And then there's other things . . .
“How's the girl they brought in?”
“I've told Millie to keep an eye on her. What are they doing, those two?”
“I don't know.”
You're king, aren't you?"
Verence shifted uneasily.
“But they're witches. I don't like to ask them questions.”
“Why not?”
“They might give me answers. And then what would I do?”
“What did Granny want to talk to you about?”
“Oh . . . you know . . . things . . .”
“It wasn't about . . . sex, was it?”
Verence suddenly looked like a man who had been expecting a frontal attack and suddenly finds nasty things happening behind him.
“No! Why?”
“Nanny was trying to give me motherly advice. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Honestly, they both treat me as if I'm a big child.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.”
They sat on either side of the huge fireplace, both crimson with embarrassment.
Then Magrat said: “Er . . . you did send off for that book, did you? You know . . . the one with the woodcuts?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I did.”
“It ought to have arrived by now.”
“Well, we only get a mail coach once a week. I expect it'll come tomorrow. I'm fed up with running down there every week in case Shawn gets there first.”
“You are king. You could tell him not to.”
“Don't like to, really. He's so keen.”
A large log crackled into two across the iron dogs.
“Can you really get books about. . . that?”
“You can get books about anything.”
They both stared at the fire. Verence thought: she doesn't like being a queen, I can see that, but that's what you are when you marry a king, all the books say so . . .
And Magrat thought: he was much nicer when he was a man with silver bells on his hat and slept every night on the floor in front of his master's door. I could talk to him then . . .
Verence clapped his hands together.
“Well, that's about it, then. Busy day tomorrow, what with all the guests coming and everything.”