tp.wyrd sisters-第6部分

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　Granny　turned　around　very　slowly　on　her　stool；　as　though　propelled　by　hidden　motors；　and　subjected　the　interrupter　to　a　hundred　kilowatt　diamond…blue　stare。　The　man　wilted　under　it　and　sagged　back　on　to　his　stool；　her　face　following　him　all　the　way　down。
　'No；'　she　said。
　He　considered　the　options。　'All　right；'　he　said。
　Granny　turned　back　and　nodded　to　the　actors；　who　had　paused　to　watch　her。
　'I　don't　know　what　you're　staring　at；'　she　growled。　'Get　on　with　it。'
　Nanny　Ogg　passed　her　another　bag。
　'Have　a　humbug；'　she　said。
　Silence　again　filled　the　makeshift　theatre　except　for　the　hesitant　voices　of　the　actors；　who　kept　glancing　at　the　bristling　figure　of　Granny　Weatherwax；　and　the　sucking　sounds　of　a　couple　of　boiled　humbugs　being　relentlessly　churned　from　cheek　to　cheek。
　Then　Granny　said；　in　a　piercing　voice　that　made　one　actor　drop　his　wooden　sword；　'There's　a　man　over　on　the　side　there　whispering　to　them！'
　'He's　a　prompter；'　said　Magrat。　'He　tells　them　what　to　say。'
　'Don't　they　know？'
　'I　think　they're　forgetting；'　said　Magrat　sourly。　'For　some　reason。'
　Granny　nudged　Nanny　Ogg。
　'What's　going　on　now？'　she　said。　'Why're　all　them　kings　and　people　up　there？'
　'It's　a　banquet；　see；'　said　Nanny　Ogg　authoritatively。　'Because　of　the　dead　king；　him　in　the　boots；　as　was；　only　now　if　you　look；　you'll　see　he's　pretending　to　be　a　soldier；　and　everyone's　making　speeches　about　how　good　he　was　and　wondering　who　killed　him。'
　'Are　they？'　said　Granny；　grimly。　She　cast　her　eyes　along　the　cast；　looking　for　the　murderer。
　She　was　making　up　her　mind。
　Then　she　stood　up。
　Her　black　shawl　billowed　around　her　like　the　wings　of　an　avenging　angel；　e　to　rid　the　world　of　all　that　was　foolishness　and　pretence　and　artifice　and　sham。　She　seemed　somehow　a　lot　bigger　than　normal。　She　pointed　an　angry　finger　at　the　guilty　party。
　'He　done　it！'　she　shouted　triumphantly。　'We　all　seed　'im！　He　done　it　with　a　dagger！'
　
　The　audience　filed　out；　contented。　It　had　been　a　good　play　on　the　whole；　they　decided；　although　not　very　easy　to　follow。　But　it　had　been　a　jolly　good　laugh　when　all　the　kings　had　run　off；　and　the　woman　in　black　had　jumped　up　and　did　all　the　shouting。　That　alone　had　been　well　worth　the　ha'penny　admission。
　The　three　witches　sat　alone　on　the　edge　of　the　stage。
　'I　wonder　how　they　get　all　them　kings　and　lords　to　e　here　and　do　this？'　said　Granny；　totally　unabashed。　'I'd　have　thought　they'd　been　too　busy。　Ruling　and　similar。'
　'No；'　said　Magrat；　wearily。　'I　still　don't　think　you　quite　understand。'
　'Well；　I'm　going　to　get　to　the　bottom　of　it；'　snapped　Granny。　She　got　back　on　to　the　stage　and　pulled　aside　the　sacking　curtains。
　'You！'　she　shouted。　'You're　dead！'
　The　luckless　former　corpse；　who　was　eating　a　ham　sandwich　to　calm　his　nerves；　fell　backwards　off　his　stool。
　Granny　kicked　a　bush。　Her　boot　went　right　through　it。
　'See？'　she　said　to　the　world　in　general　in　a　strangely　satisfied　voice。　'Nothing's　real！　It's　all　just　paint；　and　sticks　and　paper　at　the　back。'
　'May　I　assist　you；　good　ladies？'
　It　was　a　rich　and　wonderful　voice；　with　every　diphthong　gliding　beautifully　into　place。　It　was　a　golden　brown　voice。　If　the　Creator　of　the　multiverse　had　a　voice；　it　was　a　voice　such　as　this。　If　it　had　a　drawback；　it　was　that　it　wasn't　a　voice　you　could　use；　for　example；　for　ordering　coal。　Coal　ordered　by　this　voice　would　bee　diamonds。
　It　apparently　belonged　to　a　large　fat　man　who　had　been　badly　savaged　by　a　moustache。　Pink　veins　made　a　map　of　quite　a　large　city　on　his　cheeks；　his　nose　could　have　hidden　successfully　in　a　bowl　of　strawberries。　He　wore　a　ragged　jerkin　and　holey　tights　with　an　aplomb　that　nearly　convinced　you　that　his　velvet…and…vermine　robes　were　in　the　wash　just　at　the　moment。　In　one　hand　he　held　a　towel；　with　which　he　had　clearly　been　removing　the　make…up　that　still　greased　his　features。
　'I　know　you；'　said　Granny。　'You　done　the　murder。'　She　looked　sideways　at　Magrat；　and　admitted；　grudgingly；　'Leastways；　it　looked　like　it。'
　'So　glad。　It　is　always　a　pleasure　to　meet　a　true　connoisseur。　Olwyn　Vitoller；　at　your　service。　Manager　of　this　band　of　vagabonds；'　said　the　man　and；　removing　his　moth…eaten　hat；　he　treated　her　to　a　low　bow。　It　was　less　an　obeisance　than　an　exercise　in　advanced　topology。
　The　hat　swerved　and　jerked　through　a　series　of　plex　arcs；　ending　up　at　the　end　of　an　arm　which　was　now　pointing　in　the　direction　of　the　sky。　One　of　his　legs；　meanwhile；　had　wandered　off　behind　him。　The　rest　of　his　body　sagged　politely　until　his　head　was　level　with　Granny's　knees。
　'Yes；　well；'　said　Granny。　She　felt　that　her　clothes　had　grown　a　bit　larger　and　much　hotter。
　'I　thought　you　was　very　good；　too；'　said　Nanny　Ogg。　'The　way　you　shouted　all　them　words　so　graciously。　I　could　tell　you　was　a　king。'
　'I　hope　we　didn't　upset　things；'　said　Magrat。
　'My　dear　lady；'　said　Vitoller。　'Could　I　begin　to　tell　you　how　gratifying　it　is　for　a　mere　mummer　to　learn　that　his　audience　has　seen　behind　the　mere　shell　of　greasepaint　to　the　spirit　beneath？'
　'I　expect　you　could；'　said　Granny。　'I　expect　you　could　say　anything；　Mr　Vitoller。'
　He　replaced　his　hat　and　their　eyes　met　in　the　long　and　calculating　stare　of　one　professional　weighing　up　another。　Vitoller　broke　first；　and　tried　to　pretend　he　hadn't　been　peting。
　'And　now；'　he　said；　'to　what　do　I　owe　this　visit　from　three　such　charming　ladies？'
　In　fact　he'd　won。　Granny's　mouth　fell　open。　She　would　not　have　described　herself　as　anything　much　above　'handsome；　considering'。　Nanny；　on　the　other　hand；　was　as　gummy　as　a　baby　and　had　a　face　like　a　small　dried　raisin。　The　best　you　could　say　for　Magrat　was　that　she　was　decently　plain　and　well…scrubbed　and　as　flat…chested　as　an　ironing　board　with　a　couple　of　peas　on　it；　even　if　her　head　was　too　well　stuffed　with　fancies。　Granny　could　feel　something；　some　sort　of　magic　at　work。　But　not　the　kind　she　was　used　to。
　It　was　Vitoller's　voice。　By　the　mere　process　of　articulation　it　transformed　everything　it　talked　about。
　Look　at　the　two　of　them；　she　told　herself；　primping　away　like　a　couple　of　ninnies。　Granny　stopped　her　hand　in　the　process　of　patting　her　own　iron…hard　bun；　and　cleared　her　throat　meaningfully。
　'We'd　like　to　talk　to　you；　Mr　Vitoller。'　She　indicated　the　actors；　who　were　dismantling　the　set　and　staying　well　out　of　her　way；　and　added　in　a　conspiratorial　whisper；　'Somewhere　private。'
　'Dear　lady；　but　of　a　certain；'　he　said。　'Currently　I　have　lodgings　in　yonder　esteemed　watering　hole。'
　The　witches　looked　around。　Eventually　Magrat　risked；　'You　mean　in　the　pub？'
　It　was　cold　and　draughty　in　the　Great　Hall　of　Lancre　Castle；　and　the　new　chamberlain's　bladder　wasn't　getting　any　younger。　He　stood　and　squirmed　under　the　gaze　of　Lady　Felmet。
　'Oh；　yes；'　he　said。　'We've　got　them　all　right。　Lots。'
　'And　people　don't　do　anything　about　them？'　said　the　duchess。
　The　chamberlain　blinked。　'I'm　sorry？'　he　said。
　'People　tolerate　them？'
　'Oh；　indeed；'　said　the　chamberlain　happily。　'It's　considered　good　luck　to　have　a　witch　living　in　your　village。　My　word；　yes。'
　'Why？'
　The　chamberlain　hesitated。　The　last　time　he　had　resorted　to　a　witch　it　had　been　because　certain　rectal　problems　had　turned　the　privy　into　a　daily　torture　chamber；　and　the　jar　of　ointment　she　had　prepared　had　turned　the　world　into　a　nicer　place。
　'They　smooth　out　life's　little　humps　and　bumps；'　he　said。
　'Where　I　e　from；　we　don't　allow　witches；'　said　the　duchess　sternly。　'And　we　don't　propose　to　allow　them　here。　You　will　furnish　us　with　their　addresses。'
　'Addresses；　ladyship？'
　'Where　they　live。　I　trust　your　tax　gatherers　know　where　to　find　them？'
　'Ah；'　said　the　chamberlain；　miserably。
　The　duke　leaned　forward　on　his　throne。
　'I　trust；'　he　said；　'that　they　do　pay　taxes？'
　'Not；　exactly　pay　taxes；　my　lord；'　said　the　chamberlain。
　There　was　silence。　Finally　the　duke　prompted；　'Go　on；　man。'
　'Well；　it's　more　that　they　don't　pay；　you　see。　We　never　felt；　that　is；　the　old　king　didn't　think　。　。　。　Well；　they　just　don't。'
　The　duke　laid　a　hand　on　his　wife's　arm。
　'I　see；'　he　said　coldly。　'Very　well。　You　may　go。'
　The　chamberlain　gave　him　a　brief　nod　of　relief　and　scuttled　crabwise　from　the　hall。
　'Well！'　said　the　duchess。
　'Indeed。'
　'That　was　how　your　family　used　to　run　a　kingdom；　was　it？　You　had　a　positive　duty　to　kill　your　cousin。　It　was　clearly　in　the　interests　of　the　species；'　said　the　duchess。　'The　weak　don't　deserve　to　survive。'
　The　duke　shivered。　She　would　keep　on　reminding　him。　He　didn't；　on　the　whole；　object　to　killing　people；　or　at　least　ordering　them　to　be　killed　and　then　watching　it　happen。　But　killing　a　kinsman　rather　stuck　in　the　throat　or　…　he　recalled　…　the　liver。
　'Quite　so；'　he　managed。　'Of　course；　there　would　appear　to　be　many　witches；　and　it　might　be　difficult　to　find　the　three　that　were　on　the　moor。'
　'That　doesn't　matter。'
　'Of　course　not。'
　'Put　matters　in　hand。'
　'Yes；　my　love。'
　Matters　in　hand。　He'd　put　matters　in　hand　all　right。　If　he　closed　his　eyes　he　could　see　the　body　tumbling　down　the　steps。　Had　there　been　a　hiss　of　shocked　breath；　down　in　the　darkness　of　the　hall？　He'd　been　certain　they　were　alone。　Matters　in　hand！　He'd　tried　to　wash　the　blood　off　his　hand。　If　he　could　wash　the　blood　off；　he　told　himself；　it　wouldn't　have　happened。　He'd　scrubbed　and　scrubbed。　Scrubbed　till　he　screamed。
　
　Granny　wasn't　at　home　in　public　houses。　She　sat　stiffly　to　attention　behind　her　port…and…lemon；　as　if　it　were　a　shield　against　the　lures　of　the　world。
　Nanny　Ogg；　on　the　other　hand；　was　enthusiastically　downing　her　third　drink　and；　Granny　thought　sourly；　was　well　along　that　path　which　would　probably　end　up　with　her　usual　dancing　on　the　table；　showing　her　petticoats　and　singing　'The　Hedgehog　Can　Never　be　Buggered　at　All'。
　The　table　was　covered　with　copper　coins。　Vitoller　and　his　wife　sat　at　either　end；　counting。　It　was　something　of　a　race。
　Granny　considered　Mrs　Vitoller　as　she　snatched　farthings　from　under　her　husband's　fingers。　She　was　an　intelligent…looking　woman；　who　appeared　to　treat　her　husband　much　as　a　sheepdog　treats　a　favourite　lamb。　The　plexities　of　the　marital　relationship　were　known　to　Granny　only　from　a　distance；　in　the　same　way　that