Witches Abroad

"Is she the woman who lives out in the swamp?" said Ella. "I've heard all kinds of stories about her."

"She's a bit too ready to turn dead people into zombies," said Granny. "And that's not right."

"Well, we just turned a cat into a person - I mean, a human person" - Nanny, inveterate cat lover, corrected herself- "and that's not strictly right either. It's probably a long way from strictly right."

"Yes, but we did it for the right reasons," said Granny.

"We don't know what Mrs Gogol's reasons are - "

There was a growl from the alley-way. Nanny scuttled towards it, and they heard her scolding voice.

"No! Put him down this minute!"

"Mine! Mine!"

Legba strutted a little way along the street, and then turned and looked expectantly at them.

Granny scratched her chin, and walked a little way away from Magrat and Ella, sizing them up. Then she turned and looked around.

"Hmm," she said. "Lily is expecting to see you, ain't she?"

"She can look out of reflections," said Ella nervously.

"Hmm," said Granny again. She stuck her finger in her ear and twiddled it for a moment. "Well, Magrat, you're the godmother around here. What's the most important thing we have to do?"

Magrat had never played a card game in her life.

"Keep Ella safe," she said promptly, amazed at Granny suddenly admitting that she was, after all, the one who had been given the wand. "That's what fairy godmothering is all about."

"Yes?"

Granny Weatherwax frowned.

"You know," she said, "you two are just about the same size..."

Magrat's expression of puzzlement lasted for half a second before it was replaced by one of sudden horror.

She backed away.

"Someone's got to do it," said Granny.

"Oh, no! No! It wouldn't work! It really wouldn't work! No!"

"Magrat Garlick," said Granny Weatherwax, triumphantly, "you shall go to the ball!"

The coach cornered on two wheels. Greebo stood on the coachman's box, swaying and grinning madly and cracking the whip. This was even better than his fluffy ball with a bell in it...

Inside the coach Magrat was wedged between the two older witches, her head in her hands.

"But Ella might get lost in the swamp!"

"Not with that cockerel leading the way. She'll be safer in Mrs Gogol's swamp than at the ball, I know that," said Nanny.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome," said Granny.

"Everyone'll know I'm not her!"

"Not with the mask on they won't," said Granny.

"But my hair's the wrong colour!"

"I can tint that up a treat, no problem," said Nanny.

"I'm the wrong shape!"

"We can - " Granny hesitated. "Can you, you know, puff yourself out a bit more?"

"No!"

"Have you got a spare handkerchief, Gytha?"

"I reckon I could tear a bit off my petticoat, Esme."

"Ouch!"

"There!"

"And these glass shoes don't fit!"

"They fit me fine," said Nanny. "I gave ‘em a try."

"Yes, but I've got smaller feet than you!"

"That's all right," said Granny. "You put on a couple of pairs of my socks and they'll fit real snug."

Bereft of all further excuses, Magrat struck out in sheer desperation.

"But I don't know how to behave at balls!"

Granny Weatherwax had to admit that she didn't, either. She raised her eyebrows at Nanny.

"You used to go dancin' when you were young," she said.

"Well," said Nanny Ogg, social tutor, "what you do is, you tap men with your fan - got your fan? - and say things like "La, sir!" It helps to giggle, too. And flutter your eyelashes a bit. And pout."

"How am I supposed to pout?"

Nanny Ogg demonstrated.

"Yuk!"

"Don't worry," said Granny. "We'll be there too."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better, is it?"

Nanny reached behind Magrat and grabbed Granny's shoulder. Her lips formed the words: Won't work. She's all to pieces. No confidence.

Granny nodded.

"Perhaps I ought to do it," said Nanny, in a loud voice. "I'm experienced at balls. I bet if I wore my hair long and wore the mask and them shiny shoes and we hemmed up the dress a foot no one'd know the difference, what do you say?"

Magrat was so overawed by the sheer fascinating picture of this that she obeyed unthinkingly when Granny Weatherwax said, "Look at me, Magrat Garlick."

The pumpkin coach entered the palace drive at high speed, scattering horses and pedestrians, and braked by the steps in a shower of gravel.

"That was fun," said Greebo. And then lost interest.

A couple of flunkies bustled forward to open the door, and were nearly thrown back by the sheer force of the arrogance that emanated from within.

"Hurry up, peasants!"

Magrat swept out, pushing the major-domo away. She gathered up her skirts and ran up the red carpet. At the top, a footman was unwise enough to ask her for her ticket.

"You impertinent lackey!"

The footman, recognizing instantly the boundless bad manners of the well-bred, backed away quickly.

Down by the coach, Nanny Ogg said, "You don't think you might have overdone it a little bit?"

"I had to," said Granny. "You know what she's like."

"How are we going to get in? We ain't got tickets. And we ain't dressed properly, either."

"Get the broomsticks down off the rack," said Granny. "We're going straight to the top."