'What are you?'
'We're hags, Hwel!'
'What kind of hags?'
'We're black and midnight hags!' they yelled, getting into the spirit.
'What kind of black and midnight hags?'
urned up in a green dress and a filthy temper.
'What's all this about a play?' she said.
The Fool sagged on to a willow log.
'Aren't you glad to see me?' he said.
'Well, yes. Of course. Now, this play . . .'
'My lord wants something to convince people that he is the rightful King of Lancre. Himself mostly, I think.'
'Is that why you went to the city?'
'Yes.'
'It's disgusting!'
The Fool sat calmly. 'You would prefer the duchess's approach?' he said. 'She just thinks they ought to kill everyone. She's good at that sort of thing. And then there'd be fighting, and everything. Lots of people would die anyway. This way might be easier.'
'Oh, where's your spunk, man?'
'Pardon?'
'Don't you want to die nobly for a just cause?'
'I'd much rather live quietly for one. It's all right for you witches, you can do what you like, but I'm circumscribed,' said the Fool.
Magrat sat down beside him. Find out all about this play, Granny had ordered. Go and talk to that jingling friend of yours. She'd replied, He's very loyal. He might not tell me anything. And Granny had said, This is no time for half measures. If you have to, seduct him.
'When's this play going to be, then?' she said, moving closer.
'Marry, I'm sure I'm not allowed to tell you,' said the Fool. 'The duke said to me, he said, don't tell the witches that it's tomorrow night.'
'I shouldn't, then,' agreed Magrat.
'At eight o'clock.'
'I see.'
'But meet for sherry beforehand at seven-thirty, i'faith.'
'I expect you shouldn't tell me who is invited, either,' said Magrat.
'That's right. Most of the dignitaries of Lancre. You understand I'm not telling you this.'
'That's right,' said Magrat.
'But I think you have a right to know what it is you're not being told.'