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Nanny gave up.
“Oh, well,” she said, “Im sure youll work it all out as you-”
Granny and the king reappeared.
“Hows the girl?” said Granny.
“We took out the arrow and cleaned up the wound, anyway,” said Magrat. “But she wont wake up. Best if she stays here. ”
“You sure?” said Granny. “She needs keeping an eye on. Ive got a spare bedroom. ”
“She shouldnt be moved,” said Magrat, briskly.
“Theyve put their mark on her,” said Granny. “You sure you know how to deal with it?”
“I do know its quite a nasty wound,” said Magrat, briskly.
“I aint exactly thinking about the wound,” said Granny. “Shes been touched by them is what I mean. Shes-”
“Im sure I know how to deal with a sick person,” said Magrat. “Im not totally stupid, you know. ”
“Shes not to be left alone,” Granny persisted.
“Therell be plenty of people around,” said Verence. “The guests start arriving tomorrow. ”
“Being alone isnt the same as not having other people around,” said Granny.
“This is a castle. Granny. ”
“Right. Well. We wont keep you, then,” said Granny. “Come, Gytha. ”
Nanny Ogg helped herself to an elderly lamb chop from under one of the silver covers, and waved it vaguely at the royal pair.
“Have fun,” she said. “Insofar as thats possible. ”
“Gytha!”
“Coming. ”
Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.
Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.
Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.
Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.
Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.
Elves are terrific. They beget terror.
The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.
No one ever said elves are nice.
Elves are bad.
“Well, thats it,” said Nanny Ogg, as the witches walked out over the castles drawbridge. “Well done, Esme. ”
“It aint over,” said Granny Weatherwax.
“You said yourself they cant get through now. No one else round heres going to try any magic at the stones, thats sure enough. ”
“Yes, but itll be circle time for another day or so yet. Anything could happen. ”
“That Diamanda girls out of it, and youve put the wind up the others,” said Nanny Ogg, tossing the lamb bone into the dry moat. “Aint no one else going to call em, I know that. ”
“Theres still the one in the dungeon. ”
“You want to get rid of it?” said Nanny. “Ill send our Shawn to King Ironfoundersson up at Copperhead, if you like. Or I could hop on the old broomstick meself and go and drop the word to the Mountain King. The dwarfs and trollsll take it off our hands like a shot. No more problem. ”
Granny ignored this.
“Theres something else,” she said. “Something we havent thought of. Shell still be looking for a way. ”
Theyd reached the town square now. She surveyed it. Of course, Verence was king and that was right and proper, and this was his kingdom and that was right and proper too. But in a deeper sense the kingdom belonged to her. And to Gytha Ogg, of course. Verences writ only ran to the doings of mankind; even the dwarfs and trolls didnt acknowledge him as king, although they were very polite about it. But when it came to the trees and the rocks and the soil. Granny Weatherwax saw it as hers. She was sensitive to its moods.
It was still being watched. She could sense the watchfulness. Sufficiently close examination changes the thing being observed, and what was being observed was the whole country. The whole country was under attack, and here she was, her mind unravelling . . .
“Funny thing,” said Nanny Ogg, to no one in particular, “while I was sitting up there at the Dancers this morning I thought, funny thing. . . ”
“Whatre you going on about now?”
“I remember when I was young there was a girl like Diamanda. Bad-tempered and impatient and talented and a real pain in the bum to the old witches. I dont know if you happen to remember her, by any chance?”
They passed Jasons forge, which rang to the sound of his hammer.
“I never forgot her,” said Granny, quietly.
“Funny thing, how things go round in circles . . . ”
“No they dont,” said Granny Weatherwax firmly. “I wasnt like her. You know what the old witches round here were like. Set in their ways. No more than a bunch of old wart-charmers. And I wasnt rude to them. I was just . . . firm. Forthright. I stood up for meself. Part of being a witch is standing up for yourself - youre grinning. ”
“Just wind, I promise. ”
“Its completely different with her. No ones ever been able to say I wasnt open to new ideas. ”
“Well known for being open to new ideas, you are,” said Nanny Ogg. “Im always saying, that Esme Weatherwax, shes always open to new ideas. ”
“Right. ” Granny Weatherwax looked up at the forested hills around the town, and frowned.
“The thing is,” she said, “girls these days dont know how to think with a clear mind. Youve got to think clearly and not be distracted. Thats Magrat for you, always being distracted. It gets in the way of doing the proper thing. ” She stopped. “I can feel her, Gytha. The Queen of the Fairies. She can get her mind past the stones. Blast that girl! Shes got a way in. Shes everywhere. Everywhere I look with my mind, I can smell her. ”
“Everythings going to be all right,” said Nanny, patting her on the shoulder. “Youll see. ”
“Shes looking for a way,” Granny repeated.
“Good morrow, brothers, and wherehap do we whist this merry day?” said Carter the baker.
The rest of the Lancre Morris Men looked at him.
“You on some kind of medication or what?” said Weaver the thatcher.
“Just trying to enter into the spirit of the thing,” said Carter.
“Thats how rude mechanicals talk. ”
“Whore rude mechanicals?” said Baker the weaver.
“Theyre the same as Comic Artisans, I think,” said Carter the baker.
“I asked my mum what artisans are,” said Jason.
“Yeah?”
“Theyre us. ”
“And were Rude Mechanicals as well?” said Baker the weaver.
“I reckon. ”
“Bum!”
“Well, we certainly dont talk like these buggers in the writing,” said Carter the baker. “I never said fol-de-rol in my life. And I cant understand any of the jokes. ”
“You aint supposed to understand the jokes, this is a play,” said Jason.
“Drawers!” said Baker the weaver.
“Oh, shut up. And push the cart. ”
“Dont see why we couldnt do the Stick and Bucket Dance . . . ” mumbled Tailor the other weaver.
“Were not doing the Stick and Bucket dance! I never want to hear any more ever about the Stick and Bucket dance! I still get twinges in my knee! So shut up about the Stick and Bucket dance!”
“Belly!” shouted Baker, who wasnt a man to let go of an idea.
The cart containing the props bumped and skidded on the rutted track.
Jason had to admit that Morris dancing was a lot easier than acting. People didnt keep turning up to watch and giggle. Small children didnt stand around jeering. Weaver and Thatcher were in almost open rebellion now, and mucking up the words. The evenings were becoming a constant search for somewhere to rehearse.
Even the forest wasnt private enough. It was amazing how people would just happen to be passing.
Weaver stopped pushing, and wiped his brow.
“Youd have thought the Blasted Oak wouldve been safe,” he said. “Half a
mile from the nearest path, and damn me if after five minutes you cant move for charcoal burners, hermits, trappers, tree tappers, hunters, trolls, bird-limers, hurdle-makers, swine-herds, truffle hunters, dwarfs, bodgers and suspicious buggers with big coats on. Im surprised theres room in the forest for the bloody trees. Where to now?”
Theyd reached a crossroads, if such it could be called.
“Dont remember this one,” said Carpenter the poacher. “Thought I knew all the paths around here. ”
“Thats cos you only ever sees em in the dark,” said Jason.
“Yeah, everyone knows tis your delight on a shining night,” said Thatcher the carter.
“Tis his delight every night,” said Jason.
“Hey,” said Baker the weaver, “were getting really good at this rude mechanism, aint we?”
“Lets go right,” said Jason.
“Nah, its all briars and thorns that way. ”
“All right, then, left then. ”
“Its all winding,” said Weaver.
“What about the middle road?” said Carter.
Jason peered ahead.
There was a middle track, hardly more than an animal path, which wound away under shady trees. Ferns grew thickly alongside it. There was a general green, rich, dark feel to it, suggested by the word “bosky”[22]
His blacksmiths senses stood up and screamed.
“Not that way,” he said.
“Ah, come on,” said Weaver. “Whats wrong with it?”
“Goes up to the Dancers, that path does,” said Jason. “Me mam said no one was to go up to the Dancers cos of them young women dancing round em in the nudd. ”
“Yeah, but theyve been stopped from that,” said Thatcher. “Old Granny Weatherwax put her foot down hard and made em put their drawers on. ”
“And they aint to go there anymore, neither,” said Carter. “So itll be nice and quiet for the rehearsing. ”
“Me mam said no one was to go there,” said Jason, a shade uncertainly.
“Yeah, but she probably meant . . . you know . . . with magical intent,” said Carter. “Nothing magical about prancing around in wigs and stuff. ”
“Right,” said Thatcher. “And itll be really private. ”
“And,” said Weaver, “if any young women fancies sneaking back up there to dance around without their drawers on, well be sure to see em. ”
There was a moment of absolute, introspective silence.
“I reckon,” said Thatcher, voicing the unspoken views of nearly all of them, “we owes it to the community. ”
“We-ell,” said Jason, “me mam said . . . ”
“Anyway, your mums a fine one to talk,” said Weaver. “My dad said that when he was young, your mum hardly ever had-”
“Oh, all right,” said Jason, clearly outnumbered. “Cant see it can do any harm. Were only actin. Its . . . its make-believe. Its not as if its anything real. But no ones to do any dancing. Especially, and I want everyone to be absolutely definite about this, the Stick and Bucket dance. ”
“Oh, well be acting all right,” said Weaver. “And keeping watch as well, ocourse. ”
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