well!’ said Nanny.

‘It’s all these books they read today,’ said Granny. ‘It overheats the brain. You haven’t been putting ideas in her head, have you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Nanny stood up. ‘I certainly don’t see why a girl should have to be single her whole life just because you think it’s the right thing,’ she said. ‘Anyway, if people didn’t have children, where would we be?’