Lords And Ladies

"You're as old as you feel, that's what I always say."

"That's what I mean."

Na

"Supposing Magrat'd been here," said Gra

"Well, she's safe in the castle," said Na

"At least the thing about queening," said Gra

"S'fu

"I ain't going to kowtow to her, mind," said Gra

"You never kowtow to anyone anyway," said Na

"That's right!" said Gra

Na

Gra

"Old Toekley's girl, eh?"

"That's right."

"Her mother was a Keeble, wasn't she? Fine woman, as I recall."

"Yeah, but when she died the old man sent her off to Sto Lat to school."

"Don't hold with schools," said Gra

"We were too busy makin' our own entertainment."

"Right. Come on – we ain't got much time."

"What d'you mean?"

"It's not just the girls. There's something out there, too. Some kind of mind, movin' around."

Gra

Na

There was a mind moving around in the kingdom, and Gra

She Borrowed. You had to be careful. It was like a drug. You could ride the minds of animals and birds, but never bees, steering them gently, seeing through their eyes. Gra

. . . through the eyes of gnats, seeing the slow patterns of time in the fast pattern of one day, their minds travelling rapidly as lightning . . .

. . . to listen with the body of a beetle, so that the world is a three-dimensional pattern of vibrations . . .

. . . to see with the nose of a dog, all smells now colours . . .

But there was a price. No one asked you to pay it, but the very absence of demand was a moral obligation. You tended not to swat. You dug lightly. You fed the dog. You paid. You cared; not because it was kind or good, but because it was right. You left nothing but memories, you took nothing but experience.

But this other roving intelligence . . . it'd go in and out of another mind like a chainsaw, taking, taking, taking. She could sense the shape of it, the predatory shape, all cruelty and cool unkindness; a mind full of intelligence, that'd use other living things and hurt them because it was fun.

She could put a name to a mind like that.

Elf.

Branches thrashed high in the trees.

Gra

"The Lords and Ladies are trying to find a way," said Gra

"What thing?"

"You know what a bat's eyesight is like. Just a big shape is all it saw. Something killed old Scrope. It's still around. Not an . . . not one o' the Lords and Ladies," said Gra

Na

•"Ain't you scared?" she said.

Gra

"No. But I hope it is."

"Ooo, it's true what they say. You're a prideful one, Esmerelda Weatherwax."

"Who says that?"

"Well, you did. Just now."

"I wasn't feeling well."

Other people would probably say: I wasn't myself. But Gra

The two witches hurried on through the gale.

From the shelter of a thorn thicket, the unicorn watched them go.

Diamanda Tockley did indeed wear a floppy black velvet hat. It had a veil, too.

Perdita Nitt, who had once been merely Agnes Nitt before she got witchcraft, wore a black hat with a veil too, because Diamanda did. Both of them were seventeen. And she wished she was naturally ski

They'd done the Raising of the Cone of Power, and some candle magic, and some scrying. Now Diamanda was showing them how to do the cards.

She said they contained the distilled wisdom of the Ancients. Perdita had found herself treacherously wondering who these Ancients were – they clearly weren't the same as old people, who were stupid, Diamanda said, but she wasn't quite clear why they were wiser than, say, modem people.

Also, she didn't understand what the Feminine Principle was. And she wasn't too clear about this I

And she wished she could do her eyes like Diamanda did.

And she wished she could wear heels like Diamanda did.

Amanita DeVice had told her that Diamanda slept in a real coffin.

She wished she had the nerve to have a dagger-and-skull tattoo on her arm like Amanita did, even if it was only in ordinary ink and she had to wash it off every night in case her mother saw it.

A tiny, nasty voice from Perdita's i

Or Perdita, for that matter.

And it said that maybe Perdita shouldn't meddle with things she didn't understand.

The trouble was, she knew, that this meant nearly everything.

She wished she could wear black lace like Diamanda did.

Diamanda got results.

Perdita wouldn't have believed it. She'd always known about witches, of course. They were old women who dressed like crows, except for Magrat Garlick, who was frankly mental and always looked as if she was going to burst into tears. Perdita remembered Magrat bringing a guitar to a Hogswatchnight party once and singing wobbly folk songs with her eyes shut in a way that suggested that she really believed in them. She hadn't been able to play, but this was all right because she couldn't sing, either. People had applauded because, well, what else could you do?

But Diamanda had read books. She knew about stuff. Raising power at the stones, for one thing. It really worked.

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