‘Igor?’
‘Yeth, marthter?’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Er, I’m opening thith here door, marthter,’ said Igor.
‘But why aren’t you-?’
Then it stole over Vimes that Igor was different. This Igor had both eyes the same colour, and some of his scars were in different places.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I thought you were Igor.’
‘Oh, you mean my couthin Igor,’ said Igor. ‘He workth down at the embathy. How’th he getting on?’
‘Er, he’s looking … well,’ said Vimes. ‘Pretty … well. Yes.’
‘Did he mention how Igor’th getting on, thur?’ said Igor, shambling away so fast that Vimes had
to run to keep up. ‘Only none of uth have heard from him, not even Igor, who’th alwayth been very clothe.’
‘I’m sorry? Is your whole family called Igor?’
‘Oh, yeth, thur. It avoidth confuthion.’
‘It does?’
‘Yeth, thur. Anyone who ith anyone in Uberwald wouldn’t dream of employing any other thervant but an Igor. Ah, here we are, thur. The mithtreth ith exthpecting you.’
They’d walked under an arch and Igor was opening a door with far more studs in it than was respectable. This led to a hallway.
‘Are you sure you want to come?’ said Vimes to Cheery. ‘She is a vampire.’
‘Vampires don’t worry me, sir.’
‘Lucky for you,’ said Vimes. He glanced at the silent Tantony. The man was looking strained.
‘Tell our friend here he won’t be needed and he’s to wait for us in the coach, the lucky devil,’ he said. ‘But don’t translate that last bit.’
Igor opened an inner door as Tantony almost ran out of the hall. ‘Hith grathe hith exthellenthy-‘
‘Ah, Sir Samuel,’ said Lady Margolotta. ‘Do come in. I know you don’t like being your grace. Isn’t this tiresome? But it has to be done, doesn’t it?’
It wasn’t what he’d expected. Vampires weren’t supposed to wear pearls, or jumpers in pink. In Vimes’s world they didn’t wear sensible flat shoes, either. Or have a sitting room in which every conceivable piece of furniture was upholstered in chintz.
Lady Margolotta looked like someone’s mother, although possibly someone who’d had an expensive education and a pony called Fidget. She moved like someone who had grown used to her body and, in general, looked like what Vimes had heard described as ‘a woman of a certain age’. He’d never been quite certain what age that was.
But … things weren’t quite right. There were bats embroidered on the pink jumper, and the pattern on the furniture had a sort of … bat look. The little dog with a bow round its neck, lying curled on a cushion, looked more like a rat than a dog. Vimes was less certain about that one, though; dogs of that nature tended to look a bit rat-like in any case. The effect was as if someone had read the music but had never heard it played.
He realized she was politely waiting for him and bowed, stiffly.
‘Oh, don’t bother with that, please,’ said Lady Margolotta. ‘Do take a seat.’ She walked over to a cabinet and opened it. ‘Do you fancy a Bull’s Blood?’
‘Is that the drink with the vodka? Because-‘
‘No,’ said Lady Margolotta quietly. ‘This, I am afraid, is the other kind. Still, ve have that in common, don’t ve? Neither of us drinks … alcohol. I believe you ver an alcoholic, Sir Samuel.’
‘No,’ said Vimes, completely taken aback. ‘I was a drunk. You have to be richer than I was to be an alcoholic.’
‘Ah, vell said. I have lemonade, if you vish.
And Miss Littlebottom? Ve don’t have beer, you’ll be pleased to hear.’
Cheery looked at Vimes in amazement. ‘Er, perhaps a sherry?’ she said.
‘Certainly. You may leave us, Igor. Isn’t he a treasure?’ she added as Igor retired.
‘He certainly looks as though he’s just been dug up,’ said Vimes. This was not going according to his mental script.
‘Oh, all Igors look like that. He’s been in the family for almost two hundred years. Most of him, anyway.’
‘Really?’
‘Extremely popular vith the young ladies, for some reason. All Igors are. I’ve found it best not to speculate vhy.’ Lady Margolotta gave Vimes a bright smile. ‘yell, here’s to your stay, Sir Samuel.’
‘You-know a lot about me,’ said Vimes weakly.
‘Most of it good, I assure you,’ she said. ‘Although you’re inclined. to forget your papervork, you get exasperated easily, you are far too sentimental, you regret your own lack of education and distrust erudition in others, you are immensely proud of your city and you vonder if you may be a class traitor. My … friends in AnkhMorpork were unable to find out anything very bad and, believe me, they are pretty good at that sort of thing. And you loathe vampires.’
‘1-‘
‘Quite understandable. Ve’re dreadful people, by and large.’
‘But you-‘
‘I try to look on the bright side,’ said Lady
Margolotta. ‘But, anyvay – how did you like the King?’
‘He’s very … quiet,’ said Vimes the diplomat.
‘Try cunning. He vill have found out a lot more about you than you did about him, I’m sure. Vould you like a biscuit? I don’t eat them myself, of course, but there’s a little man down in the town who does vonderful chocolate. Igor?’
‘Yeth, mithtreth,’ said Igor. Vimes nearly sprayed his lemonade across the room.
‘He was out of the room!’ he said. ‘I saw him go! I heard the door shut!’
‘Igor has strange vays. Do give Sir Samuel a napkin, Igor.’
‘You said the King was cunning,’ said Vimes, mopping lemonade off his breeches.
Igor put down a plate of biscuits and shuffled out of the room.
‘Did I? No, I don’t think I could possibly have said that. It’s not the diplomatic thing to say,’ said Lady Margolotta smoothly. ‘I’m sure ve all support the new Low King, the choice of dvarfdom in general, even if they thought they ver getting a traditionalist and got an unknown quantity.’
‘Did you just say that last bit?’ said Vimes, awash on a sea of diplomacy and damp trousers.
‘Absolutely not. You know their Scone of Stone has been stolen?’
‘They say it hasn’t,’ said Vimes.
‘Do you believe them?’
No.
‘The coronation cannot go ahead vithout it, did you know that?’
‘We’ll have to wait until they bake another one?’ said Vimes.
‘No. There vill be no more Low Kings,’ said Lady Margolotta. ‘Legitimacy, you see. The Scone represents continuity all the vay to B’hrian Bloodaxe. They say he sat on it while it is still soft and left his impression, as it were.’
‘You mean kingship has passed from bubackside to backside?’
‘Humans believe in crowns, don’t they?’
‘Yes, but at least they’re at the other end!’
‘Thrones, then.’ Lady Margolotta sighed. ‘People set such store by strange things. Crowns. Relics. Garlic. Anyway, there vill be a civil var over the leadership which Albrecht will surely vin, and he’ll cease all trading with AnkhMorpork. Did you know that? He thinks the place is evil.’
‘I know it is,’ said Vimes. ‘And I live there.’
‘I’ve heard that he plans to declare all dwarfs there d’hrarak,’ the vampire went on. Vimes heard Cheery gasp. ‘It means “not dwarfs”.’
‘That’s very big of him,’ said Vimes. ‘I shouldn’t think our lads’ll worry about that.’
‘Um,’ said Cheery.
‘Quite so. The young lady looks vorried, and you’d do vell to listen to her, Sir Samuel.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Vimes, ‘but what is all this to you?’
‘You really don’t drink at all, Sir Samuel?’
No.
‘Not even vun?’
‘No,’ said Vimes, more sharply. ‘You’d know that if you knew anything about-‘
‘Yet you keep half a bottle in your bottom drawer as a sort of permanent test,’ said Lady Margolotta. ‘Now that, Sir Samuel, suggests a man who vears his hair shirts on the inside.’
‘I want to know who’s been saying all this!’
Lady Margolotta sighed. Vimes got the impression that he’d failed another test. ‘I am rich, Sir Samuel. Vampires tend to be. Didn’t you know? Lord Vetinari, I know, believes that information is currency. But everyvun knows that currency has alvays been information. Money doesn’t need to talk, it merely has to listen.’
She stopped and sat watching Vimes, as if she’d suddenly decided to listen. Vimes moved uncomfortably under the steady gaze.
‘How is Havelock Vetinari?’ she said.
‘The Patrician? Oh … fine.’
‘He must be quite old now.’
‘I’ve never really been certain how old he is,’ said Vimes. ‘About my age, I suppose.’
Then she stood up suddenly. ‘This has been an interesting meeting, Sir Samuel. I trust Lady Sybil is vell?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘Good. I am so glad. Ve vill meet again, I am sure. Igor vill see you out. My regards to the Baron, vhen you see him. Pat him on the head for me:’
‘What the hell was that all about, Cheery?’ said Vimes, as the coach set off down the hill again.