“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 . . .
“She was shot by an elf-”
“But-” said Magrat and Verence at the same time.
“Don't ask questions now, got no time. Shot by an elf. Them horrible arrows of theirs. They make the mind go wandering off all by itself. Now - can you do anything?”
Despite her better nature, Magrat felt a spark of righteous ire.
“Oh, so suddenly I'm a witch again when you-”
Granny Weatherwax sighed.
“No time for that, either,” she said. “I'm just askin'. All you have to do is say no. Then I'll take her away and won't bother you again.”
The quietness of her voice was so unexpected that Magrat tripped over her own anger, and tried to right herself.
“I wasn't saying I wouldn't, I was just-”
“Good.”
There was a series of clangs as Nanny Ogg lifted the silver tureen lids.
“Hey, they've got three kinds of eggs!”
“Well, there's no fever,” said Magrat. “Slow pulse. Eyes unfocused. Shawn?”
“Yes, Miss Queen?”
“Boiled, scrambled and fried. That's what I call posh.”
“Run down to my cottage and bring back all the books you can find. I'm sure I read something about this once, Granny. Shawn?”
Shawn paused halfway to the door.
“Yes, Miss Queen?”
“On your way out, stop off in the kitchens and ask them to boil up a lot of water. We can start by getting the wound clean, at any rate. But look, elves-”
“I'll let you get on with it, then,” said Granny, turning away. “Can I have a word with you, your majesty? There's something downstairs you ought to see.”