Hubble Blubble!!

Evening is falling. By the side of the main road into Mittelheim, a small group of women are engaged in a vigorous exchange of views. But their language is foreign: English, possibly, with a strong accent from those parts of the British isles known as Scotland. A land where men are men; and women nearly so. There seems to be some dispute. We come closer and notice that there are three of them. Glenda, Shona, and Morag. It is dangerous for women to be alone at night in these dark times. With the Dirty Ears War still ongoing, women run the risk of being abducted by ruffianly vermin from the armies of both sides, and then being forced to do unspeakable things - washing their uniforms, watching them eat with their mouths open, or listening to them trying to sing. But these women probably are safe enough at the moment since they can hardly be seen: the gloom is gathering; the women seem mainly to be wearing black; and, as already noted, times are dark. Their garb is wild and ink-black; their hair unkempt; nearby is a small stack of broomsticks. It would seem, dear reader, that (without wishing to seem judgemental) we have encountered a coven of witches. From the forest a fourth figure steps into view: it is Mary, the last of their number.

SCENE I: A Forest Road. 

There is no Thunder or Lightning

First Witch (Shona):
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Second Witch (Glenda):
When the hurly burly's done.
When the battles lost and won.
But also, let's not meet in thunder, lightning, or in rain. We could just meet at that nice looking tavern house we saw on the way here.

Third Witch (Morag):
That will be the 'Setting Sun'.

First Witch:
Oooh, yes, that was the place.

First Witch:
Upon the heath?

Third Witch:
No, past the bridge and turn left.

First Witch:
Oooh, lovely.

All:
Fair is foul, and foul is fair
Hover through the fog and filthy air

Fourth Witch (Mary):
Why don't I get any lines? I never get any lines. This trip is rubbish. "Learn German, you said. Go to Prussia, you said." Well, we should never have left Eccelfechan.

First Witch:
I know, I know. I realise that this trip hasn't been as successful as we had hoped. Prussia, sadly, has too much embraced the Age of Reason for our particular abilities to be in much demand. But I'm convinced that in Mittelheim our fortunes will be restored. Such a place as this surely will be receptive to our skills. It's backwards, prejudiced, poorly educated, and the toads seem to be very reasonably priced.

Third Witch:
Yes, that's all very well. But with Mary here now there's four of us. It's really quite integral to the whole "three witches" thing that we should number three. Otherwise, it just doesn't work. No one is going to take seriously predictions from the "The Roughly Numbered Three Witches." I mean, if we can't get our own numbers accurate, who's going to take our foretellings seriously?  How is it going to sound if we say "All hail insert name, king it is not implausible ye might be given the favourable machinations of a number of key variables that we haven't quite put our fingers on." No - four witches won't work. And in any case, Mary hasn't really bought into the spirit of our coven.

First Witch:
Come now, we're a "group" not a "coven," remember?

Morag looks at her own gown, which is black and ragged, and then gestures to Mary. Mary pokes out her tongue. Glenda sighs. 'You see Mary, Morag has a point. Witches ... well, black generally is our thing.'

'We need to move with the time,' replies Mary defensively.

'All hail Hunschmausen, for breakfast

eggs ye might have!'

'Oh I agree, I agree,' says Shona, stepping in. 'And you know, I think that we have indeed done that. Remember, we got rid of the hats. And the really big toads.'
'And the warts,' adds Glenda
'And the cauldron,' says Shona.
'That was really heavy,' admits Mary. 'And the problems it caused with portion sizes. I put on at least half a stone.'
'And,' adds Morag, 'I'm not against adding some discrete lace detail around the hems. It's just the  ...' she gestures at Mary's clothes, '... the purple silk brocade, yellow dress, fan, elaborate wig and jewellery.'
'I'm not wearing black,' says Mary with finality. 'It's so seventeenth century.'
'Couldn't you just wear the basic black dress,' says Glenda, 'and then ... accessorise?'
Mary snorts. 'What, add a ducking stool and a restless village lynch-mob?'

Suddenly, from the west comes the gentle sound of a horse's hooves.
'Look,' says Glenda. 'Come on. This is what we do. It'll cheer you all up.'

SCENE II: A Forest and not a Heath

There is no sound of thunder. Enter a Horseman

First Witch:
Where hast thou been, sister?

Second Witch:
Killing swine.

Third Witch:
Sister, where thou?

First Witch:
A sailor's wife had chestnuts on her lap,
And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:
'Give me,' quoth I:
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries,
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, I'll do

The Horseman:
What's a ronyon? And what happens when one gets arointed?

First Witch: 
A ronyon? Well it's ... it's not unlike an onion. Probably.

The Horseman:
And an arointing?

Second Witch:
Look, I don't think that the actual specifics of an arointing are strictly relevant. I think that one can just assume that being arointed is something best avoided.

First witch:
I myself have all the other,
And the very ports they blow

The Horseman:
Well, you strangely-dressed apparitions. That is all very well, but name yourselves! Why have you waylaid me?

'All hail Hunschmausen, lunch is a distinct
possibility at some time around twelve!'

ALL:
Well, we're witches and we have come to comment upon your fate!

Fourth Witch:
Yes, indeed. With speed because we don't want to be ... er... too late!

First Witch:
Stop improvising, Mary!

Fourth Witch:
But I never get any lines!

The Horseman: 
Out of my way, oddly dressed crones (though I exclude from that last description the youngest of your number who has a most comely ensemble). For I am Baron Munch ... I mean Baron, um ... Hunchmausen, and I am on my way to Mittelheim for some perfectly ordinary reason that no one need pay any attention to.

First Witch:
Nay, for by the pricking of my thumb,
Something wicked has this way come!

Fourth Witch: 
Thank you sir: the purples and yellows of my dress do look well, I think.

Second Witch:
For pity's sake Mary. Look Herr Mister Hunchmausen Horseman, hear now our visions for your future ....