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'Verence, King of Lancre,' said the ghost, and bowed. 'Do I have the honour of addressing Granny Weatherwax, doyenne of witches?'
It has already been pointed out that just because Verence came from a long line of kings didn't mean that he was basically stupid, and a year without the distractions of the flesh had done wonders as well. Granny Weatherwax considered herself totally unsusceptible to buttering up, but the king was expertly applying the equivalent of the dairy surplus of quite a large country. Bowing was a particularly good touch.
A muscle I indulged in a little trickery to arrange matters. Currently I am haunting her apron.'
'Not the first, either,' said Granny, automatically.
'Esme!'
'And I beg you, Granny Weatherwax, to restore my son to the throne.'
'Restore?'twitched at the corner of Granny's mouth. She gave a stiff little bow in return, because she wasn't quite sure what 'doyenne' meant.'I'm her,' she conceded.'You can get up now,' she added, regally.King Verence remained kneeling, about two inches above the actual ground.'I crave a boon,' he said urgently.'Here, how did you get out of the castle?' said Granny.'The esteemed Nanny Ogg assisted me,' said the king. 'I reasoned, if I am anchored to the stones of Lancre, then I can also go where the stones go. I am afraid
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