Wyrd Sisters

Granny had said, This is no time for half measures. If you have to, seduct him .
    “When’s this play going to be, then?” she said, moving closer.
    “Marry, I’m sure I’m not allowed to tell you,” said the Fool. “The duke said to me, he said, don’t tell the witches that it’s tomorrow night.”
    “I shouldn’t, then,” agreed Magrat.
    “At eight o’clock.”
    “I see.”
    “But meet for sherry beforehand at seven-thirty, i’faith.”
    “I expect you shouldn’t tell me who is invited, either,” said Magrat.
    “That’s right. Most of the dignitaries of Lancre. You understand I’m not telling you this.”
    “That’s right,” said Magrat.
    “But I think you have a right to know what it is you’re not being told.”
    “Good point. Is there still that little gate around the back, that leads to the kitchens?”
    “The one that is often left unguarded?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh, we hardly ever guard it these days.”
    “Do you think there might be someone guarding it at around eight o’clock tomorrow?”
    “Well, I might be there.”
    “Good.”
    The Fool pushed away the wet nose of an inquisitive cow.
    “The duke will be expecting you,” he added.
    “You said he said we weren’t to know.”
    “He said I mustn’t tell you. But he also said, ‘They’ll come anyway, I hope they do.’ Strange, really. He seemed in a very good mood when he said it. Um. Can I see you after the show?”
    “Is that all he said?”
    “Oh, there was something about showing witches their future. I didn’t understand it. I really would like to see you after the show, you know. I brought—”
    “I think I might be washing my hair,” said Magrat vaguely. “Excuse me, I really ought to be going.”
    “Yes, but I brought you this pres—” said the Fool vaguely, watching her departing figure.
    He sagged as she disappeared between the trees, and looked down at the necklace wound tightly between his nervous fingers. It was, he had to admit, terribly tasteless, but it was the sort of thing she liked, all silver and skulls. It had cost him too much.
    A cow, misled by his horns, stuck its tongue in his ear.
    It was true, the Fool thought. Witches did do unpleasant things to people, sometimes.

    Tomorrow night came, and the witches went by a roundabout route to the castle, with considerable reluctance.
    “If he wants us to be here, I don’t want to go,” said Granny. “He’s got some plan. He’s using headology on us.”
    “There’s something up,” said Magrat. “He had his men set fire to three cottages in our village last night. He always does that when he’s in a good mood. That new sergeant is a quick man with the matches, too.”
    “Our Daff said she saw them actors practicin’ this morning,” said Nanny Ogg, who was carrying a bag of walnuts and a leather bottle from which rose a rich, sharp smell. “She said it was all shouting and stabbing and then wondering who done it and long bits with people muttering to themselves in loud voices.”
    “Actors,” said Granny, witheringly. “As if the world weren’t full of enough history without inventing more.”
    “They shout so loud, too,” said Nanny. “You can hardly hear yourself talk.” She was also carrying, deep in her apron pocket, a lump of haunted castle rock. The king was getting in free.
    Granny nodded. But, she thought, it was going to be worth it. She hadn’t got the faintest idea what Tomjon had in mind, but her inbuilt sense of drama assured her that the boy would be bound to do something important. She wondered if he would leap off the stage and stab the duke to death, and realized that she was hoping like hell that he would.
    “All hail wossname,” she said under her breath, “who shall be king here, after.”
    “Let’s get a move on,” said Nanny. “All the sherry’ll be gone.”
    The Fool was waiting despondently inside the little wicket gate. His face brightened when he saw Magrat, and then froze in an expression of polite surprise when he saw the other two.
    “There’s not going to be any trouble, is there?” he said. “I don’t want there to be any trouble. Please.”
    “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Granny regally, sweeping past.
    “Wotcha, jinglebells,” said Nanny, elbowing the man in the ribs. “I hope you haven’t been keeping our girl here up late o’nights!”
    “Nanny!” said Magrat, shocked. The Fool gave the terrified, ingratiating rictus of young men everywhere when