tp.wyrd sisters-第20节

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　'I　knew　you　when　you　were　a　gel；'　said　Nanny　sullenly。　'Stuck…up；　you　were。'
　'At　least　I　spent　most　of　the　time　upright；'　said　Granny。　'Disgustin'；　that　was。　Everyone　thought　so。'
　'How　would　you　know？'　snapped　Nanny。
　'You　were　the　talk　of　the　whole　village；'　said　Granny。
　'And　you　were；　too！　They　called　you　the　Ice　Maiden。　Never　knew　that；　did　you？'　sneered　Nanny。
　'I　wouldn't　sully　my　lips　by　sayin'　what　they　called　you；'　shouted　Granny。
　'Oh　yes？'　shrieked　Nanny。　'Well；　let　me　tell　you；　my　good　woman…'
　'Don't　you　dare　talk　to　me　in　that　tone　of　voice！　I'm　not　anyone's　good　woman…'
　'Right！'
　There　was　another　silence　while　they　stared　at　one　another；　nose　to　nose；　but　this　silence　was　a　whole　quantum　level　of　animosity　higher　than　the　last　one；　you　could　have　roasted　a　turkey　in　the　heat　of　this　silence。　There　was　no　more　shouting。　Things　had　got　far　too　bad　for　shouting。　Now　the　voices　came　in　low　and　full　of　menace。
　'I　should　have　known　better　than　to　listen　to　Magrat；'　growled　Granny。　'This　coven　business　is　ridiculous。　It　attracts　entirely　the　wrong　sort　of　people。'
　'I'm　very　glad　we　had　this　little　talk；'　hissed　Nanny　Ogg。　'Cleared　the　air。'
　She　looked　down。
　'And　you're　in　my　territory；　madam。'
　'Madam！'
　Thunder　rolled　in　the　distance。　The　permanent　Lancre　storm；　after　a　trip　through　the　foothills；　had　drifted　back　towards　the　mountains　for　a　one…night　stand。　The　last　rays　of　sunset　shone　livid　through　the　clouds；　and　fat　drops　of　water　began　to　thud　on　the　witches'　pointed　hats。
　'I　really　don't　have　time　for　all　this；'　snapped　Granny；　trembling。　'I　have　far　more　important　things　to　do。'
　'And　me；'　said　Nanny。
　'Good　night　to　you。'
　'And　you。'
　They　turned　their　backs　on　one　another　and　strode　away　into　the　downpour。
　
　The　midnight　rain　drummed　on　Magrat's　curtained　windows　as　she　thumbed　her　way　purposefully　through　Goodie　Whemper's　books　of　what；　for　want　of　any　better　word；　could　be　called　natural　magic。
　The　old　woman　had　been　a　great　collector　of　such　things　and；　most　unusually；　had　written　them　down；　witches　didn't　normally　have　much　use　for　literacy。　But　book　after　book　was　filled　with　tiny；　meticulous　handwriting　detailing　the　results　of　patient　experiments　in　applied　magic。　Goodie　Whemper　had；　in　fact；　been　a　research　witch。＇10＇
　Magrat　was　looking　up　love　spells。　Every　time　she　shut　her　eyes　she　saw　a　red…and…yellow　figure　on　the　darkness　inside。　Something　had　to　be　done　about　it。
　She　shut　the　book　with　a　snap　and　looked　at　her　notes。　First；　she　had　to　find　out　his　name。　The　old　peel…the…apple　trick　should　do　that。　You　just　peeled　an　apple；　getting　one　length　of　peel；　and　threw　the　peel　behind　you；　it'd　land　in　the　shape　of　his　name。　Millions　of　girls　had　tried　it　and　had　inevitably　been　disappointed；　unless　the　loved　one　was　called　Scscs。　That　was　because　they　hadn't　used　an　unripe　Sunset　Wonder　picked　three　minutes　before　noon　on　the　first　frosty　day　in　the　autumn　and　peeled　left…handedly　using　a　silver　knife　with　a　blade　less　than　half　an　inch　wide；　Goodie　had　done　a　lot　of　experimenting　and　was　quite　explicit　on　the　subject。　Magrat　always　kept　a　few　by　for　emergencies；　and　this　probably　was　one。
　She　took　a　deep　breath；　and　threw　the　peel　over　her　shoulder。
　She　turned　slowly。
　I'm　a　witch；　she　told　herself。　This　is　just　another　spell。　There's　nothing　to　be　frightened　of。　Get　a　grip　of　yourself；　girl。　Woman。
　She　looked　down；　and　bit　the　back　of　her　hand　out　of　nervousness　and　embarrassment。
　'Who'd　have　thought　it？'　she　said　aloud。
　It　had　worked。
　She　turned　back　to　her　notes；　her　heart　fluttering。　What　was　next？　Ah；　yes　…　gathering　fern　seed　in　a　silk　handkerchief　at　dawn。　Goodie　Whemper's　tiny　handwriting　went　on　for　two　pages　of　detailed　botanical　instructions　which；　if　carefully　followed；　resulted　in　the　kind　of　love　potion　that　had　to　be　kept　in　a　tightly…stoppered　jar　at　the　bottom　of　a　bucket　of　iced　water。
　Magrat　pulled　open　her　back　door。　The　thunder　had　passed；　but　now　the　first　grey　light　of　the　new　day　was　drowned　in　a　steady　drizzle。　But　it　still　qualified　as　dawn；　and　Magrat　was　determined。
　Brambles　tugging　at　her　dress；　her　hair　plastered　against　her　head　by　the　rain；　she　set　out　into　the　dripping　forest。
　The　trees　shook；　even　without　a　breeze。
　
　Nanny　Ogg　was　also　out　early。　She　hadn't　been　able　to　get　any　sleep　anyway；　and　besides；　she　was　worried　about　Greebo。　Greebo　was　one　of　her　few　blind　spots。　While　intellectually　she　would　concede　that　he　was　indeed　a　fat；　cunning；　evil…smelling　multiple　rapist；　she　nevertheless　instinctively　pictured　him　as　the　small　fluffy　kitten　he　had　been　decades　before。　The　fact　that　he　had　once　chased　a　female　wolf　up　a　tree　and　seriously　surprised　a　she…bear　who　had　been　innocently　digging　for　roots　didn't　stop　her　worrying　that　something　bad　might　happen　to　him。　It　was　generally　considered　by　everyone　else　in　the　kingdom　that　the　only　thing　that　might　slow　Greebo　down　was　a　direct　meteorite　strike。　Now　she　was　using　a　bit　of　elementary　magic　to　follow　his　trail；　although　anyone　with　a　sense　of　smell　could　have　managed　it。　It　had　led　her　through　the　damp　streets　and　to　the　open　gates　of　the　castle。
　She　gave　the　guards　a　nod　as　she　went　through。　It　didn't　occur　to　either　of　them　to　stop　her　because　witches；　like　beekeepers　and　big　gorillas；　went　where　they　liked。　In　any　case；　an　elderly　lady　banging　a　bowl　with　a　spoon　was　probably　not　the　spearhead　of　an　invasion　force。
　Life　as　a　castle　guard　in　Lancre　was　extremely　boring。　One　of　them；　leaning　on　his　spear　as　Nanny　went　past；　wished　there　could　be　some　excitement　in　his　job。　He　will　shortly　learn　the　error　of　his　ways。　The　other　guard　pulled　himself　together；　and　saluted。
　'Mornin'；　Mum。'
　'Mornin'；　our　Shawn；'　said　Nanny；　and　set　off　across　the　inner　courtyard。
　Like　all　witches　Nanny　Ogg　had　an　aversion　to　front　doors。　She　went　around　the　back　and　entered　the　keep　via　the　kitchens。　A　couple　of　maids　curtsied　to　her。　So　did　the　head　housekeeper；　whom　Nanny　Ogg　vaguely　recognised　as　a　daughter…in…law；　although　she　couldn't　remember　her　name。
　And　so　it　was　that　when　Lord　Felmet　came　out　of　his　bedroom　he　saw；　ing　along　the　passage　towards　him；　a　witch。　There　was　no　doubt　about　it。　From　the　tip　of　her　pointed　hat　to　her　boots；　she　was　a　witch。　And　she　was　ing　for　him。
　
　Magrat　slid　helplessly　down　a　bank。　She　was　soaked　to　the　skin　and　covered　in　mud。　Somehow；　she　thought　bitterly；　when　you　read　these　spells　you　always　think　of　it　being　a　fine　sunny　morning　in　late　spring。　And　she　had　forgotten　to　check　what　bloody　kind　of　bloody　fern　it　bloody　was。
　A　tree　tipped　a　load　of　raindrops　on　to　her。　Magrat　pushed　her　sodden　hair　out　of　her　eyes　and　sat　down　heavily　on　a　fallen　log；　from　which　grew　great　clusters　of　pale　and　embarrassing　fungus。
　It　had　seemed　such　a　lovely　idea。　She'd　had　great　hopes　of　the　coven。　She　was　sure　it　wasn't　right　to　be　a　witch　alone；　you　could　get　funny　ideas。　She'd　dreamed　of　wise　discussions　of　natural　energies　while　a　huge　moon　hung　in　the　sky；　and　then　possibly　they'd　try　a　few　of　the　old　dances　described　in　some　of　Goodie　Whemper's　books。　Not　actually　naked；　or　sky　clad　as　it　was　rather　delightfully　called；　because　Magrat　had　no　illusions　about　the　shape　of　her　own　body　and　the　older　witches　seemed　solid　across　the　hems；　and　anyway　that　wasn't　absolutely　necessary。　The　books　said　that　the　old…time　witches　had　sometimes　danced　in　their　shifts。　Magrat　had　wondered　about　how　you　danced　in　shifts。　Perhaps　there　wasn't　room　for　them　all　to　dance　at　once；　she'd　thought。
　What　she　hadn't　expected　was　a　couple　of　crochety　old　women　who　were　barely　civil　at　the　best　of　times　and　simply　didn't　enter　into　the　spirit　of　things。　Oh；　they'd　been　kind　to　the　baby；　in　their　own　way；　but　she　couldn't　help　feeling　that　if　a　witch　was　kind　to　someone　it　was　entirely　for　deeply　selfish　reasons。
　And　when　they　did　magic；　they　made　it　look　as　ordinary　as　housekeeping。　They　didn't　wear　any　occult　jewellery。　Magrat　was　a　great　believer　in　occult　jewellery。
　It　was　all　going　wrong。　And　she　was　going　home。
　She　stood　up；　wrapped　her　damp　dress　around　her；　and　set　off　through　the　misty　woods　。　。　。
　。　。　。　and　heard　the　running　feet。　Someone　was　ing　through　them　at　high　speed；　without　caring　who　heard　him。　and　over　the　top　of　the　sound　of　breaking　twigs　was　a　curious　dull　jingling。　Magrat　sidled　behind　a　dripping　holly　bush　and　peered　cautiously　through　the　leaves。
　It　was　Shawn；　the　youngest　of　Nanny　Ogg's　sons；　and　the　metal　noise　was　caused　by　his　suit　of　chain　mail；　which　was　several　sizes　too　big　for　him。　Lancre　is　a　poor　kingdom；　and　over　the　centuries　the　chain　mail　of　the　palace　guards　has　had　to　be　handed　down　from　one　generation　to　another；　often　on　the　end　of　a　long　stick。　This　one　made　him　look　like　a　bulletproof　bloodhound。
　She　stepped　out　in　front　of　him。
　'Is　that　you；　Mss　Magrat？'　said　Shawn；　raising　the　flap　of　mail　that　covered　his　eyes。　'It's　mam！'
　'What's　happened　to　her？'
　'He's　locked　her　up！　Said　she　was　ing　to　poison　him！　And　I　can't　get　down　to　the　dungeons　to　see　because　there's　all　new　guards！　They　say　she's　been　put　in　chains…'　Shawn　frowned　…　'and　that　m