‘Yes, dear,’ said the King and opened the cupboard that contained the armour of Queen Ynci. Ynci had been the most fearsome warrior queen Lancre had ever seen. Well, so the stories said, as she hadn’t actually existed. But the people of Lancre hadn’t let a tiny thing like that stop them adding her to their history, and so a set of armour had been made to go along with a portrait. Magrat had worn the armour the last time she faced the elves, and it seemed only right to wear it again.
As the door opened, Magrat thought she heard a subtle little sound of a call to arms. Queen Ynci’s armour had a life of its own and it always shone, even in the dark. Verence helped her buckle on the mail armour — which she secretly thought of as fe-mail — then she slipped her feet into the heavy-soled spiked sandals, and topped it all off with the winged helmet. The last piece to go on was the leather baldric.
Verence wanted to embrace her, but he thought, I won’t. There were too many spikes, in any case. But he loved his wife to distraction, so he tried again to volunteer himself to be somewhere in the coming fray.
‘Magrat, my love,’ he murmured, ‘it seems so shaming if the King can’t fight.’
‘You are a very good king, Verence,’ his wife said firmly, ‘but this is witches’ work. And someone has to look after the people and our children.’ The Queen — Magrat, as was — staggered under the weight of the armour, and under her breath she whispered a little magic. ‘Queen Ynci, Queen of Queens, make your armour light.’ And suddenly she felt strong, stronger than she had ever been before.
She picked up a crossbow in one hand, her broomstick in the other, and almost flew down the stairs to the Great Hall where the other witches, who were for the most part en déshabille, stared at her with wild surmise. Wild surmises take on many shapes and every witch, some still in their underwear, stared at the Queen and the surmise each gave her hung there in the rafters.
In the voice of Queen Ynci, Magrat shouted, ‘Up, girls, and at ’em. It’s started, ladies, so get your heavy-duty knickers on and your sticks ready!’ She glared at the only witch to be fully dressed, spick and span in three minutes, to the surprise of all. ‘That means you too, Mrs Earwig.’
There was a little commotion at the back of the hall, then a sudden crash and a group of witches ground to a halt.
‘What’s happening?’ Magrat cried, still in the voice of Queen Ynci.
‘It’s only Long Tall Short Fat Sally: she’s got two feet down one knicker!’ said Mrs Proust. Surrounded by witches, Long Tall Short Fat Sally — small and squat right then, like a low-lying thunderstorm — was swiftly put back on her feet.
Mrs Earwig looked rather smug and said, ‘I’ve been looking at my charts. The omens are good.’
‘Well, omens are ten a penny,’ said Mrs Proust. ‘I’ve got lots of them. After all, we are all witches.’
And the ghost of Queen Ynci filled Magrat, who said, ‘Let us fly.’
In Mr Sideways’s old barn, Mephistopheles laid a hoof gently on Geoffrey’s sleeping form. Geoffrey jumped out of the straw and discovered that the old boys who had readied themselves for the coming battle by bivouacking in the barn with him were already up and about, creaking a bit, and making their toilet in a bucket.
Geoffrey looked at the old men. They had spent most of the evening carousing and telling stories of the days when they were all young and handsome and healthy and didn’t have to pass water far too often.
They had managed to make their wives give them a ticket of leave, and said wives had been given to believe that their husbands were just in the barn for a few drinks and reminiscences. The wives, as wives do, had festooned their menfolk with big scarves, mittens on strings and woolly hats with, alas, pompoms on the top.
Captain Makepeace — the old boys’ acknowledged military leader — said, ‘It’s time to go and get out Laughing Boy’s confounded contraption.’
Geoffrey looked at the captain’s warriors and sighed internally. Could they do it? They were old men. And then he thought, Yes, they are old men. They have been old men for a long time, which means they have learned many things. Like lying, and being crafty and, most importantly, dissembling.
‘We shall fight them on the mountains. We shall fight them on the rocks. We shall fight them over the hills and down in the valleys.[53] We shall never surrender!’ Captain Makepeace roared, and there was an answering cheer.
‘They will not like it up and over ’em!’ Smack Tremble called out, waving what looked like a rusty bayonet in the air and, worryingly, living up to his name. ‘They will not like it, oh no they won’t!’
Mephistopheles grunted as Geoffrey hitched him to his little cart, which the old boys had filled with mysterious bags before drinking the night away, and the two of them followed the old men out of the barn.
Captain Makepeace didn’t need to tell his men to be stealthy. They already were. It was running fast that would be a problem. And stealthily they made their way into the wood and further on to where they had hidden Mr Sideways’s contraption, camouflaging it with branches.
Geoffrey watched them pull Mr Sideways’s project out into the clearing. It stood there looking ominous. Surrounded by the bushes. Waiting its moment. Like a huge insect.
One with a nasty sting …
Up by the circle of stones called the Dancers, Lord Lankin was exulting. His elves were dancing around the stones, flitting in and out and metaphorically tweaking the noses of the Piper, the Drummer, the Leaper — the best-known stones. The power of the gate was weak, and the glamour of the elves was … fearsome.
‘They are not even here, waiting for us!’ Lord Lankin gloated. ‘Stupid humans. If we go down through those woods, we could be out into the centre of Lancre in one great charge. And the moon is full and on our side.’
And in the silver moonlight, the elves, some on horseback, bells jingling and harness tinkling, made their way down the hill towards the woods.
But as they neared the edge of the trees, Lankin saw a young human boy step out onto the path with an animal by his side. It was a goat.
‘Who are you, boy?’ he demanded. ‘Move aside. I am a prince of the elves and you are in my way. Move lest I show you my displeasure.’
‘Well,’ said Geoffrey, ‘I don’t see why I should. My advice to you is to turn round, sir, and go the other way or else it will be all the worse for you.’
Lord Lankin laughed out loud. ‘We will take you away, boy, and the things we will use on you when we get you back home will be incredibly nasty. Your torment, for naysaying a prince of the elves.’
‘But why, sir? I mean no harm to you. I have no weapons. Can we be calm about this? It would appear that I have made you unhappy, and for this I am sorry.’ Geoffrey paused — he was trying to weave a peace between them, but it was like trying to get a rock to agree with a hard place. ‘Surely both of us are civilized people,’ he finished.
Lord Lankin screeched, ‘Now, young man, you have trodden on the tail of the snake.’
Geoffrey calmly said, ‘I believe this is not the case. I know you, mister. I know what kind of thing you are. You are a bully. I know about bullies, oh yes I do! I have known them all my life. And believe me, you aren’t the worst.’
‘You are nothing, boy. We’ll kill you anyway. And why a goat, may I ask? They are stupid creatures.’
Geoffrey found his calmness floating away. He was worthless. A maggot. A ne’er-do-well. He felt powerless, a baby again … And as the elf spoke, in Geoffrey’s mind an echo came. Even if I let you live, you will amount to nothing. This time it was the voice of his father, and he stood there, frozen.
53
There was plenty of all these to pick from in Lancre, so he had a good choice of battlegrounds. As long as they were all up and down.