Everyone in Lancre knew about Esme Weatherwax’s mysterious box. It was variously rumoured to contain books of spells, a small private universe, cures for all ills, the deeds of lost lands and several tons of gold, which was pretty good going for something less than a foot across. Even Nanny Ogg had never been told about the contents, apart from the will.
She was a bit disappointed but not at all surprised to find that it contained nothing more than a couple of large envelopes, a bundle of letters, and a miscellaneous assortment of common items in the bottom.
Nanny lifted out the paperwork. The first envelope was addressed to her, and bore the legend: To Gytha Ogge, Reade This NOWE.
The second envelope was a bit smaller and said: The Will of Esmerelda Weatherwax, Died Midsummer’s Eve.
And then there was a bundle of letters with a bit of string round them. They were very old; bits of yellowing paper crackled off them as Magrat picked them up.
“They’re all letters to her,” she said.
“Nothing odd about that,” said Nanny. “Anyone can get letters.”
“And there’s all this stuff at the bottom,” said Magrat. “It looks like pebbles.”
She held one up.
“This one’s got one of those curly fossil things in it,” she said. “And this one . . . looks like that red rock the Dancers were made of. It’s got a darning needle stuck to it. How strange.”
“She always paid attention to small details, did Esme. Always tried to see inside to the real thing.”
They were both silent for a moment, and the silence wound out around them and filled the kitchen, to be sliced into gentle pieces by the soft ticking of the clock.
“I never thought we’d be doing this,” said Magrat, after a while. “I never thought we’d be reading her will. I thought she’d keep on going for ever.”
“Well, there it is,” said Nanny. “Tempus fuggit.”
“Nanny?”
“Yes, love?”
“I don’t understand. She was your friend but you don’t seem . . . well. . . upset?”
“Well, I’ve buried a few husbands and one or two kiddies. You get the hang of it. Anyway, if she hasn’t gone to a better place she’ll damn well be setting out to improve it.”
“Nanny?”
“Yes, love?”
“Did you know anything about the letter?”
“What letter?”
“The letter to Verence.”
“Don’t know anything about any letter to Verence.”
“He must have got it weeks before we got back. She must have sent it even before we got to Ankh-Morpork.”
Nanny Ogg looked, as far as Magrat could tell, genuinely blank.
“Oh, hell,” said Magrat. “I mean this letter.”
She fished it out of the breastplate.
“See?”
Nanny Ogg read:
“Dear sire. This is to inform youe that Magrate Garlick will bee retouning to Lancre on or aboute Blind Pig Tuesday. Shee is a Wet Hen but shee is clean and has got Good Teeth. If you wishes to marrie her, then starte arranging matters without delae, because if you just proposes and similar she will lede you a Dance because there is noone like Magrat for getting in the way of her own life. She does not Knoe her own Mind. You aere Kinge and you can doe what you like. You muste present her with a Fate Accompli. PS. I hear there is talk aboute making witches pay tax, no kinges of Lancre has tried this for many a Year, you could profit from their example. Yrs. in good health, at the moment. A FRIEND (MSS).”
The ticking of the clock stitched the blanket of silence.
Nanny Ogg turned to look at it.
“She arranged it all!” said Magrat. “You know what Verence is like. I mean, she hardly disguised who she was, did she? And I got back and it was all arranged-”
“What would you have done if nothing had been arranged?” said Nanny.
Magrat looked momentarily taken aback.
“Well, I would . . . I mean, if he had . . . I’d-”
“You’d be getting married today, would you?” said Nanny, but in a distant voice, as if she was thinking about something else.
“Well, that depends on-”
“You want to, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, of course, but-”
“That’s nice, then,” said Nanny, in what Magrat thought of as her nursery voice.
“Yes, but she pushed me on one side and shut me up in the castle and I got so wound up-”
“You were so angry that you actually stood Up to the Queen. You actually laid hands on her,” said Nanny. “Well done. The old Magrat wouldn’t have done that, would she? Esme could always see the real thing. Now nip out of the back door and look at the log pile, there’s a love.”
“But I hated her and hated her and now she’s dead!”
“Yes, dear. Now go and tell Nanny about the log pile.”
Magrat opened her mouth to frame the words “I happen to be very nearly queen” but decided not to. Instead she graciously went outside and looked at the log pile.
“It’s quite high,” she said, coming back and blowing her nose. “Looks like it’s just been stacked.”
And she wound up the clock yesterday,” said Nanny. “And the tea caddy’s half full, I just looked.”
“Well?”
“She wasn’t sure,” said Nanny. “Hmm.” She opened the envelope addressed to her. It was larger and flatter than the one holding the will, and contained a single piece of card.
Nanny read it, and let it drop on to the table.
“Come on,” she said. “We ain’t got much time!”
“What’s the matter?”
“And bring the sugar bowl!”
Nanny wrenched open the door and hurried toward her broomstick.
“Come on!”
Magrat picked up the card. The writing was familiar. She’d seen it several times before, when calling on Granny Weatherwax unexpectedly.
It said: I ATE’NT DEAD.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“What’re you doing on guard with your arm in a sling, Shawn?”
“Duty calls. Mum.”
“Well, let us in right now.”
“Are you Friend or Foe, Mum?”
“Shawn, this is almost-Queen Magrat here with me, all right?”
“Yes, but you’ve got to-”
“Right now!”
“Oooaaaww, Mum!”
Magrat tried to keep up with Nanny as she scurried through the castle.
“The wizard was right. She was dead, you know. I don’t blame you for hoping, but I can tell when people are dead.”
“No, you can’t. I remember a few years ago you came running down to my house in tears and it turned out she was just off Borrowing. That’s when she started using the sign.”
“But-”
“She wasn’t sure what was going to happen,” said Nanny. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Nanny-”
“You never know until you look,” said Nanny Ogg, expounding her own Uncertainty Principle.
Nanny kicked open the doors to the Great Hall.
“What’s all this?”
Ridcully got up from his chair, looking embarrassed.
“Well, it didn’t seem right to leave her all alone-”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Nanny, gazing at the solemn tableau.
“Candles and lilies. I bet you pinched ’em yourself, out of the garden. And then you all shut her away indoors like this.”
“Well-”
“And no one even thought to leave a damn window
open! Can’t you hear them?”
“Hear what?” Nanny looked around hurriedly and picked up a silver candlestick. “No!”
Magrat snatched it out of her hand. “This happens to be,” winding her arm back, “very nearly,” taking aim, “my castle-”
The candlestick flew up, turning end over end, and hit a big stained glass window right in the centre.
Fresh sunlight extruded down to the table, visibly moving in the Disc’s slow magical field. And down it, like marbles down a chute, the bees cascaded.
The swarm settled on the witch’s head, giving the impression of a very dangerous wig.
“What did you-” Ridcully began.
“She’s going to swank about this for weeks,” said Nanny. “No one’s ever done it with bees. Their mind’s everywhere, see? Not just in one bee. In the whole swarm.”
“What are you-”
Granny Weatherwax’s fingers twitched.
Her eyes flickered. Very slowly, she sat up. She focused on Magrat and
Nanny Ogg with some difficulty, and said:
“I wantzzz a bunzzch of flowerszz, a pot of honey, and someone to szzzting.”
“I brung the sugar bowl, Esme,” said Nanny Ogg.
Granny eyed it hungrily, and then looked at the bees that were taking off from her head like planes from a stricken carrier.
“Pour a dzzrop of water on it, then, and tip it out on the table for them.”
She stared triumphantly at their faces as Nanny Ogg bustled off.
“I done it with beezzz! No one can do it with beezzz, and I done it! You endzzz up with your mind all flying in different directionzzz! You got to be good to do it with beezzz!”
Nanny Ogg sloshed the bowl of makeshift syrup across the table. The swarm descended.
“You’re alive?” Ridcully managed.