“Rightly so, rightly so,” said I. “But Cordelia is not enchanted to love me. She is with me of her own free will.”
“Balderdash,” said Parsley, the tall witch. “We gave you three puffballs for three sisters.”
“Aye, but I used the third to enchant Edgar of Gloucester, so he would fall in love with a laundress at his castle named Emma. Lovely lass with smashing knockers. She’d been mistreated by the bastard brother—only seemed just.”
“Still, the spell was used. We will have our payment,” said Rosemary.
“Of course. I have more treasure than you crones could carry. Gold? Silver? Jewels? But Cordelia doesn’t know of all of your manipulations, nor that the ghost was her mother, and she mustn’t ever. If you agree, name your reward, I’ve important kingly things to accomplish and my monkey is hungry. Name your price, crones.”
“Spain,” said the witches.
“Fuckstockings,” said the puppet Jones.