“Did they do that to you?”
“Well, the mud and the torn clothes is just from, you know, the forest. And we've run into-”
“Ook.”
“-over elves a few times. But this is when the Librarian hit me.”
“Oook.”
“Thank goodness,” Ponder added. “Knocked me cold. Otherwise I'd be like the others.”
A foreboding of a conversation to come swept over Magrat.
“What others?” she snapped.
“Are you alone?”
“What others?”
“Have you any idea what's been happening?”
Magrat thought about the castle, and the town.
“I might be able to hazard a guess,” she said.
Ponder shook his head.
“It's worse than that,” he said.
“What others?” said Magrat.
“I think there's definitely been a cross-continuum break-through, and I'm sure there's a difference in energy levels.”
“But what others?” Magrat insisted.
Ponder Stibbons glanced nervously at the surrounding forest.
“Let's get off the path. There's a lot more elves back there.”
Ponder disappeared into the undergrowth. Magrat followed him, and found a second wizard propped against a tree like a ladder. He had a huge smile creasing his face.
“The Bursar,” said Ponder. “I think we may have overdone the dried frog pills a bit.” He raised his voice. “How . . . are . . . you . . . doing . . . sir?”
“Why, I'll have a little of the roast weasel, if you would be so good,” said the Bursar, beaming happily at nothing.
“Why's he gone so stiff?” said Magrat. “We think it's some kind of side effect,” said Ponder. “Can't you do anything about it?”
“What, and have nothing to cross streams on?”
“Call again tomorrow, baker, and we'll have a crusty one!” said the Bursar.
“Besides, he seems quite happy,” said Ponder. “Are you a warrior, miss?”
“What?” said Magrat. “Well, I mean, the armour and everything . . .” Magrat looked down. She was still holding the sword. The helmet kept falling over her eyes, but she'd padded it a bit with a scrap of wedding dress.
“I . . . er . . . yes. Yes, that's right. That's what I am,” she said. “Absolutely. Yes.”
“Here for the wedding, I expect. Like us.”