Witches Abroad

She waved a hand in front of a guard’s face.
    “Coo,” she said.
    “You can’t do that for long,” said Granny. “You can’t stop a thousand people for long.”
    Lily shrugged. “They’re not important. Whoever will remember who was at the ball? They’ll just remember the flight and the slipper and the happy ending.”
    “I’ve told you. You can’t start it again. And he’s a frog. Even you can’t keep him in shape the whole day long. He turns back into his old shape at night. He’s got a bedroom with a pond in it. He’s a frog,” said Granny flatly.
    “But only inside,” said Lily.
    “Inside’s where it counts,” said Granny.
    “Outside’s quite important, mind,” said Nanny.
    “Lots of people are animals inside. Lots of animals are people inside,” said Lily. “Where’s the harm?”
    “He’s a frog.”
    “Especially at night,” said Nanny. It had occurred to her that a husband who was a man all night and a frog all day might be almost acceptable; you wouldn’t get the wage packet, but there’d be less wear and tear on the furniture. She also couldn’t put out of her mind certain private speculations about the length of his tongue.
    “And you killed the Baron,” said Magrat.
    “You think he was a particularly nice man?” said Lily. “Besides, he didn’t show me any respect. If you’ve got no respect, you’ve got nothing.”
    Nanny and Magrat found themselves looking at Granny.
    “He’s a frog.”
    “I found him in the swamp,” said Lily. “I could tell he was pretty bright. I needed someone…amenable to persuasion. Shouldn’t frogs have a chance? He’ll be no worse a husband than many. Just one kiss from a princess seals the spell.”
    “A lot of men are animals,” said Magrat, who’d picked up the idea from somewhere.
    “Yes. But he’s a frog,” said Granny.
    “Look at it my way,” said Lily. “You see this country? It’s all swamps and fogs. There’s no direction . But I can make this a great city. Not a sprawling place like Ankh-Morpork, but a place that works.”
    “The girl doesn’t want to marry a frog.”
    “What will that matter in a hundred years’ time?”
    “It matters now.”
    Lily threw up her hands. “What do you want, then? It’s your choice. There’s me…or there’s that woman in the swamp. Light or dark. Fog or sunshine. Dark chaos or happy endings.”
    “He’s a frog, and you killed the old Baron,” said Granny.
    “You’d have done the same,” said Lily.
    “No,” said Granny. “I’d have thought the same, but I wouldn’t have done it.”
    “What difference does that make, deep down?”
    “You mean you don’t know ?” said Nanny Ogg.
    Lily laughed.
    “Look at the three of you,” she said. “Bursting with inefficient good intentions. The maiden, the mother and the crone.”
    “Who are you calling a maiden?” said Nanny Ogg.
    “Who are you calling a mother?” said Magrat.
    Granny Weatherwax glowered briefly like the person who has discovered that there is only one straw left and everyone else has drawn a long one.
    “Now, what shall I do with you?” said Lily. “I really am against killing people unless it’s necessary, but I can’t have you running around acting stupidly…”
    She looked at her fingernails.
    “So I think I shall have you put away somewhere until this has run its course. And then…can you guess what I’m going to do next?
    “I’m going to expect you to escape. Because, after all, I am the good one.”

    Ella walked cautiously through the moonlit swamp, following the strutting shape of Legba. She was aware of movement in the water, but nothing emerged—bad news like Legba gets around, even among alligators.
    An orange light appeared in the distance. It turned out to be Mrs. Gogol’s shack, or boat, or whatever it was. In the swamp, the difference between the water and the land was practically a matter of choice.
    “Hallo? Is there anyone there?”
    “Come along in, child. Take a seat. Rest up a little.”
    Ella stepped cautiously onto the rocking veranda. Mrs. Gogol was sitting in her chair, a whiteclad raggedy doll in her lap.
    “Magrat said—”
    “I know all about it. Come to Erzulie.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I am your—friend, girl.”
    Ella moved so as to be ready to run.
    “You’re not a godmother of any kind, are you?”
    “No. No gods. Just a friend. Did anyone follow you?”
    “I…don’t think so.”
    “It’s no matter if they did, girl. No matter if