'Hai?' she said.
Hurker the poacher took a step backwards. He was already rather shaken. An angry wolf had trailed him part of the way through the forest.
'Um,' he said. He leaned forward, his shock changing to concern. 'Have you hurt your head, Miss?'
She looked at him in incomprehension. Then realization dawned. She reached up and took off the headband with the chrysanthemum pattern on it, without which it is almost impossible to properly seek cosmic wisdom by twisting an opponent's elbows through 360 degrees.
'No,' she said. 'What do you want?'
'Got a package for you,' said Hurker, presenting it.
It was about two feet long, and very thin.
'There's a note,' said Hurker helpfully. He shuffled around as she unfolded it, and tried to read it over her shoulder.
'It's private,' said Magrat.
'Is it?' said Hurker, agreeably.
'Yes!'
'I was tole you'd give me a penny for delivering it,' said the poacher. Magrat found one in her purse.
'Money forges the chains which bind the labouring classes,' she warned, handing it over. Hurker, who had never thought of himself as a labouring class in his life, but who was prepared to listen to almost any amount of gibberish in exchange for a penny, nodded innocently.
'And I hope your head gets better, Miss,' he said.
When Magrat was left alone in her kitchen-cum-dojo she unwrapped the parcel. It contained one slim white rod.
She looked at the note again. It said, 'I niver had time to Trane a replaysment so youll have to Do. You must goe to the city of Genua. I would of done thys myself only cannot by reason of bein dead. Ella Saturday muste NOTTE marry the prins. PS This is importent.'
She looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked down at the note again.
'PSPS Tell those 2 Olde Biddys they are Notte to come with Youe, they will onlie Ruine everythin.'
There was more.
'PSPSPS It has tendincy to resett to pumpkins but you will gett the hange of it in noe time.'
Magrat looked at the mirror again. And then down at the wand.
One minute life is simple, and then suddenly it stretches away full of complications.
'Oh, my,' she said. 'I'm a fairy godmother!'
Granny Weatherwax was still standing staring at the crazily-webbed fragments when Nanny Ogg ran in.
'Esme Weatherwax, what have you done? That's bad luck, that is ... Esme?'
'Her? Her?'
'Are you all right?'
Granny Weatherwax screwed up her eyes for a moment, and then shook her head as if trying to dislodge an unthinkable thought.
'What?'