Wyrd Sisters

graciousness,” said Nanny Ogg. She turned and observed the crowding ghosts behind him, who hadn’t been granted the privilege of sitting at, or partly through, the kitchen table.
    “But you lot can bugger off back to the outhouse,” she said. “The cheek! Except the kiddies, they can stay,” she added. “Poor little mites.”
    “I am afraid it feels so good to be out of the castle,” said the king.
    Granny Weatherwax yawned.
    “Anyway,” she said, “we’ve got to find the boy now. That’s the next step.”
    “We shall look for him directly after lunch.”
    “Lunch?”
    “It’s chicken,” said Nanny. “And you’re tired. Besides, making a decent search will take a long time.”
    “He’ll be in Ankh-Morpork,” said Granny. “Mark my words. Everyone ends up there. We’ll start with Ankh-Morpork. You don’t have to search for people when destiny is involved, you just wait for them in Ankh-Morpork.”
    Nanny brightened up. “Our Karen got married to an innkeeper from there,” she said. “I haven’t seen the baby yet. We could get free board and everything.”
    “We needn’t actually go. The whole point is that he should come here . There’s something about that city,” said Granny. “It’s like a drain.”

    “It’s five hundred miles away!” said Magrat. “You’ll be away for ages!”
    “I can’t help it,” said the Fool. “The duke’s given me special instructions. He trusts me.”
    “Huh! To hire more soldiers, I expect?”
    “No. Nothing like that. Not as bad as that.” The Fool hesitated. He’d introduced Felmet to the world of words. Surely that was better than hitting people with swords? Wouldn’t that buy time? Wouldn’t it be best for everybody, in the circumstances?
    “But you don’t have to go! You don’t want to go!”
    “That doesn’t have much to do with it. I promised to be loyal to him—”
    “Yes, yes, until you’re dead. But you don’t even believe that! You were telling me how much you hated the whole Guild and everything!”
    “Well, yes. But I still have to do it. I gave my word.”
    Magrat came close to stamping her foot, but didn’t sink so low.
    “Just when we were getting to know one another!” she shouted. “You’re pathetic!”
    The Fool’s eyes narrowed. “I’d only be pathetic if I broke my word,” he said. “But I may be incredibly ill-advized. I’m sorry. I’ll be back in a few weeks, anyway.”
    “Don’t you understand I’m asking you not to listen to him?”
    “I said I’m sorry. I couldn’t see you again before I go, could I?”
    “I shall be washing my hair,” said Magrat stiffly.
    “When?”
    “Whenever!”

    Hwel pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted wearily at the wax-spattered paper.
    The play wasn’t going at all well.
    He’d sorted out the falling chandelier, and found a place for a villain who wore a mask to conceal his disfigurement, and he’d rewritten one of the funny bits to allow for the fact that the hero had been born in a handbag. It was the clowns who were giving him trouble again. They kept changing every time he thought about them. He preferred them in twos, that was traditional, but now there seemed to be a third one, and he was blowed if he could think of any funny lines for him.
    His quill moved scratchily over the latest sheet of paper, trying to catch the voices that had streamed through his dreaming mind and had seemed so funny at the time.
    His tongue began to stick out of the corner of his mouth. He was sweating.
    This iss My Little Study , he wrote. Hey, with a Little Study youe could goe a Long Way. And I wishe youed start now. Iffe You can’t leave yn a Cab then leave yn a Huff. Iff thates too soone, thenn leave yn a minute and a Huff. Say, have you Gott a Pensil? A crayon ?—
    Hwel stared at this in horror. On the page it looked nonsensical, ridiculous. And yet, and yet, in the thronged auditorium of his mind…
    He dipped the quill in the inkpot, and chased the echoes further.
    Seconde Clown: Atsa right, Boss .
    Third Clowne : [business with bladder on stick] Honk. Honk .
    Hwel gave up. Yes, it was funny, he knew it was funny, he’d heard the laughter in his dreams. But it wasn’t right. Not yet. Maybe never. It was like the other idea about the two clowns, one fat, one thin… Thys ys amain Dainty Messe youe have got me into, Stanleigh …He had laughed until his chest ached, and the rest of the company had looked at him in astonishment. But in his dreams it