personal tranquillity and wholeness achieved through meditation and breathing techniques; an interesting aspect is the asking of apparently nonsensical questions in order to widen the doors of perception.'
'How's that again?' said the cook suspiciously. He was on edge. When he'd taken the breakfast up to the Great Hall he'd kept getting the feeling that something was trying to take the tray out of his hands. And as if that wasn't bad enough, this new duke had sent him back for . . .
He shuddered. Oatmeal! And a runny boiled egg! The cook was too old for this sort of thing. He was set in his ways. He was a cook in the real feudal tradition. If it didn't have an apple in its mouth and you couldn't roast it, he didn't want to serve it.
The Fool hesitated with a card in his hand, suppressed his panic and thought quickly.
'I'faith, nuncle,' he squeaked, 'thou't more full of questions than a martlebury is of mizzensails.'
The cook relaxed.
'Well, okay,' he said, not entirely satisfied. The Fool lost the next three hands, just to be on the safe side.
The porter, meanwhile, unfastened the hatch in the wicket gate and peered out.
'Who dost knock without?' he growled.
The soldier, drenched and terrified though he was, hesitated.
'Without? Without what?' he said.
'If you're going to bugger about, you can bloody well stay without all day,' said the porter calmly.
'No! I must see the duke upon the instant!' shouted the guard. 'Witches are abroad!'
The porter was about to come back with, 'Good time of year for it', or 'Wish I was, too', but stopped when he saw the man's face. It wasn't the face of a man who would enter into the spirit of the thing. It was the look of someone who had seen things a decent man shouldn't wot of . . .
'Witches?' said Lord Felmet. 'Witches!' said the duchess.
In the draughty corridors, a voice as faint as the wind in distant keyholes said, with a note of hope, 'Witches!'
The psychically inclined ...
'It's meddling, that's what it is,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'And no good will come of it.'
'It's very romantic,' said Magrat breathily, and heaved a sigh.
'Goochy goo,' said Nanny Ogg.
'Anyway,' said Magrat, 'you killed that horrid man!'
'I never did. I just encouraged . . . things to take their course.' Granny Weatherwax frowned. 'He didn't have no respect. Once people lose their respect, it means trouble.'
'Izzy wizzy wazzy, den.' ,
'That other man brought him out here to save him!' shouted Magrat. 'He wanted us to keep him safe! It's obvious! It's destiny!'
'Oh, obvious,' said Granny. 'I'll grant you it's obvious. Trouble is, just because things are obvious doesn't mean they're true.'
She weighed the crown in her hands. It felt very heavy, in a way that went beyond mere pounds and ounces.
'Yes, but the point is—' Magrat began.
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