Wyrd Sisters

‘I do. Magic’s there to be ruled, not for ruling.’

Nanny nodded and then, remembering a promise, reached down and picked up a fragment of stone from the rubble on the tunnel floor.

‘I thought you’d forgotten,’ said the ghost of the king, by her ear.

Further down the passage the Fool was capering after Magrat.

‘Can I see you again?’ he said.

‘Well … I don’t know,’ said Magrat, her heart singing a smug song.

‘How about tonight?’ said the Fool.

‘Oh, no,’ said Magrat. ‘I’m very busy tonight.’ She had intended to curl up with a hot milk drink and Goodie Whemper’s notebooks on experimental astrology, but instinct told her that any suitor should have an uphill struggle put in front of him, just to make him keener.

‘Tomorrow night, then?’ the Fool persisted.

‘I think I should be washing my hair.’

‘I could get Friday night free.’

‘We do a lot of work at night, you see—’

‘The afternoon, then.’

Magrat hesitated. Perhaps instinct had got it wrong. ‘Well—’ she said.

‘About two o’clock. In the meadow by the pond, all right?’

‘Well—’

‘See you there, then. All right?’ said the Fool desperately.

‘Fool!’ The duchess’s voice echoed along the passage, and a look of terror crossed his face.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘The meadow, OK? I’ll wear something so you recognize me. All right?’

‘All right,’ echoed Magrat, hypnotized by the sheer pressure of his persistence. She turned and ran after the other witches.

There was pandemonium outside the castle. The crowd that had been there at Granny’s arrival had grown considerably, and had flowed in through the now unguarded gateway and lapped around the keep. Civil disobedience was new to Lancre, but its inhabitants had already mastered some of its more elementary manifestations, viz, the jerking of rakes and sickles in the air with simple up-and-down motions accompanied by grimaces and cries of ‘Gerrh!’, although a few citizens, who hadn’t quite grasped the idea, were waving flags and cheering. Advanced students were already eyeing the more combustible buildings inside the walls. Several sellers of hot meat pies and sausages in a bun had appeared from nowhere[13] and were doing a brisk trade. Pretty soon someone was going to throw something.

The three witches stood at the top of the steps that led to the keep’s main door and surveyed the seas of faces.

‘There’s our Jason,’ said Nanny happily. ‘And Wane and Darron and Kev and Trev and Nev—’

‘I will remember their faces,’ said Lord Felmet, emerging between them and putting a hand on their shoulders. ‘And do you see my archers, on the walls?’

‘I see ‘em,’ said Granny grimly.

‘Then smile and wave,’ said the duke. ‘So that the people may know that all is well. After all, have you not been to see me today on matters of state?’

He leaned closer to Granny.

‘Yes, there are a hundred things you could do,’ he said. ‘But the ending would always be the same.’ He drew back. ‘I’m not an unreasonable man, I hope,’ he added, in cheerful tones. ‘Perhaps, if you persuade the people to be calm, I may be prevailed upon to moderate my rule somewhat. I make no promises, of course.’

Granny said nothing.

‘Smile and wave,’ commanded the duke.

Granny raised one hand in a vague motion and produced a brief rictus that had nothing whatsoever to do with humour. Then she scowled and nudged Nanny Ogg, who was waving and mugging like a maniac.

‘No need to get carried away,’ she hissed.

‘But there’s our Reet and our Sharleen and their babbies,’ said Nanny. ‘Coo-eee!’

‘Will you shut up, you daft old besom!’ snapped Granny. ‘And pull yourself together!’

‘Jolly good, well done,’ said the duke. He raised his hands, or at least his hand. The other still ached. He’d tried the grater again last night, but it hadn’t worked.

‘People of Lancre,’ he cried, ‘do not be afeared! I am your friend. I will protect you from the witches! They have agreed to leave you in peace!’

Granny stared at him as he spoke. He’s one of these here maniac depressives, she said. Up and down like a wossname. Kill you one minute and ask you how you’re feeling the next.

She became aware that he was looking at her expectantly.

‘What?’

‘I said, I’ll now call upon the respected Granny Weatherwax to say a few words, ha ha,’ he said.

‘You said that, did you?’

‘Yes!’

‘You’ve gone a long way too far,’ said Granny.

‘I have, haven’t I!’ The duke giggled.

Granny turned to the expectant crowds, which went silent.

‘Go home,’ she said.

There was a further long silence.

‘Is that all?’ said the duke.

‘Yes.’

‘What about pledges of eternal allegiance?’

‘What about them? Gytha, will you stop waving at people!’

‘Sorry.’

‘And now we are going to go, too,’ said Granny.

‘But we were getting on so well,’ said the duke.

‘Come, Gytha,’ said Granny icily. ‘And where’s Magrat got to?’

Magrat looked up guiltily. She had been deep in conversation with the Fool, although it was the kind of conversation where both parties spend a lot of time looking at their feet and picking at their fingernails. Ninety per cent of true love is acute, ear-burning embarrassment.