‘Safe as houses,’ said Nanny. ‘Huge thick door and you can bar it from the inside.’
‘How safe are houses from vampires?’ said Oats.
Granny’s head turned sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
Oats took a step backwards.
‘Ah, I know what he means,’ said Nanny. ‘It’s all right, we’re not daft, she won’t open up until she knows it’s us-‘
‘I meant, how does the door stop vampires?’
‘Stop them? It’s a door.’
‘So . . . they can’t turn themselves into some sort of mist, then?’ said Oats, frying in the joint radiation of their stares. ‘Only I thought that vampires could, you see. I thought everyone knew that who knows anything about vampires. . .’
Granny turned on Igor. ‘D’you know anything about this?’
Igor’s mouth opened and shut a few times.
‘The old Count never did anything like that,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Nanny, ‘But he played fair.’
There was a rising howl from the depths of the castle, cut off suddenly.
‘That was Thcrapth!’ said Igor, breaking into a run.
‘Thcraapthhh?’ said Agnes, wrinkling her brow. Nanny grabbed her arm and dragged her after Igor.
Granny swayed a little. Her eyes had an unfocused look.
Oats glanced at her, made up his mind,
staggered rather theatrically and sprawled in the dust.
Granny blinked, shook her head and glared down at him.
‘Hah! All too much for you, eh?’ she said hoarsely.
Trembling fingers reached down for Oats. He took them, taking care not to pull, and stood up.
‘If you could just give me a hand,’ he said, as her grateful weight hit his shoulder.
‘Right,’ said Granny. ‘Now let’s find the kitchens.’
‘Huh? What do we want with the kitchens?’
‘After a night like this we could all do with a cup of tea,’ said Granny.
Magrat leaned against the door as a second thump rattled the bolts. Beside her, Scraps started to growl. Perhaps it was something to do with his extensive surgery, but Scraps growled in half a dozen different pitches all at once.
Then there was silence, which was even more terrifying than the thumping.
A faint noise made her look down. A green smoke was pouring through the keyhole.
It was thick, and had an oily quality . . .
She darted across the room and snatched up a jar that had contained lemons so sportingly provided by the mysterious old Count that Igor thought so highly of. She wrenched off the lid and held it under the keyhole. When the smoke had filled it up she dropped a few cloves
of garlic in and slammed the lid back on.
The jar rocked urgently on the floor.
Then Magrat glanced at the lid of the well. When she lifted it up she heard rushing water a long way below. Well, that was likely, wasn’t it? There must be lots of underground rivers in the mountains.
She held the jar over the centre of the hole and let it go. Then she slammed the lid back down.
Young Esme gurgled in the corner. Magrat hurried over to her and shook a rattle.
‘Look at the pretty bunny rabbit,’ she said, and darted back again.
There was whispering on the other side of the door. Then Nanny Ogg’s voice said, ‘It’s all right, dear, we’ve got them. You can open the door now. Lawks.’
Magrat rolled her eyes.
‘Is that really you, Nanny?’
‘That’s right, dear.’
‘Thank goodness. Just tell me the joke about the old woman, the priest and the rhinoceros then and I’ll let you in.’
There was a pause, and some more whispering.
‘I don’t think We’ve got time for that, dear,’ said the voice.
‘Ha ha, nice try,’ said Magrat. ‘I’ve dropped one of you in the river! Who was it?’
After some silence the voice of the Count said, ‘We thought the Countess could persuade you to listen to reason.’
‘Not in a jar she can’t,’ said Magrat. ‘And I’ve got more jars if you want to try it again!’
‘We had hoped that you would be sensible about this,’ said the Count. ‘However. . .’
The door slammed back, pulling the bolts out of the wall.
Magrat grabbed the baby and stepped backwards, her other hand raised.
‘You come near me and I’ll stab you with this!’ she shouted.
‘It’s a teddy bear,’ said the Count. ‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t work, even if you sharpened it.’
The door was so hard that the wood was like stone with a grain. Someone had once thought hard about the maximum amount of force a really determined mob would be able to apply, and had then over designed.
It hung open.
‘But we heard her put the bars across!’ wailed Nanny.
A variously coloured lump was sprawled in front of the door. Igor knelt down and picked up a limp paw.
‘They’ve killed Thcrapth! The bathtardth!’
‘They’ve got Magrat and the babby!’ snapped Nanny.
‘He wath my only friend!’
Nanny’s arm shot out and, despite his bulk, Igor was lifted up by his collar.
‘You’re going to have one very serious enemy really soon, my lad, unless you help us out right now! Oh, for heaven’s sake. . .’ With her spare hand she reached into her knickerleg and produced a large crumpled handkerchief. ‘Have a good blow, will you?’
There was a noise like a foghorn being trodden on.
‘Now, where would they take them? The place is swarming with righteous peasants!’ said Nanny, when he’d finished.
‘He wath alwayth ready with hith waggy tailth and hith cold nothe-‘ Igor sobbed.
‘Where, Igor?’
Igor pointed with his finger, or at least one that he currently owned, to the far door.
‘That goeth to the vaultth,’ he said. ‘An’ they can get out through the iron gate down in the valley. You’ll never catch them!’
‘But it’s still bolted,’ said Agnes.
‘Then they’re thtill in the cathle, which ith thtupid-‘
He was interrupted by several huge organ chords, which made the floor rumble.
‘Any of the Escrow folk big musicians?’ said Nanny, lowering Igor.
‘How do I know?’ said Agnes, as another couple of descending chords brought dust down from the ceiling. ‘They wanted to hammer a stake in me and boil my head! That is not the time to ask them to give a little whistle!’
The organ piped its summons once more.
‘Why’d they stay?’ said Nanny. ‘They could be dug in deep somewhere by now- Oh . . .’
‘Granny wouldn’t run,’ said Agnes.
‘No, Granny Weatherwax likes a showdown,’ said Nanny, grinning artfully. ‘And they’re
thinkin’ like her. Somehow she’s making them think like her. . .’
‘She thinks like her, too,’ said Agnes.
‘Let’s hope she’s had more practice, then,’ said Nanny. ‘Come on!’
Lacrimosa pulled an organ stop marked ‘Ghastly Face at Window’ and was rewarded with a chord, a crash of thunder and a slightly mechanical scream.
‘Thank goodness we don’t take after your side of the family, Father, that’s all I can say,’ she said. ‘Although I suppose it could be fun if we could arrange some sort of mechanical linkage to the torture chamber. That certainly wasn’t a very realistic scream.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Vlad. ‘We’ve got the child. We’ve got the woman. Why don’t we just leave? There’re plenty of other castles.’
‘That would be running away,’ said the Count.
‘And surviving,’ said Vlad, rubbing his head.
‘We don’t run,’ said the Count. ‘And- No, step back, please . . .’
This was to the mob, which was hovering uncertainly just inside the doors. Mobs become uncertain very quickly, in view of the absence of a central brain, and in this case the hesitation was caused by the sight of Magrat and the baby.
Vlad had a bruise on his forehead. A push-and-go wooden duck on wheels can cause quite a lot of damage if wielded with enough force.
‘Well done,’ said the Count, cradling baby Esme on one arm. Magrat writhed to escape the grip of his other hand, but it clamped her wrist like steel. ‘You see? Absolute obedience. It’s just as in chess. If you take the Queen, you’ve as good as won. It doesn’t matter if a few pawns are lost.’
‘That’s a very nasty way to talk about Mother,’ said Vlad.
‘I am very attached to your mother,’ said the Count. ‘And she’ll find a way to return, in the fullness of time. A voyage will be good for her health. Some fisherman will find the jar and next thing you know she’ll be back with us, fat and healthy- Ah, the inestimable Mrs Ogg . . .’
‘Don’t you go smarming me!’ snapped Nanny, pushing her way. through the bewildered crowd. ‘I’m fed up with you smarming at me smarmily as if you were Mister Smarm! Now you just free the both of them or-‘
‘Ah, so quickly we get to or,’ sighed the Count. ‘But I will say: you will all leave the castle, and then we shall see. Perhaps we shall let the Queen go. But the little princess . . . Isn’t she charming? She can remain as our guest. She’ll brighten the place up-‘