“Don't know, miss. Seems they just freeze up, kind of thing.”
“Drop the portcullis after I'm through.”
“Miss-”
“Are you going to tell me not to go?”
“But-”
“Shut up, then.”
“But-”
“I remember a folksong about a situation just like this,” said Magrat. “This girl had her fiance stolen by the Queen of the Elves and she didn't hang around whining, she jolly well got on her horse and went and rescued him. Well, I'm going to do that too.”
Shawn tried to grin.
“You're going to sing7” he said.
“I'm going to fight. I've got everything to fight for, haven't I? And I've tried everything else.”
Shawn wanted to say: but that's not the same! Going and fighting when you're a real person isn't like folksongs! In real life you die! In folksongs you just have to remember to keep one finger in your ear and how to get to the next chorus! In real life no one goes wack-fol-a-diddle-di-do-sing-too-rah-li-ay!
But he said:
“But, miss, if you don't come back-”
Magrat turned in the saddle.
“I'll be back.”
Shawn watched her urge the sluggish horse into a trot and disappear over the drawbridge.
“Good luck!” he shouted.
Then he lowered the portcullis and went back into the keep, where there were three loaded crossbows on the kitchen table.
There was also the book on martial arts that the king had sent for specially.
He pumped up the fire, turned a chair to face the door, and turned to the Advanced Section.
Magrat was halfway down the road to the square when the adrenaline wore off and her past life caught up with her.
She looked down at the armour, and the horse, and thought: I'm out of my mind.
It was that bloody letter. And I was frightened. I thought I'd show everyone what I'm made of. And now they'll probably find out: I'm made of lots of tubes and greeny purple wobbly bits.
I was just lucky with those elves. And I didn't think. As soon as I think, I get things wrong. I don't think I'll be that lucky again . . .
Luck?
She thought wistfully of her bags of charms and talismans at the bottom of the river. They'd never really worked, if her life was anything to go by, but maybe - it was a horrible thought - maybe they'd just stopped it getting worse.
There were hardly any lights in the town, and a lot of the houses had their shutters up.
The horse's hooves clattered loudly on the cobbles.
Magrat peered into the shadows. Once, they'd just been shadows. Now they could be gateways to anything.