‘I wish we hadn’t forgotten the bath, too,’ Magrat mused. ‘And I think we left the bag with the toy farm. And we’re low on nappies . . .’
‘Let’s have a look at her,’ Nanny said.
Baby Esme was passed across the swaying coach.
‘Yes, let’s have a look at you . . .’ said Nanny.
The small blue eyes focused on Nanny Ogg. The pink face on the small lolling head gave her a speculative look, working out whether she’d do as a drink or a toilet.
‘That’s good, at this age,’ said Nanny. ‘Focusing like that. Unusual in a babby.’
‘If she is at this age,’ said Magrat darkly.
‘Hush, now. If Granny’s in there she’s not interfering. She never interferes. Anyway, it wouldn’t be her mind in there, that’s not how she works it.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘You’ve seen her do it. What do you think?’
‘I’d say . . . all the things that make her her,’ Magrat ventured.
‘That’s about right. She wraps ’em all up and puts ’em somewhere safe.’
‘You know how she can even be silent in her own special way.’
‘Oh, yes. No one can be quiet like Esme. You can hardly hear yourself think for the silence.’
They bounced in their seats as the coach sprang in and out of a pothole.
‘Nanny?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Verence will be all right, won’t he?’
‘Yep. I’d trust them little devils with anything except a barrel of stingo or a cow. Even Granny says the Kelda’s damn good-‘
‘The Kelda?’
‘Sort of a wise lady. I think the current one’s called Big Aggie. You don’t see much of their women. Some say there’s only ever one at a time, and she’s the Kelda an’ has a hundred kids at a go.’
‘That sounds . . . very. . .’ Magrat began.
‘Nah, I reckons they’re a bit like the dwarfs and there’s hardly any difference except under the loincloth,’ said Nanny.
‘I expect Granny knows,’ said Magrat.
‘And she ain’t sayin’,’ said Nanny. ‘She says it’s their business.’
‘And . . . he’ll be all right with them?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘He’s very . . . kind, you know.’ Magrat ‘s sentence hung in the air.
‘That’s nice.’
‘And a good king, as well.’
Nanny nodded.
‘It’s just that I wish people took him . . . more seriously,’ Magrat went on.
‘It’s a shame,’ said Nanny.
‘He does work very hard. And he worries about
everything. But people just seem to ignore him.’
Nanny wondered how to approach it.
‘He could try having the crown taken in a bit,’ she ventured, as the coach bounced over another rut. ‘There’s plenty of dwarfs up at Copperhead’d be glad to make it smaller for him.’
‘It is the traditional crown, Nanny.’
‘Yes, but if it wasn’t for his ears it’d be a collar on the poor man,’ said Nanny. ‘He could try bellowing a bit more, too.’
‘Oh, he couldn’t do that, he hates shouting!’
‘That’s a shame. People like to see a bit of bellowing in a king. The odd belch is always popular, too. Even a bit of carousing’d help, if he could manage it. You know, quaffing and such.’
‘I think he thinks that isn’t what people want. He’s very conscious of the needs of today’s citizen.’
‘Ah, well, I can see where there’s a problem, then,’ said Nanny. ‘People need something today but they generally need something else tomorrow. Just tell him to concentrate on bellowing and carousing.’
‘And belching?’
‘That’s optional.’
‘And. . .’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘He’ll be all right, will he?’
‘Oh, yes. Nothing’s going to happen to him. It’s like that chess stuff, see? Let the Queen do the fightin’, ‘cos if you lose the King you’ve lost everything.’
‘And us?’
‘Oh, we’re always all right. You remember that. We happen to other people.’
A lot of people were happening to King Verence. He lay in a sort of warm, empty daze, and every time he opened his eyes it was to see scores of the Feegle watching him in the firelight. He overheard snatches of conversation or, more correctly, argument.
‘. . . he’s oor kingie noo?’
‘Aye, sortaley.’
‘That pish of a hobyah?’
‘Hushagob! Wman’s sicken, can y’no yard?’
‘Aye, mucken! Born sicky, imhoe!’
Verence felt a small yet powerful kick on his foot.
‘See you, kingie? A’ye a lang stick o’midlin or wha’, bigjobs?’
‘Yes, well done,’ he mumbled.
The interrogating Feegle spat near his ear.
‘Ach, I wouldna’ gi’ye skeppens for him-‘
There was a sudden silence, a real rarity in any space containing at least one Feegle. Verence swivelled his eyes sideways.
Big Aggie had emerged from the smoke.
Now that he could see her clearly, the dumpy creature looked like a squat version of Nanny Ogg. And there was something about the eyes. Verence was technically an absolute ruler and would continue to be so provided he didn’t make the mistake of repeatedly asking Lancrastians to do anything they didn’t want to do. He was aware
that the commander-in-chief of his armed forces was more inclined to take orders from his mum than his king.
Whereas Big Aggie didn’t even have to say anything. Everyone just watched her, and then went and got things done.
Big Aggie’s man appeared at her side.
‘Ye’ll be wantin’ to save yer ladie and yer bairn, Big Aggie’s thinkin’,’ he said.
Verence nodded. He didn’t feel strong enough to do anything else.
‘But ye’ll still be verra crassick from loss o’ blud, Big Aggie reckons. The heelins put something in their bite that makes ye biddable.’
Verence agreed absolutely. Anything anyone said was all right by him.
Another pixie appeared through the smoke, carrying an earthenware bowl. White suds slopped over the top.
‘Ye canna be kinging lyin’ down,’ said Big Aggie’s man. ‘So she’s made up some brose for ye . . .’
The pixie lowered the bowl, which looked as though it was full of cream, although dark lines spiralled on its surface. Its bearer stood back reverentially.
‘What’s in it?’ Verence croaked.
‘Milk,’ said Big Aggie’s man promptly. ‘And some o’ Big Aggie’s brewin’. An’ herbs.’
Verence grasped the last word thankfully. He shared with his wife the curious but unshakeable conviction that anything with herbs in it was safe and wholesome and nourishing.
‘So you’ll be having a huge dram,’ said the ‘old pixie. ‘And then we’ll be finding you a sword.
‘I’ve never used a sword,’ said Verence, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. ‘I- I believe violence is the last resort . . .’
‘Ach, weel, so long as ye’ve brung yer bucket and spade,’ said Big Aggie’s man. ‘Now you just drink up, kingie. Ye’ll soon see things differently.’
The vampires glided easily over the moonlit clouds. There was no weather up here and, to Agnes’s surprise, no chill either.
‘I thought you turned into bats!’ she shouted to Vlad.
‘Oh, we could if we wanted to,’ he laughed. ‘But that’s a bit too melodramatic for Father. He says we should not conform to crass stereotypes.’
A girl glided alongside them. She looked rather like Lacrimosa; that is, she looked like someone who admired the way Lacrimosa looked and so had tried to look like her. I bet she’s not a natural brunette, said Perdita. And if I used that much mascara I’d at least try not to look like Harry the Happy Panda.
‘This is Morbidia,’ said Vlad. ‘Although she’s been calling herself Tracy lately, to be cool. Mor- Tracy, this is Agnes.’
‘What a good name!’ said Morbidia. ‘How clever of you to come up with it! Vlad, everyone wants to stop off at Escrow. Can we?’
‘It’s my real-‘ Agnes began, but her words were carried away on the wind.
‘I thought we were going to the castle,’ said Vlad.
‘Yes, but some of us haven’t fed for days and that old woman was hardly even a snack and the Count won’t allow us to feed in Lancre yet and he says it’ll be all right and it’s not much out of our way.’
‘Oh. Well, if Father says. . .’
Morbidia swooped away.
‘We haven’t been to Escrow for weeks,’ said Vlad. ‘It’s a pleasant little town.’
‘You’re going to feed there?’ said Agnes.
‘It’s not what you think.’
‘You don’t know what I think.’
‘I can guess, though.’ He smiled at her. ‘I wonder if Father said yes because he wants you to see? It’s so easy to be frightened of what you don’t know. And then, perhaps, you could be a sort of ambassador. You could tell Lancre what life under the Magpyrs is really like.’
‘People being dragged out of their beds, blood on the walls, that sort of thing?’
‘There you go again, Agnes. It’s most unfair. Once people find out you’re a vampire they act as if you’re some kind of monster.’
They curved gently through the night air.