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Whoops, he said, and turned to run for it.
Dont— Magrat began, but the Fool was already pounding down the forest path that led back to the castle.
Magrat stood and stared at the wilting posy in her hands. She ran her fingers through her hair and a shower of wilted petals fell out.
She felt that an important moment had been allowed to slip out of her grasp as fast as a greased pig in a narrow passageway.
She felt an overpowering urge to curse. She knew a great many curses. Goodie Whemper had been really imaginative in that department; even the creatures of the forest used to go past her cottage at a dead run.
She couldnt find a single one that fully expressed her feelings.
Oh, bugger, she said.
It was a full moon again that night, and most unusually all three witches arrived at the standing stone early; it was so embarrassed by this that it went and hid in some gorse bushes.
Greebo hasnt been home for two days/ said Nanny Ogg, as soon as she arrived. Its not like him. I cant find him anywhere.
Cats can look after themselves, said Granny Weatherwax. Countries cant. I have intelligence to report. Light the fire, Magrat.
Mmm?
I said, light the fire, Magrat.
Mmm? Oh. Yes.
The two old women watched her drift vaguely across the moorland, tugging absently at dried-up whin clumps. Magrat seemed to have her mind on something.
Doesnt seem to be her normal self, said Nanny Ogg.
Yes. Could be an improvement, said Granny shortly, and sat down on a rock. She should of got it lit before we arrived. Its her job.
She means well, said Nanny Ogg, studying Magrats back reflectively.
I used to mean well when I was a girl, but that didnt stop the sharp end of Goodie Filters tongue. Youngest witch serves her time, you know how it is. We had it tougher, too. Look at her. Doesnt even wear the pointy hat. Hows anyone going to know?
You got something on your mind, Esme? said Nanny.
Granny nodded gloomily.
Had a visit yesterday, she said.
Me too.
Despite her worries, Granny was slightly annoyed at this. Who from? she said.
The mayor of Lancre and a bunch of burghers. Theyre not happy about the king. They want a king they can trust.
I wouldnt trust any king a burgher could trust, said Granny.
Yes, but its not good for anyone, all this taxing and killing folk. The new sergeant theyve got is a keen man when it comes to setting fire to cottages, too. Old Verence used to do it too, mind, but . . . well . . .
I know, I know. It was more personal, said Granny. You felt he meant it. People like to feel theyre valued.
This Felmet hates the kingdom, Nanny went on. They all say it. They say when they go to talk to him he just stares at them and giggles and rubs his hand and twitches a bit.
Granny scratched her chin. The old king used to shout at them and kick them out of the castle, mind. He used to say he didnt have no time for shopkeepers and such, she added, with a note of personal approval.
But he was always very gracious about it, said Nanny Ogg. And he—
The kingdom is worried, said Granny.
Yes, I already said.
I didnt mean the people, I meant the kingdom.
Granny explained. Nanny interrupted a few times with brief questions. It didnt occur to her to doubt anything she heard. Granny Weatherwax never made things up.
At the end of it she said, Well.
My feelings exactly.
Fancy that.
Quite so.
And what did the animals do then?
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 dont 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?
Its been here a long time, said Granny.
Sos everywhere, said Nanny, and added, with the air of a lifetime student, Everywheres been where it is ever since it was first put there. Its called geography.
Thats just about land, said Granny. Its 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 thats alive and what theyre 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 youve 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 doesnt have the same kind of likes and dislikes as people, right?
Nanny Ogg leaned back. Well, it wouldnt, would it, she ventured.
It doesnt care if people are good or bad. I dont 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 Grannys eye. Lots of people have killed each other to become king of Lancre. Theyve done all kinds of murder.
Dont matter! Dont matter! said Granny, waving her arms. She started counting on her fingers. For why, she said. One, kings go round killing each other because its all part of destiny and such and doesnt count as murder, and two, they killed for the kingdom. Thats the important bit. But this new man just wants the power. He hates the kingdom.
Its 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 doesnt care if its masters 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 cant meddle.
You saved that baby, said Nanny.
Thats not meddling!
Have it your way, said Nanny. But maybe one day hell come back. Destiny again. And you said we should hide the crown. Itll 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 theyll have to sort it out themselves. Once we use magic, I said, itd never stop. You know that.
Right, said Granny, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.
Ill tell you this, though, said Nanny. They didnt 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. Whats his name, do you happen to know?
Hes 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. Grannys right, though. At the end of the day, a Fools a Fool.
Why dyou want to know, Magrat? said Granny Weather-wax.
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.
Its a steady job, said Nanny. Ill grant you that.
Huh, said Granny. A man who tinkles all day. No kind of husband for anyone, Id say.
You – shed always know where he was, said Nanny, who was enjo
ying this. Youd 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.
Youre a pair of silly old women, she said quietly. And Im going home.
She marched off down the path to her village without another word.
The old witches stared at one another.
Well! said Nanny.
Its all these books they read today, said Granny. It overheats the brain. You havent been putting ideas in her head, have you?
What do you mean?
You know what I mean.
Nanny stood up. I certainly dont see why a girl should have to be single her whole life just because you think its the right thing, she said. Anyway, if people didnt have children, where would we be?
None of your girls is a witch, said Granny, also standing up.
They could have been, said Nanny defensively.
Yes, if youd let them work it out for themselves, instead of encouragin them to throw themselves at men.
Theyre good-lookin. You cant stand in the way of human nature. Youd know that if youd ever—
If Id ever what? said Granny Weatherwax, quietly.
They stared at one another in shocked silence. They could both feel it, the tension creeping into their bodies from the ground itself, the hot, aching feeling that theyd started something they must finish, no matter what.
I knew you when you were a gel, said Nanny sullenly. Stuck-up, you were.
At least I spent most of the time upright, said Granny. Disgustin, that was. Everyone thought so.
How would you know? snapped Nanny.
You were the talk of the whole village, said Granny.
And you were, too! They called you the Ice Maiden. Never knew that, did you? sneered Nanny.
I wouldnt sully my lips by sayin what they called you, shouted Granny.
Oh yes? shrieked Nanny. Well, let me tell you, my good woman—
Dont you dare talk to me in that tone of voice! Im not anyones good woman—
Right!
There was another silence while they stared at one another, nose to nose, but this silence was a whole quantum level of animosity higher than the last one; you could have roasted a turkey in the heat of this silence. There was no more shouting. Things had got far too bad for shouting. Now the voices came in low and full of menace.
I should have known better than to listen to Magrat, growled Granny. This coven business is ridiculous. It attracts entirely the wrong sort of people.
Im very glad we had this little talk, hissed Nanny Ogg. Cleared the air.
She looked down.
And youre in my territory, madam.
Madam!
Thunder rolled in the distance. The permanent Lancre storm, after a trip through the foothills, had drifted back towards the mountains for a one-night stand. The last rays of sunset shone livid through the clouds, and fat drops of water began to thud on the witches pointed hats.
I really dont have time for all this, snapped Granny, trembling. I have far more important things to do.
And me, said Nanny.
Good night to you.
And you.
They turned their backs on one another and strode away into the downpour.
The midnight rain drummed on Magrats curtained windows as she thumbed her way purposefully through Goodie Whempers books of what, for want of any better word, could be called natural magic.
The old woman had been a great collector of such things and, most unusually, had written them down; witches didnt normally have much use for literacy. But book after book was filled with tiny, meticulous handwriting detailing the results of patient experiments in applied magic. Goodie Whemper had, in fact, been a research witch. [10]