“Thank you, y'grace.”
“No one even dances for me now. Is that too much to ask?”
“Just as you say, y'lordship.”
“You witches don't believe in me anymore.”
“Right again, your homishness.”
“Ah, little Mrs. Ogg - and how, having got in here, do you possibly think you are going to get out?” said the slumped one.
“Because I have iron,” said Nanny, her voice suddenly sharp.
“Of course you have not, little Mrs. Ogg. No iron can enter this realm.”
“I have the iron that goes everywhere,” said Nanny.
She took her hand out of her apron pocket, and held up a horseshoe.
Casanunda heard scuffles around him, as the hidden elves fought to get out of the way More steam hissed up as a brazier of hot stones was overturned.
“Take it away!”
“I'll take it away when I go,” said Nanny. “Now you listen to me. She's making trouble again. You've got to put a stop to it. Fair's fair. We're not having all the Old Trouble again.”
“Why should I do that?”
“You want her to be powerful, then?”
There was a snort.
“You can't ever rule again, back in the world,” said Nanny. “There's too much music. There's too much iron.”
“Iron rusts.”
“Not the iron in the head.”
The King snorted.
“Nevertheless . . . even that. . . one day . . .”
“One day.” Nanny nodded. “Yes. I'll drink to that. One day. Who knows? One day. Everyone needs 'one day.' But it ain't today. D'you see? So you come on out and balance things up. Otherwise, this is what I'll do. I'll get 'em to dig into the Long Man with iron shovels, y'see, and they'll say, why, it's just an old earthworks, and pensioned-off wizards and priests with nothin' better to do will pick over the heaps and write dull old books about burial traditions and such-like, and that'll be another iron nail in your coffin. And I'd be a little bit sorry about that, 'cos you know I've always had a soft spot for you. But I've got kiddies, y'see, and they don't hide under the stairs because they're frit of the thunder, and they don't put milk out for the elves, and they don't hurry home because of the night, and before we go back to them dark old ways I'll see you nailed.”
The words sliced through the air.
The homed man stood up. And further up. His antlers touched the roof.
Casanunda's mouth dropped open.
“So you see,” said Nanny, subsiding, “not today. One day, maybe. You just stay down here and sweat it out 'til One Day. But not today.”
“I. . . will decide.”
“Very good. You decide. And I'll be getting along.”
The homed man looked down at Casanunda.
“What are you staring at, dwarf?”