While he led the singing, with the aid of a long stick and the words of the hymns scrawled on the side of his tent, he scanned his... well, he decided to call it his congregation. It was his first real one. There were plenty of women, and a lot of very well scrubbed men, but one face was patently not there. Its absence dominated the scene.
But, as he raised his eyes upwards in mid-song, he did notice an eagle far overhead, a mere speck gyrating across the darkening sky, possibly hunting for lost lambs.
And then it was over and people left, quietly, with the look of those who'd done a job which had not been unpleasant but which was nevertheless over. The collection plate produced two pennies, some carrots, a large onion, a small loaf, a pound of mutton, a jug of milk and a pickled pig's trotter.
'We're not really a cash economy,' said King Verence, stepping forward. He had a bandage across his forehead.
'Oh, it'll make a good supper, sire,' said Oats, in the madly cheerful voice that people use when addressing royalty.
'Surely you'll dine with us?' said Magrat.
'I... er... was planning to leave at first light, sire. So I really ought to spend the evening packing and setting fire to the camp bed.'
'Leaving? But I thought you were staying here. I've taken... community soundings,' said the King, 'and I think I can say that popular opinion is with me on this.'
Oats looked at Magrat's face, which said plainly, Granny doesn't object.
'Well, I, er... I expect I shall pass through again, sire,' he said. 'But... to tell you the truth, I was thinking of heading on to Uberwald.'
'That's a hellish place, Mr Oats.'
'I've thought about it all day, sire, and I'm set on it.'
'Oh.' Verence looked nonplussed, but kings learn to swing back upright. 'I'm sure you know your own mind best.' He swayed slightly as Magrat's elbow grazed his ribs. 'Oh... yes... we heard you lost your, er, holy amulet and so this afternoon we, that is to say the Queen and Miss Nitt... got Shawn Ogg to make this in the mint...'
Oats unwrapped the black velvet scroll. Inside, on a golden chain, was a small golden doubleheaded axe.
He stared at it.
'Shawn isn't very good at turtles,' said Magrat, to fill the gap.
'I shall treasure it,' said Oats, at last.
'Of course, we appreciate it's not very holy,' said the King.
Oats waved a hand dismissively. 'Who knows, sire? Holiness is where you find it,' he said.
Behind the King, Jason and Darren Ogg were standing respectfully to attention. Both still had plasters stuck across their noses. They moved aside hurriedly to make way for the King, who didn't seem to notice.
Nanny Ogg struck a chord on the harmonium when the royal couple had departed with their retinue.
'If you, drop in to our Jason's forge first thing when you're leavin' I'll see to it he fixes the bellows on this contraption,' she said diffidently, and Oats realized that in the context of Nanny Ogg this was as close as he was going to get to three rousing cheers and the grateful thanks of the population.
'I was so impressed that everyone turned up of their own free will,' he said. 'Spontaneously, as it were.'
'Don't push your luck, sonny boy,' said Nanny, getting up.
'Nice to have met you, Mrs Ogg.'
Nanny walked away a few steps, but Oggs never left anything unsaid.
'I can't say as I approve of you,' she said, stiffly. 'But should you ever come knockin' on an Ogg door in these parts you'll... get a hot meal. You're too skinny. I've seen more meat on a butcher's pencil.'
'Thank you.'
'Not necessarily puddin' as well, mark you.'
'Of course not.'