After a while Mrs Pleasant heard a low, asthmatic rumble.

Greebo was trying to purr.

He had the wrong kind of throat.

In a minute he was going to wake up in a bad temper and want to fight something.

Mrs Pleasant got on with her own supper. Despite the fact that a hulking great man had just eaten a bowl of fish heads and lapped a saucer of milk in front of her, and was now stretched out uncomfortably in front of the fire, she found she didn’t feel the least bit afraid. In fact she was fighting down an impulse to scratch his tummy.

Magrat wrenched off the other slipper as she ran down the long red carpet towards the palace gateway and freedom. Just getting away, that was the important thing. From was more urgent than to.

And then two figures drifted out of the shadows and faced her. She raised the slipper pathetically as they approached in absolute silence, but even in the twilight she could feel their gaze.

The crowds parted. Lily Weatherwax glided through, in a rustle of silk.

She looked Granny up and down, without any expression of surprise.

‘All in white, too,’ she said, dryly. ‘My word, aren’t you the nice one.’

‘But I’ve stopped you,’ said Granny, still panting with the effort. ‘I’ve broken it.’

Lily Weatherwax looked past her. The snake sisters were coming up the steps, holding a limp Magrat between them.

‘Save us all from people who think literally,’ said Lily. ‘The damn things come in pairs, you know.’

She crossed to Magrat and snatched the second slipper out of her hand.

‘The clock was interesting,’ she said, turning back to Granny. ‘I was impressed with the clock. But it’s no good, you know. You can’t stop this sort of thing. It has the momentum of inevitability. You can’t spoil a good story. I should know.’

She handed the slipper to the Prince, but without taking her eyes off Granny.

‘It’ll fit her,’ she said.

Two of the courtiers held Magrat’s leg as the Prince wrestled the slipper past her protesting toes.

‘There,’ said Lily, still without looking down. ‘And do stop trying that hedge-witch hypnotism on me, Esme.’

‘It fits,’ said the Prince, but in a doubtful tone of voice.

‘Yes, anything would fit,’ said a cheerful voice from somewhere towards the back of the crowd, ‘if you were allowed to put two pairs of hairy socks on first.’

Lily looked down. Then she looked at Magrat’s mask. She reached out and pulled it off.

‘Ow!’

‘Wrong girl,’ said Lily. ‘But it still doesn’t matter, Esme, because it is the right slipper. So all we have to do is find the girl whose foot it fits—’

There was a commotion at the back of the crowd. Courtiers parted, revealing Nanny Ogg, oil-covered and hung with spider webs.

‘If it’s a five-and-a-half narrow fit, I’m your man,’ she said. ‘Just let me get these boots off …’

‘I wasn’t referring to you, old woman,’ said Lily coldly.

‘Oh, yes you was,’ said Nanny. ‘We know how this bit goes, see. The Prince goes all round the city with the slipper, trying to find the girl whose foot fits. That’s what you was plannin’. So I can save you a bit of trouble, how about it?’

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Lily’s expression.

‘A girl,’ she said, ‘of marriageable age.’

‘No problem there,’ said Nanny cheerfully.

The dwarf Casanunda nudged a courtier proudly in the knees.

‘She’s a very close personal friend of mine,’ he said proudly.

Lily looked at her sister.

‘You’re doing this. Don’t think I don’t know,’ she said.

‘I ain’t doing a thing,’ said Granny. ‘It’s real life happening all by itself.’

Nanny grabbed the slipper out of the Prince’s hands and, before anyone else could move, slid it on to her foot.

Then she waggled the foot in the air.

It was a perfect fit.

‘There!’ she said. ‘See? You could have wasted the whole day.’

‘Especially because there must be hundreds of five-and-a-half—’

‘—narrow fit—’

‘—narrow fit wearers in a city this size,’ Granny went on. ‘Unless, of course, you happened to sort of go to the right house right at the start. If you had, you know, a lucky guess?’

‘But that’d be cheatin’,’ said Nanny.

She nudged the Prince.

‘I’d just like to add,’ she said, ‘that I don’t mind doin’ all the waving and opening things and other royal stuff, but I draw the line at sleepin’ in the same bed as sunny jim here.’

‘Because he doesn’t sleep in a bed,’ said Granny.

‘No, he sleeps in a pond,’ said Nanny. ‘We had a look. Just a great big indoor pond.’

‘Because he’s a frog,’ said Granny.

‘With flies all over the place in case he wakes up in the night and fancies a snack,’ said Nanny.

‘I thought so!’ said Magrat, pulling herself out of the grip of the guards. ‘He had clammy hands!’

‘Lots of men have clammy hands,’ said Nanny. ‘But this one’s got ’em because he’s a frog.’

‘I’m a prince of blood royal!’ said the Prince.

‘And a frog,’ said Granny.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Casanunda, from somewhere down below. ‘I enjoy open relationships. If you want to go out with a frog, that’s fine by me …’

Lily looked around at the crowd. Then she snapped her fingers.

Granny Weatherwax was aware of a sudden silence.

Nanny Ogg looked up at the people on either side of her. She waved a hand in front of a guard’s face.

‘Coo,’ she said.

‘You can’t do that for long,’ said Granny. ‘You can’t stop a thousand people for long.’

Lily shrugged. ‘They’re not important. Whoever will remember who was at the ball? They’ll just remember the flight and the slipper and the happy ending.’

‘I’ve told you. You can’t start it again. And he’s a frog. Even you can’t keep him in shape the whole day long. He turns back into his old shape at night. He’s got a bedroom with a pond in it. He’s a frog,’ said Granny flatly.

‘But only inside,’ said Lily.

‘Inside’s where it counts,’ said Granny.

‘Outside’s quite important, mind,’ said Nanny.

‘Lots of people are animals inside. Lots of animals are people inside,’ said Lily. ‘Where’s the harm?’

‘He’s a frog.’

‘Especially at night,’ said Nanny. It had occurred to her that a husband who was a man all night and a frog all day might be almost acceptable; you wouldn’t get the wage packet, but there’d be less wear and tear on the furniture. She also couldn’t put out of her mind certain private speculations about the length of his tongue.

‘And you killed the Baron,’ said Magrat.

‘You think he was a particularly nice man?’ said Lily. ‘Besides, he didn’t show me any respect. If you’ve got no respect, you’ve got nothing.’

Nanny and Magrat found themselves looking at Granny.

‘He’s a frog.’

‘I found him in the swamp,’ said Lily. ‘I could tell he was pretty bright. I needed someone … amenable to persuasion. Shouldn’t frogs have a chance? He’ll be no worse a husband than many. Just one kiss from a princess seals the spell.’

‘A lot of men are animals,’ said Magrat, who’d picked up the idea from somewhere.

‘Yes. But he’s a frog,’ said Granny.

‘Look at it my way,’ said Lily. ‘You see this country? It’s all swamps and fogs. There’s no direction. But I can make this a great city. Not a sprawling place like Ankh-Morpork, but a place that works.’

‘The girl doesn’t want to marry a frog.’

‘What will that matter in a hundred years’ time?’

‘It matters now.’

Lily threw up her hands. ‘What do you want, then? It’s your choice. There’s me … or there’s that woman in the swamp. Light or dark. Fog or sunshine. Dark chaos or happy endings.’

‘He’s a frog, and you killed the old Baron,’ said Granny.

‘You’d have done the same,’ said Lily.

‘No,’ said Granny. ‘I’d have thought the same, but I wouldn’t have done it.’

‘What difference does that make, deep down?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’ said Nanny Ogg.

Lily laughed.

‘Look at the three of you,’ she said. ‘Bursting with inefficient good intentions. The maiden, the mother and the crone.’^{57}

‘Who are you calling a maiden?’ said Nanny Ogg.

‘Who are you calling a mother?’ said Magrat.

Granny Weatherwax glowered briefly like the person who has discovered that there is only one straw left and everyone else has drawn a long one.

‘Now, what shall I do with you?’ said Lily. ‘I really am against killing people unless it’s necessary, but I can’t have you running around acting stupidly …’

She looked at her fingernails.

‘So I think I shall have you put away somewhere until this has run its course. And then … can you guess what I’m going to do next?

‘I’m going to expect you to escape. Because, after all, I am the good one.’

Ella walked cautiously through the moonlit swamp, following the strutting shape of Legba. She was aware of movement in the water, but nothing emerged — bad news like Legba gets around, even among alligators.

An orange light appeared in the distance. It turned out to be Mrs Gogol’s shack, or boat, or whatever it was. In the swamp, the difference between the water and the land was practically a matter of choice.

‘Hallo? Is there anyone there?’

‘Come along in, child. Take a seat. Rest up a little.’

Ella stepped cautiously on to the rocking veranda. Mrs Gogol was sitting in her chair, a white-clad raggedy doll in her lap.

‘Magrat said—’

‘I know all about it. Come to Erzulie.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am your — friend, girl.’

Ella moved so as to be ready to run.

‘You’re not a godmother of any kind, are you?’

‘No. No gods. Just a friend. Did anyone follow you?’

‘I … don’t think so.’

‘It’s no matter if they did, girl. No matter if they did. Maybe we ought to move out into the river for a spell, even so. We’ll be a lot safer with water all round.’

The shack lurched.

‘You better sit down. The feets make it shaky until we get into deep water.’

Ella risked a look, nevertheless.

Mrs Gogol’s hut travelled on four large duck feet, which were now rising out of the swamp.^{58} They splashed their way through the shallows and, gently, sculled out into the river.

Greebo woke up and stretched.

And the wrong sort of arms and legs!

Mrs Pleasant, who had been sitting watching him, put down her glass.

‘What do you want to do now, Mr Cat?’ she said.

Greebo padded over to the door into the outside world and scratched at it.

‘Waant to go owwwt, Miss-uss Pleas-unt,’ he said.

‘You just have to turn the handle there,’ she said.

Greebo stared at the door handle like someone trying to come to terms with a piece of very advanced technology, and then gave her a pleading look.

She opened the door for him, stood aside as he slunk out, and then shut it, locked it and leaned against it.

‘Ember’s bound to be safe with Mrs Gogol,’ said Magrat.

‘Hah!’ said Granny.

‘I quite liked her,’ said Nanny Ogg.

‘I don’t trust anyone who drinks rum and smokes a pipe,’ said Granny.

‘Nanny Ogg smokes a pipe and drinks anything,’ Magrat pointed out.

‘Yes, but that’s because she’s a disgustin’ old baggage,’ said Granny, without looking up.

Nanny Ogg took her pipe out of her mouth.

‘That’s right,’ she said amiably. ‘You ain’t nothing if you don’t maintain an image.’

Granny looked up from the lock.

‘Can’t shift it,’ she said. ‘It’s octiron, too. Can’t magic it open.’

‘It’s daft, locking us up,’ said Nanny. ‘I’d have had us killed.’

‘That’s because you’re basically good,’ said Magrat. ‘The good are innocent and create justice. The bad are guilty, which is why they invent mercy.’

‘No, I know why she’s done this,’ said Granny, darkly. ‘It’s so’s we’ll know we’ve lost.’

‘But she said we’d escape,’ said Magrat. ‘I don’t understand. She must know the good ones always win in the end!’

‘Only in stories,’ said Granny, examining the door hinges. ‘And she thinks she’s in charge of the stories. She bends them round herself. She thinks she’s the good one.’

‘Mind you,’ said Magrat, ‘I don’t like swamps. If it wasn’t for the frog and everything, I’d see Lily’s point—’

‘Then you’re nothing but a daft godmother,’ snapped Granny, still fiddling with the lock. ‘You can’t go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it’s just a cage. Besides, you don’t build a better world by choppin’ heads off and giving decent girls away to frogs.’

‘But progress—’ Magrat began.

‘Don’t you talk to me about progress. Progress just means bad things happen faster. Anyone got another hatpin? This one’s useless.’

Nanny, who had Greebo’s ability to make herself instantly at home wherever she happened to be, sat down in the corner of the cell.

‘I heard this story once,’ she said, ‘where this bloke got locked up for years and years and he learned amazin’ stuff about the universe and everythin’ from another prisoner who was incredibly clever, and then he escaped and got his revenge.’

‘What incredibly clever stuff do you know about the universe, Gytha Ogg?’ said Granny.

‘Bugger all,’ said Nanny cheerfully.

‘Then we’d better bloody well escape right now.’

Nanny pulled a scrap of pasteboard out of her hat, found a scrap of pencil up there too, licked the end and thought for a while. Then she wrote:

She was interrupted by the sound of a mandolin being played quite well, right on the other side of the wall, and a small but determined voice raised in song.

‘—si consuenti d’amoure, ventre dimo tondreturo-ooo—’

‘How I hunger my love for the dining-room of your warm maceration,’ said Nanny, without looking up.

‘—della della t’ozentro, audri t’dren vontarieeeeee—’

‘The shop, the shop, I have a lozenge, the sky is pink,’ said Nanny.

Granny and Magrat looked at one another.

‘—guarunto del tari, bella pore di larientos—’

‘Rejoice, candlemaker, you have a great big—’

‘I don’t believe any of this,’ said Granny. ‘You’re making it up.’

‘Word for word translation,’ said Nanny. ‘I can speak foreign like a native, you know that.’