Wyrd Sisters

toads and demons, I'll . . .'

She stopped, her mouth opening and shutting a bit without any words emerging. Her lips drew back in a rictus of terror, her eyes looked beyond Granny, beyond the world, towards something else. One knuckled hand flew to her mouth and she made a little whimpering noise. She froze, like a rabbit that has just seen a stoat and knows, without any doubt, that it is the last stoat that it will ever see.

'What have you done to her?' said Magrat, the first to dare to speak. Granny smirked.

'Headology,' said Granny, and smirked. 'You don't need any Black Aliss magic for it.'

'Yes, but what have you done?'

'No-one becomes like she is without building walls inside their head,' she said. Tve just knocked them down. Every scream. Every plea. Every pang of guilt. Every twinge of conscience. All at once. There's a little trick to it.'

She gave Magrat a condescending smile. 'I'll show you one day, if you like.'

Magrat thought about it. 'It's horrible,' she said.

'Nonsense,' Granny smiled terribly. 'Everyone wants to know their true self. Now, she does.'

'Sometimes you have to be kind to be cruel,' said Nanny Ogg approvingly.

'I think it's probably the worst thing that could happen to anyone,' said Magrat, as the duchess swayed backwards and forwards.

'For goodness' sake use your imagination, girl,' said Granny. 'There are far worse things. Needles under the fingernails, for one. Stuff with pliers.'

'Red-hot knives up the jacksie,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Handle first, too, so you cut your fingers trying to pull them out—'

'This is simply the worst that I can do,' said Granny Weatherwax primly. 'It's all right and proper, too. A witch should act like that, you know. There's no need for any dramatic stuff. Most magic goes on in the head. It's headology. Now, if you'd—'

A noise like a gas leak escaped from the duchess's lips. Her head jerked back suddenly. She opened her eyes, blinked, and focused on Granny. Sheer hatred suffused her features.

'Guards!' she said. 'I told you to take them!'

Granny's jaw sagged. 'What?' she said. 'But – but I showed you your true self . . .'

'I'm supposed to be upset by that, am I?' As the soldiers sheepishly grabbed Granny's arms the duchess pressed her face close to Granny's, her tremendous eyebrows a V of triumphant hatred. 'I'm supposed to grovel on the floor, is that it? Well, old woman, I've seen exactly what I am, do you understand, and I'm proud of it! I'd do it all again, only hotter and longer! I enjoyed it, and I did it because I wanted to!'

She thumped the vast expanse of her chest.

'You gawping idiots!' she said. 'You're so weak. You really think that people are basically decent underneath, don't you?'

The crowd on the stage backed away from the sheer force of her exultation.

'Well, I've looked underneath,' said the duchess. 'I know what drives people. It's fear. Sheer, deep-down fear. There's not one of you who doesn't fear me, I can make you widdle your drawers out of terror, and now I'm going to take—'

At this point Nanny Ogg hit her on the back of the head with the cauldron.

'She does go on, doesn't she?' she said conversationally, as the duchess collapsed. 'She was a bit eccentric, if you ask me.'

There was a long, embarrassed silence.

Granny Weatherwax coughed. Then she treated the soldiers holding her to a bright, friendly smile, and pointed to the mound that was now the duchess.