'You've gone a long way too far,' said Granny.
'I have, haven't I!' The duke giggled.
Granny turned to the expectant crowds, which went silent.
'Go home,' she said.
There was a further long silence.
'Is that all?' said the duke.
'Yes.'
'What about pledges of eternal allegiance?'
'What about them? Gytha, will you stop waving at people!'
'Sorry.'
'And now we are going to go, too,' said Granny.
'But we were getting on so well,' said the duke.
'Come, Gytha,' said Granny icily. 'And where's Magrat got to?'
Magrat looked up guiltily. She had been deep in conversation with the Fool, although it was the kind of conversation where both parties spend a lot of time looking at their feet and picking at their fingernails. Ninety per cent of true love is acute, ear-burning embarrassment.
'We're leaving,' said Granny.
'Friday afternoon, remember,' hissed the Fool.
'Well, if I can,' said Magrat.
Nanny Ogg leered.
And so Granny Weatherwax swept down the steps and through the crowds, with the other two running behind her. Several of the grinning guards caught her eye and wished they hadn't, but here and there, among the watching crowd, was a barely suppressed snigger. She hurtled through the gateway, across the drawbridge and through the town. Granny walking fast could beat most other people at a run.
Behind them the duke, who had crested the latest maniac peak on the switchback of his madness and was coasting speedily towards the watersplash of despair, laughed.
'Ha ha.'
Granny didn't stop until she was outside the town and under the welcoming eaves of the forest. She turned off the road and flumped down on a log, her face in her hands.
The other two approached her carefully. Magrat patted her on the back.
'Don't despair,' she said. 'You handled it very well, we thought.'
'I ain't despairing, I'm thinking,' said Granny. 'Go away.'
Nanny Ogg raised her eyebrows at Magrat in a warning fashion. They backed off to a suitable distance although, with Granny in her present mood, the next universe might not be far enough, and sat down on a moss-grown stone.
'Are you all right?' said Magrat. 'They didn't do anything, did they?'
'Never laid a finger on me,' said Nanny. She sniffed. 'They're not your real royalty,' she added. 'Old King Gruneweld, for one, he wouldn't have wasted time waving things around and menacing people. It'd been bang, needles right under the fingernails from the word go, and no messing. None of this evil laughter stuff. He was a real king. Very gracious.'
'He was threatening to burn you.'
'Oh, I wouldn't of stood for it. I see you've got a follower,' said Nanny.