‘And our Wayne said they tries to turn folk against other religions,’ she went on. ‘Since they opened up that mission of theirs even the Offlerians have upped sticks and gone. I mean, it’s one thing saying you’ve got the best god, but sayin’ it’s the only real one is a bit of a cheek, in my opinion. I know where I can find at least two any day of the week. And they say everyone starts out bad and only gets good by believin’ in Om, which is frankly damn nonsense. I mean, look at your little girl— What’s her name going to be, now …?’
‘Everyone will know in twenty minutes, Nanny,’ said Verence smoothly.
‘Hah!’ Nanny’s tone made it clear that Radio Ogg disapproved of this news management. ‘Well, look … the worst she could put her little hand up to at her age is a few grubby nappies and keepin’ you awake at night. That’s hardly sinful, to my mind.’{13}
‘But you’ve never objected to the Gloomy Brethren, Nanny. Or to the Wonderers. And the Balancing Monks come through here all the time.’
‘But none of them object to me,’ said Nanny.
Verence turned. He was finding this disconcerting. He knew Nanny Ogg very well, but mainly as the person standing just behind Granny Weatherwax and smiling a lot. It was hard to deal with an angry Ogg.
‘I really think you’re taking this too much to heart, Mrs Ogg,’ he said.
‘Granny Weatherwax won’t like it!’ Nanny played the trump card. To her horror, it didn’t seem to have the desired effect.
‘Granny Weatherwax isn’t King, Mrs Ogg,’ said Verence. ‘And the world is changing. There is a new order. Once upon a time trolls were monsters that ate people but now, thanks to the endeavours of men, and of course trolls, of goodwill and peaceful intent, we get along very well and I hope we understand each other. This is no longer a time when little kingdoms need only worry about little concerns. We’re part of a big world. We have to play that part. For example, what about the Muntab question?’
Nanny Ogg asked the Muntab question. ‘Where the hell’s Muntab?’ she said.
‘Several thousand miles away, Mrs Ogg. But it has ambitions Hubwards, and if there’s war with Borogravia we will certainly have to adopt a position.’
‘This one several thousand miles away looks fine by me,’ said Nanny. ‘And I don’t see—’
‘I’m afraid you don’t,’ said Verence. ‘Nor should you have to. But affairs in distant countries can suddenly end up close to home. If Klatch sneezes, Ankh-Morpork catches a cold.{14} We have to pay attention. Are we always to be part of the Ankh-Morpork hegemony? Are we not in a unique position as we reach the end of the Century of the Fruitbat? The countries widdershins of the Ramtops are beginning to make themselves felt. The “werewolf economies”, as the Patrician in Ankh-Morpork calls them.{15} New powers are emerging. Old countries are blinking in the sunlight of the dawning millennium. And of course we have to maintain friendships with all blocs. And so on. Despite a turbulent past, Omnia is a friendly country … or, at least,’ he admitted, ‘I’m sure they would be friendly if they knew about Lancre. Being unpleasant to the priests of its state religion will serve us no good purpose. I’m sure we will not regret it.’
‘Let’s hope we won’t,’ said Nanny. She gave Verence a withering look. ‘And I remember you when you were just a man in a funny hat.’
Even this didn’t work. Verence merely sighed again and turned towards the door.
‘I still am, Nanny,’ he said. ‘It’s just that this one’s a lot heavier. And now I must go, otherwise we shall be keeping our guests waiting. Ah, Shawn …’
Shawn Ogg had appeared at the door. He saluted.
‘How’s the army coming along, Shawn?’
‘I’ve nearly finished the knife, sir.[6] Just got to do the nose-hair tweezers and the folding saw, sir. But actually I’m here as herald at the moment, sir.’
‘Ah, it must be time.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘A shorter fanfare this time, Shawn, I think,’ said the King. ‘While I personally appreciate your skill, an occasion like this calls for something a little simpler than several bars of “Pink Hedgehog Rag”.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Let us go, then.’
They went out into the main passage just as Magrat’s group was passing, and the King took her hand.
Nanny Ogg trailed after them. The King was right, in a way. She did feel … unusual, ill-tempered and snappish, as if she’d put on a vest that was too tight. Well, Granny would be here soon enough, and she knew how to talk to kings.
You needed a special technique for that, Nanny reasoned; for example, you couldn’t say things like ‘Who died and made you King?’, because they’d know. ‘You and whose army?’ was another difficult one, although in this case Verence’s army consisted of Shawn and a troll and was unlikely to be a serious threat to Shawn’s own mother if he wanted to be allowed to eat his tea indoors.
She pulled Agnes to one side as the procession reached the top of the big staircase and Shawn went on ahead.
‘We’ll get a good view from the minstrel gallery,’ she hissed, dragging Agnes into the king oak structure just as the trumpet began the royal fanfare.
‘That’s my boy,’ she added proudly, when the final flourish caused a stir.
‘Yes, not many royal fanfares end with “shave and a haircut, no legs”[7],’ said Agnes.{16}
‘Puts people at their ease, though,’ said Shawn’s loyal mum.
Agnes looked down at the throng and caught sight of the priest again. He was moving through the press of guests.
‘I found him, Nanny,’ she said. ‘He didn’t make it hard, I must say. He won’t try anything in a crowd, will he?’
‘Which one is it?’
Agnes pointed. Nanny stared, and then turned to her.
‘Sometimes I think the weight of that damn crown is turning Verence’s head,’ she said. ‘I reckon he really doesn’t know what he’s lettin’ into the kingdom. When Esme gets here she’s going to go through this priest like cabbage soup.’
By now the guests had got themselves sorted out on either side of the red carpet that began at the bottom of the stairs. Agnes glanced up at the royal couple, waiting awkwardly, just out of sight, for the appropriate moment to descend, and thought: Granny Weatherwax says you make your own right time. They’re the royal family. All they need to do is walk down the stairs and it’d be the right time. They’re doing it wrong.
Several of the Lancre guests were glancing at the big double doors, shut for this official ceremony. They’d be thrown open later, for the more public and enjoyable part, but right now they looked …
… like doors that would soon creak back and frame a figure against the firelight.
She could see the image so clearly.
The exercises Granny had reluctantly given her were working, Perdita thought.
There was a hurried conversation among the royal party and then Millie hurried back up the stairs and towards the witches.
‘Mag— the Queen says, is Granny Weatherwax coming or not?’ she panted.
‘Of course she is,’ said Nanny.
‘Only, well, the King’s getting a bit … upset. He said it did say RSVP on the invitation,’ said Millie, trying not to meet Nanny eye to eye.
‘Oh, witches never reservups,’ said Nanny. ‘They just come.’
6
It was obvious to King Verence that even if every adult were put under arms the kingdom of Lancre would still have a very small and insignificant army, and he’d therefore looked for other ways to put it on the military map. Shawn had come up with the idea of the Lancrastian Army Knife, containing a few essential tools and utensils for the soldier in the field, and research and development work had been going on for some months now. One reason for the slow progress was that the King himself was taking an active interest in the country’s only defence project, and Shawn was receiving little notes up to three times every day with further suggestions for improvement. Generally they were on the lines of: ‘A device, possibly quite small, for finding things that are lost’, or ‘A curiously shaped hook-like thing of many uses’. Shawn diplomatically added some of them but lost as many notes as he dared, lest he design the only pocket knife on wheels.