tp.wyrd sisters-第7部分

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　'Magrat　Garlick；　what　are　you　saying？　It　was　just　paint　and　paper。　Anyone　could　see　that。'
　Magrat　opened　her　mouth　to　speak；　ran　the　ensuing　argument　through　her　head；　and　shut　it　again。
　'Where's　Nanny？'　she　said。
　'She's　lying　out　on　the　lawn；'　said　Granny。　'She　felt　a　bit　poorly。'　And　from　outside　came　the　sound　of　Nanny　Ogg　being　poorly　at　the　top　of　her　voice。
　Magrat　sighed。
　'You　know；'　she　said；　'if　we　are　his　godmothers；　we　ought　to　have　given　him　three　gifts。　It's　traditional。'
　'What　are　you　talking　about；　girl？'
　'Three　good　witches　are　supposed　to　give　the　baby　three　gifts。　You　know；　like　good　looks；　wisdom　and　happiness。'　Magrat　pressed　on　defiantly。　'That's　how　it　used　to　be　done　in　the　old　days。'
　'Oh；　you　mean　gingerbread　cottages　and　all　that；'　said　Granny　dismissively。　'Spinning　wheels　and　pumpkins　and　pricking　your　finger　on　rose　thorns　and　similar。　I　could　never　be　having　with　all　that。'
　She　polished　the　ball　reflectively。
　'Yes；　but…'　Magrat　said。　Granny　glanced　up　at　her。　That　was　Magrat　for　you。　Head　full　of　pumpkins。　Everyone's　fairy　godmother；　for　two　pins。　But　a　good　soul；　underneath　it　all。　Kind　to　small　furry　animals。　The　sort　of　person　who　worried　about　baby　birds　falling　out　of　nests。
　'Look；　if　it　makes　you　any　happier；'　she　muttered；　surprised　at　herself。　She　waved　her　hands　vaguely　over　the　image　of　the　departing　carts。　'What's　it　to　be　…　wealth；　beauty？'
　'Well；　money　isn't　everything；　and　if　he　takes　after　his　father　he'll　be　handsome　enough；'　Magrat　said；　suddenly　serious。　'Wisdom；　do　you　think？'
　'That's　something　he'll　have　to　learn　for　himself；'　said　Granny。
　'Perfect　eyesight？　A　good　singing　voice？'　From　the　lawn　outside　came　Nanny　Ogg's　cracked　but　enthusiastic　voice　telling　the　night　sky　that　A　Wizard's　Staff　Has　A　Knob　On　The　End。
　'Not　important；'　said　Granny　loudly。　'You've　got　to　think　headology；　see？　Not　muck　about　with　all　this　beauty　and。　wealth　business。　That's　not　important。'
　She　turned　back　to　the　ball　and　gestured　half…heartedly。　'You'd　better　go　and　get　Nanny；　then；　seeing　as　there　should　be　three　of　us。'
　Nanny　was　helped　in；　eventually；　and　had　to　have　things　explained　to　her。
　'Three　gifts；　eh？'　she　said。　'Haven't　done　one　of　them　things　since　I　was　a　gel；　it　takes　me　back　…　what're　you　doing？'
　Magrat　was　bustling　around　the　room；　lighting　candles。
　'Oh；　we've　got　to　create　the　right　magical　ambience；'　she　explained。　Granny　shrugged；　but　said　nothing；　even　in　the　face　of　the　extreme　provocation。　All　witches　did　their　magic　in　their　own　way；　and　this　was　Magrat's　house。
　'What're　we　going　to　give　him；　then？'　said　Nanny。
　'We　was　just　discussing　it；'　said　Granny。
　'I　know　what　he'll　want；'　said　Nanny。　She　made　a　suggestion；　which　was　received　in　frozen　silence。
　'I　don't　see　what　use　that　would　be；'　said　Magrat；　eventually。　'Wouldn't　it　be　rather　unfortable？'
　'He'll　thank　us　when　he　grows　up；　you　mark　my　words；'　said　Nanny。　'My　first　husband；　he　always　said…'
　'Something　a　bit　less　physical　is　generally　the　style　of　things；'　interrupted　Granny；　glaring　at　Nanny　Ogg。　'There's　no　need　to　go　and　spoil　everything；　Gytha。　Why　do　you　always　have　to…'
　'Well；　at　least　I　can　say　that　I…'　Nanny　began。
　Both　voices　faded　to　a　mutter。　There　was　a　long　edgy　silence。
　'I　think；'　said　Magrat；　with　brittle　brightness；　'that　perhaps　it　would　be　a　good　idea　if　we　all　go　back　to　our　little　cottages　and　do　it　in　our　own　way。　You　know。　Separately。　It's　been　a　long　day　and　we're　all　rather　tired。'
　'Good　idea；'　said　Granny　firmly；　and　stood　up。　'e；　Nanny　Ogg；'　she　snapped。　'It's　been　a　long　day　and　we're　all　rather　tired。'
　Magrat　heard　them　bickering　as　they　wandered　down　the　path。
　She　sat　rather　sadly　amidst　the　coloured　candles；　holding　a　small　bottle　of　extremely　thaumaturgical　incense　that　she　had　ordered　from　a　magical　supplies　emporium　in　faraway　Ankh…Morpork。　She　had　been　rather　looking　forward　to　trying　it。　Sometimes；　she　thought；　it　would　be　nice　if　people　could　be　a　bit　kinder　。　。　。
　She　stared　at　the　ball。
　Well；　she　could　make　a　start。
　'He　will　make　friends　easily；'　she　whispered。　It　wasn't　much；　she　knew；　but　it　was　something　she'd　never　been　able　to　get　the　hang　of。
　Nanny　Ogg；　sitting　alone　in　her　kitchen　with　her　huge　tomcat　curled　up　on　her　lap；　poured　herself　a　nightcap　and　through　the　haze　tried　to　remember　the　words　of　verse　seventeen　of　the　Hedgehog　song。　There　was　something　about　goats；　she　recalled；　but　the　details　eluded　her。　Time　abraded　memory。
　She　toasted　the　invisible　presence。
　'A　bloody　good　memory　is　what　he　ought　to　have；'　she　said。
　'He'll　always　remember　the　words。'
　And　Granny　Weatherwax；　striding　home　alone　through　the　midnight　forest；　wrapped　her　shawl　around　her　and　considered。　It　had　been　a　long　day；　and　a　trying　one。　The　theatre　had　been　the　worst　part。　All　people　pretending　to　be　other　people；　things　happening　that　weren't　real；　bits　of　countryside　you　could　put　your　foot　through　。　。　。　Granny　liked　to　know　where　she　stood；　and　she　wasn't　certain　she　stood　for　that　sort　of　thing。　The　world　seemed　to　be　changing　all　the　time。
　It　didn't　use　to　change　so　much。　It　was　bewildering。
　She　walked　quickly　through　the　darkness　with　the　frank　stride　of　someone　who　was　at　least　certain　that　the　forest；　on　this　damp　and　windy　night；　contained　strange　and　terrible　things　and　she　was　it。
　'Let　him　be　whoever　he　minks　he　is；'　she　said。　'That's　all　anybody　could　hope　for　in　this　world。'
　Like　most　people；　witches　are　unfocused　in　time。　The　difference　is　that　they　dimly　realise　it；　and　make　use　of　it。　They　cherish　the　past　because　part　of　them　is　still　living　there；　and　they　can　see　the　shadows　the　future　casts　before　it。
　Granny　could　feel　the　shape　of　the　future；　and　it　had　knives　in　it。
　
　It　began　at　five　the　next　morning。　Four　men　rode　through　the　woods　near　Granny's　cottage；　tethered　the　horses　out　of　earshot；　and　crept　very　cautiously　through　the　mists。
　The　sergeant　in　charge　was　not　happy　in　his　work。　He　was　a　Ramtops　man；　and　wasn't　at　all　certain　about　how　you　went　about　arresting　a　witch。　He　was　pretty　certain；　though；　that　the　witch　wouldn't　like　the　idea。　He　didn't　like　the　idea　of　a　witch　not　liking　the　idea。
　The　men　were　Ramtoppers　as　well。　They　were　following　him　very　closely；　ready　to　duck　behind　him　at　the　first　sign　of　anything　more　unexpected　than　a　tree。
　Granny's　cottage　was　a　fungoid　shape　in　the　mist。　Her　unruly　herb　garden　seemed　to　move；　even　in　the　still　air。　It　contained　plants　seen　nowhere　else　in　the　mountains；　their　roots　and　seeds　traded　across　five　thousand　miles　of　the　Discworld；　and　the　sergeant　could　swear　that　one　or　two　blooms　turned　towards　him。　He　shuddered。
　'What　now；　sarge？'
　'We　…　we　spread　out；'　he　said。　'Yes。　We　spread　out；　That's　what　we　do。'
　They　moved　carefully　through　the　bracken。　The　sergeant　crouched　behind　a　handy　log；　and　said；　'Right。　Very　good。　You've　got　the　general　idea。　Now　let's　spread　out　again；　and　this　time　we　spread　out　separately。'
　The　men　grumbled　a　bit；　but　disappeared　into　the　mist。　The　sergeant　gave　them　a　few　minutes　to　take　up　positions；　then　said；　'Right。　Now　we…'
　He　paused。
　He　wondered　whether　he　dared　shout；　and　decided　against　it。
　He　stood　up。　He　removed　his　helmet；　to　show　respect；　and　sidled　through　the　damp　grass　to　the　back　door。　He　knocked；　very　gently。
　After　a　wait　of　several　seconds　he　clamped　his　helmet　back　on　his　head；　said；　'No…one　in。　Blast'；　and　started　to　stride　away。
　The　door　opened。　It　opened　very　slowly；　and　with　the　maximum　amount　of　creak。　Simple　neglect　wouldn't　have　caused　that　depth　of　groan；　you'd　need　careful　work　with　hot　water　over　a　period　of　weeks。　The　sergeant　stopped；　and　then　turned　round　very　slowly　while　contriving　to　move　as　few　muscles　as　possible。
　He　had　mixed　feelings　about　the　fact　that　there　was　nothing　in　the　doorway。　In　his　experience；　doors　didn't　just　open　themselves。
　He　cleared　his　throat　nervously。
　Granny　Weatherwax；　right　by　his　ear；　said；　'That's　a　nasty　cough　you've　got　there。　You　did　right　in　ing　to　me。'
　The　sergeant　looked　up　at　her　with　an　expression　of　mad　gratitude。　He　said；　'Argle。'
　
　'She　did　what？'　said　the　duke。
　The　sergeant　stared　fixedly　at　an　area　a　few　inches　to　the　right　of　the　duke's　chair。
　'She　give　me　a　cup　of　tea；　sir；'　he　said。
　'And　what　about　your　men？'
　'She　give　them　one　too；　sir。'
　The　duke　rose　from　his　chair　and　put　his　arms　around　the　sergeant's　rusting　chain　mail　shoulders。　He　was　in　a　bad　mood。　He　had　spent　half　the　night　washing　his　hands。　He　kept　thinking　that　something　was　whispering　in　his　ear。　His　breakfast　oatmeal　had　been　served　up　too　salty　and　roasted　with　an　apple　in　it；　and　the　cook　had　hysterics　in　the　kitchen。　You　could　tell　the　duke　was　extremely　annoyed。　He　was　polite。　The　duke　was　the　kind　of　man　who　bees　more　and　more　agreeable　as　his　temper　drains　away；　until　the　point　is　reached　where　the　words　'Thank　you　so　much'　have　the　cutting　edge　of　a　guillotine。
　'Sergeant；'　he　said；　walking　the　man　slowly　across　the　floor。
　'Sir？'
　'I'm　not　sure　I　made　your　orders　clear；　sergeant；'　said　the　duke；　in　snake　tones。
　'Sir？'
　'I　mean；　it　is　possible　I　may　have　confused　you。　I　meant　to　say　〃Bring　me　a　witch；　in　chains　if　necessary〃；　but　perhaps　what　I　really　said　was　〃Go　and　have　a　cup　of　tea〃。　Was　this　in　fact　the　case？'
　The　sergeant　wrinkled　his　forehead。　Sarcasm　had　not　hitherto　entered　his　life。　His　experience　of　people　being　annoyed　with　him　generally　involved　shouting　and　occasional　bits　of　wood。
　'No；　sir；'　he　said。
　'I　wonder　why；　then；　you　did　not　in　fact　do　this　thing　that　I　asked？'
　'Sir？'
　'I　expect　she　said　some　magic　words；　did　she？　I've　heard　about　witches；'　said　the　duke；　who　had　spent　the　night　before　reading；　until　his　bandaged　hands　shook　too　much；　some　of　the　more　excitable　works　on　the　subject。＇3＇　'I　imagine　she　offered　you　visions　of　unearthly　delight？　Did　she　show　you…'　the　duke　shuddered　…　'dark　fascinations　and　forbidden　raptures；　the　like　of　which　mortal　men　should　not　even　think　of；　and　demonic　secrets　that　took　you　to　the　depths　of　man's　desires？'
　The　duke　sat　down　and　fanned　himself　with　his　handkerchief。
　'Are　you　all　right；　sir？'　said　the　sergeant。
　'What？　Oh；　perfectly；　perfectly。'
　'Only　you've　gone　all　red。'
　'Don't　change　the　subject；　man；'　snapped　the　duke；　pulling　himself　together　a　bit。　'Admit　it　…　she　offered　you　hedonistic　and　licentious　pleasures　known　only　to　those　who　dabble　in　the　carnal　arts；　didn't　she？'
　The　sergeant　stood　to　attention　and　stared　straight　ahead。
　'No；　sir；'　he　said；　in　the　manner　of　one　speaking　the　truth　e　what　may。　'She　offered　me　a　bun。'
　'A　bun？'
　'Yes；　sir。　It　had　currants　in　it。'
　Felmet　sat　absolutely　still　while　he　fought　for　internal　peace。　Finally；　all　he　could　manage　was；　'And　what　did　your　men　do　about　this？'
　'They　had　a　bun　too；　sir。　All　except　young　Roger；　who　isn't　allowed　fruit；　sir；　on　account　of　his　trouble。'
　The　duke　sagged　back　on　the　window　seat　and　put　his　hand　over　his　eyes。　I　was　born　to　rule　down　on　the　plains；　he　thought；　where　it's　all　flat　and　there　isn't　all　this　weather　and　everything　and　there　are　people　who　don't　appear　to　be　m