what?"
Shawn suddenly felt frightened. He'd been scared before, but it had been immediate and physical. But Magrat, like this, frightened him more than the elves. It was like being charged by a sheep.
“No, miss?” he said.
“No one told me about her. You'd think it's all tapestry and walking around in long dresses!”
“What, miss?”
Magrat waved an arm expressively.
“All this!”
“Miss!” said Shawn, from knee level.
Magrat looked down.
“What?”
“Please put the axe down!”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Hodgesaargh spent his nights in a little shed adjoining the mews. He too had received an invitation to the wedding, but it had been snatched from his hand and eaten in mistake for one of his fingers by Lady Jane, an ancient and evil-tempered gyrfalcon. So he'd gone through his usual nightly routine, bathing his wounds and eating a meal of stale bread and ancient cheese and going to bed early to bleed gently by candlelight over a copy of Beaks and Talons.
He looked up at a sound from the mews, picked up the candlestick, and wandered out.
An elf was looking at the birds. It had Lady Jane perched on its arm.
Hodgesaargh, like Mr. Brooks, didn't take much interest in events beyond his immediate passion. He was aware that there were a lot of visitors in the castle and, as far as he was concerned, anyone looking at the hawks was a fellow enthusiast.
“That's my best bird,” he said proudly. “I've nearly got her trained. She's very good. I'm training her. She's very intelligent. She knows eleven words of command.”
The elf nodded solemnly. Then it slipped the hood off the bird's head, and nodded toward Hodgesaargh.
“Kill,” it commanded.
Lady Jane's eyes glittered in the torchlight. Then she leapt, and hit the elf full in the throat with two sets of talons and a beak.
“She does that with me, too,” said Hodgesaargh. “Sorry about that. She's very intelligent.”
* * *
Diamanda was lying on the kitchen floor, in a pool of blood. Magrat knelt beside her.
“She's still alive. Just.” She grabbed the hem of her dress, and tried to rip it.
“Damn the thing. Help me, Shawn.”
“Miss?”
“We need bandages!”
“But-”
“Oh, stop gawping.”
The skirt tore. A dozen lace roses unravelled.