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An Argument of Witches
THROUGH THE UNBARRED door, Lord Lankin creeps into a crumbling old manor house. Up the creaky stairs, snuffing out the candles in the sconces as he passes, he opens an unbolted door and prowls into a nursery, where a young nursemaid rocking a cradle looks up, gazes into his eyes, and then pulls a sharp pin from her basket . . .
Sitting in the Great Hall at Lancre Castle with their allies and friends, Tiffany and the witches of Lancre contemplated the construction of a battle plan.
It had taken some effort to get everyone there and settled down. Geoffrey had done a marvellous job rounding up reinforcements from all over, flying hours in every direction with Tiffany’s message, to every witch she could name.
Even blind Mrs Happenstance and Long Tall Short Fat Sally had turned up, with Mrs Proust from Ankh-Morpork. And there was a group of younger witches too: Annagramma Hawkin, Petulia Gristle, Dimity Hubbub, Harrieta Bilk and others. Under Queen Magrat’s watchful eye, Letitia ticked them off Tiffany’s list as they arrived.
Having a queen backing you up was a good thing, Tiffany thought, as Mrs Earwig came in and started bossing everyone around – Magrat swiftly put a stop to that, for even Mrs Earwig found that she couldn’t argue with royalty. But dealing with witches all together was like carrying a tray full of marbles. Witches were very good at rubbing one another up the wrong way, and little feuds turned up and went away and disappeared and started again. It was silly and everybody knew it, but they couldn’t help themselves.
Geoffrey came into his own on occasions like this. Whenever bickering broke out, he was there with the perfect word or a sympathetic smile. Seeing his calm-weaving doing its subtle work was a joy, Tiffany thought. You could almost see the calm coming out of his ears.
‘Ladies,’ Tiffany said, calling the meeting to order. ‘Here’s the problem. The elves are back again, this time in force. And if we don’t stop them soon, things will get very bad indeed. I know some of you have encountered elves before’ – she looked at Nanny Ogg and Magrat – ‘but many of you have not. They are a formidable foe.’
Nightshade was standing at the side of the hall, almost too demure in her dairymaid’s dress. She didn’t seem very formidable, but a few of the older witches were eyeing her as though they had just encountered a bad smell.
Mrs Earwig tutted and looked as though she was about to say something, but Petulia got there first. ‘Tiff, are you sure that it’s wise to have an elf here listening to this?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you worry, my girl,’ Nanny Ogg said. ‘If our little friend tries anything, there will be fireworks and no mistake. Certainly no more elf!’
‘The last time this happened, didn’t the King of the Elves intervene?’ Annagramma Hawkin asked, looking at Nanny Ogg.
‘He did indeed, but he almost didn’t. Tiffany’s been to see him already, and it seems Old Horny ain’t interested,’ Nanny answered. ‘Can’t rely on him in any case.’
‘Time moves differently in his realm,’ Tiffany explained. ‘Even if he did decide to do something, it might be now, or next month or next year.’
‘What about the wizards?’ asked another witch. ‘Why aren’t they here?’
Nanny snorted. ‘Ha! That lot. By the time they got a spell ready, the elves would be over the Ramtops and far away.’ She adjusted her position and sniffed. ‘No, this is witches’ business. Them wizards have all got their bums on chairs and their noses stuck in books.’ She said this last word with a sideways glance at Mrs Earwig who was, of course, known for her love of writing.fn1
Magrat cut in quickly. ‘We also have all the support of Lancre that Verence and I can muster.’
‘Well, that’s my Shawn,’ said Nanny with satisfaction. Shawn Ogg was the army of Lancre, as well as its bottle-washer, butler, gardener, trumpeter and – a role Shawn would have liked to lose – the man who checked the garderobes and removed all the night waste. ‘And I reckons our Jason can provide us with a few horseshoes. Being as he’s the blacksmith,’ Nanny added for those who might not know.
Geoffrey coughed. ‘I’ve been working on a few ideas with some of the older gentlemen,’ he said softly. ‘We have . . . something I think might be useful.’
‘And there’s Hodgesaa
rgh,’ said Magrat. Hodgesaargh – the royal falconer – was a surprising asset, since elven glamour didn’t seem to work on him, probably because he spent so much time with his beloved birds that a part of his brain was a falcon by now, and hence unprepared to share space with any other predator. It was generally believed that this was also what stopped the birds from pecking out his eyeballs.
Mrs Earwig laughed confidently. ‘So what is the problem, may I ask? There are plenty of us here. Surely more than enough for a few elves.’ She looked scornfully at Nightshade.
Nanny Ogg exploded. ‘No, there’s not enough of us! How many witches have we here?’ She looked around the room. ‘Ten, twelve mebbe – more if you includes Geoffrey and Letitia, and the young girls still training – but only half of us bein’ senior witches what has much real experience. The elves are sneaky. They’ll have the glamour on you afore you knows it. They come quietly – like a silent but deadly fart – and they get you before you can pinch your nose. Even Esme Weatherwax could barely withstand the power. She fought hard, and you all remember what she was like. They didn’t get past her – but it was a close thing. Ladies, these ’ere elves are horrible. We’re right to be fearful. They do . . . things to you. Get at you.’
‘It happened to me too,’ said Magrat. ‘The glamour makes you feel small and worthless. Those of us who have faced it before can’t warn the rest of you enough.’
‘I fear you are exaggerating. There’s nothing glamorous about that,’ Mrs Earwig said scornfully, pointing at Nightshade.
‘Well, you’ve certainly never met no fairy. If’n you had, you would have scars,’ Nanny spat. She had turned an interesting colour and Tiffany intervened quickly before sparks really began to fly.
‘Ladies, ladies, I think it would be useful to have a little demonstration of the power of an elf. Nightshade, would you be prepared to give us a taste of your glamour?’
There was a collective intake of breath as the assembled witches realized what Tiffany was suggesting.
‘Be careful, Nightshade. Very careful. Those of us who have met the glamour before will keep an eye on you. I sincerely hope that we won’t have a problem.’
And Nightshade smiled – not a particularly pleasant smile, Tiffany noticed.
