‘What?’ said the guard.
‘I SAID,’ said Magrat, ‘I’ve come to sell my lovely apples. Don’t you listen?’
‘There’s not a sale on, is there?’ The guard was extremely nervous since his colleague had been taken off to the infirmary. He hadn’t taken the job in order to deal with this sort of thing.
It dawned on him.
‘You’re not a witch, are you?’ he said, fumbling awkwardly with his pike.
‘Of course not. Do I look like one?’
The guard looked at her occult bangles, her lined cloak, her trembling hands and her face. The face was particulary worrying. Magrat had used a lot of powder to make her face pale and interesting. It combined with the lavishly applied mascara to give the guard the impression that he was looking at two flies that had crashed into a sugar bowl. He found his fingers wanted to make a sign to ward off the evil eyeshadow.
‘Right,’ he said uncertainly. His mind was grinding through the problem. She was a witch. Just lately there’d been a lot of gossip about witches being bad for your health. He’d been told not to let witches pass, but no one had said anything about apple sellers. Apple sellers were not a problem. It was witches that were the problem. She’d said she was an apple seller and he wasn’t about to doubt a witch’s word.
Feeling happy with this application of logic, he stood to one side and gave an expansive wave.
‘Pass, apple seller,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Magrat sweetly. ‘Would you like an apple?’
‘No, thanks. I haven’t finished the one the other witch gave me.’ His eyes rolled. ‘Not a witch. Not a witch, an apple seller An apple seller. She ought to know.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Just a few minutes …’
terry pratchett rulez.