Lords and Ladies

help. She couldn’t hear the ghostly thoughts of all the other Esme Weatherwaxes anymore.
    Perhaps some lived in a world ruled by elves. Or had died long ago. Or were living what they thought were happy lives. Granny Weatherwax seldom wished for anything, because wishing was soppy, but she felt a tiny regret that she’d never be able to meet them.
    Perhaps some were going to die, now, here on this path. Everything you did meant that a million copies of you did something else. Some were going to die. She’d sensed their future deaths…the deaths of Esme Weatherwax. And couldn’t save them, because chance did not work like that.
    On a million hillsides the girl ran, on a million bridges the girl chose, on a million paths the woman stood …
    All different, all one.
    All she could do for all of them was be herself, here and now, as hard as she could.
    She stuck out a hand.
    A few yards away the unicorn hit an invisible wall. Its legs flailed as it tried to stop, its body contorted in pain, and it slid the rest of the way to Granny’s feet on its back.
    “Gytha,” said Granny, as the beast tried to get upright, “you’ll take off your stockings and knot ’em into a halter and pass it to me carefully.”
    “Esme…”
    “What?”
    “Ain’t got no stockings on, Esme.”
    “What about the lovely red and white pair I gave you on Hogswatchnight? I knitted ’em myself. You know how I hates knitting.”
    “Well, it’s a warm night. I likes to, you know, let the air circulate.”
    “I had the devil of a time with the heels.”
    “Sorry, Esme.”
    “At least you’ll be so good as to run up to my place and bring everything that’s in the bottom of the dresser.”
    “Yes, Esme.”
    “But before that you’ll call in at your Jason’s and tell him to get the forge good and hot.”
    Nanny Ogg stared down at the struggling unicorn. It seemed to be stuck, terrified of Granny but at the same time quite unable to escape.
    “Oh, Esme, you’re never going to ask our Jason to—”
    “I won’t ask him to do anything. And I ain’t asking you, neither.”
    Granny Weatherwax removed her hat, skimming it into the bushes. Then, her eyes never leaving the animal, she reached up to the iron-gray bun of her hair and removed a few crucial pins.
    The bun uncoiled a waking snake of fine hair, which unwound down to her waist when she shook her head a couple of times.
    Nanny watched in paralyzed fascination as she reached up again and broke a single hair at its root.
    Granny Weatherwax’s hands made a complicated motion in the air as she made a noose out of something almost too thin to see. She ignored the thrashing horn and dropped it over the unicorn’s neck. Then she pulled.
    Struggling, its unshod hooves kicking up great clods of mud, the unicorn struggled to its feet.
    “That’ll never hold it,” said Nanny, sidling around the tree.
    “I could hold it with a cobweb, Gytha Ogg. With a cobweb . Now go about your business.”
    “Yes, Esme.”
    The unicorn threw back its head and screamed.

    Half the town was waiting as Granny led the beast into Lancre, hooves skidding on the cobbles, because when you tell Nanny Ogg you tell everyone.
    It danced at the end of the impossibly thin tether, kicking out at the terminally unwary, but never quite managing to pull free.
    Jason Ogg, still in his best clothes, was standing nervously at the open doorway to the forge. Superheated air vibrated over the chimney.
    “Mister Blacksmith,” said Granny Weatherwax, “I have a job for you.”
    “Er,” said Jason, “that’s a unicorn, is that.”
    “Correct.”
    The unicorn screamed again, and rolled mad red eyes at Jason.
    “No one’s ever put shoes on a unicorn,” said Jason.
    “Think of this,” said Granny Weatherwax, “as your big moment.”
    The crowd clustered round, trying to see and hear while keeping out of the way of the hooves.
    Jason rubbed his chin with his hammer.
    “I don’t know—”
    “Listen to me, Jason Ogg,” said Granny, hauling on the hair as the creature skittered around in a circle, “you can shoe anything anyone brings you. And there’s a price for that, ain’t there?”
    Jason gave Nanny Ogg a panic-stricken look. She had the grace to look embarrassed.
    “She never told me about it,” said Granny, with her usual ability to read Nanny’s expression through the back of her own head.
    She leaned closer to Jason, almost hanging from the plunging beast. “The price for being able to shoe