She stepped to the comer and stabbed in one movement. There was a triumphant hiss which turned into a screech as the wood scraped down the side of the waiting elfs neck. It reeled away Magrat bolted for the nearest doorway, weeping in panic, and wrenched at the handle. It swung open. She darted through, slammed the door, flailed in the dark for the bars, felt them clonk home, and collapsed on to her knees.
Something hit the door outside.
After a while Magrat opened her eyes, and then wondered if she really had opened her eyes, because the darkness was no less dark. There was a feeling of space in front of her. There were all sorts of things in the castle, old hidden rooms, anything . . . there could be a pit there, there could be anything. She fumbled for the doorframe, guided herself upright, and then groped cautiously in the general direction of the wall.
There was a shelf. This was a candle. And this was a bundle of matches.
So, she insisted above her own heartbeat, this was a room that got used recently. Most people in Lancre still used tinderboxes. Only the king could afford matches all the way from Ankh-Morpork. Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg got them too, but they didn't buy them. They got given them. It was easy to get given things, if you were a witch.
Magrat lit the stub of candle, and turned to see what kind of room she'd scuttled into.
o;But there's almost a hundred guests and everyone from the town, practically. Elves couldn't do anything to them.”
“They wouldn't have to, miss.” Shawn went to the unglazed window. “Look, miss. I can drop down on to the granary in the stable yard from here. It's thatch, I'll be all right. Then I can sneak around the kitchens and out by the little gate by the hubward tower with military precision.”
“What for?”
“To get help, miss.”
“But you don't know if there's any help to get.”
“Can you think of anything else, miss?”
She couldn't.
“It's very . . . brave of you, Shawn,” said Magrat.
“You stay here and you'll be right as rain,” said Shawn. “Tell you what. . . How about if I lock the door and take the key with me? Then even if they sing at you they can't get you to open the door.”
Magrat nodded.
Shawn tried to smile. “Wish we had another suit of mail,” he said. “But it's all in the armoury.”
“I'll be fine,” said Magrat. “Off you go, then.”
Shawn nodded. He waited for a moment on the window ledge, and then dropped into the darkness.
Magrat pushed the bed against the door and sat on it.
It occurred to her that she should have gone as well. But that would mean leaving the castle empty, and that didn't feel right.
Besides, she was scared.
There was one candle in the room, and that was half burned down. When it was gone, there'd be nothing but the moonlight. Magrat had always liked moonlight. Up to now.
It was quiet outside. There should be the noises of the town.
It crept over her that letting Shawn go away with a key to the door was not a wholly sensible thing, because if they caught him they could open-
There was a scream, which went on for a long time.
And then the night rolled back in again.
After a few minutes there was a scrabbling at the lock, such as might be made by someone trying to manipulate a key held in several thicknesses of cloth, so as not to come into contact with the iron.
The door began to open, and wedged up against the bed.
“Will you not step outside, lady?”