No-one knew better than Granny Weatherwax that hats were important. They weren't just clothing. Hats defined the head. They defined who you were. No-one had ever heard of a wizard without a pointy hat - at least, no wizard worth speaking of. And you certainly never heard of a witch without one. Even Magrat had one, although she hardly ever wore it on account of being a wet hen. That didn't matter too much; it wasn't the wearing of the hats that counted so much as having one to wear. Every trade, every craft had its hat. That's why kings had hats. Take the crown off a king and all you had was someone good at having a weak chin and waving to people. Hats had power. Hats were important. But so were people.
Mrs Gogol took another puff at her pipe.
'Saturday, go and get my best hat for holidays,' she said.
'Yes, Mrs Gogol.'
Saturday disappeared into the hut for a moment, and came out with a large and battered box securely wrapped with twine.
'I can't take that,' said Granny. 'I can't take your best hat.'
'Yes you can,' said Mrs Gogol. 'I've got another hat. Oh, yes. I've got another hat all right.'
Granny put the box down carefully.
'It occurs to me, Mrs Gogol,' she said, 'that you ain't everything you seem.'
'Oh yes I is, Mistress Weatherwax. I never bin nothing else, just like you.'
'You brought us here?'
'No. You brought yourselves here. Of your own free will. To help someone, ain't that right? You decided to do it, ain't that right? No-one forced you, ain't that right? 'Cept yourselves.'
'She's right about all that,' said Nanny. 'We'd have felt it, if it was magic.'
"That's right,' said Granny. 'No-one forced us, except ourselves. What's your game, Mrs Gogol?'
'I ain't playing no game, Mistress Weatherwax. I just want back what's mine. I want justice. And I wants her stopped.'
'Her who?' said Nanny Ogg.
Granny's face had frozen into a mask.
'Her who's behind all this,' said Mrs Gogol. 'The Duc hasn't got the brains of a prawn, Mrs Ogg. I mean her. Her with her mirror magic. Her who likes to control. Her who's in charge. Her who's tinkering with destiny. Her that Mistress Weatherwax knows all about.'
Nanny Ogg was lost.
'What's she talking about, Esme?' she said.
Granny muttered something.
'What? Didn't hear you,' Nanny said.
Granny Weatherwax looked up, her face red with anger.
'She means my sister, Gytha! Right? Got that? Do you understand? Did you hear? My sister! Want me to repeat it again? Want to know who she's talking about? You want me to write it down? My sister! That's who! My sisterV
'They're sisters?' said Magrat.
Her tea had gone cold.
'I don't know,' said Ella. 'They look . . . alike. They keep themselves to themselves most of the time. But I can feel them watching. They're very good at watching.'
'And they make you do all the work?' she said.
'Well, I only have to cook for myself and the outside staff,' said Ella. 'And I don't mind the cleaning and the laundry all that much.'
'Do they do their own cooking, then?'