They had broken in somewhere. She could feel it in the trees, in the minds of tiny animals. She was planning something. Something soon. There was of course nothing special about midsummer in the occult sense, but there was in the minds of people. And the minds of people was where eleves were strong.
Granny knew that sooner or later she'd have to face the Queen. Not Magrat, but the real Queen.
And she would lose.
She'd worked all her life on controlling the insides of her own head. She'd prided herself on being the best there was.
But no longer. Just when she needed all her self reliance, she couldn't rely on her mind. She could sense the probing of the Queen - she could remember the feel of that mind, from all those decades ago. And she seemed to have her usual skill at Borrowing. But herself - if she didn't leave little notes for herself, she'd be totally at sea. Being a witch meant knowing exactly who you were and where you were, and she was losing the ability to know both. Last night she'd found herself setting the table for two people. She'd tried to walk into a room she didn't have. And soon she'd have to fight an elf.
If you fought an elf and lost. . . then, if you were lucky, you would die.
Magrat was brought breakfast in bed by a giggling Millie
Chillum.
“Guests are arriving already, ma'am. And there's flags and everything down in the square! And Shawn has found the coronation coach!”
“How can you lose a coach?” said Magrat.
“It was locked up in one of the old stables, ma'am. He's giving it a fresh coat of gold paint right now.”
“But we're going to be married here,” said Magrat. “We don't have to go anywhere.”
“The king said perhaps you could both ride around a bit. Maybe as far as Bad Ass, he said. With Shawn Ogg as a military escort. So people can wave and shout hooray. And then come back here.”
Magrat put on her dressing gown and crossed to the tower window. She could see down over the outer walls and into Lancre town square, which was already quite full of people. It would have been a market day in any case, but people were erecting benches as well and the Maypole was already up. There were even a few dwarfs and trolls, politely maintaining a distance from one another.
lly felt moved to investigate.
“The Librarian,” he repeated.
“Yes. You said.” Shawn nodded at the orang-utan. “How d'you do?”
“Ook.”
“You might be wondering why he looks like that,” Ridcully prompted.
“No, sir.”
“No?”
“My mum says none of us can help how we're made,” said Shawn.
“What a singular lady. And what is her name?” said
Ridcully.
“Mrs. Ogg, sir.”
“Ogg? Ogg? Name rings a bell. Any relation to Sobriety Ogg?”
“He was my dad, sir.”
“Good grief. Old Sobriety's son? How is the old devil?”
“Dunno, sir, what with him being dead.”
“Oh dear. How long ago?”