Carpe Jugulum (24 page)

“I don’t follow you,” said Magrat.

“Being killed’s nothing to a vampire,” said Nanny. “They always find a way of coming back. Everyone knows that, who knows anything about vampires. If they’re not
too
hard to kill and it’s all a bit of an adventure for people, well, like as not they’ll just stake him or chuck him in the river and go home. Then he has a nice restful decade or so, bein’ dead, and comes back from the grave and away he goes again. That way he never gets totally wiped out and the lads of the village get some healthy exercise.”

“The Magpyrs will come after us,” said Magrat, clutching the baby to her. “They’ll see we’re not in Lancre and they’ll know we couldn’t have gone down to the plains. They’ll find the smashed coach, too. They’ll
find
us, Nanny.”

Nanny looked at the array of jars and bottles, and the stakes neatly arranged in order of size.

“It’ll take them a little while,” she said. “We’ve got time to get…prepared.”

She turned around with a bottle of blessed water in one hand, a crossbow loaded with a wooden bolt, and a bag of musty lemons in her mouth.

“Eg oo it I ay,” she said.

“Pardon?” said Magrat.

Nanny spat out the lemons.

“Now we’ll try things my way,” she said. “I’m not good at thinkin’ like Granny but I’m bloody good at actin’ like me. Head-ology’s for them as can handle it. Let’s kick some bat.”

The wind soughed across the moors on the edge of Lancre, and hissed through the heather.

Around some old mounds, half buried in brambles, it shook the wet branches of a single thorn tree, and shredded the curling smoke that drifted up through the roots.

There was a single scream.

Down below, the Nac mac Feegle were doing their best, but strength is not the same as weight and mass and even with pixies hanging on to every limb and Big Aggie herself sitting on Verence’s chest he was still hard to control.

“I think mebbe the drink was a wee bitty too trackle?” said Big Aggie’s man, looking down at Verence’s bloodshot eyes and foaming mouth. “I’m sayin’, mebbe it was wrong jus’ giving him fifty times more than we tak’. He’s not used to it…”

Big Aggie shrugged.

In the far corner of the barrow half a dozen pixies backed out of the hole they’d hacked into the next chamber, dragging a sword. For bronze, it was quite well preserved—the old chieftains of Lancre reckoned to be buried with their weapons in order to fight their enemies in the next world, and since you didn’t become a chieftain of ancient Lancre without sending a great many enemies to the next world, they liked to take weapons that could be relied upon to last.

Under the direction of the old pixie, they maneuvered it within reached of Verence’s flailing hand.

“Are ye scrat?” said Big Aggie’s man. “Yin! Tan! Tetra!”

The Feegle leapt away in every direction. Verence rose almost vertically, bounced off the roof, grabbed the sword, hacked madly until he’d cut a hole through to the outside world, and escaped into the night.

The pixies clustered around the walls of the barrow turned their eyes to their Kelda.

Big Aggie nodded.

“Big Aggie says ye’d best see him come to nae harm,” said the old pixie.

A thousand small but very sharp weapons waved in the smoky air.

“Hoons!”

“Kill ’em a’!”

“Nac mac Feegle!”

A few seconds later the chamber was empty.

Nanny hurried across the castle’s main hall, burdened with stakes, and stopped dead.

“What the hell’s that thing?” she said. “Takes up a whole wall!”

“Oh, that wath the old Count’th pride and joy,” said Igor. “He wathn’t very modern, he alwayth thaid, but the Thentury of the Fruitbat had it’th compenthathionth. Thometimeth he’d play with it for hourth on end…”

It was an organ, or possibly what an organ hoped to be when it grew up, because it dominated the huge room. A music lover to the core, Nanny couldn’t help trotting over to inspect it. It was black, its pipes framed and enclosed in intricate ebony fretwork, with the stops and keyboard made of dead elephant.

“How does it work?” she said.

“Water power,” said Igor proudly. “There’th an underground river. The marthter had thith made thpethially to hith own de-thign…”

Nanny ran her fingers over a brass plate screwed above the keyboard.

It read:
HLISTEN TO ZER CHILTREN OFF DER NIGHT…VOT VONDERFUL MHUSICK DEY MAKE. MNFTRD. BY BERGHOLT STUTTLEY JOHNSON, ANKH-MORPORK
.

“It’s a Johnson,” she breathed. “I haven’t got my hands on a Johnson for ages…” She looked closer. “What’s this? ‘Scream 1’? ‘Thunderclap 14’? ‘Wolf Howl 5’? There’s a whole set of stops just marked ‘Creaky Floors’! Can’t you play
music
on this thing?”

“Oh yeth. But the old marthter wath more interethted in…effectth.”

There was still a dust-covered sheet of music on the stand, which someone had been filling in carefully, with many crossings-out.

“‘Return Of The Bride Of The Revenge Of The Son Of Count Magpyr,’” Nanny said aloud, noting that “From 20,000 Fathoms(?)” had been written in subsequently and then crossed out. “‘Sonata for Thunderstorm, Trapdoors and Young Women in Skimpy Clothing.’ Bit of an artist too, then, your old master?”

“In a…
thpethial
way,” said Igor wistfully.

Nanny stepped back.

“Magrat’s going to be safe, isn’t she?” she said, picking up the stakes again.

“It’th a mob-proof door,” said Igor. “And Thcrapth ith nine-thirty-eighth Rottweiler.”

“Which parts, as a matter of interest?”

“Two legth, one ear, lotth of tubeth and lower jaw,” said Igor promptly, as they hurried off again.

“Yes, but he’s got a spaniel brain,” said Nanny.

“It’th in the bone,” said Igor. “He holdth people in hith jawth and beatth them thentheleth with hith tailth.”

“He wags people to death?”

“Thometimeth he drownth them in dribble,” said Igor.

The rooftops of Escrow loomed out of the darkness as the vampires drifted lower. A few windows were glowing with candlelight when Agnes’s feet touched the ground.

Vlad dropped down beside her.

“Of course, you can’t see it at its best in this weather,” he said. “Some quite good architecture in the town square, and a very fine town hall. Father paid for the clock.”

“Really.”

“And the bell tower, naturally. Local labor, of course.”

“Vampires have a lot of cash, do they?” said Agnes. The town looked quite large, and pretty much like the country towns down on the plains save for a certain amount of gingerbread carving on the eaves.

“Well, the family has always owned land,” said Vlad, ignoring the sarcasm. “The money mounts up, you know. Over the centuries. And obviously we’ve not enjoyed a particularly active social life.”

“Or spent much on food,” said Agnes.

“Yes, yes, very good—”

A bell started to toll, somewhere above them.

“Now you’ll see,” said Vlad. “And you’ll understand.”

Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes. There were flames roaring right in front of her.

“Oh,” she said. “So be it, then…”

“Ah. Feeling better, are we?” said Oats.

Her head spun round. Then she looked down at the steam rising from her dress.

Oats ducked between the branches of two firs and threw another armful of dead wood on the flames. It hissed and spluttered.

“How long was I…resting?” said Granny.

“About half an hour, I’d say.” Red light and black shadows danced among the trees. The rain had turned to sleet, but it was flashing into steam overhead.

“You did well to get a fire going in this murk,” said Granny.

“I thank Om for it,” said Oats.

“Very kind of him, I’m sure. But we’ve got to…get on.” Granny tried to stand up. “Not far now. All downhill…”

“The mule ran away,” said Oats.

“We’ve got feet, haven’t we? I feel better for the…rest. The fire’s put a…bit of life into me.”

“It’s too dark and far too wet. Wait until morning.”

Granny pulled herself up. “No. Find a stick or something I can lean on. Go on.”

“Well…there’s a hazel grove just along the slope, but…”

“Just the thing, a good bit of hazel. Well, don’t just stand there. I’m feeling better every minute. Off you go.”

He disappeared into the dripping shadows.

Granny flapped her skirts in front of the blaze to circulate some warm air, and something small and white flew up from the ashes, dancing in the fire and sleet.

She picked it up from the moss where it had landed.

It was a piece of thin paper, the charred corner of a page. She could just make out, in the red light, the words “…of Om…aid unto…Ossory smote…” The paper was attached to a burnt strip of leather binding.

She regarded it for a while, and then dropped it carefully into the flames as the sound of crackling twigs indicated Oats’s return.

“Can you even find the way in all this?” he said, handing her a long hazel pole.

“Yes. You go on one side of me, and I’ve got this staff. Then it’s just a walk in the woods, eh?”

“You don’t
look
better.”

“Young man, if we’re going to wait for me to look interestin’ we’ll be here for years.”

She raised a hand and the wowhawk flew down out of the shadows.

“Good thing you were able to get a fire going, all the same,” she said, without turning round.

“I have always found that if I put my trust in Om a way will be found,” said Oats, hurrying after her.

“I reckon Om helps those who helps themselves,” said Granny.

Throughout the town of Escrow the windows glowed. Lamps were lit and there was the sound of doors being unbolted. Over all, the bell went on ringing out through the fog.

“Normally we congregate in the town square,” said Vlad.

“It’s the middle of the night!” said Agnes.

“Yes, but it doesn’t happen very often, and our covenant says never more than twice in a month,” said Vlad. “Do you see how prosperous the place is? People are
safe
in Escrow. They’ve seen reason. No shutters on the windows, do you see? They don’t have to bar their windows or hide in the cellar, which I have to admit is what people do in the…less well regulated areas of our country. They exchanged fear for security. They—” He stumbled, and steadied himself against a wall. Then he rubbed his forehead. “Sorry. I felt a little…strange. What was I saying?”

“How should I know?” snapped Agnes. “You were talking about how happy everyone is because the vampires visit, or something.”

“Oh yes. Yes. Because of cooperation, not enmity. Because…” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “…because…well, you’ll see…is it rather cold here?”

“Just clammy,” said Agnes.

“Let’s get to the square,” Vlad muttered. “I’m sure I shall feel better.”

It was just ahead. Torches had been lit. People had congregated there, most of them with blankets across their shoulders or a coat over their night clothes, standing around in aimless groups like people who’d heard the fire alarm but hadn’t seen the smoke.

One of two of them caught sight of Vlad and there was a certain amount of coughing and shuffling.

Other vampires were descending through the mist. The Count landed gently and nodded to Agnes.

“Ah, Miss Nitt,” he said vaguely. “Are we all here, Vlad?”

The bell stopped. A moment later Lacrimosa descended.

“You’ve
still
got her?” she said to Vlad, raising her eyebrows. “Oh well…”

“I will just have a brief chat to the mayor,” said the Count. “He appreciates being kept informed.”

Agnes watched him walk toward a small, dumpy man who, despite getting out of bed in the middle of a wet night, seemed to have had the foresight to put on a gold chain of office.

She noticed the vampires taking up positions in a line in front of the bell tower, about four or five feet apart. They joked and called out to one another, except for Lacrimosa, who was glaring directly at her.

The Count was deep in conversation with the mayor, who was staring down at his own feet.

Now, across the square, the people were beginning to form lines. A couple of small children pulled away from their parents’ hands and chased one another up and down the lines of people, laughing.

And the suspicion bloomed slowly in Agnes like a great black, red-edged rose.

Vlad must have felt her body stiffen, because his grip tightened on her arm.

“I know what you’re thinking—” he began.

“You
don’t
know what I’m thinking but I’ll
tell
you what I’m thinking,” she said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. “You’re—”

“Listen, it could be so much worse, it
used
to be so much worse—”

The Count bustled. “Good news,” he said, “Three children have just turned twelve.” He smiled at Agnes. “We have a little…ceremony, before the main lottery. A rite of passage, as it were. I think they look forward to it, to tell you the truth.”

He’s watching you to see how you react,
said Perdita.
Vlad is just stupid and Lacrimosa would weave your hair into a face flannel if she had the chance but this one will go for the throat if you so much as blink at the wrong time…so don’t blink at the wrong time, thank you, because even figments of the imagination want to live…

But Agnes felt the terror rising around her. And it was
wrong
, the wrong
kind
of terror, a numbing, cold, sick feeling that froze her where she stood. She had to do something, do anything, break its horrible grip—

It was Vlad who spoke.

“It’s nothing dramatic,” he said quickly. “A little drop of blood…Father went to the school and explained all about citizenship…”

“How nice,” she croaked. “Do they get a badge?” It must have been Perdita behind that; she couldn’t imagine Agnes being so tasteless, even in the cause of sarcasm.

“Hah, no. But what a
good
idea,” said the Count, giving her another quick smile. “Yes…perhaps a badge, or a small plaque. Something to be treasured in later life. I shall make a mental note of this. And so…let us begin. Ah, the mayor has assembled the dear children…”

There was a shout somewhere at the back of the crowd and, for a moment, Agnes caught sight of a man trying to press forward. The mayor nodded at a couple of the nearby men. They hurried back into the crowd. There was a scuffle in the shadows. She thought she heard a woman’s scream, suddenly muffled. A door slammed.

As the mayor turned back, he met Agnes’s stare. She looked away, not wanting to see that expression. People were good at imagining hells, and some they occupied while they were alive.

“Shall we get on?” said the Count.

“Will you let go of my arm, Vlad?” said Agnes, sweetly.

They’re just waiting for you to react,
whispered Perdita. Oh, said Agnes inside her head, so I should just stand here and watch? Like everybody else?
I just thought I’d point it out. What’s been done to them? They’re like pigs queuing for Hogswatch!
I think they saw reason, said Agnes.
Oh well…just wipe that smile off Lacrimosa’s face, that’s all I ask…

They could move very fast. Even a scream wouldn’t work. She might be able to get in one good wallop, and that would be it. And perhaps she’d wake up as a vampire, and not know the difference between good and evil. But that wasn’t the point. The point was here and now, because here and now she
did
.

She could see every drop of moisture hanging in the air, smell the woodsmoke from damped-down fires, hear the rats in the thatch of the houses. Her senses were working overtime, to make the most of the last few seconds—

“I don’t see why!” Lacrimosa’s voice cut through the mist like a saw.

Agnes blinked. The girl had reached her father and was glaring at him.

“Why do
you
always start?” she demanded.

“Lacrimosa! What has got into you? I
am
the head of the clan!”

“Oh really? Forever?”

The Count looked astonished. “Well, yes. Of course!”

“So we’ll always be pushed around by you, for
ever
? We’ll just be your children for
ever
?”

“My dear, what
do
you think you—”

“And don’t try that voice on me! That only works on the meat! So I’ll be sent to my room for being disobedient
forever
?”

“We did let you have your own rack—”

“Oh yes! And for that I have to nod and smile and be nice to
meat
?”

“Don’t you dare talk to your father like that!” screamed the Countess.

“And don’t talk about Agnes like that!” snarled Vlad.

“Did I use the word Agnes? Did I refer to her in any way?” said Lacrimosa, coldly. “I don’t believe I did. I wouldn’t dream of mentioning her at
all
.”

“I can’t be having with this
arguing
!” shouted the Count.

“That’s
it
, isn’t it?” said Lacrimosa. “We
don’t
argue! We just do what you say, for
ever
.”

“We agreed—”

“No, you agreed, and no one disagreed with
you
. Vlad was right!”

“Indeed?” said the Count, turning to his son. “Right about what, pray?”

Vlad’s mouth opened and shut once or twice as he hastily assembled a coherent sentence. “I may have mentioned that the whole Lancre business might be considered unwise—”

“Oh,” said the Countess. “You know so much about wisdom all of a sudden and you’re barely two hundred?”

“Unwise?” said the Count.

“
I
’d say stupid!” said Lacrimosa. “Little badges? Gifts? We don’t
give
anything! We’re
vampires
! We
take
what we want, like
this
—”

She reached out, grabbed a man standing near her, and turned, mouth open and hair flying.

And stopped, as if she’d been frozen.

Then she buckled, one hand reaching for her throat, and glared at her father.

“What…did you do?” she gasped. “My throat…feels…You
did
something!”

The Count rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lacci—”

“And
don’t
call me that! You know how I hate that!”

There was a brief scream from one of the lesser vampires behind them. Agnes couldn’t remember his name, it was probably Fenrir or Maledicta or something, but she did recall that he preferred to be known as Gerald. He sagged to his knees, clawing at his throat. None of the other vampires looked very happy, either. A couple of them were kneeling and groaning, to the bewilderment of the citizens.

“I don’t…feel very well,” said the Countess, swaying slightly. “I did say I didn’t think wine was a good idea…”

The Count turned and stared at Agnes. She took a step back.

“It’s you, isn’t it,” he said.

“Of course it is!” moaned Lacrimosa. “You know that old woman put herself somewhere, and she must’ve known Vlad was soppy on that lump!”

She’s not in here, is she?
said Perdita. Don’t you know? Agnes thought, backing away again.
Well, I don’t think she is, but is it me doing the thinking?
Look, she’s hidden herself in that priest, we
know
it.
No, we don’t, you just thought that’d be a smart thing for her to do because everyone would think she’s hiding in the baby
.

“Why don’t you just crawl back into your coffin and rot, you slimy little maggot,” Agnes said. It wasn’t that good, but im-promptu insults are seldom well crafted.

Lacrimosa leapt at her, but something else was wrong. Instead of gliding through the air like velvet death she lurched like a bird with a broken wing. But fury let her rear up in front of Agnes, one claw out to scratch—

Agnes hit her as hard as she could and felt Perdita get behind the blow as well. It shouldn’t have been possible for it to connect, the girl was quick enough to run around Agnes three times before it could, but it did.

The people of Escrow watched a vampire stagger back, bleeding.

The mayor raised his head.

Agnes went into a crouch, fists raised.

“I don’t know where Granny Weatherwax went,” she said. “Maybe she
is
in here with me, eh?” A flash of mad inspiration struck her and she added, in Granny’s sharp tones, “And if you strike me down again I’ll bite my way up through your boots!”

“A nice try, Miss Nitt,” said the Count, striding toward her. “But I don’t
think
so—”

He stopped, clutching at the gold chain that was suddenly around his neck.

Behind him the mayor hauled on it with all his weight, forcing the vampire to the ground.

The citizens looked at one another, and all moved at once.

Vampires rose into the air, trying to gain height, kicking at clutching hands. Torches were snatched from walls. The night was suddenly full of screams.

Agnes looked up at Vlad, who was staring in horror. Lacrimosa was surrounded by a closing ring of people.

“You’d better run,” she said, “or they’ll—”

He turned and lunged, and the last thing she saw was teeth.