Magrat couldn't help noticing that Diamanda was strikingly good-looking and, from what she'd heard, quite brave enough to stand up to Granny Weatherwax. She could hardly wait to get her better so that she could envy her properly.
The wound seemed to be healing up nicely, but there seemed to be -
Magrat strode to the bellpull in the comer and hauled on it.
After a minute or two Shawn Ogg arrived, panting. There was gold paint on his hands.
“What,” said Magrat, “are all these things?”
“Um. Don't like to say, ma'am . . .”
“One happens to be . . . very nearly . . . the queen,” said Magrat.
“Yes, but the king said . . . well. Granny said-”
“Granny Weatherwax does not happen to rule the kingdom,” said Magrat. She hated herself when she spoke like this, but it seemed to work. “And anyway she's not here. One is here, however, and if you don't tell one what's going on I'll see to it that you do all the dirty jobs around the palace.”
“But I do all the dirty jobs anyway,” said Shawn.
“I shall see to it that there are dirtier ones.”
Magrat picked up one of the bundles. It was made up of strips of sheet wrapped around what turned out to be an iron bar.
“They're all around her,” she said. “Why?”
Shawn looked at his feet. There was gold paint on his boots, too.
“Well, our mum said . . .”
“Yes?”
“Our mum said I was to see to it that there was iron round her. So me and Millie got some bars from down the smithy and wrapped 'em up like this and Millie packed 'em round her.”
“Why?”
“To keep away the . . . the Lords and Ladies, ma'am.”
“What? That's just old superstition! Anyway, everyone knows elves were good, whatever Granny Weatherwax says.”
Behind her, Shawn flinched. Magrat pulled the wrapped iron lumps out of the bed and tossed them into the comer.
“No old wives' tales here, thank you very much. Is there anything else people haven't been telling me, by any chance?”
Shawn shook his head, guiltily aware of the thing in the dungeon.
“Huh! Well, go away. Verence wants the kingdom to be modem and efficient, and that means no horseshoes and stuff around the place. Go on, go away.”
“Yes, Miss Queen.”
At least I can do something positive around here, Magrat told herself.
Yes. Be sensible. Go and see him. Talk. Magrat clung to the idea that practically anything could be sorted out if only people talked to one another.
“Shawn?”
He paused at the door.
“Yes, ma'am?”