Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [99]
The Baron strolled forward.
“You want to try anything else, lady?” he said.
Lily raised both hands.
All three witches felt it—the terrible suction as she tried to concentrate all the power in the vicinity.
Outside, the one guard remaining upright found that he was no longer fighting a man but merely an enraged tomcat, although this was no consolation. It just meant that Greebo had an extra pair of claws.
The Prince screamed.
It was a long, descending scream, and ended in a croak, somewhere around ground level.
Baron Saturday took one heavy, deliberate step forward, and there was no more croak.
The drums stopped abruptly.
And then there was a real silence, broken only by the swish of Lily’s dress as she fled up the stairs.
A voice behind the witches said, “Thank you, ladies. Could you step aside, please?”
They looked around. Mrs. Gogol was there, holding Embers by the hand. She had a fat, gaily-embroidered bag over her shoulder.
All three watched as the voodoo woman led the girl down into the hall and through the silent crowds.
“That’s not right either,” said Granny under her breath.
“What?” said Magrat. “What?”
Baron Saturday thumped his stick on the floor.
“You know me,” he said. “You all know me. You know I was killed. And now here I am. I was murdered and what did you do—?”
“How much did you do, Mrs. Gogol?” muttered Granny. “No, we ain’t having this.”
“Ssh, I can’t hear what he’s saying,” said Nanny.
“He’s telling them they can have him ruling them again, or Embers,” said Magrat.
“They’ll have Mrs. Gogol,” muttered Granny. “She’ll be one o’ them eminences greases.”
“Well, she’s not too bad,” said Nanny.
“In the swamp she’s not too bad,” said Granny. “With someone to balance her up she’s not too bad. But Mrs. Gogol tellin’ a whole city what to do…that’s not right. Magic’s far too important to be used for rulin’ people. Anyway, Lily only had people killed—Mrs. Gogol’d set ’em to choppin’ wood and doin’ chores afterward. I reckon, after you’ve had a busy life, you ort to be able to relax a bit when you’re dead.”
“Lie back and enjoy it, sort of thing,” said Nanny.
Granny looked down at the white dress.
“I wish I had my old clothes on,” she said. “Black’s the proper color for a witch.”
She strode down the steps, and then cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Coo-ee! Mrs. Gogol!”
Baron Saturday stopped speaking. Mrs. Gogol nodded at Granny.
“Yes, Miss Weatherwax?”
“Mistress,” snapped Granny, and then softened her voice again.
“This ain’t right, you know. She’s the one who ought to rule, fair enough. And you used magic to help her this far, and that’s all right. But it stops right here. It’s up to her what happens next. You can’t make things right by magic. You can only stop making them wrong.”
Mrs. Gogol pulled herself up to her full, impressive height. “Who’s you to say what I can and can’t do here?”
“We’re her godmothers,” said Granny.
“That’s right,” said Nanny Ogg.
“We’ve got a wand, too,” said Magrat.
“But you hate godmothers, Mistress Weatherwax,” said Mrs. Gogol.
“We’re the other kind,” said Granny. “We’re the kind that gives people what they know they really need, not what we think they ought to want.”
Among the fascinated crowd several pairs of lips moved as people worked this out.
“Then you’ve done your godmothering,” said Mrs. Gogol, who thought faster than most. “You did it very well.”
“You didn’t listen,” said Granny. “There’s all sorts of things to godmotherin’. She might be quite good at ruling. She might be bad at it. But she’s got to find out for herself. With no interference from anyone.”
“What if I say no?”
“Then I expect we’ll just have to go on godmotherin’,” said Granny.
“Do you know how long I worked to win?” said Mrs. Gogol, haughtily. “Do you know what I lost?”
“And now you’ve won, and there’s the end of it,” said Granny.
“Are you looking to challenge me, Mistress Weatherwax?”
Granny hesitated, and then straightened her shoulders. Her arms moved away from her sides, almost imperceptibly.