“Never told you about the Long Man?” said Nanny Ogg.
“What Dancers? You mean those old stones up on the moor?”
“All you need to know right now,” said Granny Weatherwax, “is that we've got to put a stop to Them.”
“What Them?”
Granny radiated innocence. . .
“The circles, of course,” she said.
“Oh, no,” said Magrat. "I can tell by the way you said it.
You said Them as though it was some sort of curse. It wasn't just a them, it was a them with a capital The."
The old witches looked awkward again.
“And who's the Long Man?” said Magrat.
“We do not,” said Granny, “ever talk about the Long Man.”
“No harm in telling her about the Dancers, at any rate,” mumbled Nanny Ogg.
“Yes, but . . . you know . . . I mean . . . she's Magrat,” said Granny.
“What's that meant to mean?” Magrat demanded.
“You probably won't feel the same way about Them, is what I am saying,” said Granny.
“We're talking about the-” Nanny Ogg began.
“Don't name 'em!”
“Yeah, right. Sorry.”
“Mind you, a circle might not find the Dancers,” said Granny. “We can always hope. Could be just random.”
“But if one opens up inside the-” said Nanny Ogg.
Magrat snapped.
“You just do this on purpose! You talk in code the whole time! You always do this! But you won't be able to when I'm queen\”
That stopped them.
Nanny Ogg put her head on one side.
“Oh?” she said. “Young Verence popped the question, then?”
“Yes!”
“When's the happy event?” said Granny Weatherwax, icily.
“Two weeks' time,” said Magrat. “Midsummer Day.”
“Bad choice, bad choice,” said Nanny Ogg. “Shortest night o' the year-”
“Gytha Ogg!”