“Sorry?”
“What?”
“What?”
Finally Magrat got up and waited while Spriggins, purple in the face with the effort, moved her chair down toward Verence. She could have done it herself, but it wasn't what queens did.
“We ought to have a Poet Laureate,” said Verence, marking his place in a book. “Kingdoms have to have one. They write poems for special celebrations.”
“Yes?”
“I thought perhaps Mrs. Ogg? I hear she's quite an amusing songstress.”
Magrat kept a straight face.
“I . . . er . . . I think she knows lots of rhymes for certain words,” she said.
“Apparently the going rate is fourpence a year and a butt of sack,” said Verence, peering at the page. “Or it may be a sack of butt.”
“What exactly will she have to do?” said Magrat.
“It says here the role of the Poet Laureate is to recite poems on State occasions,” said Verence.
Magrat had witnessed some of Nanny Ogg's humorous recitations, especially the ones with the gestures. She nodded gravely.
“Provided,” she said, “and I want to be absolutely sure you understand me on this, provided she takes up her post after the wedding.”
“Oh, dear? Really?”
“After the wedding.”
“Oh.”
“Trust me.”
“Well, of course, if it makes you happy-”
There was a commotion outside the double doors, which were flung back. Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax stamped in, with Shawn trying to overtake them.
“Oooaaww, Mum! I'm supposed to go in first to say who it is!”
“We'll tell them who we are. Wotcha, your majesties,” said Nanny.
“Blessing be upon this castle,” said Granny. “Magrat, there's some doctorin' needs doing. Here.”
Granny swept a candlestick and some crockery on to the floor with a dramatic motion and laid Diamanda on the table. In fact there were several acres of table totally devoid of any obstruction, but there's no sense in making an entrance unless you're prepared to make a mess.
“But I thought she was fighting you yesterday!” said Magrat.
“Makes no difference,” said Granny. “Morning, your majesty.”
King Verence nodded. Some kings would have shouted for the guards at this point but Verence did not because he ' was sensible, this was Granny Weatherwax and in any case the only available guard was Shawn Ogg, who was trying to straighten out his trumpet.
Nanny Ogg had drifted over to the sideboard. It wasn't that she was callous, but it had been a busy few hours and there was a lot of breakfast that no one seemed to be interested in.
“What happened to her?” said Magrat, inspecting the girl carefully.
Granny looked around the room. Suits of armour, shields hanging on the walls, rusty old swords and pikes . . . probably enough iron here . . .