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Magrat sagged. Nanny tapped her on the shoulder.
“You might need this at this point,” she said, and handed Magrat the winged helmet.
“The kings been very happy with-” Mrs. Scorbic began.
There was a click. She looked down the length of a crossbow and met Magrats steady gaze.
“Go ahead,” said the Queen of Lancre softly, “bake my quiche. ”
Verence sat in his nightshirt with his head in his hands. He could remember hardly anything about the night, except a feeling of coldness. And no one seemed very inclined to tell him.
There was a faint creak as the door opened.
He looked up. “Glad to see youre up and about already,” said Granny Weatherwax. “Ive come to help you dress. ”
“Ive looked in the garderobe,” said Verence. “The . . . elves, was it? . . . they ransacked the place. Theres nothing I can wear. ”
Granny looked around the room. Then she went to a low chest and opened it. There was a faint tinkling of bells, and a flash of red and yellow.
“I thought you never threw them away,” she said. “And you aint put on any weight, so theyll still fit. On with the motley. Magratll appreciate it. ”
“Oh, no,” said Verence. “Im very firm about this. Im king now. Itd be demeaning for Magrat to marry a Fool. Ive got a position to maintain, for the sake of the kingdom. Besides, there is such a thing as pride. ”
Granny stared at him for so long that he shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, there is,” he said.
Granny nodded, and walked toward the doorway.
“Whyre you leaving?” said Verence nervously.
“I aint leaving,” said Granny, quietly, “Im just shutting the door. ”
And then there was the incident with the crown.
Ceremonies and Protocols of The Kingdom of Lancre was eventually found after a hurried search of Verences bedroom. It was very clear about the procedure. The new queen was crowned, by the king, as part of the ceremony. It wasnt technically difficult for any king who knew which end of a queen was which, which even the most inbred king figured out in two goes.
But it seemed to Ponder Stibbons that the ritual wobbled a bit at this point.
It seemed, in fact, that just as he was about to lower the crown on the brides head he glanced across the hall to where the skinny old witch was standing. And nearly everyone else did too, including the bride.
The old witch nodded very slightly.
Magrat was crowned.
Wack-fol-a-diddle, etc.
The bride and groom stood side by side, shaking hands with the long line of guests in that dazed fashion normal at this point in the ceremony.
“Im sure youll be very happy-”
“Thank you. ”
“Ook!”
“Thank you. ”
“Nail it to the counter, Lord Ferguson, and damn the cheesemongers!”
“Thank you. ”
“Can I kiss the bride?”
It dawned on Verence that he was being addressed by fresh air. He looked down.
“Im sorry,” he said, “you are-?”
“My card,” said Casanunda.
Verence read it. His eyebrows rose.
“Ah,” he said. “Uh. Urn. Well, well, well. Number two, eh?”
“I try harder,” said Casanunda.
Verence looked around guiltily, and then bent down until his mouth was level with the dwarfs ear.
“Could I have a word with you in a minute or two?”
The Lancre Morris Men got together again for the first time at the reception. They found it hard to talk to one another. Several of them jigged up and down absentmindedly as they talked.
“All right,” said Jason, “anyone remember? Really remember?”
“I remember the start,” said Tailor the other weaver.
“Definitely remember the start. And the dancing in the woods. But the Entertainment-”
“There was elves in it,” said Tinker the tinker. “Thats why it all got buggered up,” said Thatcher the carter. “There was a lot of shouting, too. ”
“There was someone with horns on,” said Carter, “and a great big-”
“It was all,” said Jason, “a bit of a dream. ”
“Hey, look over there, Carter,” said Weaver, winking at the others, “theres that monkey. Youve got something to ask it, aint you?”
Carter blinked. “Coo, yes,” he said.
“Shouldnt waste a golden opportunity if I was you,” said Weaver, with the happy malice often shown by the clever to the simple.
The Librarian was chatting to Ponder and the Bursar. He looked around as Carter prodded him.
“Youve been over to Slice, then, have you?” he said, in his cheery open way.
The Librarian gave him a look of polite incomprehension.
“Oook?”
Carter looked perplexed.
“Thats where you put your nut, aint it?”
The Librarian gave him another odd look, and shook his head.
“Oook. ”
“Weaver!” Carter shouted, “the monkey says he didnt put his nut where the sun dont shine! You said he did! You didnt, did you? He said you did. ” He turned to the Librarian. “He didnt. Weaver. See, I knew youd got it wrong. Youre daft. Theres no monkeys in Slice. ”
Silence flowed outward from the two of them.
Ponder Stibbons held his breath.
“This is a lovely party,” said the Bursar to a chair, “I wish I was here. ”
The Librarian picked up a large bottle from the table. He tapped Carter on the shoulder. Then he poured him a large drink and patted him on the head.
Ponder relaxed and turned back to what he was doing. Hed tied a knife to a bit of string and was gloomily watching it spin round and round . . .
On his way home that night Weaver was picked up by a mysterious assailant and dropped into the Lancre. No one ever found out why. Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, especially simian ones. Theyre not all that subtle.
Others went home that night.
“Shell be getting ideas above her station in life,” said Granny Weatherwax, as the two witches strolled through the scented air.
“Shes a queen. Thats pretty high,” said Nanny Ogg. “Almost as high as witches. ”
“Yes . . . well . . . but you aint got to give yourself airs,” said Granny Weatherwax. “Were advantaged, yes, but we act with modesty and we dont Put Ourselves Forward. No one could say I havent been decently modest all my life. ”
“Youve always been a bit of a shy violet, Ive always said,” said Nanny Ogg. “Im always telling people, when it comes to humility you wont find anyone more humile than Esme Weatherwax. ”
“Always keep myself to myself and minded my own business-”
“Barely known you were there half the time,” said Nanny Ogg.
“I was talking, Gytha. ”
“Sorry. ” They walked along in silence for a while. It was a warm dry evening. Birds sang in the trees.
Nanny said, “Funny to think of our Magrat being married and everything. ”
“What do you mean, everything?”
“Well, you know - married,” said Nanny. “I gave her a few tips. Always wear something in bed. Keeps a man interested. ”
“You always wore your hat. ”
“Right. ” Nanny waved a sausage on a stick. She always believed in stocking up on any free food that was available.
“I thought the wedding feast was very good, didnt you? And Magrat looked radiant, I thought. ”
“I thought she looked hot and flustered. ”
“That is radiant, with brides. ”
“Youre right, though,” said Granny Weatherwax, who was walking a little way ahead. “It was a good dinner. I never had this Vegetarian Option stuff before. ”
“When I married Mr. . Ogg, we had three dozen oysters at our wedding feast. Mind you, they
didnt all work. ”
“And I like the way they give us all a bit o the wedding cake in a little bag,” said Granny.
“Right. You know, they says, if you puts a bit under your pillow, you dream of your future husb . . . ” Nanny Oggs tongue tripped over itself.
She stopped, embarrassed, which was unusual in an Ogg.
“Its all right,” said Granny “I dont mind. ”
“Sorry, Esme. ”
“Everything happens somewhere. I know. I know. Everything happens somewhere. So its all the same in the end. ”
“Thats very continuinuinuum thinking, Esme. ”
“Cakes nice,” said Granny, “but. . . right now . . . dont know why . . . what I could really do with, Gytha, right now . . . is a sweet. ”
The last word hung in the evening air like the echo of a gunshot.
Nanny stopped. Her hand flew to her pocket, where the usual bag of fluff-encrusted boiled sweets resided. She stared at the back of Esme Weatherwaxs head, at the tight bun of grey hair under the brim of the pointy hat.
“Sweet?” she said.
“I expect youve got another bag now,” said Granny, without looking around.
“Esme-”
“You got anything to say, Gytha? About bags of sweets?”
Granny Weatherwax still hadnt turned around.
Nanny looked at her boots.
“No, Esme,” she said meekly.
“I knew youd go up to the Long Man, you know. Howd you get in?”
“Used one of the special horseshoes. ”
Granny nodded. “You didnt ought to have brung him into it, Gytha. ”
“Yes, Esme. ”
“Hes as tricky as she is. ”
“Yes, Esme. ”
“Youre trying preemptive meekness on me. ”
“Yes, Esme. ”
They walked a little further.
“What was that dance your Jason and his men did when theyd got drunk?” said Granny.
“Its the Lancre Stick and Bucket Dance, Esme. ”
“Its legal, is it?”
“Technically they shouldnt do it when theres women present,” said Nanny. “Otherwise its sexual morrisment. ”
“And I thought Magrat was very surprised when you recited that poem at the reception. ”
“Poem?”
“The one where you did the gestures. ”
“Oh, that poem. ”
“I saw Verence making notes on his napkin. ”
Nanny reached again into the shapeless recesses of her clothing and produced an entire bottle of champagne you could have sworn there was no room for.
“Mind you, I thought she looked happy,” she said. “Standing there wearing about half of a torn muddy dress and chain-mail underneath. Hey, dyou know what she told me?”
“What?”
“You know that ole painting of Queen Ynci? You know, the one with the iron bodice? Her with all the spikes and knives on her chariot? Well, she said she was sure the . . . the spirit of Ynci was helping her. She said she wore the armour and she did things shed never dare do. ”
“My word,” said Granny, noncommittally.
“Funny ole world,” agreed Nanny.
They walked in silence for a while.
“So you didnt tell her that Queen Ynci never existed, then?”
“No point. ”
“Old King Lully invented her entirely cos he thought we needed a bit of romantic history. He was a bit mad about that. He even had the armour made. ”