Lords and Ladies

do.”
    “You can’t fight them all,” said Ponder. “They’re swarming like bees up there. There’s flying ones, too. The Librarian says they made people get fallen trees and things and push those, you know, those stones down? There were some stones on the hill. They attacked them. Don’t know why.”
    “Did you see any witches at the Entertainment?” said Magrat.
    “Witches, witches…” muttered Ponder.
    “You couldn’t have missed them,” said Magrat. “There’d be a thin one glaring at everyone and a small fat one cracking nuts and laughing a lot. And they’d be talking to each other very loudly. And they’d both have tall pointy hats.”
    “Can’t say I noticed them,” said Ponder.
    “Then they couldn’t have been there,” said Magrat. “Being noticed is what being a witch is all about.” She was about to add that she’d never been good at it, but didn’t. Instead she said: “I’m going on up there.”
    “You’ll need an army, miss. I mean, you’d have been in trouble just now if the Librarian hadn’t been up in the trees.”
    “But I haven’t got an army. So I’m going to have to try by myself, aren’t I?”
    This time Magrat managed to spur the horse into a gallop.
    Ponder watched her go.
    “You know, folksongs have got a lot to answer for,” he said to the night air.
    “Oook.”
    “She’s going to get utterly killed.”
    “Oook.”
    “Hello, Mr. Flowerpot, two pints of eels if you would be so good.”
    “Of course, it could be her destiny, or one of those sort of things.”
    “Oook.”
    “Millennium hand and shrimp.”
    Ponder Stibbons looked embarrassed.
    “Anyone want to follow her?”
    “Oook.”
    “Whoops, there he goes with his big clock.”
    “Was that a ‘yes’?”
    “Oook.”
    “Not yours, his.”
    “Flobby wobbly, here comes our jelly.”
    “I think that probably counts as a ‘yes’,” said Ponder, reluctantly.
    “Oook?”
    “I’ve got a lovely new vest.”
    “But look,” said Ponder, “the graveyards are full of people who rushed in bravely but unwisely.”
    “Ook.”
    “What’d he say?” said the Bursar, passing briefly through reality on his way somewhere else.
    “I think he said, ‘Sooner or later the graveyards are full of everybody ,’” said Ponder. “Oh, blast. Come on.”
    “Yes indeedy,” said the Bursar, “hands up the mittens, Mr. Bosun!”
    “Oh, shut up.”

    Magrat dismounted and let the horse go.
    She knew she was near the Dancers now. Colored light flickered in the sky.
    She wished she could go home.
    The air was colder here, far too cold for a midsummer night. As she plodded onward, flakes of snow swirled in the breeze and turned to rain.

    Ridcully materialized inside the castle, and then clung on to a pillar for support until he got his breath back. Transmigration always made blue spots appear in front of his eyes.
    No one noticed him. The castle was in turmoil.
    Not everyone had run home. Armies had marched across Lancre many times over the last few thousand years, and the recollection of the castle’s thick safe walls had been practically engraved in the folk memory. Run to the castle . And now it held most of the little country’s population.
    Ridcully blinked. People were milling around and being harangued by a small young man in loose-fitting chain-mail and one arm in a sling, who seemed to be the only person with any grip on things.
    When he was certain he could walk straight, Ridcully headed toward him.
    “What’s going on, young—” he began, and then stopped. Shawn Ogg looked around.
    “The scheming minx!” said Ridcully, to the air in general. “‘Oh, go back and get it then,’ she said, and I fell right for it! Even if I could cut the mustard again I don’t know where we were!”
    “Sir?” said Shawn.
    Ridcully shook himself. “What’s happening?” he said.
    “I don’t know!” said Shawn, who was almost in tears. “I think we’re being attacked by elves! Nothing anyone’s telling me’s making any sense! Somehow they arrived during the Entertainment! Or something!”
    Ridcully looked around at the frightened, bewildered people.
    “And Miss Magrat’s gone out to fight them alone !”
    Ridcully looked perplexed.
    “Who’s Miss Magrat?”
    “She’s going to be queen! The bride! You know? Magrat Garlick?”
    Ridcully’s mind could digest one fact at a time.
    “What’s she gone out for?”
    “They captured the king!”
    “Did you know they’ve got Esme