'I didn't expect anyone to say it!' Magrat hissed.
'I just wanted to make sure she didn't end up with "Magrat'!'
Mightily Oats was standing with his eyes cast upwards and his hands clasped together. Occasionally he made a whimpering sound.
'We can change it, can't we?' said King Verence. 'Where's the Royal Historian?'
Shawn coughed. 'It's not Wednesday evening and I'll have to go and fetch the proper hat, sire-'
'Can we change it or not, man?'
'Er... it has been said, sire. At the official time. I think it's her name now, but I'll need to go and look it up. Everyone heard it, sire.'
'No, you can't change it,' said Nanny, who as the Royal Historian's mum took it as read that she knew more than the Royal Historian. 'Look at old Moocow Poorchick over in Slice, for one.'
'What happened to him, then?' said the King sharply.
'His full name is James What The Hell's That Cow Doing In Here Poorchick,' said Magrat.
'That was a very strange day, I do remember that,' said Nanny.
'And if my mother had been sensible enough to tell Brother Perdore my name instead of coming over all bashful and writing it down, life would have been a whole lot different,' said Magrat. She glanced nervously at Verence. 'Probably worse, of course.'
'So I've got to take Esmerelda out to her people and tell them one of her middle names is Note Spelling?' said Verence.
'Well, we did once have a king called My God He's Heavy the First,' said Nanny. 'And the beer's been on for the last couple of hours so, basic'ly, you'll get a cheer whatever you say.'
Besides, thought Agnes, I know for a fact there's people out there called Syphilidae Wilson and Yodel Lightley and Total Biscuit.[10]
Verence smiled. 'Oh well... let me have her...'
'Whifm...' said Mightily Oats.
'... and perhaps someone ought to give this man a drink.'
'I'm so terribly, terribly sorry,' whispered the priest, as the King walked between the lines of guests.
'Been on the drink already, I expect,' said Nanny.
'I never ever touch alcohol!' moaned the priest. He dabbed at his streaming eyes with a handkerchief.
'I knew there was something wrong with you as soon as I looked at you,' said Nanny. 'Where's Esme, then?'
'I don't know, Nanny!' said Agnes.
'She'd know about this, you mark my words. This'll be a feather in her cap, right enough, a princess named after her. She'll be crowing about it for months. I'm going to see what's going on.'
She stumped off.
Agnes grabbed the priest's arm.
'Come along, you,' she sighed.
'I really cannot, um, express how sorry-'
'It's a very strange evening all round.'
'I've, I've, I've never, um, heard of the custom before-'