Lords and Ladies

by Terry Pratchett

Page 33

 

  Oh, no . . .

  “Well, well,” said Ridcully “Theres a familiar tree. ”

  “Shut up. ”

  “I thought someone said we just had to walk up hill,” said Ridcully.

  “Shut up. ”

  "I remember once when we were in these woods you let

  “me-”

  “Shut up. ”

  Granny Weatherwax sat down on a stump.

  “Were being mazed,” she said. “Someones playing tricks on us. ”

  “I remember a story once,” said Ridcully, “where these two children were lost in the woods and a lot of birds came and covered them with leaves. ” Hope showed in his voice like a toe peeking out from under a crinoline.

  “Yes, thats just the sort of bloody stupid thing a bird would think of,” said Granny. She rubbed her head.

  “Shes doing it,” she said. “Its an elvish trick. Leading travellers astray. Shes mucking up my head. My actual head. Oh, shes good. Making us go where she wants. Making us go round in circles. Doing it to me. ”

  “Maybe youve got your mind on other things,” said Ridcully, not quite giving up hope.

  “Course Ive got my mind on other things, with you falling over all the time and gabbling a lot of nonsense,” said Granny. “If Mr. Cleverdick Wizard hadnt wanted to dredge up things that never existed in the first place I wouldnt be here, Id be in the centre of things, knowing whats going on. ” She clenched her fists.

  “Well, you dont have to be,” said Ridcully. “Its a fine night. We could sit here and-”

  “Youre falling for it too,” said Granny. “All that dreamy-weamy, eyes-across-a-crowded-room stuff. Cant imagine how you keep your job as head wizard. ”

  “Mainly by checking my bed carefully and makin sure someone else has already had a slice of whatever it is Im eating,” said Ridcully, with disarming honesty. “Theres not much to it, really. Mainly its signin things and having a good shout-”

  Ridcully gave up.

  “Anyway, you looked pretty surprised when you saw me,” he said. “Your face went white. ”

  “Anyoned go white, seeing a full-grown man standing there looking like a sheep about to choke,” said Granny.

  “You really dont let up, do you?” said Ridcully. “Amazing. You dont give an inch. ”

  Another leaf drifted past.

  Ridcully didnt move his head.

  “You know,” he said, his voice staying quite level, “either autumn comes really early in these parts, or the birds here are the ones out of that story I mentioned, or someones in the tree above us. ”

  “I know. ”

  “You know?”

  “Yes, because Ive been paying attention while you were dodging the traffic in Memory Lane,” said Granny. “Theres at least five of em, and theyre right above us. Hows those magic fingers of yours?”

  “I could probably manage a fireball. ”

  “Wouldnt work. Can you carry us out of here?”

  “Not both of us. ”

  “Just you?”

  “Probably, but Im not going to leave you. ”

  Granny rolled her eyes. “Its true, you know,” she said. “All men are swains. Push off, you soft old bugger. Theyre not intending to kill me. At least, not yet. But they dont hardly know nothing about wizards and theyll chop you down without thinking. ”

  “Now whos being soft?”

  “I dont want to see you dead when you could be doin something useful. ”

  “Running away isnt useful. ”

  “Its going to be a lot more useful than staying here. ”

  “Id never forgive myself if I went. ”

  “And Id never forgive you if you stayed, and Im a lot more unforgiving than you are,” said Granny. “When its all over, try to find Gytha Ogg. Tell her to look in my old box. Shell know whats in there. And if you dont go now-”

  An arrow hit the stump beside Ridcully.

  “The buggers are firing at me!” he shouted. “If I had my crossbow-”

  “I should go and get it, then,” said Granny.

  “Right! Ill be back instantly!”

  Ridcully vanished. A moment later several lumps of castle masonry dropped out of the space he had just occupied.

  “Thats him out of the way, then,” said Granny, to no one in particular.

  She stood up, and gazed around at the trees.

  “All right,” she said, “here I am. I aint running. Come and get me. Here I am. All of me. ”

  Magrat calmed down. Of course it existed. Every castle had one. And of course this one was used. There was a trodden path through the dust to the rack a few feet away from the door, where a few suits of unravelling chain-mail hung on a rack, next to the pikes.

  Shawn probably came in here every day.

  It was the armoury.

  Greebo hopped down from Magrats shoulders and wandered off down the cobwebbed avenues, in his endless search for anything small and squeaky.

  Magrat followed him, in a daze.

  The kings of Lancre had never thrown anything away. At least, theyd never thrown anything away if it was possible to kill someone with it.

  There was armour for men. There was armour for horses. There was armour for fighting dogs. There was even armour for ravens, although King Gumt the Stupids plan for an aerial attack force had never really got off the ground. There were more pikes, and swords, cutlasses, rapiers, epees, broadswords, flails, momingstars, maces, clubs, and huge knobs with spikes. They were all piled together and, in those places where the roof had leaked, were rusted into a lump. There were longbows, short bows, pistol bows, stirrup bows, and crossbows, piled like firewood and stacked with the same lack of care. Odd bits of armour were piled in more heaps, and were red with rust. In fact rust was everywhere. The whole huge room was full of the death of iron.

  Magrat went on, like some clockwork toy that wont change direction until it bumps into something.

  The candlelight was reflected dully in helmets and breastplates. The sets of horse armour in particular were terrible, on their rotting wooden frames - they stood like exterior skeletons, and, like skeletons, nudged the mind into thoughts of mortality. Empty eye sockets stared sightlessly down at the little candlelit figure.

  “Lady?”

  The voice came from outside the door, far behind Magrat. But it echoed around her, bouncing off the centuries of mouldering armaments.

  They cant come in here, Magrat thought. Too much iron. In here, Im safe.

  “If lady wants to play, we will fetch her friends. ”

  As Magrat turned, the light caught the edge of something, and gleamed.

  Magrat pulled aside a huge shield.

  “Lady?”

  Magrat reached out.

  “Lady?”

  Magrats hands held a rusty iron helmet, with wings.

  “Come dance at the wedding, lady. ”

  Magrats hands closed on a well-endowed breastplate, with spikes.

  Greebo, who had been tracking mice through a prone suit of armour, stuck his head out of a leg.

  A change had come over Magrat. It showed in her breathing. Shed been panting, with fear and exhaustion. Then, for a few seconds, there was no sound of her breathing at all. And finally it returned. Slowly. Deeply. Deliberately.

  Greebo saw Magrat, who hed always put down as basically a kind of mouse in human shape, lift the hat with the wings on it and put it on her head.

  Magrat knew all about the power of hats.

  In her minds ear she could hear the rattle of the chariots.

  “Lady? We will bring your friends to sing to you. ”

  She turned.

  The candlelight sparkled off her eyes.

  Greebo drew back into the safety of his armour. He recalled a particular time when hed leapt out on a vixen. Normally Greebo could take on a fox without raising a sweat but, as it turned out, this one had cubs. He hadnt found out until he chased her into her den.
Hed lost a bit of one ear and quite a lot of fur before hed got away.

  The vixen had a very similar expression to the one Magrat had now.

  “Greebo? Come here!”

  The cat turned and tried to find a place of safety in the suits breastplate. He was beginning to doubt hed make it through the knight.

  Elves prowled the castle gardens. Theyd killed the fish in the ornamental pond, eventually.

  Mr. Brooks was perched on a kitchen chair, working at a crevice in the stable wall.

  Hed been aware of some sort of excitement, but it was involving humans and therefore of secondary importance. But he did notice the change in the sound from the hives, and the splintering of wood.

  A hive had already been tipped over. Angry bees clouded around three figures as feet ripped through comb and honey and brood.

  The laughter stopped as a white-coated, veiled figure appeared over the hedge. It raised a long metal tube.

  No one ever knew what Mr. Brooks put in his squirter. There was old tobacco in it, and boiled-up roots, and bark scrapings, and herbs that even Magrat had never heard of. It shot a glistening stream over the hedge which hit the middle elf between the eyes, and sprayed over the other two.

  Mr. Brooks watched dispassionately until their struggles stopped.

  “Wasps,” he said.

  Then he went and found a box, lit a lantern and, with great care and delicacy, oblivious to the stings, began to repair the damaged combs.

  * * *

  Shawn couldnt feel much in his arm anymore, except in the hot dull way that indicated at least one broken bone, and he knew that two of his fingers shouldnt be looking like that. He was sweating, despite being only in his vest and drawers. He should never have taken his chain-mail off, but its hard to say no when an elf is pointing a bow at you. Shawn knew what, fortunately, many people didnt - chain-mail isnt much defence against an arrow. It certainly isnt when the arrow is being aimed between your eyes.

  Hed been dragged along the corridors to the armoury. There were at least four elves, but it was hard to see their faces. Shawn remembered when the travelling Magic Lanthorn show had come to Lancre. Hed watched entranced as different pictures had been projected on to one of Nanny Oggs bedsheets. The elf faces put him in mind of that. There were eyes and a mouth in there somewhere, but everything else seemed to be temporary, the elves features passing across their faces like the pictures on the screen.

  They didnt say much. They just laughed a lot. They were a merry folk, especially when they were twisting your arm to see how far it could go.

  The elves spoke to one another in their own language. Then one of them turned to Shawn, and indicated the armoury door.

  “We wish the lady to come out,” it said. “You must say to her, if she does not come out, we will play with you some more. ”

  “What will you do to us if she does come out?” said Shawn.

  “Oh, we shall still play with you,” said the elf. “Thats what makes it so much fun. But she must hope, must she not? Talk to her now. ”

  He was pushed up to the door. He knocked on it, in what he hoped was a respectful way.

  “Urn. Miss Queen?”

  Magrats voice was muffled.

  “Yes?”

  “Its me, Shawn. ”

  “I know. ”

  “Im out here. Um. I think theyve hurt Miss Tockley. Um. They say theyll hurt me some more if you dont come out. But you dont have to come out because they darent come in there because of all the iron. So I shouldnt listen to them if I was you. ”