Magrat looked as if she was about to panic. 'What about them?'
Granny Weatherwax had done many unusual things in her time, and it took a lot to make her refuse a challenge. But this time she gave in.
'I think,' she said helplessly, 'that it might be a good idea if you have a quiet word with Nanny Ogg one of these days. Fairly soon.'
There was a cackle of laughter from the window behind them, a chink of glasses, and a thin voice raised in song: —with a giraffe, If you stand on a stool. But the hedgehog—' Granny stopped listening. 'Only not just now,' she added.
The troupe got under way a few hours before sunset, their four carts lurching off down the road that led towards the Sto plains and the big cities. Lancre had a town rule that all mummers, mountebanks and other potential criminals were outside the gates by sundown; it didn't offend anyone really because the town had no walls to speak of, and no-one much minded if people nipped back in again after dark. It was the look of the thing that counted.
The witches watched from Magrat's cottage, using Nanny Ogg's ancient green crystal ball.
'It's about time you learned how to get sound on this thing,' Granny muttered. She gave it a nudge, filling the image with ripples.
'It was very strange,' said Magrat. 'In those carts. The things they had! Paper trees, and all kinds of costumes, and—' she waved her hands – 'there was this great big picture of forn parts, with all temples and things all rolled up. It was beautiful.'
Granny grunted.
'I thought it was amazing the way all those people became kings and things, didn't you? It was like magic.'
'Magrat Garlick, what are you saying? It was just paint and paper. Anyone could see that.'
Magrat opened her mouth to speak, ran the ensuing argument through her head, and shut it again.
'Where's Nanny?' she said.
'She's lying out on the lawn,' said Granny. 'She felt a bit poorly.' And from outside came the sound of Nanny Ogg being poorly at the top of her voice.
Magrat sighed.
'You know,' she said, 'if we are his godmothers, we ought to have given him three gifts. It's traditional.'
'What are you talking about, girl?'
'Three good witches are supposed to give the baby three gifts. You know, like good looks, wisdom and happiness.' Magrat pressed on defiantly. 'That's how it used to be done in the old days.'
'Oh, you mean gingerbread cottages and all that,' said Granny dismissively. 'Spinning wheels and pumpkins and pricking your finger on rose thorns and similar. I could never be having with all that.'
She polished the ball reflectively.
'Yes, but—' Magrat said. Granny glanced up at her. That was Magrat for you. Head full of pumpkins. Everyone's fairy godmother, for two pins. But a good soul, underneath it all. Kind to small furry animals. The sort of person who worried about baby birds falling out of nests.
'Look, if it makes you any happier,' she muttered, surprised at herself. She waved her hands vaguely over the image of the departing carts. 'What's it to be – wealth, beauty?'
'Well, money isn't everything, and if he takes after his father he'll be handsome enough,' Magrat said, suddenly serious. 'Wisdom, do you think?'
'That's something he'll have to learn for himself,' said Granny.
'Perfect eyesight? A good singing voice?' From the lawn outside came Nanny Ogg's cracked but enthusiastic voice telling the night sky that A Wizard's Staff Has A Knob On The End.
'Not important,' said Granny loudly. 'You've got to think headology, see? Not muck about with all this beauty and. wealth business. That's not important.'
She turned back to the ball and gestured half-heartedly. 'You'd better go and get Nanny, then, seeing as there should be three of us.'
Nanny was helped in, eventually, and had to have things explained to her.
'Three gifts, eh?' she said. 'Haven't done one of them things since I was a gel, it takes me back – what're you doing?'
Magrat was bustling around the room, lighting candles.