Lords And Ladies

So that was all settled, then. Not a proposal, just a statement. She hadn't been quite sure how the moment would be, even in the darkest hours of the night, but she'd had an idea that roses and sunsets and bluebirds might just possibly be involved. Clover had not figured largely Beans and other leguminous nitrogen fixers were not a central feature.

On the other hand Magrat was, at the core, far more practical than most people believed who saw no further than her vague smile and collection of more than three hundred pieces of occult jewellery, none of which worked.

So this was how you got married to a king. It all got arranged for you. There were no white horses. The past flipped straight into the future, carrying you with it.

Perhaps that was normal. Kings were busy people. Magrat's experience of marrying them was limited.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"The old rose garden."

Ah . . . well, this was more like it.

Except that there weren't any roses. The walled garden had been stripped of its walks and arbors and was now waist high in green stalks with white flowers. Bees were furiously at work in the blossoms.

"Beans?" said Magrat.

"Yes! A specimen crop. I keep bringing the farmers up here to show them," said Verence. He sighed. "They nod and mumble and smile but I'm afraid they just go off and do the same old things."

"I know," said Magrat. "The same thing happened when I tried to give people lessons in natural childbirth."

Verence raised an eyebrow. Even to him the thought of Magrat giving lessons in childbirth to the fecund and teak-faced women of Lancre was slightly unreal.

"Really? How had they been having babies before?" he said.

"Oh, any old way," said Magrat. They looked at the little buzzing bean field.

"Of course, when you're queen, you won't need to-" Verence began.

It happened softly, almost like a kiss, as light as the touch of sunlight.

There was no wind, only a sudden heavy calmness that made the ears pop.

The stems bent and broke, and lay down in a circle. The bees roared, and fled.

The three witches arrived at the standing stone together.

They didn't even bother with explanations. There were some things you know.

"In the middle of my bloody herbs!" said Granny Weatherwax.

"On the palace garden!" said Magrat.

"Poor little mite! And he was holding it up to show me, too!" said Nanny Ogg.

Granny Weatherwax paused.

"What're you talking about, Gytha Ogg?" she said.

"Our Pewsey was growing mustard-and-cress on a flannel for his Nan," said Nanny Ogg, patiently. "He shows it to me, right enough, and just as I bends down and – splat! Crop circle!"

"This," said Granny Weatherwax, "is serious. It's been years since they've been as bad as this. We all know what it means, don't we. What we've got-"

"Um," said Magrat.

"-to do now is-"

"Excuse me," said Magrat. There were some things you had to be told.

"Yes?"

"I don't know what it means," said Magrat. "I mean, old Goodie Whemper-"

"-maysherestinpeace-" the older witches chorused.

"-told me once that the circles were dangerous, but she never said anything about why."

The older witches shared a glance.

"Never told you about the Dancers?" said Granny Weatherwax.

"Never told you about the Long Man?" said Nanny Ogg.

"What Dancers? You mean those old stones up on the moor?"

"All you need to know right now," said Granny Weatherwax, "is that we've got to put a stop to Them."

"What Them?"

Granny radiated innocence. . .

"The circles, of course," she said.

"Oh, no," said Magrat. "I can tell by the way you said it.

You said Them as though it was some sort of curse. It wasn't just a them, it was a them with a capital The."

The old witches looked awkward again.

"And who's the Long Man?" said Magrat.

"We do not," said Granny, "ever talk about the Long Man."

"No harm in telling her about the Dancers, at any rate," mumbled Nanny Ogg.

"Yes, but . . . you know . . . I mean . . . she's Magrat," said Granny.

"What's that meant to mean?" Magrat demanded.

"You probably won't feel the same way about Them, is what I am saying," said Granny.

"We're talking about the-" Nanny Ogg began.

"Don't name 'em!"

"Yeah, right. Sorry."

"Mind you, a circle might not find the Dancers," said Granny. "We can always hope. Could be just random."

"But if one opens up inside the-" said Nanny Ogg.

Magrat snapped.

"You just do this on purpose! You talk in code the whole time! You always do this! But you won't be able to when I'm queen\"

That stopped them.

Nanny Ogg put her head on one side.

"Oh?" she said. "Young Verence popped the question, then?"

"Yes!"

"When's the happy event?" said Granny Weatherwax, icily.

"Two weeks' time," said Magrat. "Midsummer Day."

"Bad choice, bad choice," said Nanny Ogg. "Shortest night o' the year-"

"Gytha Ogg!"

"And you'll be my subjects," said Magrat, ignoring this. "And you'll have to curtsy and everything!"

She knew as soon as she said it that it was stupid, but anger drove her on.

Granny Weatherwax's eyes narrowed.

"Hmm," she said. "We will, will we?"