Slowly and inexorably, Magrat was forced downward. "Why don't you try some magic?" said the Queen. Magrat kicked. Her foot caught the Queen on the knee, and she heard a crack. As she staggered back Magrat launched herself forward and caught her around the waist, bearing her to the ground.

She was amazed at the lightness. Magrat was skinny enough, but the Queen seemed to have no weight at all. "Why," she said, pulling herself up until the Queen's face was level with hers, "you're nothing. It's all in the mind, isn't it? Without the glamour, you're-"

—an almost triangular face, a tiny mouth, the nose hardly existing at all, but eyes larger than human eyes and now focused on Magrat in pinpoint terror.

"Iron," whispered the Queen. Her hands gripped Magrat's arms. There was no strength there. An elfs strength lay in persuading others they were weak.

Magrat could feel her desperately trying to enter her mind, but it wasn't working. The helmet—

—was lying several feet away, in the mud.

She just had time to wish she hadn't noticed that before the Queen attacked again, exploding into her uncertainty like a nova.

She was nothing. She was insignificant. She was so worthless and unimportant that even something completely worthless and exhaustively unimportant would consider her beneath contempt. In laying hands upon the Queen she truly deserved an eternity of pain. She had no control of her body. She did not deserve any. She did not deserve a thing.

The disdain sleeted over her, tearing the planetary body of Magrat Garlick to pieces.

She'd never be any good. She'd never be beautiful, or intelligent, or strong. She'd never be anything at all.

Self-confidence? Confidence in what? The eyes of the Queen were all she could see. All she wanted to do was lose herself in them . . .

And the ablation of Magrat Garlick roared on, tearing at the strata of her soul. . . . . . exposing the core.

She bunched up a fist and hit the Queen between the eyes. There was a moment of terminal perplexity before the Queen screamed, and Magrat hit her again. Only one queen in a hive! Slash! Stab! They rolled over, landing in the mud. Magrat felt something sting her leg, but she ignored it. She took no notice of the noise around her, but she did find the battleaxe under her hand as the two of them landed in a peat puddle. The elf scrabbled at her but this time without strength, and Magrat managed to push herself to her knees and raise the axe —

—and then noticed the silence.

It flowed over the Queen's elves and Shawn Ogg's makeshift army as the glamour faded.

There was a figure silhouetted against the setting moon.

Its scent carried on the dawn breeze.

It smelled of lions' cages and leaf mold.

"He's back," said Nanny Ogg. She glanced sideways and saw Ridcully, his face glowing, raising his crossbow.

"Put it down," she said.

"Will you look at the horns on that thing-"

"Put it down."

"But-"

"It'd go right through him. Look, you can see that tree through him. He's not really here. He can't get past the doorway. But he can send his thoughts."

"But I can smell—"

"If he was really here, we wouldn't still be standing up." The elves parted as the King walked through. His hind legs hadn't been designed for bipedal walking; the knees were the wrong way round and the hooves were overlarge.

It ignored them all and strutted slowly to the fallen Queen. Magrat pulled herself to her feet and hefted the axe uncertainly.

The Queen uncoiled, leaping up and raising her hands, her mouth framing the first words of some curse—

The King held out a hand, and said nothing.

Only Magrat heard it.

Something about meeting by moonlight, she said later.

And they awoke.

The sun was well over the Rim. People pulled themselves to their feet, staring at one another.

There was not an elf in sight.

Nanny Ogg was the first to speak. Witches can generally come to terms with what actually ('s, instead of insisting on what ought to be.

She looked up at the moors. "The first thing we do," she said, "the first thing, is put back the stones."

"The second thing," corrected Magrat.

They both looked down at the still body of Granny Weatherwax. A few stray bees were flying disconsolate circles in the grass near her head.

Nanny Ogg winked at Magrat.

"You did well there, girl. Didn't think you had it in you to survive an attack like that. It fairly had me widdling myself."

"I've had practice," said Magrat darkly.

Nanny Ogg raised her eyebrows, but made no further comment. Instead she nudged Granny with her boot.

"Wake up, Esme," she said. "Well done. We won."

"Esme?"

Ridcully knelt down stiffly and picked up one of Granny's arms.

"It must have taken it out of her, all that effort," burbled Nanny. "Freeing Magrat and everything-"

Ridcully looked up.

"She's dead," he said.

He thrust both arms underneath the body and got unsteadily to his feet.

"Oh, she wouldn't do a thing like that," said Nanny, but in the voice of someone whose mouth is running on automatic because their brain has shut down.

"She's not breathing and there's no pulse," said the wizard.

"She's probably just resting."

"Yes."

Bees circled, high in the blue sky.

* * *

Ponder and the Librarian helped drag the stones back into position, occasionally using the Bursar as a lever. He was going through the rigid phase again.

They were unusual stones. Ponder noticed — quite hard, and with a look about them that suggested that once, long ago, they had been melted and cooled.

Jason Ogg found him standing deep in thought by one of them. He was holding a nail on a piece of string. But, instead of hanging from the string, the nail was almost at right angles, and straining as if desperate to reach the stone. The string thrummed. Ponder watched it as though mesmerized.

Jason hesitated. He seldom encountered wizards and wasn't at all sure how you were supposed to treat them.

He heard the wizard say: "It sucks. But why does it suck?"

Jason kept quiet.

He heard Ponder say: "Maybe there's iron and . . . and iron that loves iron? Or male iron and female iron? Or common iron and royal iron? Some iron contains something else? Some iron makes a weight in the world and other iron rolls down the rubber sheet?"

The Bursar and the Librarian joined him, and watched the swinging nail.

"Damn!" said Ponder, and let go of the nail. It hit the stone with a plink.

He turned to the others with the agonized expression of a man who has the whole great whirring machinery of the Universe to dismantle and only a bent paper clip to do it with.

"What ho, Mr. Sunshine!" said the Bursar, who was feeling almost cheerful with the fresh air and lack of shouting.

"Rocks! Why am I messing around with lumps of stone? When did they ever tell anyone anything?" said Ponder. "You know, sir, sometimes I think there's a great ocean of truth out there and I'm just sitting on the beach playing with . . . with stones."

He kicked the stone.

"But one day we'll find a way to sail that ocean," he said. He sighed. "Come on. I suppose we'd better get down to the castle."

The Librarian watched them join the procession of tired men who were staggering down the valley.

Then he pulled at the nail a few times, and watched it fly back to the stone.

"Oook."

He looked up into the eyes of Jason Ogg.

Much to Jason's surprise, the orang-utan winked.

Sometimes, if you pay real close attention to the pebbles you find out about the ocean.

The clock ticked.

In the chilly morning gloom of Granny Weatherwax's cottage. Nanny Ogg opened the box.

Everyone in Lancre knew about Esme Weatherwax's mysterious box. It was variously rumoured to contain books of spells, a small private universe, cures for all ills, the deeds of lost lands and several tons of gold, which was pretty good going for something less than a foot across. Even Nanny Ogg had never been told about the contents, apart from the will.

She was a bit disappointed but not at all surprised to find that it contained nothing more than a couple of large envelopes, a bundle of letters, and a miscellaneous assortment of common items in the bottom.

Nanny lifted out the paperwork. The first envelope was addressed to her, and bore the legend: To Gytha Ogge, Reade This NOWE.

The second envelope was a bit smaller and said: The Will of Esmerelda Weatherwax, Died Midsummer's Eve.

And then there was a bundle of letters with a bit of string round them. They were very old; bits of yellowing paper crackled off them as Magrat picked them up.

"They're all letters to her," she said.

"Nothing odd about that," said Nanny. "Anyone can get letters."

"And there's all this stuff at the bottom," said Magrat. "It looks like pebbles."

She held one up.

"This one's got one of those curly fossil things in it," she said. "And this one . . . looks like that red rock the Dancers were made of. It's got a darning needle stuck to it. How strange."

"She always paid attention to small details, did Esme. Always tried to see inside to the real thing."

They were both silent for a moment, and the silence wound out around them and filled the kitchen, to be sliced into gentle pieces by the soft ticking of the clock.

"I never thought we'd be doing this," said Magrat, after a while. "I never thought we'd be reading her will. I thought she'd keep on going for ever."

"Well, there it is," said Nanny. "Tempus fuggit."

"Nanny?"

"Yes, love?"

"I don't understand. She was your friend but you don't seem . . . well. . . upset?"

"Well, I've buried a few husbands and one or two kiddies. You get the hang of it. Anyway, if she hasn't gone to a better place she'll damn well be setting out to improve it."

"Nanny?"

"Yes, love?"

"Did you know anything about the letter?"

"What letter?"

"The letter to Verence."

"Don't know anything about any letter to Verence."

"He must have got it weeks before we got back. She must have sent it even before we got to Ankh-Morpork."

Nanny Ogg looked, as far as Magrat could tell, genuinely blank.

"Oh, hell," said Magrat. "I mean this letter."

She fished it out of the breastplate.

"See?"

Nanny Ogg read:

"Dear sire. This is to inform youe that Magrate Garlick will bee retouning to Lancre on or aboute Blind Pig Tuesday. Shee is a Wet Hen but shee is clean and has got Good Teeth. If you wishes to marrie her, then starte arranging matters without delae, because if you just proposes and similar she will lede you a Dance because there is noone like Magrat for getting in the way of her own life. She does not Knoe her own Mind. You aere Kinge and you can doe what you like. You muste present her with a Fate Accompli. PS. I hear there is talk aboute making witches pay tax, no kinges of Lancre has tried this for many a Year, you could profit from their example. Yrs. in good health, at the moment. A FRIEND (MSS)."

The ticking of the clock stitched the blanket of silence.

Nanny Ogg turned to look at it.

"She arranged it all!" said Magrat. "You know what Verence is like. I mean, she hardly disguised who she was, did she? And I got back and it was all arranged-"

"What would you have done if nothing had been arranged?" said Nanny.

Magrat looked momentarily taken aback.

"Well, I would . . . I mean, if he had . . . I'd-"

"You'd be getting married today, would you?" said Nanny, but in a distant voice, as if she was thinking about something else.

"Well, that depends on-"

"You want to, don't you?"

"Well, yes, of course, but-"

"That's nice, then," said Nanny, in what Magrat thought of as her nursery voice.

"Yes, but she pushed me on one side and shut me up in the castle and I got so wound up-"

"You were so angry that you actually stood Up to the Queen. You actually laid hands on her," said Nanny. "Well done. The old Magrat wouldn't have done that, would she? Esme could always see the real thing. Now nip out of the back door and look at the log pile, there's a love."

"But I hated her and hated her and now she's dead!"

"Yes, dear. Now go and tell Nanny about the log pile."

Magrat opened her mouth to frame the words "I happen to be very nearly queen" but decided not to. Instead she graciously went outside and looked at the log pile.

"It's quite high," she said, coming back and blowing her nose. "Looks like it's just been stacked."

And she wound up the clock yesterday," said Nanny. "And the tea caddy's half full, I just looked."

"Well?"

"She wasn't sure," said Nanny. "Hmm." She opened the envelope addressed to her. It was larger and flatter than the one holding the will, and contained a single piece of card.

Nanny read it, and let it drop on to the table.

"Come on," she said. "We ain't got much time!"

"What's the matter?"

"And bring the sugar bowl!"

Nanny wrenched open the door and hurried toward her broomstick.

"Come on!"

Magrat picked up the card. The writing was familiar. She'd seen it several times before, when calling on Granny Weatherwax unexpectedly.

It said: I ATE'NT DEAD.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"What're you doing on guard with your arm in a sling, Shawn?"

"Duty calls. Mum."

"Well, let us in right now."

"Are you Friend or Foe, Mum?"

"Shawn, this is almost-Queen Magrat here with me, all right?"

"Yes, but you've got to-"

"Right now!"

"Oooaaaww, Mum!"

Magrat tried to keep up with Nanny as she scurried through the castle.

"The wizard was right. She was dead, you know. I don't blame you for hoping, but I can tell when people are dead."

"No, you can't. I remember a few years ago you came running down to my house in tears and it turned out she was just off Borrowing. That's when she started using the sign."

"But-"

"She wasn't sure what was going to happen," said Nanny. "That's good enough for me."

"Nanny-"

"You never know until you look," said Nanny Ogg, expounding her own Uncertainty Principle.

Nanny kicked open the doors to the Great Hall.

"What's all this?"

Ridcully got up from his chair, looking embarrassed.

"Well, it didn't seem right to leave her all alone-"

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Nanny, gazing at the solemn tableau.

"Candles and lilies. I bet you pinched 'em yourself, out of the garden. And then you all shut her away indoors like this."

"Well-"

"And no one even thought to leave a damn window

open! Can't you hear them?"

"Hear what?" Nanny looked around hurriedly and picked up a silver candlestick. "No!"

Magrat snatched it out of her hand. "This happens to be," winding her arm back, "very nearly," taking aim, "my castle-"

The candlestick flew up, turning end over end, and hit a big stained glass window right in the centre.

Fresh sunlight extruded down to the table, visibly moving in the Disc's slow magical field. And down it, like marbles down a chute, the bees cascaded.

The swarm settled on the witch's head, giving the impression of a very dangerous wig.

"What did you-" Ridcully began.

"She's going to swank about this for weeks," said Nanny. "No one's ever done it with bees. Their mind's everywhere, see? Not just in one bee. In the whole swarm."

"What are you-"

Granny Weatherwax's fingers twitched.

Her eyes flickered. Very slowly, she sat up. She focused on Magrat and

Nanny Ogg with some difficulty, and said:

"I wantzzz a bunzzch of flowerszz, a pot of honey, and someone to szzzting."

"I brung the sugar bowl, Esme," said Nanny Ogg.

Granny eyed it hungrily, and then looked at the bees that were taking off from her head like planes from a stricken carrier.

"Pour a dzzrop of water on it, then, and tip it out on the table for them."

She stared triumphantly at their faces as Nanny Ogg bustled off.

"I done it with beezzz! No one can do it with beezzz, and I done it! You endzzz up with your mind all flying in different directionzzz! You got to be good to do it with beezzz!"

Nanny Ogg sloshed the bowl of makeshift syrup across the table. The swarm descended.

"You're alive?" Ridcully managed.

"That's what a univerzzity education doezz for you," said Granny, trying to massage some life into her arms. "You've only got to be sitting up and talking for five minutzz and they can work out you're alive."

Nanny Ogg handed her a glass of water. It hovered in the air for a moment and then crashed to the floor, because Granny had tried to grasp it with her fifth leg.

"Zzorry."

"I knew you wasn't certain!" said Nanny.

"Czertain? Of courze I waz certain! Never in any doubt whatsoever."

Magrat thought about the will.

"You never had a moment's doubt?"

Granny Weatherwax had the grace not to look her in the eye. Instead, she rubbed her hands together.

"What's been happening while I've been away?"

"Well," said Nanny, "Magrat stood up to the-"

"Oh, I knew she'd do that. Had the wedding, have you?"

"Wedding?" The rest of them exchanged glances.

"Of course not!" said Magrat. "Brother Perdore of the Nine Day Wonderers was going to do it and he was knocked out cold by an elf, and anyway people are all-"

"Don't let's have any excuses," said Granny briskly. "Anyway, a senior wizard can conduct a service at a pinch, ain't that right?"

"I, I, I think so," said Ridcully, who was falling behind a bit in world events.

"Right. A wizard's only a priest without a god and a damp handshake," said Granny

"But half the guests have run away!" said Magrat.

"We'll round up some more," said Granny

"Mrs. Scorbic will never get the wedding feast done in time!"

"You'll have to tell her to," said Granny.

"The bridesmaids aren't here!"

"We'll make do."

"I haven't got a dress!"

"What's that you've got on?"

Magrat looked down at the stained chain-mail, the mud-encrusted breastplate, and the few damp remnants of white silk that hung over them like a ragged tabard.

"Looks good to me," said Granny "Nanny'll do your hair."

Magrat reached up instinctively, removed the winged helmet, and patted her hair. Bits of twigs and fragments of heather had twisted themselves in it with comb-breaking complexity It never looked good for five minutes together at the best of times; now it was a bird's nest.

"I think I'll leave it," she said.

Granny nodded approvingly

"That's the way of it," she said. "It's not what you've got that matters, it's how you've got it. Well, we're just about ready, then."

Nanny leaned toward her and whispered.

"What? Oh, yes. Where's the groom?"

"He's a bit muzzy. Not sure what happened," said Magrat.

"Perfectly normal," said Nanny, "after a stag night."

There were difficulties to overcome:

"We need a Best Man."

"Ook."

"Well, at least put some clothes on."

Mrs. Scorbic the cook folded her huge pink arms.

"Can't be done," she said firmly.

"I thought perhaps just some salad and quiche and some light-" Magrat said, imploringly.

The cook's whiskery chin stuck out firmly.

"Them elves turned the whole kitchen upside down," she said. "It's going to take me days to get it straight. Anyway, everyone knows raw vegetables are bad for you, and I can't be having with them eggy pies."

Magrat looked beseechingly at Nanny Ogg; Granny Weatherwax had wandered off into the gardens, where she was getting a tendency to stick her nose in flowers right out of her system.

"Nothin' to do with me," said Nanny. "It's not my kitchen, dear."

"No, it's mine. I've been cook here for years," said Mrs. Scorbic, "and I knows how things should be done, and I'm not going to be ordered around in my own kitchen by some chit of a girl."

Magrat sagged. Nanny tapped her on the shoulder.

"You might need this at this point," she said, and handed Magrat the winged helmet.

"The king's been very happy with-" Mrs. Scorbic began.

There was a click. She looked down the length of a crossbow and met Magrat's steady gaze.

"Go ahead," said the Queen of Lancre softly, "bake my quiche."

Verence sat in his nightshirt with his head in his hands. He could remember hardly anything about the night, except a feeling of coldness. And no one seemed very inclined to tell him.

There was a faint creak as the door opened.

He looked up. "Glad to see you're up and about already," said Granny Weatherwax. "I've come to help you dress."

"I've looked in the garderobe," said Verence. "The . . . elves, was it? . . . they ransacked the place. There's nothing I can wear."

Granny looked around the room. Then she went to a low chest and opened it. There was a faint tinkling of bells, and a flash of red and yellow.

"I thought you never threw them away," she said. "And you ain't put on any weight, so they'll still fit. On with the motley. Magrat'll appreciate it."

"Oh, no," said Verence. "I'm very firm about this. I'm king now. It'd be demeaning for Magrat to marry a Fool. I've got a position to maintain, for the sake of the kingdom. Besides, there is such a thing as pride."

Granny stared at him for so long that he shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, there is," he said.

Granny nodded, and walked toward the doorway.

"Why're you leaving?" said Verence nervously.

"I ain't leaving," said Granny, quietly, "I'm just shutting the door."

And then there was the incident with the crown.

Ceremonies and Protocols of The Kingdom of Lancre was eventually found after a hurried search of Verence's bedroom. It was very clear about the procedure. The new queen was crowned, by the king, as part of the ceremony. It wasn't technically difficult for any king who knew which end of a queen was which, which even the most inbred king figured out in two goes.

But it seemed to Ponder Stibbons that the ritual wobbled a bit at this point.

It seemed, in fact, that just as he was about to lower the crown on the bride's head he glanced across the hall to where the skinny old witch was standing. And nearly everyone else did too, including the bride.

The old witch nodded very slightly.

Magrat was crowned.

Wack-fol-a-diddle, etc.

The bride and groom stood side by side, shaking hands with the long line of guests in that dazed fashion normal at this point in the ceremony.

"I'm sure you'll be very happy-"

"Thank you."

"Ook!"

"Thank you."

"Nail it to the counter, Lord Ferguson, and damn the cheesemongers!"

"Thank you."

"Can I kiss the bride?"

It dawned on Verence that he was being addressed by fresh air. He looked down.

"I'm sorry," he said, "you are-?"

"My card," said Casanunda.

Verence read it. His eyebrows rose.

"Ah," he said. "Uh. Urn. Well, well, well. Number two, eh?"

"I try harder," said Casanunda.

Verence looked around guiltily, and then bent down until his mouth was level with the dwarfs ear.

"Could I have a word with you in a minute or two?"

The Lancre Morris Men got together again for the first time at the reception. They found it hard to talk to one another. Several of them jigged up and down absentmindedly as they talked.

"All right," said Jason, "anyone remember? Really remember?"

"I remember the start," said Tailor the other weaver.

"Definitely remember the start. And the dancing in the woods. But the Entertainment-"

"There was elves in it," said Tinker the tinker. "That's why it all got buggered up," said Thatcher the carter. "There was a lot of shouting, too."

"There was someone with horns on," said Carter, "and a great big-"

"It was all," said Jason, "a bit of a dream."

"Hey, look over there, Carter," said Weaver, winking at the others, "there's that monkey. You've got something to ask it, ain't you?"

Carter blinked. "Coo, yes," he said.

"Shouldn't waste a golden opportunity if I was you," said Weaver, with the happy malice often shown by the clever to the simple.

The Librarian was chatting to Ponder and the Bursar. He looked around as Carter prodded him.

"You've been over to Slice, then, have you?" he said, in his cheery open way.

The Librarian gave him a look of polite incomprehension.

"Oook?"

Carter looked perplexed.

"That's where you put your nut, ain't it?"

The Librarian gave him another odd look, and shook his head.

"Oook."

"Weaver!" Carter shouted, "the monkey says he didn't put his nut where the sun don't shine! You said he did! You didn't, did you? He said you did." He turned to the Librarian. "He didn't. Weaver. See, I knew you'd got it wrong. You're daft. There's no monkeys in Slice."

Silence flowed outward from the two of them.

Ponder Stibbons held his breath.

"This is a lovely party," said the Bursar to a chair, "I wish I was here."

The Librarian picked up a large bottle from the table. He tapped Carter on the shoulder. Then he poured him a large drink and patted him on the head.

Ponder relaxed and turned back to what he was doing. He'd tied a knife to a bit of string and was gloomily watching it spin round and round . . .

On his way home that night Weaver was picked up by a mysterious assailant and dropped into the Lancre. No one ever found out why. Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, especially simian ones. They're not all that subtle.

Others went home that night.

"She'll be getting ideas above her station in life," said Granny Weatherwax, as the two witches strolled through the scented air.

"She's a queen. That's pretty high," said Nanny Ogg. "Almost as high as witches."

"Yes . . . well . . . but you ain't got to give yourself airs," said Granny Weatherwax. "We're advantaged, yes, but we act with modesty and we don't Put Ourselves Forward. No one could say I haven't been decently modest all my life."

"You've always been a bit of a shy violet, I've always said," said Nanny Ogg. "I'm always telling people, when it comes to humility you won't find anyone more humile than Esme Weatherwax."

"Always keep myself to myself and minded my own business-"

"Barely known you were there half the time," said Nanny Ogg.

"I was talking, Gytha."

"Sorry." They walked along in silence for a while. It was a warm dry evening. Birds sang in the trees.

Nanny said, "Funny to think of our Magrat being married and everything."

"What do you mean, everything?"

"Well, you know — married," said Nanny. "I gave her a few tips. Always wear something in bed. Keeps a man interested."

"You always wore your hat."

"Right." Nanny waved a sausage on a stick. She always believed in stocking up on any free food that was available.

"I thought the wedding feast was very good, didn't you? And Magrat looked radiant, I thought."

"I thought she looked hot and flustered."

"That is radiant, with brides."

"You're right, though," said Granny Weatherwax, who was walking a little way ahead. "It was a good dinner. I never had this Vegetarian Option stuff before."

"When I married Mr. . Ogg, we had three dozen oysters at our wedding feast. Mind you, they didn't all work."

"And I like the way they give us all a bit o' the wedding cake in a little bag," said Granny.

"Right. You know, they says, if you puts a bit under your pillow, you dream of your future husb . . ." Nanny Ogg's tongue tripped over itself.

She stopped, embarrassed, which was unusual in an Ogg.

"It's all right," said Granny "I don't mind."

"Sorry, Esme."

"Everything happens somewhere. I know. I know. Everything happens somewhere. So it's all the same in the end."

"That's very continuinuinuum thinking, Esme."

"Cake's nice," said Granny, "but. . . right now . . . don't know why . . . what I could really do with, Gytha, right now . . . is a sweet."

The last word hung in the evening air like the echo of a gunshot.

Nanny stopped. Her hand flew to her pocket, where the usual bag of fluff-encrusted boiled sweets resided. She stared at the back of Esme Weatherwax's head, at the tight bun of grey hair under the brim of the pointy hat.

"Sweet?" she said.

"I expect you've got another bag now," said Granny, without looking around.

"Esme-"

"You got anything to say, Gytha? About bags of sweets?"

Granny Weatherwax still hadn't turned around.

Nanny looked at her boots.

"No, Esme," she said meekly.

"I knew you'd go up to the Long Man, you know. How'd you get in?"

"Used one of the special horseshoes."