'. . . but there is one who could defeat you,' said Granny slowly.
'The child? Let him come when he is grown. A young man with a sword, seeking his destiny.' The duke sneered. 'Very romantic. But I have many years to prepare. Let him try.'
Beside him King Verence's fist smashed through the air and quite failed to connect.
The duke leaned closer until his nose was an inch from Granny's face.
'Get back to your cauldrons, wyrd sisters,' he said softly.
Granny Weatherwax stalked through the passages of Lancre Castle like a large, angry bat, the duke's laughter echoing around her head.
'You could give him boils or something,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Haemorrhoids are good. That's allowed. It won't stop him ruling, it just means he'll have to rule standing up. Always good for a laugh, that. Or piles.'
Granny Weatherwax said nothing. If fury were heat, her hat would have caught fire.
'Mind you, that'd probably make him worse,' said Nanny, running to keep up. 'Same with toothache.' She gave a sideways glance at Granny's twitching features.
'You needn't fret,' she said. They didn't do anything much. But thanks, anyway.'
'I ain't worried about you, Gytha Ogg,' snapped Granny. 'I only come along 'cos Magrat was fretting. What I say is, if a witch can't look after herself, she's got no business calling herself a witch.'
'Magrat done well with the woodwork, I thought.'
Even in the grip of her sullen fury, Granny Weatherwax spared a nod.
'She's coming along,' she said. She looked up and down the corridor, and then leaned closer to Nanny Ogg's ear.
'I ain't going to give him the pleasure of saying it,' she said, 'but he's got us beaten.'
'Well, I don't know,' said Nanny. 'Our Jason and a few sharp lads could soon—'
'You saw some of his guards. These aren't the old sort. These are a tough kind.'
'We could give the boys just a bit of help—'
'It wouldn't work. People have to sort this sort of thing out for themselves.'
'If you say so, Esme,' said Nanny meekly.
'I do. Magic's there to be ruled, not for ruling.'
Nanny nodded and then, remembering a promise, reached down and picked up a fragment of stone from the rubble on the tunnel floor.
'I thought you'd forgotten,' said the ghost of the king, by her ear.
Further down the passage the Fool was capering after Magrat.
'Can I see you again?' he said.
'Well . . . I don't know,' said Magrat, her heart singing a smug song.
'How about tonight?' said the Fool.
'Oh, no,' said Magrat. 'I'm very busy tonight.' She had intended to curl up with a hot milk drink and Goodie Whemper's notebooks on experimental astrology, but instinct told her that any suitor should have an uphill struggle put in front of him, just to make him keener.
'Tomorrow night, then?' the Fool persisted.
'I think I should be washing my hair.'