Wyrd Sisters

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, sergeant. I think I’ll try the latch, if it’s all the same to you.’

‘Breaks my heart to see you do it, sire.’

‘Well, I’m sorry.’

‘You could at least let me buff it up for you.’

‘No!’

‘Well, couldn’t I just set fire to the privy—?’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘That chicken house over there looks as if it would go up like—’

‘Sergeant!’

‘Sire!’

‘Go back to the castle!’

‘What, and leave you all alone, sire?’

‘This is a matter of extreme delicacy, sergeant. I am sure you are a man of sterling qualities, but there are times when even a king needs to be alone. It concerns a young woman, you understand.’

‘Ah. Point taken, sire.’

‘Thank you. Help me dismount, please.’

‘Sorry about all that, sire. Tactless of me.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘If you need any help getting her alight—’

‘Please go back to the castle, sergeant.’

‘Yes, sire. If you’re sure, sire. Thank you, sire.’

‘Sergeant?’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘I shall need someone to take my cap and bells back to the Fools’ Guild in Ankh-Morpork now I’m leaving. It seems to me you’re the ideal man.’

‘Thank you, sire. Much obliged.’

‘It’s your, ah, burning desire to be of service.’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘Make sure they put you up in one of the guest rooms.’

‘Yes, sire. Thank you, sire.’

There was the sound of a horse trotting away. A few seconds later the latch clonked and the Fool crept in.

It takes considerable courage to enter a witch’s kitchen in the dark, but probably no more than it takes to wear a purple shirt with velvet sleeves and scalloped edges. It had this in its favour, though. There were no bells on it.

He had brought a bottle of sparkling wine and a bouquet of flowers, both of which had gone flat during the journey. He laid them on the table, and sat down by the embers of the fire.

He rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. He wasn’t, he felt, a good king, but he’d had a lifetime of working hard at being something he wasn’t cut out to be, and he was persevering. As far as he could see, none of his predecessors had tried at all. So much to do, so much to repair, so much to organize …

On top of it all there was the problem with the duchess. Somehow he’d felt moved to put her in a decent cell in an airy tower. She was a widow, after all. He felt he ought to be kind to widows. But being kind to the duchess didn’t seem to achieve much, she didn’t understand it, she thought it was just weakness. He was dreadfully afraid that he might have to have her head cut off.

No, being a king was no laughing matter. He brightened up at the thought. There was that to be said about it.

And, after a while, he fell asleep.

——

The duchess was not asleep. She was currently halfway down the castle wall on a rope of knotted sheets, having spent the previous day gradually chipping away the mortar around the bars of her window although, in truth, you could hack your way out of the average Lancre Castle wall with a piece of cheese. The fool! He’d given her cutlery, and plenty of bed-clothes! That was how these people reacted. They let their fear do their thinking for them. They were scared of her, even when they thought they had her in their power (and the weak never had the strong in their power, never truly in their power). If she’d thrown herself in prison, she would have found considerable satisfaction in making herself regret she’d ever been born. But they’d just given her blankets, and worried about her.

Well, she’d be back. There was a big world out there, and she knew how to pull the levers that made people do what she wanted. She wouldn’t burden herself with a husband this time, either. Weak! He was the worst of them, no courage in him to be as bad as he knew he was, inside.

She landed heavily on the moss, paused to catch her breath and then, with the knife ready in her hand, slipped away along the castle walls and into the forest.

She’d go all the way down to the far border and swim the river there, or maybe build a raft. By morning she’d be too far away for them ever to find her, and she doubted very much that they’d ever come looking.

Weak!

She moved through the forest with surprising speed. There were tracks, after all, wide enough for carts, and she had a pretty good sense of direction. Besides, all she needed to do was go downhill. If she found the gorge then she just had to follow the flow.

And then there seemed to be too many trees. There was still a track, and it went more or less in the right direction, but the trees on either side of it were planted rather more thickly than one might expect and, when she tried to turn back, there was no track at all behind her. She took to turning suddenly, half expecting to see the trees moving, but they were always standing stoically and firmly rooted in the moss.

She couldn’t feel a wind, but there was a sighing in the treetops.

‘All right,’ she said, under her breath. ‘All right. I’m going anyway. I want to go. But I will be back.’