'It's true, is that,' said Nanny Ogg, earnestly. 'How many times have you thrown a magic ring into the deepest depths of the ocean and then, when you get home and have a nice bit of turbot for your tea, there it is?'
They considered this in silence.
'Never,' said Granny irritably. 'And nor have you. Anyway, he might want it back. If it's rightfully his, that is. Kings set a lot of store by crowns. Really, Gytha, sometimes you say the most—'
'I'll just make some tea, shall I?' said Magrat brightly, and disappeared into the scullery.
The two elderly witches sat on either side of the table in polite and prickly silence. Finally Nanny Ogg said, 'She done it up nice, hasn't she? Flowers and everything. What are them things on the walls?'
'Sigils,' said Granny sourly. 'Or some such.'
'Fancy,' said Nanny Ogg, politely. 'And all them robes and wands and things too.'
'Modern,' said Granny Weatherwax, with a sniff. 'When I was a gel, we had a lump of wax and a couple of pins and had to be content. We had to make our own enchantment in them days.'
'Ah, well, we've all passed a lot of water since then,' said Nanny Ogg sagely. She gave the baby a comforting jiggle.
Granny Weatherwax sniffed. Nanny Ogg had been married three times and ruled a tribe of children and grandchildren all over the kingdom. Certainly, it was not actually forbidden for witches to get married. Granny had to concede that, but reluctantly. Very reluctantly. She sniffed again, disapprovingly; this was a mistake.
'What's that smell?' she snapped.
'Ah,' said Nanny Ogg, carefully repositioning the baby. 'I expect I'll just go and see if Magrat has any clean rags, shall I?'
And now Granny was left alone. She felt embarrassed, as one always does when left alone in someone else's room, and fought the urge to get up and inspect the books on the shelf over the sideboard or examine the mantelpiece for dust. She turned the crown round and round in her hands. Again, it gave the impression of being bigger and heavier than it actually was.
She caught sight of the mirror over the mantelpiece and looked down at the crown. It was tempting. It was practically begging her to try it for size. Well, and why not? She made sure that the others weren't around and then, in one movement, whipped off her hat and placed the crown on her head.
It seemed to fit. Granny drew herself up proudly, and waved a hand imperiously in the general direction of the hearth.
'Jolly well do this,' she said. She beckoned arrogantly at the grandfather clock. 'Chop his head off, what ho,' she commanded. She smiled grimly.
And froze as she heard the screams, and the thunder of horses, and the deadly whisper of arrows and the damp, solid sound of spears in flesh. Charge after charge echoed across her skull. Sword met shield, or sword, or bone -relentlessly. Years streamed across her mind in the space of a second. There were times when she lay among the dead, or hanging from the branch of a tree; but always there were hands that would pick her up again, and place her on a velvet cushion . . .
Granny very carefully lifted the crown off her head – it was an effort, it didn't like it much – and laid it on the table.
'So that's being a king for you, is it?' she said softly. 'I wonder why they all want the job?'
'Do you take sugar?' said Magrat, behind her.
'You'd have to be a born fool to be a king,' said Granny.
'Sorry?'
Granny turned. 'Didn't see you come in,' she said. 'What was it you said?'
'Sugar in your tea?'
'Three spoons,' said Granny promptly. It was one of the few sorrows of Granny Weatherwax's life that, despite all her efforts, she'd arrived at the peak of her career with a complexion like a rosy apple and all her teeth. No amount of charms could persuade a wart to take root on her handsome if slightly equine features, and vast intakes of sugar only served to give her boundless energy. A wizard she'd consulted had explained it was on account of her having a metabolism, which at least allowed her to feel vaguely superior to Nanny Ogg, who she suspected had never even seen one.
Magrat dutifully dug out three heaped ones. It would be nice, she thought wistfully, if someone could say 'thank you' occasionally.
She became aware that the crown was staring at her.
'You can feel it, can you?' said Granny. 'I said, didn't I? Crowns call out!'
'It's horrible.'
'No, no. It's just being what it is. It can't help it.'