‘Fascinating,’ said Verence. Little beads of sweat were rolling down his face.
‘Of course, in Uberwald everyone understands this instinctively,’ said the Countess. ‘But it is rather a backward place for the children. We are so looking forward to Lancre.’
‘Very glad to hear it,’ said Verence.
‘And so kind of you to invite us,’ she went on. ‘Otherwise we could not have come, of course.’
‘Not exactly,’ said the Count, beaming at his wife. ‘But I have to admit that the prohibition against entering places uninvited has proved curiously . . . durable. It must be something to do with ancient territorial instincts. But,’ he added brightly, ‘I have been working on an instructional technique which I’m sure will, within a few years-‘
‘Oh, don’t let’s go through all that dull stuff again,’ said Lacrimosa.
‘Yes, I suppose it can sound a little tedious,’ said the Count, smiling benevolently at his daughter. ‘Has anyone any more of that wonderful garlic dip?’
The King still looked uneasy, Agnes noticed. Which was odd, because the Count and his family seemed absolutely charming and what they were saying made perfect sense. Everything was perfectly all right.
‘Exactly,’ said Vlad, beside her. ‘Do you dance, Miss Nitt?’ On the other side of the hall, the Lancre Light Symphony Orchestra (cond. S. Ogg) was striking up and out at random.
‘Ur . . .’ She stopped it turning into a giggle. ‘Not really. Not very well. . .’
Didn’t you listen to what they were saying? They’re vampires!
‘Shut up,’ she said aloud.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Vlad, looking puzzled.
‘And they’re . . . well, they’re not a very good orchestra . . .’
Didn’t you pay any attention to what they were saying at all, you useless lump?
‘They’re a very bad orchestra,’ said Vlad.
‘Well, the King only bought the instruments last month and basically they’re trying to learn together-‘
Chop his head off! Give him a garlic enema!
‘Are you all right? You really know there are no vampires here, don’t you. . .’
He’s controlling you! Perdita screamed. They’re . . . affecting people!
‘I’m a bit . . . faint from all the excitement,’ Agnes mumbled. ‘I think I’ll go home.’ Some instinct at bone marrow level made her add, ‘I’ll ask Nanny to go with me.’
Vlad gave her an odd look, as if she wasn’t reacting in quite the right way. Then he smiled. Agnes noticed that he had very white teeth.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Miss Nitt,’ he said. ‘There’s something so . . . inner about you.’
That’s me! That’s me! He can’t work me out! Now let’s both get out of here! yelled Perdita.
‘But we shall meet again.’
Agnes gave him a nod and staggered away, clutching at her head. It felt like a ball of cotton wool in which there was, inexplicably, a needle.
She passed Mightily Oats, who’d dropped his book on the floor and was sitting groaning with his head in his hands. He raised it to look at her.
‘Er . . . miss, have you anything that might help my head?’ he said. ‘It really is . . . rather painful. . .’
‘The Queen makes up some sort of headache pills out of willow bark,’ Agnes panted, and hurried on.
Nanny Ogg was standing morosely with a pint in her hand, a hitherto unheard-of combination.
‘The weasel juggler didn’t turn up,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m going to put out the hard word on him. He’s had it in show business in these parts.’
‘Could you . . . help me home, Nanny?’
‘So what if he got bitten on the essentials, that’s all part of-. Are you all right?’
‘I feel really awful, Nanny.’
‘Let’s go, then. All the good beer’s gone and I’m not stoppin’ anyway if there’s nothin’ to laugh at.’
The wind was whistling across the sky when they walked back to Agnes’s cottage. In fact there seemed more whistle than wind. The leafless trees creaked as they passed, the weak moonlight filling the eaves of the woods with dangerous shadows. Clouds were piling in, and there was more rain on the way.
Agnes noticed Nanny pick up something as they left the town behind them.
It was a stick. She’d never known a witch carry a stick at night before.
‘Why have you got that, Nanny?’
‘What? Oh? Dunno, really. It’s a rattly old night, ain’t it . . . ?’
‘But you’re never frightened of anything in Lan-‘
Several things pushed through the bushes and clattered on to the road ahead. For a moment Agnes thought they were horses, until the moonlight caught them. Then they were gone, into the shadows on the other side of the road. She heard galloping among the trees.
‘Haven’t seen any of those for a long time,’ said Nanny.
‘I’ve never seen centaurs at all except in pictures,’ said Agnes.
‘Must’ve come down out of Uberwald,’ said Nanny. ‘Nice to see them about again.’
Agnes hurriedly lit the candles when she got into the cottage, and wished there were bolts on the door.
‘Just sit down,’ said Nanny. ‘I’ll get a cup of water, I know my way around here.’
‘It’s all right, I-‘
Agnes’s left arm twitched. To her horror it swung at the elbow and waved its hand up and down in front of her face, as if guided by a mind of its own.
‘Feeling a bit warm, are you?’ said Nanny.
‘I’ll get the water!’ panted Agnes.
She rushed into the kitchen, gripping her left wrist with her right hand. It shook itself free, grabbed a knife from the draining board and stabbed it into the wall, dragging it so that it formed crude letters in the crumbling plaster:
VMPIR
It dropped the knife, grabbed at the hair on the back of Agnes’s head and thrust her face within inches of the letters.
‘You all right in there?’ Nanny called from the next room.
‘Er, yes, but I think I’m trying to tell me something-‘
A movement made her turn. A small blue man wearing a blue cap was staring at her from the shelves over the wash copper. He stuck out his tongue, made a very small obscene gesture and disappeared behind a bag of washing crystals.
‘Nanny?’
‘Yes, luv?’
‘Are there such things as blue mice?’
‘Not while you’re sober, dear.’
‘I think. . . I’m owed a drink, then. Is there any brandy left?’
Nanny came in, uncorking the flask.
‘I topped it up at the party. Of course, it’s only shop bought stuff, you couldn’t-‘
Agnes’s left hand snatched it and poured it down her throat. Then she coughed so hard that some of it went up her nose.
‘Hang on, hang on, it’s not that weak,’ said Nanny.
Agnes plonked the flask down on the kitchen table.
‘Right,’ she said, and her voice sounded quite different to Nanny. ‘My name is Perdita and I’m taking over this body right now.’
Hodgesaargh noticed the smell of burnt wood as he ambled back to the mews but put it down to the bonfire in the courtyard. He’d left the party early. No one had wanted to talk about hawks.
The smell was very strong when he looked in on the birds and saw the little flame in the middle of the floor. He stared at it for a second, then picked up a water bucket and threw it.
The flame continued to flicker gently on a bare stone that was awash with water.
Hodgesaargh looked at the birds. They were watching it with interest; normally they’d be frantic in the presence of fire.
Hodgesaargh was never one to panic. He watched it for a while, and then took a piece of wood and gently touched it to the flame. The fire leapt on to the wood and went on burning.
The wood didn’t even char.
He found another twig and brushed it against the flame, which slid easily from one to the other. There was one flame. It was clear there wasn’t going to be two.
Half the bars in the window had been burned away, and there was some scorched wood at the end of the mews, where the old nest boxes had been. Above it, a few stars shone through rags of mist over a charred hole in the roof.
Something had burned here, Hodgesaargh saw.
Fiercely, by the look of it. But also in a curiously local way, as if all the heat had been somehow contained. . .
He reached towards the flame dancing on the end of the stick. It was warm, but . . . not as hot as it should be.
Now it was on his finger. It tingled. As he waved it around, the head of every bird turned to watch it.
By its light, he poked around in the charred remains of the nest boxes. In the ashes were bits of broken eggshell.