tp.wyrd sisters-第6节

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。　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　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；　r