Shawn had never been privy to what queens wore under their clothes, but even starting with certain observations concerning Millie Chillum and working his way up, he'd never considered metal underwear.
Magrat thumped the breastplate.
“Fairly good fit,” she said, defying Shawn to point out that in certain areas there was quite a lot of air between the metal and Magrat. “Not that a few tucks and a rivet here and there wouldn't help. Don't you think it looks good?”
were some distant clankings, and then a twang.
“Miss Magrat?”
“Ask her,” said the elf, “if there is any food and water in there.”
“Miss, they say-”
One of the elves jerked him away. Two of them took up station either side of the doorway, and one put his pointed ear to it.
Then it knelt down and peered through the keyhole, taking care not to come too near the metal of the lock.
There was a sound no louder than a click. The elf remained motionless for a moment, and then keeled over gently, without a sound.
Shawn blinked.
There was about an inch of crossbow bolt sticking out of its eye. The feathers had been sheared off by its passage through the keyhole.
“Wow,” he said.
The armoury door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness.
One of the elves started to laugh.
“So much for him,” it said. “How stupid . . . Lady? Will you listen to your warrior?”
He gripped Shawn's broken arm, and twisted.
Shawn tried not to scream. Purple lights flashed in front of his eyes. He wondered what would happen if he passed out.
He wished his mum was here.
“Lady,” said the elf, “if you-”
“All right,” said Magrat's voice, from somewhere in the darkness. “I'm going to come out. You must promise not to hurt me.”
“Oh, indeed I do, lady.”
“And you'll let Shawn go.”
“Yes.”
The elves on either side of the doorway nodded at each other.
“Please?” Magrat pleaded.
“Yes.”
Shawn groaned. If it had been Mum or Mistress Weatherwax, they'd have fought to the death. Mum was right - Magrat always was the nice soft one . . .
. . . who'd just fired a crossbow through a keyhole.
Some eighth sense made Shawn shift his weight. If the elf relaxed his grip for just one second, Shawn was ready to stagger.