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'Look, I said you won't have to go!' said Magrat.
She looked thoughtful.
'There isn't someone else you'd rather marry, is there?' she said.
'No. I don't know many people. I don't get much chance.'
'Good,' said Magrat. 'That makes it easier. I suggest we get you out of here and - and take you somewhere else.'
'There isn't anywhere else. I told you. There's just swamp. I tried once or twice, and they sent the coachmen after me. They weren't unkind. The coachmen, I mean. They're just afraid. Everyone's afraid. Even the Sisters are afraid, I think.'
Magrat looked around at the shadows.
'What of?' she said.
'They say that people disappear. If they upset the Duc. Something happens to them. Everyone's very polite in Genua,' said Ella sourly. 'And no-one steals and no-one raises their voice and everyone stays indoors at night, except when it's Fat Tuesday.' She sighed. 'Now that's something I'd like to go to. To the carnival. They always make me stay in, though. But I hear it passing through the city and I think: that's what Genua ought to be. Not a few people dancing in palaces, but everyone dancing in the streets.'
Magrat shook herself. She felt a long way from home.
'I think perhaps I might need a bit of help with this one,' she said.
'You've got a wand,' said Ella.
'I think there's times when you need more than a wand,' said Magrat. She stood up.
'But I'll tell you this,' she said. 'I don't like this house. I don't like this city. Emberella?'
'Yes?'
'You won't go to the ball. I'll make sure of that - '
She turned around.
'I told you,' murmured Ella, looking down. 'You can't even hear them.'
One of the sisters was at the top of the steps leading into the kitchen. Her gaze was fixed immovably on Magrat.
They say that everyone has the attributes of some kind of animal. Magrat possibly had a direct mental link to some small furry creature. She felt the terror of all small rodents in the face of unblinking death. Modulated over the menace of the gaze were all sorts of messages: the uselessness of flight, the stupidity of resistance, the inevitability of oblivion.
She knew she could do nothing. Her legs weren't under her control. It was as if commands were coming straight down that stare and into her spinal cord. The sense of helplessness was almost peaceful . . .
'Blessings be upon this house.'
The sister spun around much faster than any human should be able to move.
Granny Weatherwax pushed open the door. 'Oh deary me,' she thundered, 'and lawks.'
'Yeah,' said Nanny Ogg, crowding through the doorway behind her. 'Lawks too.'
'We're just a couple of old beggar women,' said Granny, striding across the floor.
'Begging from house to house,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Not coming directly here by any manner o' means.'
They each caught one of Magrat's elbows and lifted her off her feet.
Granny turned her head.
'What about you, Miss?'
