“You daft old besom!” she hissed. “What've you been doing!”
“I had to-”
“You've been up at the Stones, haven't you! Trying to hold back the Gentry.”
“Of course,” said Granny. Her voice wasn't faint. She wasn't swaying. But her voice wasn't faint and she wasn't swaying. Nanny Ogg could see, because Granny Weatherwax's body was in the grip of Granny Weatherwax's mind.
“Someone's got to,” she added.
“You could have come and asked me!”
“You'd have talked me out of it.”
Nanny Ogg leaned forward.
“You all right, Esme?”
“Fine! I'm fine! Nothing wrong with me, all right?”
“Have you had any sleep at all?” she said.
“Well-”
“You haven't, have you? And then you think you can just stroll down here and confound this girl, just like that?”
“I don't know,” said Granny Weatherwax.
Nanny Ogg looked hard at her.
“You don't, do you?” she said, in a softer tone of voice. “Oh, well . . . you better sit down here, before you fall down. Suck an orange. They'll be here in a few minutes.”
“No she won't,” said Granny “She'll be late.”
“How d'you know?”
“No good making an entrance if everyone isn't there to see you, is it? That's headology.”
In fact the young coven arrived at twenty past twelve, and took up station on the steps of the market pentangle on the other side of the square.
“Look at 'em,” said Granny Weatherwax. “All in black, again.”
“Well, we wear black too,” said Nanny Ogg the reasonable.
“Only 'cos it's respectable and serviceable,” said Granny morosely. “Not because it's romantic. Hah. The Lords and Ladies might as well be here already.”
After some eye contact. Nanny Ogg ambled across the square and met Perdita in the middle. The young would-be witch looked worried under her makeup. She held a black lace handkerchief in her hands, and was twisting it nervously.
“Morning, Mrs. Ogg,” she said.
“Afternoon, Agnes.”
“Um. What happens now?”
Nanny Ogg took out her pipe and scratched her ear with it.
“Dunno. Up to you, I suppose.”
“Diamanda says why does it have to be here and now?”