Wyrd Sisters

it?”
    “Nothing. You know we can’t meddle.”
    “You saved that baby,” said Nanny.
    “That’s not meddling!”
    “Have it your way,” said Nanny. “But maybe one day he’ll come back. Destiny again. And you said we should hide the crown. It’ll all come back, mark my words. Hurry up with that tea, Magrat.”
    “What are you going to do about the burghers?” said Granny.
    “I told them they’ll have to sort it out themselves. Once we use magic, I said, it’d never stop. You know that.”
    “Right,” said Granny, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.
    “I’ll tell you this, though,” said Nanny. “They didn’t like it much. They was muttering when they left.”
    Magrat blurted out, “You know the Fool, who lives up at the castle?”
    “Little man with runny eyes?” said Nanny, relieved that the conversation had returned to more normal matters.
    “Not that little,” said Magrat. “What’s his name, do you happen to know?”
    “He’s just called Fool,” said Granny. “No job for a man, that. Running around with bells on.”
    “His mother was a Beldame, from over Blackglass way,” said Nanny Ogg, whose knowledge of the genealogy of Lancre was legendary. “Bit of a beauty when she was younger. Broke many a heart, she did. Bit of a scandal there, I did hear. Granny’s right, though. At the end of the day, a Fool’s a Fool.”
    “Why d’you want to know, Magrat?” said Granny Weatherwax.
    “Oh…one of the girls in the village was asking me,” said Magrat, crimson to the ears.
    Nanny cleared her throat, and grinned at Granny Weatherwax, who sniffed aloofly.
    “It’s a steady job,” said Nanny. “I’ll grant you that.”
    “Huh,” said Granny. “A man who tinkles all day. No kind of husband for anyone, I’d say.”
    “You—she’d always know where he was,” said Nanny, who was enjoying this. “You’d just have to listen.”
    “Never trust a man with horns on his hat,” said Granny flatly.
    Magrat stood up and pulled herself together, giving the impression that some bits had to come quite a long way.
    “You’re a pair of silly old women,” she said quietly. “And I’m going home.”
    She marched off down the path to her village without another word.
    The old witches stared at one another.
    “Well!” said Nanny.
    “It’s all these books they read today,” said Granny. “It overheats the brain. You haven’t been putting ideas in her head, have you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    Nanny stood up. “I certainly don’t see why a girl should have to be single her whole life just because you think it’s the right thing,” she said. “Anyway, if people didn’t have children, where would we be?”
    “None of your girls is a witch,” said Granny, also standing up.
    “They could have been,” said Nanny defensively.
    “Yes, if you’d let them work it out for themselves, instead of encouragin’ them to throw themselves at men.”
    “They’re good-lookin’. You can’t stand in the way of human nature. You’d know that if you’d ever—”
    “If I’d ever what?” said Granny Weatherwax, quietly.
    They stared at one another in shocked silence. They could both feel it, the tension creeping into their bodies from the ground itself, the hot, aching feeling that they’d started something they must finish, no matter what.
    “I knew you when you were a gel,” said Nanny sullenly. “Stuck-up, you were.”
    “At least I spent most of the time upright,” said Granny. “Disgustin’, that was. Everyone thought so.”
    “How would you know?” snapped Nanny.
    “You were the talk of the whole village,” said Granny.
    “And you were, too! They called you the Ice Maiden. Never knew that, did you?” sneered Nanny.
    “I wouldn’t sully my lips by sayin’ what they called you,” shouted Granny.
    “Oh yes?” shrieked Nanny. “Well, let me tell you, my good woman—”
    “Don’t you dare talk to me in that tone of voice! I’m not anyone’s good woman—”
    “ Right !”
    There was another silence while they stared at one another, nose to nose, but this silence was a whole quantum level of animosity higher than the last one; you could have roasted a turkey in the heat of this silence. There was no more shouting. Things had got far too bad for shouting. Now the voices came in low and full of menace.
    “I should have known better than to listen to Magrat,” growled Granny. “This coven business is