Witches Abroad

He twirled the cane.
    The drums rolled. Except that…maybe it wasn’t drums now, maybe it was a beat in the floor itself, or in the walls, or in the air. It was fast and hot and people in the hall found their feet moving of their own accord, because the drumming seemed to reach the toes via the hindbrain without ever passing near the ears.
    Saturday’s feet moved too. They beat out their own staccato rhythms on the marble floor.
    He danced down the steps.
    He whirled. He leapt. The tails of his coat whipped through the air. And then he landed at the foot of the step, his feet striking the ground like the thud of doom.
    And only now was there a stirring.
    There was a croak from the Prince.
    “It can’t be him! He’s dead ! Guards! Kill him!”
    He looked around madly at the guards by the stairs.
    The guard captain went pale.
    “I, uh, again ? I mean, I don’t think…” he began.
    “Do it now!”
    The captain raised his crossbow nervously. The point of the bolt wove figures-of-eight in front of his eyes.
    “I said do it!”
    The bow twanged.
    There was a thud.
    Saturday looked down at the feathers buried in his chest, and then grinned and raised his cane.
    The captain looked up with the certain terror of death in his face. He dropped his bow and turned to run, and managed two steps before he toppled forward.
    “No,” said a voice behind the Prince. “ This is how you kill a dead man.”
    Lily Weatherwax stepped forward, her face white with fury.
    “You don’t belong here anymore,” she hissed. “You’re not part of the story.”
    She raised a hand.
    Behind her, the ghost images suddenly focused on her, so that she became more iridescent. Silver fire leapt across the room.
    Baron Saturday thrust out his cane. The magic struck, and coursed down him to earth, leaving little silver trails that crackled for a while and then winked out.
    “No, ma’am,” he said, “there ain’t no way to kill a dead man.”
    The three witches watched from the doorway.
    “ I felt that,” said Nanny. “It should have blown him to bits!”
    “Blown what to bits?” said Granny. “The swamp? The river? The world? He’s all of them! Ooh, she’s a clever one, that Mrs. Gogol!”
    “What?” said Magrat. “What do you mean, all of them?”
    Lily backed away. She raised her hand again and sent another fireball toward the Baron. It hit his hat and burst off it like a firework.
    “Stupid, stupid!” muttered Granny. “She’s seen it doesn’t work and she’s still trying it!”
    “I thought you weren’t on her side,” said Magrat.
    “I ain’t! But I don’t like to see people being stupid. That kind of stuff’s no use, Magrat Garlick, even you can…oh, no, surely not again…”
    The Baron laughed as a third attempt earthed itself harmlessly. Then he raised his cane. Two courtiers tumbled forward.
    Lily Weatherwax, still backing away, came up against the foot of the main staircase.
    The Baron strolled forward.
    “You want to try anything else, lady?” he said.
    Lily raised both hands.
    All three witches felt it—the terrible suction as she tried to concentrate all the power in the vicinity.
    Outside, the one guard remaining upright found that he was no longer fighting a man but merely an enraged tomcat, although this was no consolation. It just meant that Greebo had an extra pair of claws.
    The Prince screamed.
    It was a long, descending scream, and ended in a croak, somewhere around ground level.
    Baron Saturday took one heavy, deliberate step forward, and there was no more croak.
    The drums stopped abruptly.
    And then there was a real silence, broken only by the swish of Lily’s dress as she fled up the stairs.
    A voice behind the witches said, “Thank you, ladies. Could you step aside, please?”
    They looked around. Mrs. Gogol was there, holding Embers by the hand. She had a fat, gaily-embroidered bag over her shoulder.
    All three watched as the voodoo woman led the girl down into the hall and through the silent crowds.
    “That’s not right either,” said Granny under her breath.
    “What?” said Magrat. “What?”
    Baron Saturday thumped his stick on the floor.
    “You know me,” he said. “You all know me . You know I was killed. And now here I am. I was murdered and what did you do—?”
    “How much did you do, Mrs. Gogol?” muttered Granny. “No, we ain’t having this.”
    “Ssh, I can’t hear what he’s saying,” said Nanny.
    “He’s telling them they can have him ruling them