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'Blow me down,' said Nanny Ogg. 'I never would have thought of that.'
On the floor was a large orange pumpkin.
'It was nothing,' said Magrat, risking a touch of pride.
'Hah! That's one coach that'll never roll again,' said Nanny.
'Hey . . . can you do that to the horses too?' said Granny.
Magrat shook her head. 'Urn, I think that would be very cruel.'
'You're right. You're right,' said Granny. 'No excuse for cruelty to dumb animals.'
The two stallions watched her with equine curiosity as she undid the loose-box gates.
'Off you go,' she said. 'Big green fields out there somewhere.' She glanced momentarily at Magrat. 'You have been em-horse-sipated.'
This didn't seem to have much effect.
Granny sighed. She climbed up onto the wooden wall that separated the boxes, reached up, grabbed a horse ear in either hand, and gently dragged their heads down level with her mouth.
She whispered something.
The stallions turned and looked one another in the eye.
Then they looked down at Granny.
She grinned at them, and nodded.
Then . . .
It is impossible for a horse to go instantly from a standing start to a gallop, but they almost managed it.
'What on earth did you say to them?' said Magrat.
'Mystic horseman's word,' said Granny. 'Passed down to Gytha's Jason, who passed it up to me. Works every time.'
'He told you it?' said Nanny.
'Yes.'
'What, all of it?'
'Yes,' said Granny, smugly.
Magrat tucked the wand back into her belt. As she did so, a square of white material fell on to the floor.
White gems and silk glimmered in the candlelight as she reached down hurriedly to pick it up, but there wasn't a lot that escaped Granny Weatherwax.
She sighed.
'Magrat Garlick . . .' she began.
'Yes,' said Magrat meekly. 'Yes. I know. I'm a wet hen.'
Nanny patted her gently on the shoulder.
'Never mind,' she said. 'We've done a good night's work here. That Ella has about as much chance of being sent to the ball tonight as I have of ... of becoming queen.'
