'Who, me?'
'Ridiculous,' said the duchess. 'He's a mummer, of sorts.'
'She's right, miss,' said Tomjon, on the edge of panic. 'My father runs a theatre, not a kingdom.'
'He is the true king. We can prove it,' said Granny.
'Oh, no,' said the duchess. 'We're not having that. There's no mysterious returned heirs in this kingdom. Guards – take him.'
Granny Weatherwax held up a hand. The soldiers lurched from foot to foot, uncertainly.
'She's a witch, isn't she?' said one of them, tentatively.
'Certainly,' said the duchess.
The guards shifted uneasily.
'We seen where they turn people into newts,' said one.
'And then shipwreck them.'
'Yeah, and alarum the divers.'
'Yeah.'
'We ought to talk about this. We ought to get extra for witches.'
'She could do anything to us, look. She could be a drabe, even.'
'Don't be foolish,' said the duchess. 'Witches don't do that sort of thing. They're just stories to frighten people.'
The guard shook his head.
'It looked pretty convincing to me.'
'Of course it did, it was meant—' the duchess began.
She sighed, and snatched a spear out of the guard's hand.
'I'll show you the power of these witches,' she said, and hurled it at Granny's face.
Granny moved her hand across at snakebite speed and caught the spear just behind the head.
'So,' she said, 'and it comes to this, does it?'
'You don't frighten me, wyrd sisters,' said the duchess.
Granny stared her in the eye for a few seconds. She gave a grunt of surprise.
'You're right,' she said. 'We really don't, do we . . .'
'Do you think I haven't studied you? Your witchcraft is all artifice and illusion, to amaze weak minds. It holds no fears for me. Do your worst.'
Granny studied her for a while.
'My worst?' she said, eventually. Magrat and Nanny Ogg shuffled gently out of her way.
The duchess laughed.
'You're clever,' she said. 'I'll grant you that much. And quick. Come on, hag. Bring on your
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