Wyrd Sisters

Granny’s mouth. She gave a stiff little bow in return, because she wasn’t quite sure what “doyenne” meant.
    “I’m her,” she conceded.
    “You can get up now,” she added, regally.
    King Verence remained kneeling, about two inches above the actual ground.
    “I crave a boon,” he said urgently.
    “Here, how did you get out of the castle?” said Granny.
    “The esteemed Nanny Ogg assisted me,” said the king. “I reasoned, if I am anchored to the stones of Lancre, then I can also go where the stones go. I am afraid I indulged in a little trickery to arrange matters. Currently I am haunting her apron.”
    “Not the first, either,” said Granny, automatically.
    “Esme!”
    “And I beg you, Granny Weatherwax, to restore my son to the throne.”
    “Restore?”
    “You know what I mean. He is in good health?”
    Granny nodded. “The last time we Looked at him, he was eating an apple,” she said.
    “It is his destiny to be King of Lancre!”
    “Yes, well. Destiny is tricky, you know,” said Granny.
    “You will not help?”
    Granny looked wretched. “It’s meddling, you see,” she said. “It always goes wrong if you meddle in politics. Like, once you start, you can’t stop. Fundamental rule of magic, is that. You can’t go around messing with fundamental rules.”
    “You’re not going to help?”
    “Well…naturally, one day, when your lad is a bit older…”
    “Where is he now?” said the king, coldly.
    The witches avoided one another’s faces.
    “We saw him safe out of the country, you see,” said Granny awkwardly.
    “Very good family,” Nanny Ogg put in quickly.
    “What kind of people?” said the king. “Not commoners, I trust?”
    “Absolutely not,” said Granny with considerable firmness as a vision of Vitoller floated across her imagination. “Not common at all. Very uncommon. Er.”
    Her eyes implored Magrat for help.
    “They were Thespians,” said Magrat firmly, her voice radiating such approval that the king found himself nodding automatically.
    “Oh,” he said. “Good.”
    “Were they?” whispered Nanny Ogg. “They didn’t look it.”
    “Don’t show your ignorance, Gytha Ogg,” sniffed Granny. She turned back to the ghost of the king. “Sorry about that, your majesty. It’s just her showing off. She don’t even know where Thespia is .”
    “Wherever it is, I hope that they know how to school a man in the arts of war,” said Verence. “I know Felmet. In ten years he’ll be dug in here like a toad in a stone.”
    The king looked from witch to witch. “What kind of kingdom will he have to come back to? I hear what the kingdom is becoming, even now. Will you watch it change, over the years, become shoddy and mean?” The king’s ghost faded.
    His voice hung in the air, faint as a breeze.
    “Remember, good sisters,” he said, “the land and the king are one.”
    And he vanished.
    The embarrassed silence was broken by Magrat blowing her nose.
    “One what?” said Nanny Ogg.
    “We’ve got to do something,” said Magrat, her voice choked with emotion. “Rules or no rules!”
    “It’s very vexing,” said Granny, quietly.
    “Yes, but what are you going to do?” she said.
    “Reflect on things,” said Granny. “Think about it all.”
    “You’ve been thinking about it for a year,” Magrat said.
    “One what? Are one what?” said Nanny Ogg.
    “It’s no good just reacting,” said Granny. “You’ve got to—”
    A cart came bouncing and rumbling along the track from Lancre. Granny ignored it.
    “—give these things careful consideration.”
    “You don’t know what to do, do you?” said Magrat.
    “Nonsense. I—”
    “There’s a cart coming, Granny.”
    Granny Weatherwax shrugged. “What you youngsters don’t realize—” she began.
    Witches never bothered with elementary road safety. Such traffic as there was on the roads of Lancre either went around them or, if this was not possible, waited until they moved out of the way. Granny Weatherwax had grown up knowing this for a fact; the only reason she didn’t die knowing that it wasn’t was that Magrat, with rather better reflexes, dragged her into the ditch.
    It was an interesting ditch. There were jiggling corkscrew things in it which were direct descendants of things which had been in the primordial soup of creation. Anyone who thought that ditchwater was dull could have spent an instructive half-hour in that ditch with a powerful microscope. It also had nettles in it,