'Addresses, ladyship?'
'Where they live. I trust your tax gatherers know where to find them?'
'Ah,' said the chamberlain, miserably.
The duke leaned forward on his throne.
'I trust,' he said, 'that they do pay taxes?'
'Not, exactly pay taxes, my lord,' said the chamberlain.
There was silence. Finally the duke prompted, 'Go on, man.'
'Well, it's more that they don't pay, you see. We never felt, that is, the old king didn't think . . . Well, they just don't.'
The duke laid a hand on his wife's arm.
'I see,' he said coldly. 'Very well. You may go.'
The chamberlain gave him a brief nod of relief and scuttled crabwise from the hall.
several piercing glares at the three-man orchestra to see if she could work out which instrument the theatre was, the old witch had finally paid attention to the stage, and it was beginning to become apparent to Magrat that there were certain fundamental aspects of the theatre that Granny had not yet grasped.
She was currently bouncing up and down on her stool with rage.
'He's killed him,' she hissed. 'Why isn't anyone doing anything about it? He's killed him! And right up there in front of everyone!'
Magrat held on desperately to her colleague's arm as she struggled to get to her feet.
'It's all right,' she whispered. 'He's not dead!'
'Are you calling me a liar, my girl?' snapped Granny. 'I saw it all!'
'Look, Granny, it's not really real, d'you see?'
Granny Weatherwax subsided a little, but still grumbled under her breath. She was beginning to feel that things were trying to make a fool of her.
Up on the stage a man in a sheet was giving a spirited monologue. Granny listened intently for some minutes, and then nudged Magrat in the ribs.
'What's he on about now?' she demanded.
'He's saying how sorry he was that the other man's dead,' said Magrat, and in an attempt to change the subject added hurriedly, 'There's a lot of crowns, isn't there?'
Granny was not to be distracted. 'What'd he go and kill him for, then?' she said.
'Well, it's a bit complicated—' said Magrat, weakly.
'It's shameful!' snapped Granny. 'And the poor dead thing still lying there!'
Magrat gave an imploring look to Nanny Ogg, who was masticating an apple and studying the stage with the glare of a research scientist.
'I reckon,' she said slowly, 'I reckon it's all just pretendin'. Look, he's still breathing.'
The rest of the audience, who by now had already decided that this commentary was all part of the play, stared as one man at the corpse. It blushed.
'And look at his boots, too,' said Nanny critically. 'A real king'd be ashamed of boots like that.'
The corpse tried to shuffle its feet behind a cardboard bush.