Verence waved his hands in the air.

"I'm still learning about monarchy," he said. "I don't understand this stuff."

"You don't have to understand. You're a king. Listen. You know about weak places in the world? Where it joins other worlds?"

"No."

"There's one up on the moor. That's why the Dancers were put up around it. They're a kind of wall."

"But sometimes the barriers between worlds is weaker, see? Like tides. At circle time."

"Ah."

"And if people act stupidly then, even the Dancers can't keep the gateway shut. 'Cos where the world's thin, even the wrong thought can make the link."

"Ah."

Verence felt the conversation had orbited back to that area where he could make a contribution.

"Stupidly?" he said.

"Calling them. Attracting them."

"Ah. So what do I do?"

"Just go on reigning. I think we're safe. They can't get through. I've stopped the girls, so there'll be no more channeling. You keep this one firmly under lock and key, and don't tell Magrat. No sense in worrying her, is there? Something came through, but I'm keeping an eye on it."

Granny rubbed her hands together in grim satisfaction.

"I think I've got it sorted," she said.

She blinked.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"What did I just say?" she said.

"Uh. You said you thought you'd got it sorted," said the king.

Granny Weatherwax blinked.

"That's right," she said. "I said that. Yes. And I'm in the castle, aren't I? Yes."

"Are you all right. Mistress Weatherwax?" said the king, his voice taut with sudden worry.

"Fine, fine. Fine. In the castle. And the children are all right, too?"

"Sorry?"

She blinked again.

"What?"

"You don't look well. . ."

Granny screwed up her face and shook her head. "Yes. The castle. I'm me, you're you, Gytha's upstairs with Magrat. That's right." She focused on the king. "Just a bit of . . . of overtiredness there. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about at all."

Nanny Ogg looked doubtfully at Magrat's preparation.

"A mouldy bread poultice doesn't sound very magical to me," she said.

"Goodie Whemper used to swear by it. But I don't know what we can do about the coma."

Magrat thumbed hopefully through the crackling, ancient pages. Her ancestral witches had written things down pretty much as they occurred to them, so that quite important spells and observations would be interspersed with comments about the state of their feet.

"It says here 'The smalle pointy stones sometimes found are knowne as Elf-shot, beinge the heads of Elf arrows from Times Past.' " That's all I can find. And there's a drawing. But I've seen these little stones around, too."

"Oh, there's lots of them," said Nanny, bandaging Diamanda's shoulder. "Dig 'em up all the time, in my garden."

"But elves don't shoot people! Elves are good."

"They probably just fired at Esme and the girl in fun, like?"

"But-"

"Look, dear, you're going to be queen. It's an important job. You look after the king now, and let me and Esme look after . . . other stuff."

"Being Queen? It's all tapestry and walking around in unsuitable dresses! I know Granny. She doesn't like anything that's . . . that's got style and grace. She's so sour."

"I daresay she's got her reasons," said Nanny amiably. "Well, that's got the girl patched up. What shall we do with her now?"

"We've got dozens of spare bedrooms," said Magrat, "and they're all ready for the guests. We can put her in one of them. Um. Nanny?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to be a bridesmaid?"

"Not really, dear. Bit old for that sort of thing." Nanny hovered. "There isn't anything you need to ask me, though, is there?"

"What do you mean?"

"What with your mum being dead and you having no female relatives and everything. . ."

Magrat still looked puzzled.

"After the wedding, is what I'm hinting about," said Nanny.

"Oh, that. No, most of that's being done by a caterer. The cook here isn't much good at canapes and things."

Nanny looked carefully at the ceiling.

"And what about after that?" she said. "If you catch my meaning."

"I'm getting a lot of girls in to do the clearing up. Look, don't worry. I've thought of everything. I wish you and Granny wouldn't treat me as if I don't know anything."

Nanny coughed. "Your man," she said. "Been around a bit, I expect? Been walking out with dozens of young women, I've no doubt."

"Why do you say that? I don't think he has. Fools don't have much of a private life and, of course, he's been very busy since he's been king. He's a bit shy with girls."

Nanny gave up.

"Oh, well," she said, "I'm sure you'll work it all out as you-"

Granny and the king reappeared.

"How's the girl?" said Granny.

"We took out the arrow and cleaned up the wound, anyway," said Magrat. "But she won't wake up. Best if she stays here."

"You sure?" said Granny. "She needs keeping an eye on. I've got a spare bedroom."

"She shouldn't be moved," said Magrat, briskly.

"They've put their mark on her," said Granny. "You sure you know how to deal with it?"

"I do know it's quite a nasty wound," said Magrat, briskly.

"I ain't exactly thinking about the wound," said Granny. "She's been touched by them is what I mean. She's-"

"I'm sure I know how to deal with a sick person," said Magrat. "I'm not totally stupid, you know."

"She's not to be left alone," Granny persisted.

"There'll be plenty of people around," said Verence. "The guests start arriving tomorrow."

"Being alone isn't the same as not having other people around," said Granny.

"This is a castle. Granny."

"Right. Well. We won't keep you, then," said Granny. "Come, Gytha."

Nanny Ogg helped herself to an elderly lamb chop from under one of the silver covers, and waved it vaguely at the royal pair.

"Have fun," she said. "Insofar as that's possible."

"Gytha!"

"Coming."

Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.

Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.

Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.

Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.

Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.

Elves are terrific. They beget terror.

The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.

No one ever said elves are nice.

Elves are bad.

"Well, that's it," said Nanny Ogg, as the witches walked out over the castle's drawbridge. "Well done, Esme."

"It ain't over," said Granny Weatherwax.

"You said yourself they can't get through now. No one else round here's going to try any magic at the stones, that's sure enough."

"Yes, but it'll be circle time for another day or so yet. Anything could happen."

"That Diamanda girl's out of it, and you've put the wind up the others," said Nanny Ogg, tossing the lamb bone into the dry moat. "Ain't no one else going to call 'em, I know that."

"There's still the one in the dungeon."

"You want to get rid of it?" said Nanny. "I'll send our Shawn to King Ironfoundersson up at Copperhead, if you like. Or I could hop on the old broomstick meself and go and drop the word to the Mountain King. The dwarfs and trolls'll take it off our hands like a shot. No more problem."

Granny ignored this.

"There's something else," she said. "Something we haven't thought of. She'll still be looking for a way."

They'd reached the town square now. She surveyed it. Of course, Verence was king and that was right and proper, and this was his kingdom and that was right and proper too. But in a deeper sense the kingdom belonged to her. And to Gytha Ogg, of course. Verence's writ only ran to the doings of mankind; even the dwarfs and trolls didn't acknowledge him as king, although they were very polite about it. But when it came to the trees and the rocks and the soil. Granny Weatherwax saw it as hers. She was sensitive to its moods.