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l flat and there isn't all this weather and everything and there are people who don't appear to be made of dough。 He's going to tell me what this Roger had。
'He had a biscuit； sir。'
The duke stared out at the trees。 He was angry。 He was extremely angry。 But twenty years of marriage to Lady Felmet had taught him not simply to control his emotions but to control his instincts as well； and not so much as the twitching of a muscle indicated the workings of his mind。 Besides； arising out of the black depths of his head was an emotion that； hitherto； he had little time for。 Curiosity was flashing a fin。
The duke had managed quite well for fifty years without finding a use for curiosity。 It was not a trait much encouraged in aristocrats。 He had found certainty was a much better bet。 However； it occurred to him that for once curiosity might have its uses。
The sergeant was standing in the middle of the floor with the stolid air of one who is awaiting a word of mand； and who is quite prepared so to wait until continental drift budges him from his post。 He had been in the undemanding service of the kings of Lancre for many years； and it showed。 His body was standing to attention。 Despite all his efforts his stomach stood at ease。
The duke's gaze fell on the Fool； who was sitting on his stool by the throne。 The hunched figure looked up； embarrassed； and gave his bells a half…hearted shake。
The duke reached a decision。 The way to progress； he'd found； was to find weak spots。 He tried to shut away the thought that these included such things as a king's kidneys at the top of a dark stairway； and concentrated on the matter in hand。
。 。 。 hand。 He'd scrubbed and scrubbed； but it seemed to have no effect。 Eventually he'd gone down to the dungeons and borrowed one of the torturer's wire brushes； and scrubbed and scrubbed with that； too。 That had no effect； either。 It made it worse。 The harder he scrubbed； the more blood there was。 He was afraid he might go mad 。 。 。
He wrestled the thought to the back of his mind。 Weak spots。 That was it。 The Fool looked all weak spot。
'You may go； sergeant。'
'Sir；' said the sergeant； and marched out stiffly。
'Fool？'
'Marry； sir…' said the Fool nervously； and gave his hated mandolin a quick strum。
The duke sat down on the throne。
'I am already extremely married；' he said。 'Advise me； my Fool。'
'I'faith； nuncle…' said the Fool。
'Nor am I thy nuncle。 I feel sure I would have remembered；' said Lord Felmet； leaning down until the prow of his nose was a few inches from the Fool's stricken face。 'If you preface your next remark with nuncle； i'faith or marry； it will go hard with you。'
The Fool moved his lips silently； and then said； 'How do you feel about Prithee？'
The duke knew when to allow some slack。 'Prithee I can live with；' he said。 'So can you。 But no capering。' He grinned encouragingly。 'How long have you been a Fool； boy？'
'Prithee； sirrah…'
'The sirrah；' said the duke； holding up a hand； 'on the whole； I think not。'
'Prithee； sirra … sir；' said the Fool； and swallowed nervously。 'All my life； sir。 Seventeen years under the bladder； man and boy。 And my father before me。 And my nuncle at the same time as him。 And my grandad before them。 And his…'
'Your whole family have been Fools？'
'Family tradition； sir；' said the Fool。 'Prithee； I mean。'
The duke smiled again； and the Fool was too worried to notice how many teeth it contained。
'You e from these parts； don't you？' said the duke。
'Ma … Yes； sir。'
'So you would know all about the native beliefs and so on？'
'I suppose so； sir。 Prithee。'
'Good。 Where do you sleep； my Fool？'
'In the stables； sir。'
'From now on you may sleep in the corridor outside my room；' said the duke beneficently。
'Gosh！'
'And now；' said the duke； his voice dripping across the Fool like treacle over a pudding； 'tell me about witches 。 。 。'
That night the Fool slept on good royal flagstones in the whistling corridor above the Great Hall instead of the warm stuffy straw of the stables。
'This is foolish；' he told himself。 'Marry； but is it foolish enough！'
He dozed off fitfully； into some sort of dream where a vague figure kept trying to attract his attention； and was only dimly aware of the voices of Lord and Lady Felmet on the other side of the door。
'It's certainly a lot less draughty；' said the duchess grudgingly。
The duke sat back in the armchair and smiled at his wife。
'Well？' she demanded。 'Where are the witches？'
'The chamberlain would appear to be right； beloved。 The witches seem to have the local people in thrall。 The sergeant of the guard came back empty…handed。' Handed 。 。 。 he came down heavily on the importunate thought。
'You must have him executed；' she said promptly。 'To make an example to the others。'
'A course of action； my dear； which ultimately results in us ordering the last soldier to cut his own throat as an example to himself。 By the way；' he added mildly； 'there would appear to be somewhat fewer servants around the place。 You know I would not normally interfere…'
'Then don't；' she snapped。 'Housekeeping is under my control。 I cannot abide slackness。'
'I'm sure you know best； but…'
'What of these witches？ Will you stand idly by and let trouble seed for thg future？ Will you let these witches defy you？ What of the crown？'
The duke shrugged。 'No doubt it ended in the river；' he said。
'And the child？ He was given to the witches？ Do they do human sacrifice？'
'It would appear not；' said the duke。 The duchess looked vaguely disappointed。
'These witches；' said the duke。 'Apparently； they seem to cast a spell on people。'
'Well； obviously…'
'Not like a magic spell。 They seem to be respected。 They do medicine and so on。 It's rather strange。 The mountain people seem to be afraid of them and proud of them at the same time； It might be a little difficult to move against them。'
'I could e to believe；' said the duchess darkly； 'that they have cast a glamour over you as well。'
In fact the duke was intrigued。 Power was always darkly fascinating； which was why he had married the duchess in the first place。 He stared fixedly at the fire。
'In fact。' said the duchess； who recognised the malign smile； 'you like it； don't you？ The thought of the danger。 I remember when we were married； all that business with the knotted rope…'
She snapped her fingers in front of the duke's glazed eyes； He sat up。
'Not at all！' he shouted。
'Then what will you do？'
'Wait。'
'Waif？'
'Wait； and consider。 Patience is a virtue。' The duke sat back。 The smile he smiled could have spent a million years sitting on a rock。 And then； just below one eye； he started to twitch。 Blood was oozing between the bandages on his hand。
Once again the full moon rode the clouds。
Granny Weatherwax milked and fed the goats； banked me fire put a cloth over the minor and pulled her broomstick out from behind the door。 She went out； locked the back door behind her； and hung the key on its nail in the privy。
This was quite sufficient。 Only once； in the entire history of witchery in the Ramtops； had a thief broken into a witch's cottage。 The witch concer