Lords And Ladies

Granny Weatherwax was getting rattled. She was also, despite everything that she'd said, getting lost. But the point was that you couldn't get lost between the weir at the bottom of the Lancre rapids and Lancre town itself. It was uphill all the way Besides, she'd walked through the local forests all her life. They were her forests.

She was pretty sure they'd passed the same tree twice. There was a bit of Ridcully's robe hanging on it.

It was like getting lost in her own garden.

She was also sure she'd seen the unicorn a couple of times. It was tracking them. She'd tried to get into its mind. She might as well have tried to climb an ice wall.

It wasn't as if her own mind was tranquil. But now at least she knew she was sane.

When the walls between the universes are thin, when the parallel strands of If bunch together to pass through the Now, then certain things leak across. Tiny signals, perhaps, but audible to a receiver skilled enough.

In her head were the faint, insistent thoughts of a thousand Esme Weatherwaxes.

Magrat wasn't sure what to pack. Most of her original clothes seemed to have evaporated since she'd been in the castle, and it was hardly good manners to take the ones Verence had bought for her. The same applied to the engagement ring. She wasn't sure if you were allowed to keep it.

She glared at herself in the mirror.

She'd have to stop thinking like this. She seemed to have spent her whole life trying to make herself small, trying to be polite, apologizing when people walked over her, trying to be good-mannered. And what had happened? People had treated her as if she was small and polite and good-mannered.

She'd stick the, the, the damn letter on the mirror, so they'd all know why she'd gone.

She'd a damn good mind to go off to one of the cities and become a courtesan.

Whatever that was.

And then she heard the singing.

It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sound Magrat had ever heard. It flowed straight through the ears and into the hindbrain, into the blood, into the bone . . .

A silk camisole dropped from her fingers on to the floor.

She wrenched at the door, and a tiny part of her mind still capable of rational thought remembered about the key.

The song filled the passageway. She gripped some folds of the wedding dress to make running easier and hurried toward the stairs . . .

Something bulleted out of another doorway and bore her to the floor.

It was Shawn Ogg. Through the chromatic haze she could see his worried face peering out from its hood of rusty–

–iron.

The song changed while staying the same. The complex harmonies, the fascinating rhythm did not alter but suddenly grated, as if she was hearing the song through different ears.

She was dragged into the doorway.

"Are you all right. Miss Queen?"

"What's happening?"

"Dunno, Miss Queen. But I think we've got elves."

"Elves?"

"And they've got Miss Tockley. Um. You know you took the iron away-"

"What are you talking about, Shawn?"

Shawn's face was white.

"That one down the dungeons started singing, and they'd put their mark on her, so she's doing what they want-"

"Shawn!"

"And Mum said they don't kill you, if they can help it. Not right away. You're much more fun if you're not dead."

Magrat stared at him.

"I had to run away! She was trying to get my hood off! I had to leave her, miss! You understand, miss?"

"Elves?"

"You got to hold on to something iron, miss! They hate iron!"

She slapped his face, hurting her fingers on the mail.

"You're gabbling, Shawn!"

"They're out there, miss! I heard the drawbridge go down! They're out there and we're in here and they don't kill you, they keep you alive-"

"Stand to attention, soldier!"

It was all she could think of. It seemed to work. Shawn pulled himself together.

"Look," said Magrat, "everyone knows there really aren't any elves any mo . . . " Her voice faded. Her eyes narrowed. "Everyone but Magrat Garlick knows different, yes?"

Shawn shook. Magrat grabbed his shoulders.

"Me mum and Mistress Weatherwax said you wasn't to know!" Shawn wailed. "They said it was witch business!"

"And where are they now, when they've got some witch business to mind?" said Magrat. "I don't see them, do you? Are they behind the door? No! Are they under the bed? How strange, they're not . . . there's just me, Shawn Ogg. And if you don't tell me everything you know right now I'll make you regret the day I was born."

Shawn's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he considered this. Then he shook himself free of Magrat's grasp and listened at the door.

The singing had stopped. For a moment Magrat thought she heard footsteps outside the door, hurrying away.

"Well, Miss Queen, our mum and Mistress Weatherwax was up at the Dancers-"

Magrat listened.

Finally she said, "And where's everyone now?"

"Dunno, miss. All gone to the Entertainment . . . but they ought to've been back by now."

"Where's the Entertainment?"

"Dunno, miss. Miss?"

"Yes?"

"Why've you got your wedding dress on?"

"Never you mind."