Saturday’s feet moved too. They beat out their own staccato rhythms on the marble floor.
He danced down the steps.
He whirled. He leapt. The tails of his coat whipped through the air. And then he landed at the foot of the step, his feet striking the ground like the thud of doom.
And only now was there a stirring.
There was a croak from the Prince.
‘It can’t be him! He’s deadl Guards! Kill him!’
He looked around madly at the guards by the stairs.
The guard captain went pale.
‘I, uh, again? I mean, I don’t think …’ he began.
‘Do it now!’
The captain raised his crossbow nervously. The point of the bolt wove figures-of-eight in front of his eyes.
‘I said do it!’
The bow twanged.
There was a thud.
Saturday looked down at the feathers buried in his chest, and then grinned and raised his cane.
The captain looked up with the certain terror of death in his face. He dropped his bow and turned to run, and managed two steps before he toppled forward.
‘No,’ said a voice behind the Prince. ‘This is how you kill a dead man.’
Lily Weatherwax stepped forward, her face white with fury.
‘You don’t belong here any more,’ she hissed. ‘You’re not part of the story.’
She raised a hand.
Behind her, the ghost images suddenly focused on her, so that she became more iridescent. Silver fire leapt across the room.
Baron Saturday thrust out his cane. The magic struck, and coursed down him to earth, leaving little silver trails that crackled for a while and then winked out.
‘No, ma’am,’ he said, ‘there ain’t no way to kill a dead man.’
The three witches watched from the doorway.
‘I felt that,’ said Nanny. ‘It should have blown him to bits!’
‘Blown what to bits?’ said Granny. ‘The swamp? The river? The world? He’s all of them! Ooh, she’s a clever one, that Mrs Gogol!’
‘What?’ said Magrat. ‘What do you mean, all of them?’
Lily backed away. She raised her hand again and sent another fireball towards the Baron. It hit his hat and burst off it like a firework.
‘Stupid, stupid!’ muttered Granny. ‘She’s seen it doesn’t work and she’s still trying it!’
‘I thought you weren’t on her side,’ said Magrat.
‘I ain’t! But I don’t like to see people being stupid. That kind of stuff’s no use, Magrat Garlick, even you can … oh, no, surely not again …’
The Baron laughed as a third attempt earthed itself harmlessly. Then he raised his cane. Two courtiers tumbled forward.
Lily Weatherwax, still backing away, came up against the foot of the main staircase.
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 afterwards. 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 colour 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. Nanny and Magrat moved away slightly.
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘My voodoo against your … headology?’
‘If you like.’
‘And what’s the stake?’
‘No more magic in the affairs of Genua,’ said Granny. ‘No more stories. No more godmothers. Just people, deciding for themselves. For good or bad. Right or wrong.’
‘Okay.’
‘And you leave Lily Weatherwax to me.’
Mrs Gogol’s intake of breath was heard around the hall.
‘Never!’
‘Hmm?’ said Granny. ‘You don’t think you’re going to lose, do you?’
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Mistress Weatherwax,’ said Mrs Gogol.
‘That’s good,’ said Granny. ‘I don’t want you to hurt me either.’
‘I don’t want there to be any fighting,’ said Ella.
They all looked at her.
‘She’s the ruler now, ain’t she?’ said Granny. ‘We’ve got to listen to what she says.’
‘I’ll keep out of the city,’ said Mrs Gogol, ignoring her, ‘but Lilith is mine.’
‘No.’
Mrs Gogol reached into her bag, and flourished the raggedy doll. ‘See this?’
‘Yes. I do,’ said Granny.
‘It was going to be her. Don’t let it be you.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Gogol,’ said Granny firmly, ‘but I see my duty plain.’
‘You’re a clever woman, Mistress Weatherwax. But you’re a long way from home.’
Granny shrugged. Mrs Gogol held up the doll by its waist. It had sapphire blue eyes.
‘You know about magic with mirrors? This is my kind of mirror, Mistress Weatherwax. I can make it be you. And then I can make it suffer. Don’t make me do that. Please.’
‘Please yourself, Mrs Gogol. But I’ll deal with Lily.’
‘I should box a bit clever if I was you, Esme,’ muttered Nanny Ogg. ‘She’s good at this sort of thing.’
‘I think she could be very ruthless,’ said Magrat.
‘I’ve got nothing but the greatest respect for Mrs Gogol,’ said Granny. ‘A fine woman. But talks a bit too much. If I was her, I’d have had a couple of big nails right through that thing by now.’
‘You would, too,’ said Nanny. ‘It’s a good thing you’re good, ain’t it.’