"This used to be a great old city. A happy place. No-one tried to make it happy. It just happened, all by itself,' said Airs Gogol. 'That was when the old Baron was alive. But he was murdered.'

'Who done it?' said Nanny Ogg.

'Everyone knows it was the Duc,' said Airs Gogol.

The witches looked at one another. Royal intrigues were obviously a bit different in foreign parts.

'Pecked to death, was he?' said Nanny.

'A foul deed?' said Granny.

'The Duc is a title, not a bird,' said Mrs Gogol patiently. 'The Baron was poisoned. It was a terrible night. And, in the morning, the Duc was in the palace. Then there was the matter of the will.'

'Don't tell me,' said Granny. 'I bet there was a will leaving everything to this Duc. I bet the ink was still wet.'

'How did you know that?' said Airs Gogol.

'Stands to reason,' said Granny loftily.

'The Baron had a young daughter,' said Mrs Gogol.

'She'd be still alive, I reckon,' said Granny.

'You surely know a lot of things, lady,' said Airs Gogol. 'Why'd you think that, then?'

'Well . . .' said Granny. She was about to say: because I know how the stories work. But Nanny Ogg interrupted.

'If this Baron was as great as you say, he must have had a lot of friends in the city, right?' she said.

'That is so. The people liked him.'

'Well, if I was a Duc with no more claim on things than a smudgy will and a little bottle of ink with the cork still out, I'd be lookin' for any chance to make things a bit more official,' said Nanny. 'Marryin' the real heir'd be favourite. He could thumb his nose at everyone, then. I bet she don't know who she really is, eh?'

'That's right,' said Mrs Gogol. 'The Duc's got friends, too. Or keepers, maybe. Not people you'd want to cross. They've brought her up, and they don't let her out much.'

The witches sat in silence for a while.

Granny thought: no. That's not quite right. That's how it'd appear in a history book. But that's not the story.

Then Granny said,' 'Scuse me, Mrs Gogol, but where do you come in all this? No offence, but I reckon that out here in the swamp it'd be all the same whoever was doing the rulin'.'

For the first time since they'd met her, Mrs Gogol looked momentarily uneasy.

'The Baron was ... a friend of mine,' she said.

'Ah,' said Granny understandingly.

'He wasn't keen on zombies, mark you. He said he thought the dead should be allowed their rest. But he never insisted. Whereas this new one . . .'

'Not keen on the Interestin" Arts?' said Nanny.

'Oh, I reckon he is,' said Granny. 'He'd have to be. Not your magic, maybe, but I bet he's got a lot of magic around him.'

'Why d'you say that, lady?' said Mrs Gogol.

'Well,' said Nanny, 'I can see that you, being a lady o' spirit, wouldn't put up with this if you didn't have to. There's lots of ways to sort matters out, I 'spect. I 'spect, if you dint like someone, their legs might unexpectedly drop off, or they might find mysterious snakes in their boots ..."

'Alleygators under their bed,' suggested Granny.

'Yes. He's got protection,' said Mrs Gogol.

'Ah.'

'Powerful magic.'

'More powerful'n you?' said Granny.

There was a long and difficult pause.

'Yes.'

'Ah.'

'For now,' Mrs Gogol added.

There was another pause. No witch ever liked admitting to less than near-absolute power, or even hearing another witch doing so.

'You're biding your time, I expect,' said Granny kindly.

'Wifing your strength,' said Nanny.

'It's powerful protection,' said Mrs Gogol.

Granny sat back in her chair. When she spoke next, it was as a person who has certain ideas in their mind and wants to find out what someone else knows.

'What sort?' she said. 'Exactly?'

Mrs Gogol reached into the cushions of her rocking-chair and, after some rummaging, produced a leather bag and a pipe. She lit the pipe and puffed a cloud of bluish smoke into the morning air.

'You look in mirrors a lot these days, Mistress Weather-wax?' she said.

Granny's chair tipped backwards, almost throwing her off the veranda and into the inky waters. Her hat flew away into the lily pads.

She had time to see it settle gently on the water. It floated for a moment and then -

- was eaten. A very large alligator snapped its jaws shut and gazed smugly at Granny.

It was a relief to have something to shout about.

'My hat! It ate my hat! One of your alleygators ate my hatl It was my hat! Make it give it back!'

She snatched a length of creeper off the nearest tree and flailed at the water.

Nanny Ogg backed away.

'You shouldn't do that, Esme! You shouldn't do that!' she quavered. The alligator backed water.

'I can hit cheeky lizards if I want!'

'Yes, you can, you can,' said Nanny soothingly, 'but not. . . with a ... snake . . .'

Granny held up the creeper for inspection. A medium-sized Three-Banded Coit gave her a frightened look, considered biting her nose for a moment, thought better of it, and then shut its mouth very tightly in the hope she'd get the message. She opened her hand. The snake dropped to the boards and slithered away quickly.

Mrs Gogol hadn't stirred in her chair. Now she half turned. Saturday was still patiently watching his fishing line.

'Saturday, go and fetch the lady's hat,' she said.

'Yes, m'm.'

Even Granny hesitated at that.

'You can't make him do that!' she said.

'But he's dead,' said Mrs Gogol.

'Yes, but it's bad enough being dead without bein' in bits too,' said Granny. 'Don't you go in there, Mr Saturday!'

'But it was your hat, lady,' said Mrs Gogol.

'Yes, but..." said Granny,'. . . a . . . hat was all it was. I wouldn't send anyone into any alligators for any hat.'

Nanny Ogg looked horrified.

No-one knew better than Granny Weatherwax that hats were important. They weren't just clothing. Hats defined the head. They defined who you were. No-one had ever heard of a wizard without a pointy hat - at least, no wizard worth speaking of. And you certainly never heard of a witch without one. Even Magrat had one, although she hardly ever wore it on account of being a wet hen. That didn't matter too much; it wasn't the wearing of the hats that counted so much as having one to wear. Every trade, every craft had its hat. That's why kings had hats. Take the crown off a king and all you had was someone good at having a weak chin and waving to people. Hats had power. Hats were important. But so were people.

Mrs Gogol took another puff at her pipe.

'Saturday, go and get my best hat for holidays,' she said.

'Yes, Mrs Gogol.'

Saturday disappeared into the hut for a moment, and came out with a large and battered box securely wrapped with twine.

'I can't take that,' said Granny. 'I can't take your best hat.'

'Yes you can,' said Mrs Gogol. 'I've got another hat. Oh, yes. I've got another hat all right.'

Granny put the box down carefully.

'It occurs to me, Mrs Gogol,' she said, 'that you ain't everything you seem.'

'Oh yes I is, Mistress Weatherwax. I never bin nothing else, just like you.'

'You brought us here?'

'No. You brought yourselves here. Of your own free will. To help someone, ain't that right? You decided to do it, ain't that right? No-one forced you, ain't that right? 'Cept yourselves.'

'She's right about all that,' said Nanny. 'We'd have felt it, if it was magic.'

"That's right,' said Granny. 'No-one forced us, except ourselves. What's your game, Mrs Gogol?'

'I ain't playing no game, Mistress Weatherwax. I just want back what's mine. I want justice. And I wants her stopped.'

'Her who?' said Nanny Ogg.

Granny's face had frozen into a mask.

'Her who's behind all this,' said Mrs Gogol. 'The Duc hasn't got the brains of a prawn, Mrs Ogg. I mean her. Her with her mirror magic. Her who likes to control. Her who's in charge. Her who's tinkering with destiny. Her that Mistress Weatherwax knows all about.'

Nanny Ogg was lost.

'What's she talking about, Esme?' she said.

Granny muttered something.

'What? Didn't hear you,' Nanny said.

Granny Weatherwax looked up, her face red with anger.

'She means my sister, Gytha! Right? Got that? Do you understand? Did you hear? My sister! Want me to repeat it again? Want to know who she's talking about? You want me to write it down? My sister! That's who! My sisterV

'They're sisters?' said Magrat.

Her tea had gone cold.

'I don't know,' said Ella. 'They look . . . alike. They keep themselves to themselves most of the time. But I can feel them watching. They're very good at watching.'

'And they make you do all the work?' she said.

'Well, I only have to cook for myself and the outside staff,' said Ella. 'And I don't mind the cleaning and the laundry all that much.'

'Do they do their own cooking, then?'

'I don't think so. They walk around the house at night, after I've gone to bed. Godmother Lilith says I must be kind to them and pity them because they can't talk, and always see that we've got plenty of cheese in the larder.'

'They eat nothing but cheese?' said Magrat.

'I don't think so,' said Ella.

'I should think the rats and mice get it, then, in an old place like this.'

'You know, it's a funny thing,' said Ella, 'but I've never seen a mouse anywhere in this house.'

Magrat shivered. She felt watched.

'Why don't you just walk away? I would.'

'Where to? Anyway, they always find me. Or they send the coachmen and grooms after me.'

'That's horrible!'

'I'm sure they think that sooner or later I'll marry anyone to get away from laundry,' said Ella. 'Not mat the Prince's clothes get washed, I expect,' she added bitterly. 'I expect they get burned after he's worn them.'

' What you want to do is make a career of your own,' said Magrat encouragingly, to keep her spirits up. 'You want to be your own woman. You want to emancipate yourself.'

'I don't think I want to do that,' said Ella, speaking with caution in case it was a sin to offend a fairy godmother.

'You do really,' said Magrat.

'Do I?'

'Yes.'

'Oh.'

'You don't have to marry anyone you don't want to.'

Ella sat back.

'How good are you?' she said.

'Er . . . well ... I suppose I - '

'The dress arrived yesterday,' said Ella. 'It's up in the big front room, on a stand so it doesn't get creased. So that it stays perfect. And they've polished up the coach specially. They've hired extra footmen, too.'

'Yes, but perhaps - '

'I think I'm going to have to marry someone I don't want to,' said Ella.

Granny Weatherwax strode up and down the driftwood balcony. The whole shack trembled to her stamping. Ripples spread out as it bounced on the water.

'Of course you don't remember her!' she shouted. 'Our mam kicked her out when she was thirteen! We was both tiny then! But I remember the rows! I used to hear them when I was in bed! She was wanton?

'You always used to say I was wanton, when we was younger,' said Nanny.

Granny hesitated, caught momentarily off balance. Then she waved a hand irritably.

'You was, of course,' she said dismissively. 'But you never used magic for it, did you?'

'Din't have to,' said Nanny happily. 'An off-the* shoulder dress did the trick most of the time.'

'Right off the shoulder and on to the grass, as I recall,' said Granny. 'No, she used magic. Not just ordinary magic, neither. Oh, she was wilfulV

Nanny Ogg was about to say: What? You mean not compliant and self-effacing like what you is, Esme? But she stopped herself. You didn't juggle matches in a fireworks factory.

'Young men's fathers used to come round to complain,' said Granny darkly.