After a while the bolts slid back, and an eye was applied to a very narrow crack.
“Yes?”
“You're Carter the baker, aren't you?”
“I'm Weaver the thatcher.”
“And you know who I am?”
“Miss Garlick?”
“Come on, let me in!”
“Are you alone, miss?”
“Yes.”
The crack widened to a Magrat width.
There was one candle alight in the room. Weaver backed away from Magrat until he was leaning awkwardly over the table. Magrat peered around him.
The rest of the Weaver family were hiding under the table. Four pairs of frightened eyes peered up at Magrat.
“What's going on?” she said.
“Er . . .” said Weaver. “Didn't recognize you in your flying hat, miss . . .”
“I thought you were doing the Entertainment? What's happened? Where is everyone? Where is my going-to-be-husband?”
“Er . . .”
Yes, it was probably the helmet. That's what Magrat decided afterward. There are certain items, such as swords and wizards' hats and crowns and rings, which pick up something of the nature of their owners. Queen Ynci had probably never sewn a tapestry in her life and undoubtedly had a temper shorter than a wet cowpat.[38] It was better to think that something of her had rubbed off on the helmet and was being transmitted to Magrat like some kind of royal scalp disease. It was better to let Ynci take over.
She grabbed Weaver by his collar.
“If you say 'Er' one more time,” she said, “I'll chop your ears off.”
“Er . . . aargh . . . I mean, miss . . . it's the Lords and Ladies, miss!”
“It really is the elves?”
“Miss!” said Weaver, his eyes full of pleading. “Don't say it! We heard 'em go down the street. Dozens of 'em. And they've stolen old Thatcher's cow and Skindle's goat and they broke down the door of-”
“Why'd you put a bowl of milk out?” Magrat demanded.
Weaver's mouth opened and shut a few times. Then he managed: “You see, my Eva said her granny always put a bowl of milk out for them, to keep them hap-”
“I see,” said Magrat, icily. “And the king?”
“The king, miss?” said Weaver, buying time. “The king,” said Magrat. “Short man, runny eyes, ears that stick out a bit, unlike other ears in this vicinity very shortly.”
Weaver's fingers wove around one another like tormented snakes.
“Well. . . well. . . well. . .”
He caught the look on Magrat's face, and sagged.
“We done the play,” he said. “I told 'em, let's do the Stick and Bucket Dance instead, but they were set on this play. And it all started all right and then, and then, and then. . . suddenly They were there, hundreds of 'em, and everyone was runnin', and someone bashed into me, and I rolled into the stream, and then there was all this noise, and I saw Jason Ogg hitting four elves with the first thing he could get hold of-”