“Yes?”
“Mum says they don't feel pain, miss.”
“No? But they can certainly be put to inconvenience.”
Magrat lowered the axe.
“Of course, there's armour,” she said. “We could put this one in a suit of armour. How about it?”
“No!”
The elf tried to pull away across the floor.
“Why not?” said Magrat. “Better than axes, yes?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“It is like being buried in the earth,” hissed the elf. “No eyes, no ears, no mouth!”
“Chain-mail, then,” said Magrat.
“No!”
“Where is the king? Where is everyone?”
“I will not say!”
“All right.”
Magrat vanished into the armoury again, and came back dragging a suit of chain-mail.
The elf tried to scramble away.
“You won't get it on,” said Shawn, from where he lay. “You'll never get it over its arms-”
Magrat picked up the axe.
“Oh, no,” said Shawn. “Miss!”
“You will never get him back,” said the elf. “She has him.”
“We shall see,” said Magrat. “All right, Shawn. What shall we do with it?”
In the end they dragged it into a storeroom next to the dungeon and manacled it to the bars of the window. It was still whimpering at the touch of the iron as Magrat slammed the door.
Shawn was trying to keep at a respectful distance. It was the way Magrat kept smiling all the time.
“Now let's have a look at that arm of yours,” she said.
“I'm all right,” said Shawn, “but they stabbed Diamanda in the kitchen.”
“Was it her I heard screaming?”
“Uh. Partly. Uh.” Shawn stared down in fascination at the dead elves as Magrat stepped over them.
“You killed them,” he said.