Carpe Jugulum

sir.”
    “Let us go, then.”
    They went out into the main passage just as Magrat’s group was passing, and the King took her hand.
    Nanny Ogg trailed after them. The King was right, in a way. She did feel… unusual , ill-tempered and snappish, as if she’d put on a vest that was too tight. Well, Granny would be here soon enough, and she knew how to talk to kings.
    You needed a special technique for that, Nanny reasoned; for example, you couldn’t say things like “who died and made you king?” because they’d know . “You and whose army?” was another difficult one, although in this case Verence’s army consisted of Shawn and a troll and was unlikely to be a serious threat to Shawn’s own mother if he wanted to be allowed to eat his tea indoors.
    She pulled Agnes to one side as the procession reached the top of the big staircase and Shawn went on ahead.
    “We’ll get a good view from the minstrel gallery,” she hissed, dragging Agnes into the king oak structure just as the trumpet began the royal fanfare.
    “That’s my boy,” she added proudly, when the final flourish caused a stir.
    “Yes, not many royal fanfares end with ‘shave and a haircut, no legs,’ * ” said Agnes.
    “Puts people at their ease, though,” said Shawn’s loyal mum.
    Agnes looked down at the throng, and caught sight of the priest again. He was moving through the press of guests.
    “I found him, Nanny,” she said. “He didn’t make it hard, I must say. He won’t try anything in a crowd, will he?”
    “Which one is it?”
    Agnes pointed. Nanny stared, and then turned to her.
    “Sometimes I think the weight of that damn crown is turning Verence’s head,” she said. “I reckon he really doesn’t know what he’s lettin’ into the kingdom. When Esme gets here she’s going to go through this priest like cabbage soup.”
    By now the guests had got themselves sorted out on either side of the red carpet that began at the bottom of the stairs. Agnes glanced up at the royal couple, waiting awkwardly, just out of sight for the appropriate moment to descend, and thought: Granny Weatherwax says you make your own right time. They’re the royal family. All they need to do is walk down the stairs and it’d be the right time. They’re doing it wrong.
    Several of the Lancre guests were occasionally glancing at the big double doors, shut for this official ceremony. They’d be thrown open later, for the more public and enjoyable part, but right now they looked…
    …like doors which would soon creak back and frame a figure against the firelight.
    She could see the image so clearly.
    The exercises Granny had reluctantly given her were working, Perdita thought.
    There was a hurried conversation among the royal party and then Millie hurried back up the stairs and toward the witches.
    “Mag—the Queen says, is Granny Weatherwax coming or not?” she panted.
    “Of course she is,” said Nanny.
    “Only, well, the King’s getting a bit…upset. He said it did say RSVP on the invitation,” said Millie, trying not to meet Nanny eye to eye.
    “Oh, witches never reservups,” said Nanny. “They just come.”
    Millie put her hand in front of her mouth and gave a nervous little cough. She glanced wretchedly toward Magrat, who was making frantic hand signals.
    “Only, well, the Queen says we’d better not hold things up, so, er, would you be godmother, Mrs. Ogg?”
    The wrinkles doubled on Nanny’s face as she smiled.
    “Tell you what,” she said brightly, “I’ll come and sort of stand in until Granny gets here, shall I?”

Once again, Granny Weatherwax paced up and down in the spartan grayness of her kitchen. Occasionally she’d glance at the floor. There was quite a gap under the door, and sometimes things could be blown anywhere. But she’d already searched a dozen times. She must’ve got the cleanest floor in the country by now. Anyway, it was too late.
    Even so… Uberwald … *
    She strode up and down a few more times.
    “I’ll be blowed if I’ll give ’em the satisfaction,” she muttered.
    She sat down in her rocking chair, stood up again so quickly that the chair almost fell over, and went back to the pacing.
    “I mean, I never been the kind of person to put myself forward,” she said to the air. “I’m not the sort to go where I’m not welcome, I’m sure.”
    She went to make a cup of tea, fumbling with the kettle in shaking hands, and dropped the lid on her sugar bowl, breaking it.
    A light