"Good. That's all sorted out, then. I think that just about covers everything, don't you?"

"Um-"

Verence rubbed his hands together.

"We're doing some marvellous things with legumes," he said, as if he hadn't just completely rearranged Magrat's life without consulting her. "Beans, peas . . . you know. Nitrogen fixers. And marl and lime, of course. Scientific husbandry. Come and look at this."

He bounced away enthusiastically.

"You know," he said, "we could really make this kingdom work."

Magrat trailed after him.

So that was all settled, then. Not a proposal, just a statement. She hadn't been quite sure how the moment would be, even in the darkest hours of the night, but she'd had an idea that roses and sunsets and bluebirds might just possibly be involved. Clover had not figured largely Beans and other leguminous nitrogen fixers were not a central feature.

On the other hand Magrat was, at the core, far more practical than most people believed who saw no further than her vague smile and collection of more than three hundred pieces of occult jewellery, none of which worked.

So this was how you got married to a king. It all got arranged for you. There were no white horses. The past flipped straight into the future, carrying you with it.

Perhaps that was normal. Kings were busy people. Magrat's experience of marrying them was limited.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"The old rose garden."

Ah . . . well, this was more like it.

Except that there weren't any roses. The walled garden had been stripped of its walks and arbors and was now waist high in green stalks with white flowers. Bees were furiously at work in the blossoms.

"Beans?" said Magrat.

"Yes! A specimen crop. I keep bringing the farmers up here to show them," said Verence. He sighed. "They nod and mumble and smile but I'm afraid they just go off and do the same old things."