Part 11 (2/2)
”But we felt it-” Magrat began.
”Hold on, hold on,” said Granny. Her lips moved soundlessly. Demons were like genies or philosophy professors-if you didn't word things exactly exactly right, they delighted in giving you absolutely accurate and completely misleading answers. right, they delighted in giving you absolutely accurate and completely misleading answers.
”Is there something in the kingdom that wasn't there before?” she hazarded.
”No.”
Tradition said that there could be only three questions. Granny tried to formulate one that couldn't be deliberately misunderstood. Then she decided that this was playing the wrong kind of game.
”What the h.e.l.l's going on?” she said carefully. ”And no mucking about trying to wriggle out of it, otherwise I'll boil you.”
The demon appeared to hesitate. This was obviously a new approach.
”Magrat, just kick that kindling over here, will you?” said Granny.
”I protest at this treatment,” said the demon, its voice tinged with uncertainty.
”Yes, well, we haven't got time to bandy legs with you all night,” said Granny. ”These word games might be all right for wizards, but we've got other fish to fry.”
”Or boil,” said Nanny.
”Look,” said the demon, and now there was a whine of terror in its voice. ”We're not supposed to volunteer information just like that. There are rules, you know.”
”There's some old oil in the can on the shelf, Magrat,” said Nanny.
”If I simply tell you-” the demon began.
”Yes?” said Granny, encouragingly.
”You won't let on, will you?” it implored.
”Not a word,” promised Granny.
”Lips are sealed,” said Magrat.
”There is nothing new in the kingdom,” said the demon, ”but the land has woken up.”
”What do you mean?” said Granny.
”It's unhappy. It wants a king that cares for it.”
”How-” Magrat began, but Granny waved her into silence.
”You don't mean people, do you?” she said. The glistening head shook. ”No, I didn't think so.”
”What-” Nanny began. Granny put a finger to her lips.
She turned and walked to the washhouse's window, a dusty spiderweb graveyard of faded b.u.t.terfly wings and last summer's bluebottles. A faint glow beyond the frosted panes suggested that, against all reason, a new day would soon dawn.
”Can you tell us why?” she said, without turning around. She'd felt the mind of a whole country...
She was rather impressed.
”I'm just a demon. What do I know? Only what is, not the why and how of it.”
”I see.”
”May I go now?”
”Um?”
”Please?”
Granny jerked upright again.
”Oh. Yes. Run along,” she said distractedly. ”Thank you.”
The head didn't move. It hung around, like a hotel porter who has just carried fifteen suitcases up ten flights of stairs, shown everyone where the bathroom is, plumped up the pillows, and feels he has adjusted all the curtains he is going to adjust.
”You wouldn't mind banis.h.i.+ng me, would you?” said the demon, when no one seemed to be taking the hint.
”What?” said Granny, who was thinking again.
”Only I'd feel better for being properly banished. 'Run along' lacks that certain something,” said the head.
”Oh. Well, if it gives you any pleasure. Magrat!”
”Yes?” said Magrat, startled.
Granny tossed the copper stick to her.
”Do the honors, will you?” she said.
Magrat caught the stick by what she hoped Granny was imagining as the handle, and smiled.
”Certainly. Right. OK. Um. Begone, foul fiend, unto the blackest pit-”
The head smiled contentedly as the words rolled over it. This was more like it.
It melted back into the waters of the copper like candlewax under a flame. Its last contemptuous comment, almost lost in the swirl, was, ”Run aaaalonggg...”
Granny went home alone as the cold pink light of dawn glided across the snow, and let herself into her cottage.
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