Lords And Ladies

'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. . .'

'The accordion's melting, Jason,' sobbed Carter.

'. . . one, two, forward . . . bean setting!'

The accordion wheezed. The elves pressed in. Out of the corner of his eye Jason saw a dozen grinning, fascinated faces.

'Jason!'

'. . . one, two . . . Carter into the middle . . . one, two, spin. . .'

Seven pairs of boots thudded down . . .

'Jason!'