You needed a special technique for that, Nanny reasoned; for example, you couldn't say things like 'Who died and made you King?', because they'd know. 'You and whose army?' was another difficult one, although in this case Verence's army consisted of Shawn and a troll and was unlikely to be a serious threat to Shawn's own mother if he wanted to be allowed to eat his tea indoors.

She pulled Agnes to one side as the procession reached the top of the big staircase and Shawn went on ahead.

'We'll get a good view from the minstrel gallery,' she hissed, dragging Agnes into the king oak structure just as the trumpet began the royal fanfare.

'That's my boy,' she added proudly, when the final flourish caused a stir.

'Yes, not many royal fanfares end with "shave and a haircut, no legs"[7],' said Agnes.

'Puts people at their ease, though,' said Shawn's loyal mum.

Agnes looked down at the throng and caught sight of the priest again. He was moving through the press of guests.

'I found him, Nanny,' she said. 'He didn't make it hard, I must say. He won't try anything in a crowd, will he?'

'Which one is it?'

Agnes pointed. Nanny stared, and then turned to her.

'Sometimes I think the weight of that damn crown is turning Verence's head,' she said. 'I reckon he really doesn't know what he's lettin' into the kingdom. When Esme gets here she's going to go through this priest like cabbage soup.'

By now the guests had got themselves sorted out on either side of the red carpet that began at the bottom of the stairs. Agnes glanced up at the royal couple, waiting awkwardly, just out of sight, for the appropriate moment to descend, and thought: Granny Weatherwax says you make your own right time. They're the royal family. All they need to do is walk down the stairs and it'd be the right time. They're doing it wrong.

Several of the Lancre guests were glancing at the big double doors, shut for this official ceremony. They'd be thrown open later, for the more public and enjoyable part, but right now they looked...

... like doors that would soon creak back and frame a figure against the firelight.

She could see the image so clearly.

The exercises Granny had reluctantly given her were working, Perdita thought.

There was a hurried conversation among the royal party and then Millie hurried back up the stairs and towards the witches.

'Mag- the Queen says, is Granny Weatherwax coming or not?' she panted.

'Of course she is,' said Nanny.

'Only, well, the King's getting a bit... upset. He said it did say RSVP on the invitation,' said Millie, trying not to meet Nanny eye to eye.

'Oh, witches never reservups,' said Nanny. 'They just come.'

Millie put her hand in front of her mouth and gave a nervous little cough. She glanced wretchedly towards Magrat, who was making frantic hand signals.

'Only, well, the Queen says we'd better not hold things up, so, er, would you be godmother, Mrs Ogg?'

The wrinkles doubled on Nanny's face as she smiled.

'Tell you what,' she said brightly. 'I'll come and sort of stand in until Granny gets here, shall I?'

Once again, Granny Weatherwax paced up and down in the spartan greyness of her kitchen. Occasionally she'd glance at the floor. There was quite a gap under the door, and sometimes things could be blown anywhere. But she'd already searched a dozen times. She must've got the cleanest floor in the country by now. Anyway, it was too late.

Even so... Uberwald...[8]

She strode up and down a few more times.

'I'll be blowed if I'll give 'em the satisfaction,' she muttered.

She sat down in her rocking chair, stood up again so quickly that the chair almost fell over, and went back to the pacing.

'I mean, I've never been the kind of person to put myself forward,' she said to the air. 'I'm not the sort to go where I'm not welcome, I'm sure.'

She went to make a cup of tea, fumbling with the kettle with shaking hands, and dropped the lid of her sugar bowl, breaking it.

A light caught her eye. The half moon was visible over the lawn.

'Anyway, it's not as if I've not got other things to do,' she said. 'Can't all be rushing off to parties the whole time... wouldn't have gone anyway.'

She found herself flouncing around the corners of the floor again and thought: if I'd found it, the Wattley boy would have knocked at an empty cottage. I'd have gone and enjoyed meself. And John Ivy'd be sitting alone now...

'Drat!'

That was the worst part about being good — it caught you coming and going.

She landed in the rocking chair again and pulled her shawl around her against the chill. She hadn't kept the fire in. She hadn't expected to be at home tonight.

Shadows filled the corners of the room, but she couldn't be bothered to light the lamp. The candle would have to do.

As she rocked, glaring at the wall, the shadows lengthened.

Agnes followed Nanny down into the hall. She probably wasn't meant to, but very few people will argue with a hat of authority.

Small countries were normal along this part of the Ramtops. Every glacial valley, separated from its neighbours by a route that required a scramble or, at worst, a ladder, more or less ruled itself. There seemed to Agnes to be any number of kings, even if some of them did their ruling in the evenings after they'd milked the cows. A lot of them were here, because a free meal is not to be sneezed at. There were also some senior dwarfs from Copperhead and, standing well away from them, a group of trolls. They weren't carrying weapons, so Agnes assumed they were politicians. Trolls weren't strictly subjects of King Verence, but they were there to say, in official body language, that playing football with human heads was something no one did any more, much. Hardly at all, really. Not roun' here, certainly. Dere's practic'ly a law against it.

The witches were ushered to the area in front of the thrones, and then Millie scurried away.

The Omnian priest nodded at them.

'Good, um, evening,' he said, and completely failed to set fire to anyone. He wasn't very old and had a rather ripe boil beside his nose. Inside Agnes, Perdita made a face at him.

Nanny Ogg grunted. Agnes risked a brief smile. The priest blew his nose noisily.

'You must be some of these, um, witches I've heard so much about,' he said. He had an amazing smile. It appeared on his face as if someone had operated a shutter. One moment it wasn't there, the next moment it was. And then it was gone.

'Um, yes,' said Agnes.

'Hah,' said Nanny Ogg, who could haughtily turn her back on people while looking them in the eye.

'And I am, I am, aaaa...' said the priest. He stopped, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Oh, I am sorry. The mountain air doesn't agree with me. I am the Quite Reverend Mightily Oats.'

'You are?' said Agnes. To her amazement, the man began to redden. The more she looked at him, the more she realized that he wasn't much older than she was.

'That is, Mightily-Praiseworthy-Are-Ye-Who-ExaltethOm Oats,' he said. 'It's much shorter in Omnian, of course. Have you by any chance heard the Word of Om?'

'Which one? "Fire"?' said Nanny Ogg. 'Hah!'

The nascent religious war was abruptly cut short by the first official royal fanfare to end with a few bars from the 'Hedgehog Cakewalk'. The royal couple began to descend the stairs.

'And we'll have none of your heathen ways, thank you very much,' muttered Nanny Ogg behind the pastor. 'No sloshing water or oil or sand around or cutting any bits off and if I hears a single word I understand, well, I'm standing behind you with a pointy stick.'[9]

From the other side he heard, 'He's not some kind of horrible inquisitor, Nanny!'