Witches Abroad (Discworld 12)

'That's a ... nice name,' said Ella, politely. 'Of course, you know mine. Mind you, I spend so much time cooking over this wretched thing now that Mrs Pleasant calls me Embers. Silly, isn't it.'

Emberella, thought Magrat. I'm fairy godmothering a girl who sounds like something you put up in the rain.

* Two logs and hope.

'It could use a little work,' she conceded.

'I haven't the heart to tell her off, she thinks it sounds jolly,' she said. 'I think it sounds like something you put up in the rain.'

'Oh, I wouldn't say that,' said Magrat. 'Uh. Who's Mrs Pleasant?'

'She's the cook at the palace. She comes around to cheer me up when they're out. . .'

Ella spun around, holding the blackened kettle like a weapon.

'I'm not going to that ball!' she snapped. 'I'm not going to marry the prince! Do you understand?'

The words came out like steel ingots.

'Right! Right!' said Magrat, taken aback by their force.

'He looks slimy. He makes my flesh crawl,' said Embers darkly. 'They say he's got funny eyes. And everyone knows what he does at night!'

Everyone bar one, Magrat thought. No-one ever tells me...

Aloud, she said: 'Well, it shouldn't be too much to arrange. I mean, normally it's marrying princes that's the hard bit.'

'Not for me it isn't,' said Embers. 'It's all been arranged. My other godmother says I've got to do it. She says it's my destiny.'

'Other godmother?' said Magrat.

'Everyone gets two,' said Ella. 'The good one and the bad one. You know that. Which one are you?'

Magrat's mind raced.

'Oh, the good one,' she said. 'Definitely.'

'Funny thing,' said Ella. 'That's just what the other one said, too.'

Granny Weatherwax sat in her special knees-clenched, elbows-in way that put as little as possible of herself in contact with the outside world.

'By gor', this is good stuff,' said Nanny Ogg, polishing her plate with what Granny could only hope was bread. 'You ought to try a drop, Esme.'

'Another helping, Mrs Ogg?' said Mrs Gogol.

'Don't mind if I do, Mrs Gogol.' Nanny nudged Granny in the ribs. 'It's really good, Esme. Just like stew.'

Mrs Gogol looked at Granny with her head on one side.

'I think perhaps Mistress Weatherwax isn't worried about the food,' she said. 'I think Mistress Weatherwax is worried about the service.'

A shadow loomed over Nanny Ogg. A grey hand took her plate away.

Granny Weatherwax gave a little cough.

'I've got nothing against dead people,' she said. 'Some of my best friends are dead. It just don't seem right, though, dead people walking about.'

Nanny Ogg looked up at the figure even now ladling a third helping of mysterious liquid on to her plate.