Witches Abroad

curtain, where he could enjoy a quiet roll-up.
    He nearly swallowed it when another figure loped silently up the red carpet. It was dressed like a pirate that had just raided a ship carrying black leather goods for the discerning customer. One eye had a patch over it. The other gleamed like a malevolent emerald. And no one that big ought to be able to walk that quietly.
    The butler stuck the dog-end behind his ear.
    “Excuse me, milord,” he said, running after the man and touching him firmly yet respectfully on the arm. “I shall need to see your tic…your…tic…”
    The man transferred his gaze to the hand on his arm. The butler let go hurriedly.
    “Wrowwwl?”
    “Your…ticket…”
    The man opened his mouth and hissed.
    “Of course,” said the butler, backing away with the efficient speed of someone who certainly isn’t being paid enough to face a needle-toothed maniac in black leather, “I expect you’re one of the Duc’s friends, yes?”
    “Wrowwl.”
    “No problem…no problem…but Sir has forgotten Sir’s mask…”
    “Wrowwl?”
    The butler waved frantically to a side table piled high with masks.
    “The Duc requested that everyone here is masked,” said the butler. “Er. I wonder if Sir would find something here to his liking?”
    There’s always a few of them, he thought to himself. It says “Masque” in big curly letters on the invite, in gold yet, but there’s always a few buggers who thinks it means it’s from someone called Maskew. This one was quite likely looting towns when he should have been learning to read.
    The greasy man stared at the masks. All the good ones had been taken by earlier arrivals, but that didn’t seem to dismay him.
    He pointed.
    “Want that one,” he said.
    “Er…a…very good choice, my lord. Allow me to help you on—”
    “Wrowwl!”
    The butler backed away, clutching at his own arm.
    The man glared at him, then dropped the mask over his head and squinted out through an eyehole at a mirror.
    Damn odd, the butler thought. I mean, it’s not the kind of mask the men choose. They go for skulls and birds and bulls and stuff like that. Not cats .
    The odd thing was that the mask had just been a pretty ginger cat head when it was on the table. On its wearer it was…still a cat head, only a lot more so, and somehow slightly more feline and a lot nastier than it should have been.
    “Aaalwaaays waanted to bee ginger,” said the man.
    “On you it looks good, sir,” trilled the butler.
    The cat-headed man turned his head this way and that, clearly in love with what he was seeing.
    Greebo yowled softly and happily to himself and ambled into the ball. He wanted something to eat, someone to fight, and then…well, he’d have to see.
    For wolves and pigs and bears, thinking that they’re human is a tragedy. For a cat, it’s an experience.
    Besides, this new shape was a lot more fun. No one had thrown an old boot at him for over ten minutes.

    The two witches looked around the room.
    “Odd,” said Nanny Ogg. “Not what I’d expect in, you know, a royal bedroom.”
    “Is it a royal bedroom?”
    “There’s a crown on the door.”
    “Oh.”
    Granny looked around at the decor.
    “What do you know about royal bedrooms?” she said, more or less for something to say. “You’ve never been in a royal bedroom.”
    “I might have been,” said Nanny.
    “You never have!”
    “Remember young Verence’s coronation? We all got invited to the palace?” said Nanny. “When I went to have a—to powder my nose I saw the door open, so I went in and had a bit of a bounce up and down.”
    “That’s treason. You can get put in prison for that,” said Granny severely, and added, “What was it like?”
    “Very comfy. Young Magrat doesn’t know what she’s missing. And it was a lot better than this, I don’t mind saying,” said Nanny.
    The basic color was green. Green walls, green floor. There was a wardrobe and a bedside table. Even a bedside rug, which was green. The light filtered in through a window filled with greenish glass.
    “Like being at the bottom of a pond,” said Granny. She swatted something. “And there’s flies everywhere!” She paused, as if thinking very hard, and said, “Hmm…”
    “A Duc pond,” said Nanny.
    There were flies everywhere. They buzzed on the window and zigzagged aimlessly back and forth across the ceiling.
    “Duc pond,” Nanny repeated, because people who make that kind of joke never let well enough alone,