Wyrd Sisters

'Seen 'em,', said Nanny. 'Leastways, all the ones beginning with P, S, I, T and W.'

'Then let us see how long you can keep that light conversational tone. Light the brazier, Felmet,' snapped the duchess.

'Light the brazier, Fool,' said the duke.

The Fool moved slowly. He hadn't expected any of this. Torturing people hadn't been on his mental agenda. Hurting old ladies in cold blood wasn't his cup of tea, and actually hurting witches in blood of any temperature whatsoever failed to be an entire twelve-course banquet. Words, he'd said. All this probably came under the heading of sticks and stones.

'I don't like doing this,' he murmured under his breath.

'Fine,' said Nanny Ogg, whose hearing was superb. 'I'll remember that you didn't like it.'

'What's that?' said the duke sharply.

'Nothing,' said Nanny. 'Is this going to take long? I haven't had breakfast.'

The Fool lit a match. There was the faintest disturbance in the air beside him, and it went out. He swore, and tried another. This time his shaking hands managed to get it as far as the brazier before it, too, flared and darkened.

'Hurry up, man!' said the duchess, laying out a tray of tools.

'Doesn't seem to want to light—' muttered the Fool, as another match became a fluttering streak of flame and then went out.

The duke snatched the box from his trembling fingers and caught him across the cheek with a handful of rings.

'Can no orders of mine be obeyed?' he screamed. 'Infirm of purpose! Weak! Give me the box!'

The Fool backed away. Someone he couldn't see was whispering things he couldn't quite make out in his ear.

'Go outside,' hissed the duke, 'and see that we are not disturbed!'

The Fool tripped over the bottom step, turned and, with a last imploring look at Nanny, scampered through the door He capered a little bit, out of force of habit.

'The fire isn't completely necessary,' said the Duchess. 'It merely assists. Now, woman, will you confess?'

'What to?' said Nanny.

'It's common knowledge. Treason. Malicious witchcraft. Harbouring the king's enemies. Theft of the crown—'

A tinkling noise made them look down. A blood-stained dagger had fallen off the bench, as though someone had tried to pick it up but just couldn't get the strength together. Nanm heard the king's ghost swear under'its breath, or what would have been its breath.

'—and spreading false rumours,' finished the duchess.

'—salt in my food—' said the duke, nervously, staring at the bandages on his hand. He kept getting the feeling that there was a fourth person in the dungeon.

'If you do confess,' said the duchess, 'you will merely be burned at the stake. And, please, no humorous remarks.'

'What false rumours?'

The duke closed his eyes, but the visions were still there 'Concerning the accidental death of the late King Verence.' he whispered hoarsely. The air swirled again.

Nanny sat with her head cocked to one side, as though listening to a voice only she could hear. Except that the duke was certain that he could hear something too, not exactly a voice, something like the distant sighing of the wind.

'Oh, I don't know nothing false,' she said. 'I know you stabbed him, and you gave him the dagger. It was at the top of the stairs.' She paused, head cocked, nodded, and added, 'Just by the suit of armour with the pike, and you said, "If it's to be done, it's better if it's done quickly", or something, and then you snatched the king's own dagger, the very same what is now lying on the floor, out of his belt and—'

'You lie! There were no witnesses. We made . . . there was nothing to witness! I heard someone in the dark, but there was no-one there! There couldn't have been anyone seeing anything!' screamed the duke. His wife scowled at him.

'Do shut up, Leonal,' she said. 'I think within these four walls we can dispense with that sort of thing.'

'Who told her? Did you tell her?'

'And calm down. No-one told her. She's a witch, for goodness sake, they find out about these things. Second glance, or something.'

'Sight,' said Nanny.