Wyrd Sisters

Vitoller always waved his arms when he spoke; if you tied his hands behind his back he would be dumb.

'All right,' he was saying, 'how about The King's Brides?'

'Last year,' said the voice of Hwel.

'All right, then. We'll give them Mallo, the Tyrant of Klatch,' said Vitoller, and his larynx smoothly changed gear as his voice became a great rolling thing that could rattle the windows across the width of the average town square. ' "In blood I came, And by blood rule, That none will dare assay these walls of blood—" '

'We did it the year before,' said Hwel calmly. 'Anyway, people are fed up with kings. They want a bit of a chuckle.'

'They are not fed up with my kings,' said Vitoller. 'My dear boy, people do not come to the theatre to laugh, they come to Experience, to Learn, to Wonder—'

'To laugh,' said Hwel, flatly. 'Have a look at this one.'

Tomjon heard the rustle of paper and the creak of wicker-work as Vitoller lowered his weight on to a props basket.

'A Wizard of Sons,' Vitoller read. 'Or, Please Yourself:

Hwel stretched his legs under the table and dislodged Tomjon. He hauled the boy out by one ear.

'What's this?' said Vitoller. 'Wizards? Demons? Imps? Merchants?'

'I'm rather pleased with Act II, Scene IV,' said Hwel, propelling the toddler towards the props box. 'Comic Washing Up with Two Servants.'

'Any death-bed scenes?' said Vitoller hopefully.