Witches Abroad

blankly at the mess, and rallied as best she could.
    “Not my damn fault if the damn cups are too small,” she muttered.
    The door opened.
    “Morning, Magrat,” she added, without looking around. “What’re you doing here?”
    It was something about the way the hinges creaked. Magrat could even open a door apologetically.
    The younger witch sidled speechlessly into the room, face beetroot red, arms held behind her back.
    “We’d just popped in to sort out Desiderata’s things, as our duty to a sister witch,” said Granny loudly.
    “And not to look for her magic wand,” said Nanny.
    “Gytha Ogg!”
    Nanny Ogg looked momentarily guilty, and then hung her head.
    “Sorry, Esme.”
    Magrat brought her arms around in front of her.
    “Er,” she said, and blushed further.
    “You found it!” said Nanny.
    “Uh, no,” said Magrat, not daring to look Granny in the eyes. “Desiderata gave it to…me.”
    The silence crackled and hummed.
    “ She gave it to you ?” said Granny Weatherwax.
    “Uh. Yes.”
    Nanny and Granny looked at one another.
    “Well!” said Nanny.
    “She does know you, doesn’t she?” demanded Granny, turning back to Magrat.
    “I used to come over here quite often to look at her books,” Magrat confessed. “And…and she liked to cook foreign food and no one else around here would eat it, so I’d come up to keep her company.”
    “Ah- ha ! Curryin’ favor!” snapped Granny.
    “But I never thought she’d leave me the wand,” said Magrat. “Really I didn’t!”
    “There’s probably some mistake,” said Nanny Ogg kindly. “She probably wanted you to give it to one of us.”
    “That’ll be it, right enough,” said Granny. “She knew you were good at running errands and so on. Let’s have a look at it.”
    She held out her hand.
    Magrat’s knuckles tightened on the wand.
    “…she gave it me…” she said, in a tiny voice.
    “Her mind was definitely wandering toward the end,” said Granny.
    “…she gave it me…”
    “Fairy godmotherin’s a terrible responsibility,” said Nanny. “You got to be resourceful and flexible and tactful and able to deal with complicated affairs of the heart and stuff. Desiderata would have known that.”
    “…yes, but she gave it me…”
    “Magrat Garlick, as senior witch I command you to give me the wand,” said Granny. “They cause nothing but trouble!”
    “Hold on, hold on,” said Nanny. “That’s going a bit far—”
    “…no…” said Magrat.
    “Anyway, you ain’t senior witch,” said Nanny. “Old Mother Dismass is older’n you.”
    “Shut up. Anyway, she’s non compost mental,” said Granny.
    “…you can’t order me. Witches are non-hierarchical…” said Magrat.
    “That is wanton behavior, Magrat Garlick!”
    “No it’s not,” said Nanny Ogg, trying to keep the peace. “Wanton behavior is where you go around without wearing any—”
    She stopped. Both of the older witches watched a small piece of paper fall out of Magrat’s sleeve and zigzag down to the floor. Granny darted forward and snatched it up.
    “Aha!” she said triumphantly. “Let’s see what Desiderata really said…”
    Her lips moved as she read the note. Magrat tried to wind herself up tighter.
    A couple of muscles flickered on Granny’s face. Then, calmly, she screwed up the note.
    “Just as I thought,” she said, “Desiderata says we are to give Magrat all the help we can, what with her being young and everything. Didn’t she, Magrat?”
    Magrat looked up into Granny’s face.
    You could call her out, she thought. The note was very clear…well, the bit about the older witches was, anyway…and you could make her read it aloud. It’s as plain as day. Do you want to be third witch forever? And then the flame of rebellion, burning in a very unfamiliar hearth, died.
    “Yes,” she muttered hopelessly, “something like that.”
    “It says it’s very important we go to some place somewhere to help someone marry a prince,” said Granny.
    “It’s Genua,” said Magrat. “I looked it up in Desiderata’s books. And we’ve got to make sure she doesn’t marry a prince.”
    “A fairy godmother stopping a girl from marryin’ a prince?” said Nanny. “Sounds a bit…contrary.”
    “Should be an easy enough wish to grant, anyway,” said Granny. “Millions of girls don’t marry a prince.”
    Magrat made an effort.
    “Genua really is a long way away,” she said.
    “I should ’ope so,” said Granny Weatherwax.