The rest of the Weaver family were hiding under the table. Four pairs of frightened eyes peered up at Magrat.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“Er . . .” said Weaver. “Didn’t recognize you in your flying hat, miss . . .”
“I thought you were doing the Entertainment? What’s happened? Where is everyone? Where is my going-to-be-husband?”
“Er . . .”
Yes, it was probably the helmet. That’s what Magrat decided afterward. There are certain items, such as swords and wizards’ hats and crowns and rings, which pick up something of the nature of their owners. Queen Ynci had probably never sewn a tapestry in her life and undoubtedly had a temper shorter than a wet cowpat.[38] It was better to think that something of her had rubbed off on the helmet and was being transmitted to Magrat like some kind of royal scalp disease. It was better to let Ynci take over.
She grabbed Weaver by his collar.
“If you say ‘Er’ one more time,” she said, “I’ll chop your ears off.”
“Er . . . aargh . . . I mean, miss . . . it’s the Lords and Ladies, miss!”
“It really is the elves?”
“Miss!” said Weaver, his eyes full of pleading. “Don’t say it! We heard ’em go down the street. Dozens of ’em. And they’ve stolen old Thatcher’s cow and Skindle’s goat and they broke down the door of-”
“Why’d you put a bowl of milk out?” Magrat demanded.
Weaver’s mouth opened and shut a few times. Then he managed: “You see, my Eva said her granny always put a bowl of milk out for them, to keep them hap-”
“I see,” said Magrat, icily. “And the king?”
“The king, miss?” said Weaver, buying time. “The king,” said Magrat. “Short man, runny eyes, ears that stick out a bit, unlike other ears in this vicinity very shortly.”
Weaver’s fingers wove around one another like tormented snakes.
“Well. . . well. . . well. . .”
He caught the look on Magrat’s face, and sagged.
“We done the play,” he said. “I told ’em, let’s do the Stick and Bucket Dance instead, but they were set on this play. And it all started all right and then, and then, and then. . . suddenly They were there, hundreds of ’em, and everyone was runnin’, and someone bashed into me, and I rolled into the stream, and then there was all this noise, and I saw Jason Ogg hitting four elves with the first thing he could get hold of-”
“Another elf?”
“Right, and then I found Eva and the kids, and then lots of people were running like hell for home, and there were these Gentry on horseback, and I could hear ’em laughing, and we got home and Eva said to put a horseshoe on the door and-”
“What about the king?”
“Dunno, miss. Last I remember, he was laughin’ at Thatcher in his straw wig.”
“And Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax? What happened to them?”
“Dunno, miss. Don’t remember seein’ ’em, but there was people runnin’ everywhere-”
“And where was all this?”
“Miss?”
“Where did it happen?” said Magrat, trying to speak slowly and distinctly.
“Up at the Dancers, miss. You know. Them old stones.” Magrat let him go.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Don’t tell Magrat, Magrat’s not to know about this sort of thing. The Dancers? Right.”
“It wasn’t us, miss! It was only make-believe!”
“Hah!”
She unbolted the door again.
“Where’re you going, miss?” said Weaver, who was not a competitor in the All-Lancre Uptake Stakes.
“Where d’you think?”
“But, miss, you can’t take iron-”
Magrat slammed the door. Then she kicked the bowl of milk so hard that it sprayed across the street.
Jason Ogg crawled cautiously through the dripping bracken. There was a figure a few feet away. He hefted the stone in his hand-
“Jason?”
“Is that you, Weaver?”
“No, it’s me – Tailor.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Tinker’n Baker found Carpenter just now. Have you seen Weaver?”
“No, but I saw Carter and Thatcher.”
Mist curled up as the rain drummed into the warm earth. The seven surviving Morris Men crawled under a
dripping bush.
“There’s going to be hell to pay in the morning!”
moaned Carter. “When she finds us we’re done for!”
“We’ll be all right if we can find some iron,” said Jason. “Iron don’t have no effect on her! She’ll tan our hides for us!”
Carter clutched his knees to his chest in terror.
“Who?”
“Mistress Weatherwax!”
Thatcher jabbed him in the ribs. Water cascaded off the leaves above them and tunnelled down every neck.
“Don’t be so daft! You saw them things! What’re you worrying about that old baggage for?”
“She’ll tan our hides for us, right enough! ‘Twas all our fault, she’ll say!”
“I just hopes she gets a chance,” muttered Tinker.
“We are,” said Thatcher, “between a rock and a hard place.”
“No we ain’t,” sobbed Carter. “I been there. That’s that gorge just above Bad Ass. We ain’t there! I wish we was there! We’re under this bush! And they’ll be looking for us! And so shall she!”
“What happened when we was doing the Ent-” Carpenter began.
“I ain’t asking that question right now,” said Jason. “The question I’m asking right now is, how do we get home tonight?”
“She’ll be waiting for us!” Carter wailed.
There was a tinkle in the darkness.
“What’ve you got there?” said Jason.
“It’s the props sack,” said Carter. “You said as how it was my job to look after the props sack!”
“You dragged that all the way down here?”
“I ain’t about to get into more trouble ‘cos of losing the props sack!”
Carter started to shiver.
“If we gets back home,” said Jason, “I’m going to talk to our mam about getting you some of these new dried frog pills.”
He pulled the sack toward him and undid the top.
“There’s our bells in here,” he said, “and the sticks. And who told you to pack the accordion?”
“I thought we might want to do the Stick and-”
“No one’s ever to do the Stick and-”
There was a laugh, away on the rain-soaked hill, and a crackling in the bracken. Jason suddenly felt the focus of attention.
“They’re out there!” said Carter.
“And we ain’t got any weapons,” said Tinker.
A set of heavy brass bells hit him in the chest.
“Shut up,” said Jason, “and put your bells on. Carter?”
“They’re waiting for us!”
“I’ll say this just once,” said Jason. “After tonight no one’s ever to talk about the Stick and Bucket dance ever again. All right?”
The Lancre Morris Men faced one another, rain plastering their clothes to their bodies.
Carter, tears of terror mingling with make-up and the rain, squeezed the accordion. There was the long-drawn-out chord that by law must precede all folk music to give bystanders time to get away
Jason held up his hand and counted his fingers.
“One, two . . .” His forehead wrinkled. “One, two, three . . .”
“. . . four . . .” hissed Tinker.
“. . . four,” said Jason. “Dance, lads!”
Six heavy ash sticks clashed in mid-air.
“. . . one, two, forward, one, back, spin . . .”
Slowly, as the leaky strains of Mrs. Widgery’s Lodger wound around the mist, the dancers leapt and squelched their way slowly through the night. . .
“. . . two, back, jump . . .”
The sticks clashed again.
“They’re watching us!” panted Tailor, as he bounced past Jason, “I can see ’em!”
“. . . one . . . two . . . they won’t do nothing ’til the music stops! . . . back, two, spin . . . they loves music! . . . forward, hop, turn . . . one and six, beetle crushers! . . . hop, back, spin . . .”
“They’re coming out of the bracken!” shouted Carpenter, as the sticks met again.
“I see ’em . . . two, three, forward, turn . . . Carter . . . back, spin . . . you do a double . . . two, back . . . wandering angus down the middle . . .”
“I’m losing it, Jason!”
“Play! . . . two, three, spin . . .”
“They’re all round us!”
“Dance!”
“They’re watching us! They’re closing in!”
“. . . spin, back . . . jump . . . we’re nearly at the road . . .”
“Jason!”
“Remember when . . . three, turn . . . we won the cup against Ohulan Casuals? . . . spin . . .”
The sticks met, with a thump of wood against wood. Clods of earth were kicked into the night.
“Jason, you don’t mean-”
“. . . back, two . . . do it. . . ”
“Carter’s getting . . . one, two . . . out of wind . . .”
“. . . two, spin. . .”