swreader wrote:But, it's clear that Pratchett was working quickly, and making small errors (not caught by his publishers) at this stage. For example, Verence (as ghost) see the coach being pulled by his own horse go tearing out of the castle when he goes looking for the baby he believes is his son.
But one horse has turned into multiple horses by the time it arrives at where the witches are. And while Granny works the death of the primary confederate guard and sends him off to be a sailor, they all go home and apparently leave the coach and horses where they were meeting.
That's the way I read it as well, but it could also be read that the carriage is being pulled by his horse, in addition to others. Kinda odd way to write it though.
This is one of the errors I was thinking of:
Wyrd Sisters wrote: 'If you do confess,' said the duchess, 'you will merely be burned at the stake. And, please, no humorous remarks.'
'What false rumours?'
The duke closed his eyes, but the visions were still there 'Concerning the accidental death of the late King Verence.' he whispered hoarsely. The air swirled again.
Nanny sat with her head cocked to one side, as though listening to a voice only she could hear. Except that the duke was certain that he could hear something too, not exactly a voice, something like the distant sighing of the wind.
'Oh, I don't know nothing false,' she said. 'I know you stabbed him, and you gave him the dagger. It was at the top of the stairs.' She paused, head cocked, nodded, and added, 'Just by the suit of armour with the pike, and you said, "If it's to be done, it's better if it's done quickly", or something, and then you snatched the king's own dagger, the very same what is now lying on the floor, out of his belt and—'
'You lie! There were no witnesses. We made . . . there was nothing to witness! I heard someone in the dark, but there was no-one there! There couldn't have been anyone seeing anything!' screamed the duke. His wife scowled at him.
'Do shut up, Leonal,' she said. 'I think within these four walls we can dispense with that sort of thing.'
'Who told her? Did you tell her?'
'And calm down. No-one told her. She's a witch, for goodness sake, they find out about these things. Second glance, or something.'
'Sight,' said Nanny.
'Which you will not possess much longer, my good woman, unless you tell us who else knows and indeed, assist us on a number of other matters,' said the duchess grimly. 'And you will do so, believe me. I am skilled in these things.'
Granny glanced around the dungeon. It was beginning to get crowded. King Verence was bursting with such angry vitality that he was very nearly apparent, and was furiously trying to get a grip on a knife. But there were others behind – wavering, broken shapes, not exactly ghosts but memories, implanted in the very substances of the walls themselves by sheer pain and terror.
'My own dagger! The bastards! They killed me with my own dagger,' said the ghost of King Verence silently, raising his transparent arms and imploring the netherworld in general to witness this ultimate humiliation. 'Give me strength...'
'Yes,' said Nanny. 'It's worth a try.'