“Oh, yes. Yes, I did.”
“It ought to have arrived by now.”
“Well, we only get a mail coach once a week. I expect it'll come tomorrow. I'm fed up with running down there every week in case Shawn gets there first.”
“You are king. You could tell him not to.”
“Don't like to, really. He's so keen.”
A large log crackled into two across the iron dogs.
“Can you really get books about. . . that?”
“You can get books about anything.”
They both stared at the fire. Verence thought: she doesn't like being a queen, I can see that, but that's what you are when you marry a king, all the books say so . . .
And Magrat thought: he was much nicer when he was a man with silver bells on his hat and slept every night on the floor in front of his master's door. I could talk to him then . . .
Verence clapped his hands together.
“Well, that's about it, then. Busy day tomorrow, what with all the guests coming and everything.”
“Yes. It's going to be a long day.”
“Very nearly the longest day. Haha.”
“Yes.”
“I expect they've put warming pans in our beds.”
“Has Shawn got the hang of it now?”
“I hope so. I can't afford any more mattresses.”
It was a great hall. Shadows piled up in the corners, clustered at either end.
“I suppose,” said Magrat, very slowly, as they stared at the fire, “they haven't really had many books here in Lancre. Up until now.”
“Literacy is a great thing.”
“They got along without them, I suppose.”
“Yes, but not properly. Their husbandry is really very primitive.”
Magrat looked at the fire. Their wifery wasn't up to much either, she thought.
“So we'd better be off to bed, then, do you think?”
“I suppose so.”
Verence took down two silver candlesticks, and lit the candles with a taper. He handed one to Magrat.
“Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.”
They kissed, and turned away, and headed for their own rooms.