Lords and Ladies

impatient and talented and a real pain in the bum to the old witches. I don’t know if you happen to remember her, by any chance?”
    They passed Jason’s forge, which rang to the sound of his hammer.
    “I never forgot her,” said Granny, quietly.
    “Funny thing, how things go round in circles…”
    “No they don’t,” said Granny Weatherwax firmly. “I wasn’t like her . You know what the old witches round here were like. Set in their ways. No more than a bunch of old wart-charmers. And I wasn’t rude to them. I was just…firm. Forthright. I stood up for meself. Part of being a witch is standing up for yourself—you’re grinning .”
    “Just wind, I promise.”
    “It’s completely different with her. No one’s ever been able to say I wasn’t open to new ideas.”
    “Well known for being open to new ideas, you are,” said Nanny Ogg. “I’m always saying, that Esme Weatherwax, she’s always open to new ideas.”
    “Right.” Granny Weatherwax looked up at the forested hills around the town, and frowned.
    “The thing is,” she said, “girls these days don’t know how to think with a clear mind. You’ve got to think clearly and not be distracted. That’s Magrat for you, always being distracted. It gets in the way of doing the proper thing.” She stopped. “I can feel her, Gytha. The Queen of the Fairies. She can get her mind past the stones. Blast that girl! She’s got a way in. She’s everywhere. Everywhere I look with my mind, I can smell her.”
    “Everything’s going to be all right,” said Nanny, patting her on the shoulder. “You’ll see.”
    “She’s looking for a way,” Granny repeated.

    “Good morrow, brothers, and wherehap do we whist this merry day?” said Carter the baker.
    The rest of the Lancre Morris Men looked at him.
    “You on some kind of medication or what?” said Weaver the thatcher.
    “Just trying to enter into the spirit of the thing,” said Carter.
    “That’s how rude mechanicals talk.”
    “Who’re rude mechanicals?” said Baker the weaver.
    “They’re the same as Comic Artisans, I think,” said Carter the baker.
    “I asked my mum what artisans are,” said Jason.
    “Yeah?”
    “They’re us.”
    “And we’re Rude Mechanicals as well?” said Baker the weaver.
    “I reckon.”
    “Bum!”
    “Well, we certainly don’t talk like these buggers in the writing,” said Carter the baker. “I never said ‘folde-rol’ in my life. And I can’t understand any of the jokes.”
    “You ain’t supposed to understand the jokes, this is a play, ” said Jason.
    “Drawers!” said Baker the weaver.
    “Oh, shut up. And push the cart.”
    “Don’t see why we couldn’t do the Stick and Bucket Dance…” mumbled Tailor the other weaver.
    “We’re not doing the Stick and Bucket dance! I never want to hear any more ever about the Stick and Bucket dance! I still get twinges in my knee! So shut up about the Stick and Bucket dance!”
    “Belly!” shouted Baker, who wasn’t a man to let go of an idea.
    The cart containing the props bumped and skidded on the rutted track.
    Jason had to admit that Morris dancing was a lot easier than acting. People didn’t keep turning up to watch and giggle. Small children didn’t stand around jeering. Weaver and Thatcher were in almost open rebellion now, and mucking up the words. The evenings were becoming a constant search for somewhere to rehearse.
    Even the forest wasn’t private enough. It was amazing how people would just happen to be passing.
    Weaver stopped pushing, and wiped his brow.
    “You’d have thought the Blasted Oak would’ve been safe,” he said. “Half a mile from the nearest path, and damn me if after five minutes you can’t move for charcoal burners, hermits, trappers, tree tappers, hunters, trolls, bird-limers, hurdle-makers, swine-herds, truffle hunters, dwarfs, bodgers and suspicious buggers with big coats on. I’m surprised there’s room in the forest for the bloody trees. Where to now?”
    They’d reached a crossroads, if such it could be called.
    “Don’t remember this one,” said Carpenter the poacher. “Thought I knew all the paths around here.”
    “That’s ’cos you only ever sees ’em in the dark,” said Jason.
    “Yeah, everyone knows ’tis your delight on a shining night,” said Thatcher the carter.
    “’Tis his delight every night,” said Jason.
    “Hey,” said Baker the weaver, “we’re getting really good at this rude mechanism, ain’t