'There's some old oil in the can on the shelf, Magrat,' said Nanny.
'If I simply tell you—' the demon began.
'Yes?' said Granny, encouragingly.
'You won't let on, will you?' it implored.
'Not a word,' promised Granny.
'Lips are sealed,' said Magrat.
'There is nothing new in the kingdom,' said the demon, 'but the land has woken up.'
'What do you mean?' said Granny.
'It's unhappy. It wants a king that cares for it.'
'How—' Magrat began, but Granny waved her into silence.
'You don't mean people, do you?' she said. The glistening head shook. 'No, I didn't think so.'
'What—' Nanny began. Granny put a finger to her lips.
She turned and walked to the washhouse's window, a dusty spiderweb graveyard of faded butterfly wings and last summer's bluebottles. A faint glow beyond the frosted panes suggested that, against all reason, a new day would soon dawn.
'Can you tell us why?' she said, without turning round. She'd felt the mind of a whole country . . .
She was rather impressed.
'I'm just a demon. What do I know? Only what is, not the why and how of it.'
'I see.'
'May I go now?'
'Um?'
'Please?'
Granny jerked upright again.
'Oh. Yes. Run along,' she said distractedly. 'Thank you.'
The head didn't move. It hung around, like a hotel porter who has just carried fifteen suitcases up ten flights of stairs, shown everyone where the bathroom is, plumped up the pillows, and feels he has adjusted all the curtains he is going to adjust.
'You wouldn't mind banishing me, would you?' said the demon, when no-one seemed to be taking the hint.
'What?' said Granny, who was thinking again.
'Only I'd feel better for being properly banished. “Run along” lacks that certain something,' said the head.
'Oh. Well, if it gives you any pleasure. Magrat!'
'Yes?' said Magrat, startled.
Granny tossed the copper stick to her.
'Do the honours, will you?' she said.