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The Fool hesitated with a card in his hand, suppressed his panic and thought quickly.
Ifaith, nuncle, he squeaked, thout more full of questions than a martlebury is of mizzensails.
The cook relaxed.
Well, okay, he said, not entirely satisfied. The Fool lost the next three hands, just to be on the safe side.
The porter, meanwhile, unfastened the hatch in the wicket gate and peered out.
Who dost knock without? he growled.
The soldier, drenched and terrified though he was, hesitated.
Without? Without what? he said.
If youre going to bugger about, you can bloody well stay without all day, said the porter calmly.
No! I must see the duke upon the instant! shouted the guard. Witches are abroad!
The porter was about to come back with, Good time of year for it, or Wish I was, too, but stopped when he saw the mans face. It wasnt the face of a man who would enter into the spirit of the thing. It was the look of someone who had seen things a decent man shouldnt wot of . . .
Witches? said Lord Felmet. Witches! said the duchess.
In the draughty corridors, a voice as faint as the wind in distant keyholes said, with a note of hope, Witches!
The psychically inclined . . .
Its meddling, thats what it is, said Granny Weatherwax. And no good will come of it.
Its very romantic, said Magrat breathily, and heaved a sigh.
Goochy goo, said Nanny Ogg.
Anyway, said Magrat, you killed that horrid man!
I never did. I just encouraged . . . things to take their course. Granny Weatherwax frowned. He didnt have no respect. Once people lose their respect, it means trouble.
Izzy wizzy wazzy, den. ,
That other man brought him out here to save him! shouted Magrat. He wanted us to keep him safe! Its obvious! Its destiny!
Oh, obvious, said Granny. Ill grant you its obvious. Trouble is, just because things are obvious doesnt mean theyre true.
She weighed the crown in her hands. It felt very heavy, in a way that went beyond mere pounds and ounces.
Yes, but the point is— Magrat began.
The point is, said Granny, that people are going to come looking. Serious people. Serious looking. Pull-down-the-walls and burn-off-the-thatch looking. And—
Howsa boy, den?
—And, Gytha , Im sure well all be a lot happier if youd stop gurgling like that! Granny snapped. She could feel her nerves coming on. Her nerves always played up when she was unsure about things. Besides, they had retired to Magrats cottage, and the decor was getting to her, because Magrat believed in Natures wisdom and elves and the healing power of colours and the cycle of the seasons and a lot of other things Granny Weatherwax didnt have any truck with.
Youre not after telling me how to look after a child, snapped Nanny Ogg mildly. And me with fifteen of my own?
Im just saying that we ought to think about it, said Granny.
The other two watched her for some time. Well? said Magrat.
Grannys fingers drummed on the edge of the crown. She frowned.
First, weve got to take him away from here, she said, and held up a hand. No, Gytha, Im sure your cottage is ideal and everything, but its not safe. Hes got to be somewhere away from here, a long way away, where no-one knows who he is. And then theres this. She tossed the crown from hand to hand.
Oh, thats easy, said Magrat. I mean, you just hide it under a stone or something. Thats easy. Much easier than babies.
It aint, said Granny. The reason being, the countrys full of babies and they all look the same, but I dont reckon theres many crowns. They have this way of being found, anyway. They kind of call out to peoples minds. If you bunged it under a stone up here, in a weeks time itd get itself discovered by accident. You mark my words.
Its true, is that, said Nanny Ogg, earnestly. How many times have you thrown a magic ring into the deepest depths of the ocean and then, when you get home and have a nice bit of turbot for your tea, there it is?
They considered this in silence.
Never, said Granny irritably. And nor have you. Anyway, he might want it back. If its rightfully his, that is. Kings set a lot of store by crowns. Really, Gytha, sometimes you say the most—
Ill just make some tea, shall I? said Magrat brightly, and disappeared into the scullery.
The two elderly witches sat on either side of the table in polite and prickly silence. Finally Nanny Ogg said, She done it up nice, hasnt she? Flowers and everything. What are them things on the walls?
Sigils, said Granny sourly. Or some such.
Fancy, said Nanny Ogg, politely. And all them robes and wands and things too.
Modern, said Granny Weatherwax, with a sniff. When I was a gel, we had a lump of wax and a couple of pins and had to be content. We had to make our own enchantment in them days.
Ah, well, weve all passed a lot of water since then, said Nanny Ogg sagely. She gave the baby a comforting jiggle.
Granny Weatherwax sniffed. Nanny Ogg had been married three times and ruled a tribe of children and grandchildren all over the kingdom. Certainly, it was not actually forbidden for witches to get married. Granny had to concede that, but reluctantly. Very reluctantly. She sniffed again, disapprovingly; this was a mistake.
Whats that smell? she snapped.
Ah, said Nanny Ogg, carefully repositioning the baby. I expect Ill just go and see if Magrat has any clean rags, shall I?
And now Granny was left alone. She felt embarrassed, as one always does when left alone in someone elses room, and fought the urge to get up and inspect the books on the shelf over the sideboard or examine the mantelpiece for dust. She turned the crown round and round in her hands. Again, it gave the impression of being bigger and heavier than it actually was.
She caught sight of the mirror over the mantelpiece and looked down at the crown. It was tempting. It was practically begging her to try it for size. Well, and why not? She made sure that the others werent around and then, in one movement, whipped off her hat and placed the crown on her head.
It seemed to fit. Granny drew herself up proudly, and waved a hand imperiously in the general direction of the hearth.
Jolly well do this, she said. She beckoned arrogantly at the grandfather clock. Chop his head off, what ho, she commanded. She smiled grimly.
And froze as she heard the screams, and the thunder of horses, and the deadly whisper of arrows and the damp, solid sound of spears in flesh. Charge after charge echoed across her skull. Sword met shield, or sword, or bone -relentlessly. Years streamed across her mind in the space of a second. There were times when she lay among the dead, or hanging from the branch of a tree; but always there were hands that would pick her up again, and place her on a velvet cushion . . .
Granny very carefully lifted the crown off her head – it was an effort, it didnt like it much – and laid it on the table.
So thats being a king for you, is it? she said softly. I wonder why they all want the job?
Do you take sugar? said Magrat, behind her.
Youd have to be a born fool to be a king, said Granny.
Sorry?
Granny turned. Didnt see you come in, she said. What was it you said?
Sugar in your tea?
Three spoons, said Granny promptly. It was one of the few sorrows of Granny Weatherwaxs life that, despite all her efforts, shed arrived at the peak of her career with a complexion like a rosy apple and all her teeth. No amount of charms could persuade a wart to take root on her handsome if slightly equine features, and vast intakes of sugar only served to give her boundless energy. A wizard shed consulted had explained it was on account of her having a metabolism, which at least allowed her to feel vaguely superior to Nanny Ogg, who she suspected had never even seen one.
Magrat dutifully dug out three heaped ones. It would be nice, she thought wistfully, if someone could say thank you occasio
nally.
She became aware that the crown was staring at her.
You can feel it, can you? said Granny. I said, didnt I? Crowns call out!
Its horrible.
No, no. Its just being what it is. It cant help it.
But its magic!
Its just being what it is, Granny repeated.
Its trying to get me to try it on, said Magrat, her hand hovering.
It does that, yes.
But I shall be strong, said Magrat.
So I should think, said Granny, her expression suddenly curiously wooden. Whats Gytha doing?
Shes giving the baby a wash in the sink, said Magrat vaguely. How can we hide something like this? Whatd happen if we buried it really deeply somewhere?
A badgerd dig it up, said Granny wearily. Or someoned go prospecting for gold or something. Or a treed tangle its roots around it and then be blown over in a storm, and then someoned pick it up and put it on—
Unless they were as strong-minded as us, Magrat pointed out.
Unless that, of course, said Granny, staring at her finger-nails. Though the thing with crowns is, it isnt the putting them on thats the problem, its the taking them off.
Magrat picked it up and turned it over in her hands.
Its not as though it even looks much like a crown, she said.
Youve seen a lot, I expect, said Granny. Youd be an expert on them, naturally.
Seen a fair few. Theyve got a lot more jewels on them, and cloth bits in the middle, said Magrat defiantly. This is just a thin little thing—
Magrat Garlick!
I have. When I was being trained up by Goodie Whemper—
—may sherestinpeace—
—maysherestinpeace, she used to take me over to Razorback or into Lancre whenever the strolling players were in town. She was very keen on the theatre. Theyve got more crowns than you can shake a stick at although, mind— she paused – Goodie did say theyre made of tin and paper and stuff. And just glass for the jewels. But they look more realler than this one. Do you think thats strange?
Things that try to look like things often do look more like things than things. Well-known fact, said Granny. But I dont hold with encouraging it. What do they stroll about playing, then, in these crowns?
You dont know about the theatre? said Magrat.
Granny Weatherwax, who never declared her ignorance of anything, didnt hesitate. Oh, yes, she said. Its one of them style of things, then, is it?
Goodie Whemper said it held a mirror up to life, said Magrat. She said it always cheered her up.
I expect it would, said Granny, striking out. Played properly, at any rate. Good people, are they, these theatre players?
I think so.
And they stroll around the country, you say? said Granny thoughtfully, looking towards the scullery door.
All over the place. Theres a troupe in Lancre now, I heard. I havent been because, you know. Magrat looked down. Tis not right, a woman going into such places by herself.
Granny nodded. She thoroughly approved of such sentiments so long as there was, of course, no suggestion that they applied to her.
She drummed her fingers on Magrats tablecloth.
Right, she said. And why not? Go and tell Gytha to wrap the baby up well. Its a long time since I heard a theatre played properly.
Magrat was entranced, as usual. The theatre was no more than some lengths of painted sacking, a plank stage laid over a few barrels, and half a dozen benches set out in the village square. But at the same time it had also managed to become The Castle, Another Part of the Castle, The Same Part A Little Later, The Battlefield and now it was A Road Outside the City. The afternoon would have been perfect if it wasnt for Granny Weatherwax.