Chapter 6: Magrat and Igor
Summary:
Begins day after the full moon and ends that night.
Chapter Text
Nanny and Granny had visited the Watch House, and reported that the wounded woman's name was Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, known as either Tonks or Dora. Her husband the werewolf was healing better than she – at least he was conscious and coherent. The Igor treating him had reported to the Lady Sybil's Igor that he was very weak still, no matter how he tried to say that he could go to his wife.
"All hith boneth fractured – almotht to powder, and he thinkth a few bites of thew maketh it all better. Igor won't let him up until his thpine knitth."
Igor shrugged massively as he relayed the information to Magrat. His muscles and skin twitched independently of each other in an earthquake of motion. The green man brought a work bench into the sick room, and prepped ingredients Magrat needed for her healing. She was too weary to help, but she analyzed his movements while she drooped in the bedside chair. He had a bulging sack of orange Calendula flowers, from which she hoped to restore her own bags. They discussed whether cream, lotion, oil, or simple poultice was the best formulation for the burns. He'd also brought arnica and showed her how he expressed sunflower seed oil to mix with it for another salve.
"I fixed a new snack for Verence, with roasted sunflower and pumpkin seeds, and also sesame seeds, almonds, oats, honey, and cranberries. He thanked me, but then I saw Hodgesarggh the falconer with it."
Magrat had only a few hawthorn berries in her bags, and was delighted that Igor had a large box of the red berries. They decocted a heart tonic, because the ill woman's heartbeat was still weak. Hawthorn plus minute amounts of foxglove flower – they had argued over the ratio, but Margrat went very light with the foxglove.
He also drew out vivid, yellow, dried turmeric roots. Nanny and Magrat had butted heads because Nanny wanted the rare herb for her cooking, while Magrat wanted to keep it to add to her pain potions. Nanny had acceded to her – the patient's needs came first - but she whisked away a few pinches.
Tonks – Magrat had tried calling her Dora, but she didn't even twitch, while with the other ridiculous appellation her pulse quickened a bit – Tonks' wounds were clean and dry, and fresh - smelling. She had no pus, which was remarkable considering the foul injuries. But she was still deeply unconscious. Magrat's head nodded and she jerked herself awake. Esme had refused to sleep in the hours after they'd arrived in Ankh- Morpork, and she'd commandeered a bench outside the sickroom. Magrat could hear the young aide chattering away, as she wondered out loud how people could live in such a primitive place like Lancre. Magrat thought of Granny's headology and how its seeming simplicity relied on her deep knowledge of her neighbors. She remembered the times Granny had beaten DEATH, and hoped that wouldn't be necessary here. Nanny retired to the room across the hall Dr. Lawn had provided for their party, resting or plotting, Magrat didn't know. Verence had secured a visit to the Patrician's Palace and was to join the Patrician for lunch. He had kissed her before he left, excited about his opportunity to chat with Vetinari. "He's the longest – lasting non-hereditary ruler on the Disc. I've always wanted to ask him how he manages it, what with so many different species here. I'll be right back if you need me."
The mail coach trip had wrung Magrat's strength even before the appearance of a dying witch. The fire in the room was warm, Igor's chopping was a pleasant patter, and her head bobbed again. This time she dozed.
Screams, yowls, and shrieks roared around her. She held her wand tightly, running along smoky corridors she'd never seen before but knew intimately. Where was her husband? She ran, dodged dueling wizards and witches, knocked down a suit of armor Granny Weatherwax - was it Granny? had set in motion, stumbled and ran on and on. Suddenly she heard the voice of her hated aunt, high, shrill, insane. "Confringo!" Hellfire ripped down her shoulder and chest. She countered with the dueling hexes and jinxes she knew best, and threw the strongest Stupefy she could. But her aunt was too strong. She was yanked down to the floor, head ringing horribly against the stone. "Avada –!" but now she was elsewhere, whirling about the heavens, across an unknowable void, tugged after her husband by the unbreakable vow of their marriage.
Magrat jerked up from the chair, staggered to her feet, and grabbed the wand she carried in her skirt to cast – what unknown spell? She'd been dreaming, but it was too real, and she felt the damage Tonks had taken. Her chest burned with deep agony; she remembered a green flare shot through with hate. She reached out to Igor to steady herself, but overbalanced. The chopping bowl flew in the air and she fell. When she struck her head, the air went black. As Igor's unequal eyes stared in horror, the hawthorn berries splashed red against her skull.
Granny heard Magrat's scream, jerked herself fully awake, off the bench in an instant. The startled aide followed her. Nanny burst out of her room. Together they charged into the sickroom. Granny snarled at Igor, "What did you do to her?"
"Nothing, Mithreth Weatherwaxth. The large man lifted his hands, shrugging his uneven shoulders. The rows of stitiches on his face moved independently as he bobbed his head to Granny. "Thee was dreaming while I thredded the flowerth and rubbed them into the thalve." Igor stopped, his mismatched eyes fearful. "There wath lightning, like the old Mathter uthed when he revived corptheth. Thee went away a minute, but I think the'th coming around now."
Magrat's breath was even; the other witches relaxed slightly. Her eyes fluttered and she rolled to her side. Vomit splattered the floor. The aide vanished, back quickly with cool cloths to clean Magrat's face.
As her mind slowly cleared, Magrat's eyes fluttered. When she opened them, the world was hazy. Granny squinted at her. "He was there, wasn't he? DEATH, or their Death. You saw him?"
"I didn't see Death, but people were dead around me. Tonks was hit by a green light-a death spell. It was - I think it was a woman in her family who tried to kill her. Magrat shook her head, then winced and felt it. She'd gotten a lump from the fall. "I saw other fighting in the - I'm not sure where she was. It was a large building, long halls. Most of them - the witches and the wizards are fighting with their wands." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But it's not all wands. Rocks, or I guess pieces of walls, are broken off. Smashed out by-they weren't golems, but much bigger. Giants, I think, threw the rocks. The woman fighting Tonks seems to be almost the strongest of enemy witches. She's so arrogant." Magrat squeezed her eyes shut, thinking. "This woman has protective spells, but I don't know what type. Oh! The woman - oh gods, it's Tonks' own aunt! She's fighting her aunt Bellatrix!"
Beside them Tonks let out a soft moan, unheard. Bellatrix. She had seen the triumph on her face, her head thrown back in vicious laughter as she cast the killing curse.
"Her aunt?"said Nanny icily. "That's bad, trying to kill family. That means they share close blood, and if the blood is close enough - couldn't that fool the death spell, Esme? Turn it back on her?:
"I don't think so. Blood never did anything to help with my sister."
"Or mirror magic - could we show how to use that to confuse the bad aunt? Make duplicates of Tonks so the aunt doesn't know which one is real -"
"Gytha Ogg! We're not touching mirror magic again, and that's final." Granny's voice out-iced Nanny's. It out-iced everything on the Disc, including the Frost Giants.
"Well, Esme," Nanny said with what wasn't quite contempt but was at least scorn, "What do you think we should do to keep her from being killed?"
Even as she spoke she thought of a solution. "Wait - the old man at the post office – the Maccalariat woman told him to stay away from us so he wouldn't explode his trousers again. He smelled like – " Nanny was familiar with a wide number of smells, and they came to her quickly. "It was charcoal, and nitre, very niffy plus rotten eggs. Sulfur, that is. That's makes Mr. Groat's trousers explode. Where can we get some?"
The witches were not having a fight. Definitely not a fight. Granny was skeptical. "I don't think these Roundworld witches can be chased off by exploding trousers." She surreptitiously tucked a few strands of fair hair back into her bun. No reason for the pins to have loosened – she hadn't fallen asleep on the bench, just let herself lean back a little as the chit was babbling on.
"No," Nanny said, not letting her oldest friend ruffle her. A runner had summoned Tolliver Groat and he'd been delighted to explain the health benefits of his trouser additives. Why they'd exploded was less clear to him.
"Let's see, I mebbe added more nitre. I normally have one-half of it nitre, but I'd felt a chill and wanted to build up a bit. I think – let me see –"
The witches waited. Nanny and Granny glared at each other, but Magrat was listening carefully.
"I mixed three parts nitre, then the charcoal and sulfur. I most of the time have it the same amounts, see, but I was running a little bit low on the sulfur. So there was more charcoal. That's when it exploded, but only a little."
"That's what my youngest says," Nanny added, with the expression of one who's been holding the trump card all along. "He says that farmer he's apprenticed to had a cousin over in Uberwald who used to make fireworks to shoot off for festivals. Or scare the werewolves."
Tonks let out a second soft moan. She hadn't seen them but she knew werewolves had to be in the castle. Fenrir Greyback and his pack. Had Remus found them? Where was she?
"He put black powder in a twist of paper, then set it on fire. But his cousin used fireworks to lift stumps out of the field. He had a way to make 'em stronger – packs more in each one, mebbbe."
She looked at Magrat. "You said that the castle floors were being ripped apart and torn up. If she faces this aunt with the biggest fireworks, she can blow out the floor underneath her feet. Even if it doesn't kill her, it will bounce her, maybe tip her over and make her lose concentration. The light from the fireworks will get in her eyes as well, and maybe blind her for a moment."
"Verence might be able to assist and help us get the ingredients." Magrat twirled her messy hair, one of the few remnants of the Magrat she had been before she was Queen.
While the discussion rolled on, the surgeon Dr. Lawn had called to consult examined Tonks, and spoke to the witches. He ignored the tension between them.
"This woman hasn't been awake at all, has she, my good women? She has excess fluid on the brain. Trepanning will take care of that. I'd be happy to allow you to observe the procedure. You'll find it educational. Nothing like this out in – Lank, was it?"
Three instant glares did not strike him dead.
"Well, if you don't wish to observe, please wait outside. This can be bloody, and I know women don't like gore."
"We've birthed women, cows, and sheep, and waded through blood when ankle deep," Granny, Nanny, and Magrat said together, instantly. It was probably the first true witches' chant from the coven they did not have. Granny leaned on the shoulder of the surgeon. "I think you will find we can stomach plenty of gore when I pull your kidney out through your lungs."
Magrat nodded. "A handsome sight, young man." (He was ten years older than she, which meant he was a mewling infant in witch terms.) "Granny Weatherwax does wonderful things with kidneys." She was suddenly gripping her white-handled knife. "I prefer ceremonial disemboweling, myself."
No one noticed Nanny. She had grabbed the young aide for a guide and sprinted through the muddy streets.
Dr. Lawn entered the room where he'd left his consulting surgeon, saw the standoff, and bit his lip. Arthur Sugg was good with a saw, but a lump when it came to talking to people. He shouldn't have left the man alone with witches, and now was hoping they'd both end the day upright and not croaking in a pond. The odds did not seem in their favor at the moment. He was aware that the one holding a knife to the tip of Sugg's nose was much less dangerous than the one with a battle-general's stare.
"Queen Magrat. Mistress Weatherwax. My esteemed colleague suggested trepanning, is that right?"
"I didn't just suggest it, Lawn, I intend to do it. It's the obvious answer." The surgeon scowled. "You're the one who called me, and I believe I am more qualified to judge the necessity for the saw than you are."
"I thought you used a drill for trepanning. Smaller point, easier to get through, not so hard on the scalp? Didn't you write a paper on this last year? I read it but didn't get all the details. Why don't you come to my office where we could discuss it?"
The surgeon gave an unimpressed look. "Saw, drill, knife, you know what I mean. Do you wish to join me? I thought these rural healers would appreciate seeing a modern procedure, but as they don't, I'd prefer not to be interrupted."
Dr. Lawn did not want to scrub in. Dr. Lawn suddenly wished he'd stuck to being a pox doctor. Or an apothecary. Or anything which did not require him to stand in the middle of a face-off with Art Sugg, the estimable head of the Ankh-Morpork Barber Pole association, and two enraged witches.
The older witch said, "You won't be interrupted at all," in a quiet, terrifying voice.
"Because you'll be dead!" said the young one with messy hair, advancing on Sugg and forcing his head back.
"Lawn, this is ridiculous! Remove these women! "
"Sugg – ladies – if everyone would take a step back, this can all be settled peaceably, without transfiguration to another species, Sugg, if you take my meaning."
Sugg rolled his eyes. "What? Species transfiguration, what? You think these beldames can turn us into frogs? Lawn, you credulous fool. I'm not frightened by them!"
John Lawn reached for his colleague with both arms, one second from throwing them both to the floor. It would be a shorter fall when they achieved ranine status.
"Wait!" A new voice croaked. Nanny reappeared in the doorway with a man in a tall, wheeled chair. He appeared to be a mummy wrapped in white cotton bandages which fastened him to the chair. His arms and legs were likewise fastened to supporting rests, and his neck was braced with pillows on each side. His head was not only bandaged to the top of chair, it was held still by the green hand of an Igor who controlled the chair's slow movement with his other hand. Behind Igor, Dr. Lawn could see the tall figure of Captain Carrot, and sensed that other Watch officers were behind him.
"Wait!" the man said again. " I don't consent to this barbaric procedure!"
Sugg, the idiot, sneered, "Yes? And who are you?"
"I'm her husband, you idiot Muggle," snarled Remus.
Everyone startled at a bright flash from the bed. Tonks' hair flashed pink and her eyes flew open. Her lips twitched up and she breathed, "Remus."