Magrat sat down on the other side of Oats, clutching the baby. She breathed deeply a few times.
'That was very brave of you,' she said.
'No, it wasn't,' said Oats hoarsely. 'I thought Mistress Weatherwax was going to do something...'
'She did,' said Magrat, shivering. 'Oh, she did.'
Granny Weatherwax sat down on the other end of the bench and pinched the bridge of her nose.
'I just want to go home now,' she said. 'I just want to go home and sleep for a week.' She yawned. 'I'm dyin' for a cuppa.'
'I thought you'd made one!' said Agnes. 'You had us slavering for it!'
'Where'd I get tea here? It was just some mud in water. But I know Nanny keeps a bag of it somewhere on her person.' She yawned again. 'Make the tea, Magrat.'
Agnes opened her mouth, but Magrat waved her into silence and then handed her the baby.
'Certainly, Granny,' she said, gently pushing Agnes back into her seat. 'I'll just find out where Igor keeps the kettle, shall I?'
Mightily Oats stepped out on to the battlements. The sun was well up and a breeze was blowing in over the forests of Uberwald. A few magpies chattered in the trees nearest the castle.
Granny was leaning with her elbows on the wall, staring out over the thinning mists.
'It looks like it's going to be a fine day,' said Oats happily. And he did feel happy, to his amazement. There was sharpness to the air, and the sense of the future brimming with possibilities. He remembered the moment when he'd swung the axe, when both of him had swung it together. Perhaps there was a way...
'There's a storm coming down from the Hub later,' said Granny.
'Well... at least that'll be good for the crops, then,' said Oats.
Something flickered overhead. In the new daylight the wings of the phoenix were hard to see, mere yellow shimmers in the air, with the tiny shape of the little hawk in the centre as it circled high over the castle.
'Why would anyone want to kill something like that?' said Oats.
'Oh, some people'll kill anything for the fun of it.'
'Is it a true bird or is it something that exists within a-'
'It's a thing that is,' said Granny sharply. 'Don't go spilling allegory all down your shirt.'
'Well, I feel... blessed to have seen it.'
'Really? I genially feel the same about the sunrise,' said Granny. 'You would too, at my time of life.' She sighed, and then seemed to be speaking mainly to herself. 'She never went to the bad, then, whatever people said. And you'd have to be on your toes with that of vampire. She never went to the bad. You heard him say that, right? He said it. He didn't have to.'
'Er... yes.'
'She'd have been older'n me, too. Bloody good witch was Nana Alison. Sharp as a knife. Had her funny little ways, o' course, but who hasn't?'
'No one I know, certainly.' 'Right. You're right.' Granny straightened up. 'Good,' she said.
'Er...'
'Yes?'
Oats was looking down at the drawbridge and the road to the castle.
'There's a man in a nightshirt covered in mud and waving a sword down there,' he said, 'followed by a lot of Lancre people and some... little blue men...'
He looked down again. 'At least it looks like mud,' he added.