Wyrd Sisters

Her face was pale. It might also have been drawn; if so, then it was by a very neurotic artist. She looked as though she meant business. Bad business.

'Light the fire, Magrat,' she added automatically.

'I daresay we'll all feel better for a cup of tea,' said Nanny Ogg, mouthing the words like a mantra. She fumbled in the recesses of her shawl. 'With something in it,' she added, producing a small bottle of applejack.

'Alcohol is a deceiver and tarnishes the soul,' said Magrat virtuously.

'I never touch the stuff,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'We should keep a clear head, Gytha.'

'Just a drop in your tea isn't drinking,' said Nanny. 'It's medicine. It's a chilly old wind up here, sisters.'

'Very well,' said Granny. 'But just a drop.'

They drank in silence. Eventually Granny said, 'Well, Magrat. You know all about the coven business. We might as well do it right. What do we do next?'

Magrat hesitated. She wasn't up to suggesting dancing naked.

'There's a song,' she said. 'In praise of the full moon.'

'It ain't full,' Granny pointed out. 'It's wossname. Bulging.'

'Gibbous,' said Nanny obligingly.

'I think it's in praise of full moons in general,' Magrat hazarded. 'And then we have to raise our consciousness. It really ought to be full moon for that, I'm afraid. Moons are very important.'

Granny gave her a long, calculating look.

'That's modern witchcraft for you, is it?' she said.

'It's part of it, Granny. There's a lot more.'

Granny Weatherwax sighed. 'Each to her own, I suppose. I'm blowed if I'll let a ball of shiny rock tell me what to do.'