“But I hardly touched him,” he said, to no one except himself.
“-And I kissed her in the shrubbery where the nightingales sing it, you bastards! Two, three!”
They didn't know where they were. They didn't know where they'd been. They were not fully certain who they were. But the Lancre Morris Men had reached some sort of state now where it was easier to go on than stop. Singing attracted elves, but singing also fascinated them . . .
The dancers whirled and hopped, gyrated and skipped along the paths. They pranced through isolated hamlets, where elves left whoever they were torturing to draw closer in the light of the burning buildings. . .
“'With a WACK foladiddle-di-do, sing too-rah-li-ay!'”
Six sticks did their work, right on the beat.
“Where're we goin', Jason?”
“I reckon we've gone down Slippery Hollow and're circling back toward the town,” said Jason, hopping past Baker. “Keep goin'. Carter!”
“The rain's got in the keys, Jason!”
“Don't matter! They don't know the difference! It's good enough for folk music!”
“I think I broke my stick on that last one, Jason!”
“Just you keep dancing, Tinker! Now, lads . . . how about Gathering Peasecods? We might as well get some practice in, since we're here . . .”
“There's some people up ahead,” said Tailor, as he skipped past, “I can see torches an' that.”
“Human, two, three, or more elves?”
“Dunno!”
Jason spun and danced back.
“Is that you, our Jason?”
Jason cackled as the voice echoed among the dripping trees.
“It's our mam! And our Shawn. And - and lots of people! We've made it, lads!”
“Jason,” said Carter.
“Yes?”
“I ain't sure I can stop!”
The Queen examined her face in a mirror attached to the tent pole.
“Why?” said Granny. “What is it you see?”
“Whatever I want to see,” said the Queen. “You know that. And now . . . let us ride to the castle. Tie her hands together. But leave her legs free.”
It rained again, gently, although around the stones it turned to sleet. The water dripped off Magrat's hair and temporarily unraveled the tangles.
Mist coiled out from among the trees where summer and winter fought.
Magrat watched the elven court mount up. She made out the figure of Verence, moving like a puppet. And Granny Weatherwax, tied behind the Queen's horse by a long length of rope.
The horses splashed through the mud. They had silver bells on their harness, dozens of them.
The elves in the castle, the night of ghosts and shadows, all of this was just a hard knot in her memory. But the jingling of the bells was like a nailfile rubbed across her teeth.