king. And I donât think he knows how to show respect.â
âA man came to see me last week to ask if I wanted to pay any taxes,â said Magrat. âI told him no.â
âHe came to see me, too,â said Nanny Ogg. âBut our Jason and our Wane went out and tole him we didnât want to join.â
âSmall man, bald, black cloak?â said Granny thoughtfully.
âYes,â said the other two.
âHe was hanging about in my raspberry bushes,â said Granny. âOnly, when I went out to see what he wanted, he ran away.â
âActually, I gave him tuppence,â said Magrat. âHe said he was going to be tortured, you see, if he didnât get witches to pay their taxes . . .â
Lord Felmet looked carefully at the two coins in his lap.
Then he looked at his tax gatherer.
âWell?â he said.
The tax gatherer cleared his throat. âWell, sir, you see. I explained about the need to employ a standing army, ekcetra, and they said why, and I said because of bandits, ekcetra, and they said bandits never bothered them.â
âAnd civil works?â
âAh. Yes. Well, I pointed out the need to build and maintain bridges, ekcetra.â
âAnd?â
âThey said they didnât use them.â
âAh,â said the duke knowledgeably. âThey canât cross running water.â
âNot sure about that, sir. I think witches cross anything they like.â
âDid they say anything else?â said the duke.
The tax gatherer twisted the hem of his robe distractedly.
âWell, sir. I mentioned how taxes help to maintain the Kingâs Peace, sir . . .â
âAnd?â
âThey said the king should maintain his own peace, sir. And then they gave me a look.â
âWhat sort of look?â
The duke sat with his thin face cupped in one hand. He was fascinated.
âItâs sort of hard to describe,â said the taxman. He tried to avoid Lord Felmetâs gaze, which was giving him the distinct impression that the tiled floor was fleeing away in all directions and had already covered several acres. Lord Felmetâs fascination was to him what a pin is to a Purple Emperor.
âTry,â the duke invited.
The taxman blushed.
âWell,â he said. âIt . . . wasnât nice.â
Which demonstrates that the tax gatherer was much better at figures than words. What he would have said, if embarrassment, fear, poor memory and a complete lack of any kind of imagination hadnât conspired against it, was:
âWhen I was a little boy, and staying with my aunt, and she had told me not to touch the cream, ekcetra, and she had put it on a high shelf in the pantry, and I got a stool and went after it when she was out anyway, and sheâd come back and I didnât know, and I couldnât reach the bowl properly and it smashed on the floor, and she opened the door and glared at me: it was that look. But the worst thing was, they
knew
it.â
âNot nice,â said the duke.
âNo, sir.â
The duke drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm of his throne. The tax gatherer coughed again.
âYouâre â youâre not going to force me to go back, are you?â he said.
âUm?â said the duke. He waved a hand irritably. âNo, no,â he said. âNot at all. Just call in at the torturer on your way out. See when he can fit you in.â
The taxman gave him a look of gratitude, and bobbed a bow.
âYes, sir. At once, sir. Thank you, sir. Youâre veryââ
âYes, yes,â said Lord Felmet, absently. âYou may go.â
The duke was left alone in the vastness of the hall. It was raining again. Every once in a while a piece of plaster smashed down on the tiles, and there was a crunching from the walls as they settled still further. The air smelled of old cellars.
Gods, he hated this kingdom.
It was so small, only forty miles