tp.wyrd sisters-第5部分

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r　the　kingdom。　Certainly；　it　was　not　actually　forbidden　for　witches　to　get　married。　Granny　had　to　concede　that；　but　reluctantly。　Very　reluctantly。　She　sniffed　again；　disapprovingly；　this　was　a　mistake。
　'What's　that　smell？'　she　snapped。
　'Ah；'　said　Nanny　Ogg；　carefully　repositioning　the　baby。　'I　expect　I'll　just　go　and　see　if　Magrat　has　any　clean　rags；　shall　I？'
　And　now　Granny　was　left　alone。　She　felt　embarrassed；　as　one　always　does　when　left　alone　in　someone　else's　room；　and　fought　the　urge　to　get　up　and　inspect　the　books　on　the　shelf　over　the　sideboard　or　examine　the　mantelpiece　for　dust。　She　turned　the　crown　round　and　round　in　her　hands。　Again；　it　gave　the　impression　of　being　bigger　and　heavier　than　it　actually　was。
　She　caught　sight　of　the　mirror　over　the　mantelpiece　and　looked　down　at　the　crown。　It　was　tempting。　It　was　practically　begging　her　to　try　it　for　size。　Well；　and　why　not？　She　made　sure　that　the　others　weren't　around　and　then；　in　one　movement；　whipped　off　her　hat　and　placed　the　crown　on　her　head。
　It　seemed　to　fit。　Granny　drew　herself　up　proudly；　and　waved　a　hand　imperiously　in　the　general　direction　of　the　hearth。
　'Jolly　well　do　this；'　she　said。　She　beckoned　arrogantly　at　the　grandfather　clock。　'Chop　his　head　off；　what　ho；'　she　manded。　She　smiled　grimly。
　And　froze　as　she　heard　the　screams；　and　the　thunder　of　horses；　and　the　deadly　whisper　of　arrows　and　the　damp；　solid　sound　of　spears　in　flesh。　Charge　after　charge　echoed　across　her　skull。　Sword　met　shield；　or　sword；　or　bone　…relentlessly。　Years　streamed　across　her　mind　in　the　space　of　a　second。　There　were　times　when　she　lay　among　the　dead；　or　hanging　from　the　branch　of　a　tree；　but　always　there　were　hands　that　would　pick　her　up　again；　and　place　her　on　a　velvet　cushion　。　。　。
　Granny　very　carefully　lifted　the　crown　off　her　head　…　it　was　an　effort；　it　didn't　like　it　much　…　and　laid　it　on　the　table。
　'So　that's　being　a　king　for　you；　is　it？'　she　said　softly。　'I　wonder　why　they　all　want　the　job？'
　'Do　you　take　sugar？'　said　Magrat；　behind　her。
　'You'd　have　to　be　a　born　fool　to　be　a　king；'　said　Granny。
　'Sorry？'
　Granny　turned。　'Didn't　see　you　e　in；'　she　said。　'What　was　it　you　said？'
　'Sugar　in　your　tea？'
　'Three　spoons；'　said　Granny　promptly。　It　was　one　of　the　few　sorrows　of　Granny　Weatherwax's　life　that；　despite　all　her　efforts；　she'd　arrived　at　the　peak　of　her　career　with　a　plexion　like　a　rosy　apple　and　all　her　teeth。　No　amount　of　charms　could　persuade　a　wart　to　take　root　on　her　handsome　if　slightly　equine　features；　and　vast　intakes　of　sugar　only　served　to　give　her　boundless　energy。　A　wizard　she'd　consulted　had　explained　it　was　on　account　of　her　having　a　metabolism；　which　at　least　allowed　her　to　feel　vaguely　superior　to　Nanny　Ogg；　who　she　suspected　had　never　even　seen　one。
　Magrat　dutifully　dug　out　three　heaped　ones。　It　would　be　nice；　she　thought　wistfully；　if　someone　could　say　'thank　you'　occasionally。
　She　became　aware　that　the　crown　was　staring　at　her。
　'You　can　feel　it；　can　you？'　said　Granny。　'I　said；　didn't　I？　Crowns　call　out！'
　'It's　horrible。'
　'No；　no。　It's　just　being　what　it　is。　It　can't　help　it。'
　'But　it's　magic！'
　'It's　just　being　what　it　is；'　Granny　repeated。
　'It's　trying　to　get　me　to　try　it　on；'　said　Magrat；　her　hand　hovering。
　'It　does　that；　yes。'
　'But　I　shall　be　strong；'　said　Magrat。
　'So　I　should　think；'　said　Granny；　her　expression　suddenly　curiously　wooden。　'What's　Gytha　doing？'
　'She's　giving　the　baby　a　wash　in　the　sink；'　said　Magrat　vaguely。　'How　can　we　hide　something　like　this？　What'd　happen　if　we　buried　it　really　deeply　somewhere？'
　'A　badger'd　dig　it　up；'　said　Granny　wearily。　'Or　someone'd　go　prospecting　for　gold　or　something。　Or　a　tree'd　tangle　its　roots　around　it　and　then　be　blown　over　in　a　storm；　and　then　someone'd　pick　it　up　and　put　it　on…'
　'Unless　they　were　as　strong…minded　as　us；'　Magrat　pointed　out。
　'Unless　that；　of　course；'　said　Granny；　staring　at　her　finger…nails。　Though　the　thing　with　crowns　is；　it　isn't　the　putting　them　on　that's　the　problem；　it's　the　taking　them　off。'
　Magrat　picked　it　up　and　turned　it　over　in　her　hands。
　'It's　not　as　though　it　even　looks　much　like　a　crown；'　she　said。
　'You've　seen　a　lot；　I　expect；'　said　Granny。　'You'd　be　an　expert　on　them；　naturally。'
　'Seen　a　fair　few。　They've　got　a　lot　more　jewels　on　them；　and　cloth　bits　in　the　middle；'　said　Magrat　defiantly。　'This　is　just　a　thin　little　thing…'
　'Magrat　Garlick！'
　'I　have。　When　I　was　being　trained　up　by　Goodie　Whemper…'
　'…may　sherestinpeace…'
　'…maysherestinpeace；　she　used　to　take　me　over　to　Razorback　or　into　Lancre　whenever　the　strolling　players　were　in　town。　She　was　very　keen　on　the　theatre。　They've　got　more　crowns　than　you　can　shake　a　stick　at　although；　mind…'　she　paused　…　'Goodie　did　say　they're　made　of　tin　and　paper　and　stuff。　And　just　glass　for　the　jewels。　But　they　look　more　realler　than　this　one。　Do　you　think　that's　strange？'
　'Things　that　try　to　look　like　things　often　do　look　more　like　things　than　things。　Well…known　fact；'　said　Granny。　'But　I　don't　hold　with　encouraging　it。　What　do　they　stroll　about　playing；　then；　in　these　crowns？'
　'You　don't　know　about　the　theatre？'　said　Magrat。
　Granny　Weatherwax；　who　never　declared　her　ignorance　of　anything；　didn't　hesitate。　'Oh；　yes；'　she　said。　'It's　one　of　them　style　of　things；　then；　is　it？'
　'Goodie　Whemper　said　it　held　a　mirror　up　to　life；'　said　Magrat。　'She　said　it　always　cheered　her　up。'
　'I　expect　it　would；'　said　Granny；　striking　out。　'Played　properly；　at　any　rate。　Good　people；　are　they；　these　theatre　players？'
　'I　think　so。'
　'And　they　stroll　around　the　country；　you　say？'　said　Granny　thoughtfully；　looking　towards　the　scullery　door。
　'All　over　the　place。　There's　a　troupe　in　Lancre　now；　I　heard。　I　haven't　been　because；　you　know。'　Magrat　looked　down。　'　'Tis　not　right；　a　woman　going　into　such　places　by　herself。'
　Granny　nodded。　She　thoroughly　approved　of　such　sentiments　so　long　as　there　was；　of　course；　no　suggestion　that　they　applied　to　her。
　She　drummed　her　fingers　on　Magrat's　tablecloth。
　'Right；'　she　said。　'And　why　not？　Go　and　tell　Gytha　to　wrap　the　baby　up　well。　It's　a　long　time　since　I　heard　a　theatre　played　properly。'
　Magrat　was　entranced；　as　usual。　The　theatre　was　no　more　than　some　lengths　of　painted　sacking；　a　plank　stage　laid　over　a　few　barrels；　and　half　a　dozen　benches　set　out　in　the　village　square。　But　at　the　same　time　it　had　also　managed　to　bee　The　Castle；　Another　Part　of　the　Castle；　The　Same　Part　A　Little　Later；　The　Battlefield　and　now　it　was　A　Road　Outside　the　City。　The　afternoon　would　have　been　perfect　if　it　wasn't　for　Granny　Weatherwax。
　After　several　piercing　glares　at　the　three…man　orchestra　to　see　if　she　could　work　out　which　instrument　the　theatre　was；　the　old　witch　had　finally　paid　attention　to　the　stage；　and　it　was　beginning　to　bee　apparent　to　Magrat　that　there　were　certain　fundamental　aspects　of　the　theatre　that　Granny　had　not　yet　grasped。
　She　was　currently　bouncing　up　and　down　on　her　stool　with　rage。
　'He's　killed　him；'　she　hissed。　'Why　isn't　anyone　doing　anything　about　it？　He's　killed　him！　And　right　up　there　in　front　of　everyone！'
　Magrat　held　on　desperately　to　her　colleague's　arm　as　she　struggled　to　get　to　her　feet。
　'It's　all　right；'　she　whispered。　'He's　not　dead！'
　'Are　you　calling　me　a　liar；　my　girl？'　snapped　Granny。　'I　saw　it　all！'
　'Look；　Granny；　it's　not　really　real；　d'you　see？'
　Granny　Weatherwax　subsided　a　little；　but　still　grumbled　under　her　breath。　She　was　beginning　to　feel　that　things　were　trying　to　make　a　fool　of　her。
　Up　on　the　stage　a　man　in　a　sheet　was　giving　a　spirited　monologue。　Granny　listened　intently　for　some　minutes；　and　then　nudged　Magrat　in　the　ribs。
　'What's　he　on　about　now？'　she　demanded。
　'He's　saying　how　sorry　he　was　that　the　other　man's　dead；'　said　Magrat；　and　in　an　attempt　to　change　the　subject　added　hurriedly；　'There's　a　lot　of　crowns；　isn't　there？'
　Granny　was　not　to　be　distracted。　'What'd　he　go　and　kill　him　for；　then？'　she　said。
　'Well；　it's　a　bit　plicated…'　said　Magrat；　weakly。
　'It's　shameful！'　snapped　Granny。　'And　the　poor　dead　thing　still　lying　there！'
　Magrat　gave　an　imploring　look　to　Nanny　Ogg；　who　was　masticating　an　apple　and　studying　the　stage　with　the　glare　of　a　research　scientist。
　'I　reckon；'　she　said　slowly；　'I　reckon　it's　all　just　pretendin'。　Look；　he's　still　breathing。'
　The　rest　of　the　audience；　who　by　now　had　already　decided　that　this　mentary　was　all　part　of　the　play；　stared　as　one　man　at　the　corpse。　It　blushed。
　'And　look　at　his　boots；　too；'　said　Nanny　critically。　'A　real　king'd　be　ashamed　of　boots　like　that。'
　The　corpse　tried　to　shuffle　its　feet　behind　a　cardboard　bush。
　Granny；　feeling　in　some　obscure　way　that　they　had　scored　a　minor　triumph　over　the　purveyors　of　untruth　and　artifice；　helped　herself　to　an　apple　from　the　bag　and　began　to　take　a　fresh　interest。　Magrat's　nerves　started　to　unknot；　and　she　began　to　settle　down　to　enjoy　the　play。　But　not；　as　it　turned　out；　for　very　long。　Her　willing　suspension　of　disbelief　was　interrupted　by　a　voice　saying：
　'What's　this　bit？'
　Magrat　sighed。　'Well；'　she　hazarded；　'he　thinks　that　he　is　the　prince；　but　he's　really　the　other　king's　daughter；　dressed　up　as　a　man。'
　Granny　subjected　the　actor　to　a　long　analytical　stare。
　'He　is　a　man；'　she　said。　'In　a　straw　wig。　Making　his　voice　squeaky。'
　Magrat　shuddered。　She　knew　a　little　about　the　conventions　of　the　theatre。　She　had　been　dreading　this　bit。　Granny　Weatherwax　had　Views。
　'Yes；　but；'　she　said　wretchedly；　'it's　the　Theatre；　see。　All　the　women　are　played　by　men。'
　'Why？'
　'They　don't　allow　no　women　on　the　stage；'　said　Magrat　in　a　small　voice。　She　shut　her　eyes。
　In　fact；　there　was　no　outburst　from　the　seat　on　her　left。　She　risked　a　quick　glance。
　Granny　was　quietly　chewing　the　same　bit　of　apple　over　and　over　again；　her　eyes　never　leaving　the　action。
　'Don't　make　a　fuss；　Esme；'　said　Nanny；　who　also　knew　about　Granny's　Views。　'This　is　a　good　bit。　I　reckon　I'm　getting　the　hang　of　it。'
　Someone　tapped　Granny　on　the　shoulder　and　a　voice　said；　'Madam；　will　you　kindly　remove　your　hat？'
　Granny　turned　around　very　slowly　on　her　stool；　as　though　propelled　by　hidden　motors；　and　subjected　the　interrupter　to