‘That’s none of your business!’
‘Lady Strigoiul said her daughter has taken to calling herself Wendy,’ said the Countess. ‘I can’t imagine why she’d want to, when Hieroglyphica is such a nice name for a girl. And if I was her mother I’d see to it that she at least wore a bit of eyeliner-‘
‘Yes, but no one drinks wine.’ said Lacrimosa. ‘Only real weirdos who file their teeth blunt drink wine-‘
‘Maladora Krvoijac does,’ said Vlad. ‘Or “Freda”, I should say-‘
‘No she doesn’t!’
‘What? She wears a silver corkscrew on a chain round her neck and sometimes there’s even a cork on it!’
‘That’s just a fashion item! Oh, I know she says she’s partial to a drop of port, but really it’s just blood in the glass. Henry actually brought a bottle to a party and she fainted at the smell!’
‘Henry?’ said the Countess.
Lacrimosa looked down sulkily. ‘Graven Gierachi,’ she said.
‘The one who grows his hair short and pretends he’s an accountant,’ said Vlad.
‘I just hope someone’s told his father, then,’ said the Countess.
‘Be quiet,’ said the Count. ‘This is all just cultural conditioning, you understand? Please! I’ve worked hard for this! All we want is a piece of the day. Is that too much to ask? And wine is just wine. There’s nothing mystical about it. Now, take up your glasses. You too, Lacci. Please? For Daddy?’
‘And when you tell “Cyril” and “Tim” they’ll be so impressed,’ said Vlad to Lacrimosa.
‘Shut up!’ she hissed. ‘Father, it’ll make me sick!’
‘No, your body will adapt,’ said the Count. ‘I’ve tried it myself. A little watery, perhaps, somewhat sour, but quite palatable. Please?’
‘Oh, well. . .’
‘Good,’ said the Count. ‘Now, raise the glasses-‘
‘Le sang nouveau est arrive,’ said Vlad.
‘Carpe diem,’ said the Count.
‘By the throat,’ said the Countess.
‘People won’t believe me when I tell them,’ said Lacrimosa.
They swallowed.
‘There,’ said Count Magpyr. ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’
‘A bit chilly,’ said Vlad.
‘I’ll have a wine warmer installed,’ said the Count. ‘I’m not an unreasonable vampire. But within a year, children, I think I can have us quite cured of phenophobia and even capable of a little light salad-‘
Lacrimosa turned her back theatrically and made throwing-up noises into a vase.
‘-and then, Lacci, you’ll be free. No more lonely days. No more-‘
Vlad was half expecting it, and kept an entirely blank expression as his father whipped a card from his pocket and held it up.
‘That is the double snake symbol of the Djelibeybian water cult,’ he said calmly.
‘You see?’ said the Count excitedly. ‘You barely flinched! Sacrephobia can be beaten! I’ve always said so! The way may have been hard at times-‘
‘I hated the way you used to leap out in corridors and flick holy water on us,’ said Lacrimosa.
‘It wasn’t holy at all,’ said her father. ‘It was strongly diluted. Mildly devout at worst. But it made you strong, didn’t it?’
‘I caught colds a lot, I know that.’
The Count’s hand whipped out of his pocket.
Lacrimosa gave a sigh of theatrical weariness. ‘The All-Seeing Face of the Ionians,’ she said wearily.
The Count very nearly danced a jig.
‘You see? It has worked! You didn’t even wince! And apparently as holy symbols go it’s pretty strong. Isn’t it all worth it?’
‘There’ll have to be something really good to make up for those garlic pillows you used to make us sleep on.’
Her father took her by the shoulder and turned her towards the window.
‘Will it be enough to know that the world is your oyster?’
Her forehead wrinkled in perplexity. ‘Why should I want it to be some nasty little sea creature?’ she said.
‘Because they get eaten alive,’ said the Count. ‘Unfortunately I doubt if we can find a slice of lemon five hundred miles long, but the metaphor will suffice.’
She brightened up, grudgingly. ‘We-ell. . .’ she said.
‘Good. I like to see my little girl smile,’ said the Count. ‘Now . . . who shall we have for breakfast?’
‘The baby.’
‘No, I think not.’ The Count pulled a bell pull beside the fireplace. ‘That would be undiplomatic. We’re not quite there yet.’
‘Well, that apology for a queen looks pretty bloodless. Vlad should have hung on to his fat girl,’ said Lacrimosa.
‘Don’t you start,’ Vlad warned. ‘Agnes is a . . . very interesting girl. I feel there is a lot in her.’
‘A lot of her,’ said Lacrimosa. ‘Are you saving her for later?’
‘Now, now,’ said the Count. ‘Your own dear mother wasn’t a vampire when I met her-‘
‘Yes, yes, you’ve told us a million times,’ said Lacrimosa, rolling her eyes with the impatience of someone who’d been a teenager for eighty years. ‘The balcony, the nightdress, you in your cloak, she screamed-‘
‘Things were simpler then,’ said the Count. ‘And also very, very stupid.’ He sighed. ‘Where the hell’s Igor?’
‘Ahem. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him, dear,’ said the Countess. ‘I think he’ll have to go.,
‘That’s right!’ snapped Lacrimosa. ‘Honestly, even my friends laugh at him!’
‘I find his more-gothic-than-thou attitude extremely irritating,’ said the Countess. ‘That stupid accent . . . and do you know what I found him doing in the old dungeons last week?’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t guess,’ said the Count.
‘He had a box of spiders and a whip! He was forcing them to make webs all over the place.’
‘I wondered why there were always so many, I must admit,’ said the Count.
‘I agree, Father,’ said Vlad. ‘He’s all right for Uberwald, but you’d hardly want something like him opening the door in polite society, would you?’
‘And he smells,’ said the Countess.
‘Of course, parts of him have been in the family for centuries,’ said the Count. ‘But I must admit he’s getting beyond a joke.’ He yanked the bell pull again.
‘Yeth, marthter?’ said Igor, behind him.
The Count spun round. ‘I told you not to do that!’
‘Not to do what, marthter?’
‘Turn up behind me like that!’
‘It’th the only way I know how to turn up, marthter.’
‘Go and fetch King Verence, will you? He’s joining us for a light meal.’
‘Yeth, marthter.’
They watched the servant limp off. The Count shook his head.
‘He’ll never retire,’ said Vlad. ‘He’ll never take a hint.’
‘And it’s so old fashioned having a servant called Igor,’ said the Countess. ‘He really is too much.’
‘Look, it’s simple,’ said Lacrimosa. ‘Just take him down to the cellars, slam him in the Iron Maiden, stretch him on the rack over a fire for a day or two, and then slice him thinly from the feet upwards, so he can watch. You’ll be doing him a kindness, really.’
‘I suppose it’s the best way,’ said the Count sadly.
‘I remember when you told me to put my cat out of its misery,’ said Lacrimosa.
‘I really meant you to stop what you were doing to it,’ said the Count. ‘But . . . yes, you are right, he’ll have to go-‘
Igor ushered in King Verence, who stood there with the mildly bemused expression of someone in the presence of the Count.
‘Ah, your majesty’ said the Countess, advancing. ‘Do join us in a light meal.’
Agnes’s hair snagged in the twigs. She managed to get one boot on a branch while holding on for dear life to the branch above, but that left her other foot standing on the broomstick, which was beginning to drift sideways and causing her to do what even ballerinas can’t do without some training.
‘Can you see it yet?’ Nanny cried, from far too far below.
‘I think this is an old nest as well- Oh, no. . .’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I think my drawers have split. . .’
‘I always go for roomy, myself,’ said Nanny.
Agnes got the other leg on to the branch, which creaked.
Lump, said Perdita. I could have climbed this like a gazelle!
‘Gazelles don’t climb!’ said Agnes.
‘What’s that?’ said the voice from below.
‘Oh, nothing. . .’
Agnes inched her way along, and suddenly her vision was full of black and white wings. A magpie landed on a twig a foot from her face and screamed at her. Five others swooped in from the other trees and joined in the chorus.
She didn’t like birds, in any case. They were fine
when they were flying, and their songs were nice, but close to they were mad little balls of needles with the intelligence of a housefly.
She tried to swat the nearest one, and it fluttered on to a higher branch while she struggled to get her balance back. When the branch stopped rocking she moved further along, gingerly, trying to ignore the enraged birds, and looked at the nest.
It was hard to tell if it was the remains of an old one or the start of a new one, but it did contain a piece of tinsel, a shard of broken glass and, gleaming even under this sullen sky, something white . . . with a gleaming edge.