'But she hates vampires!'

'This may present her with a problem when she comes round, since she will be a rather subservient one. Oh dear...' The Count reached down and picked up Oats from under the table by one arm. 'What a bloodless performance. I remember Omnians when they were full of certainty and fire and led by men who were courageous and unforgiving, albeit quite unbelievably insane. How they would despair of all this milk and water stuff. Take him away with you, please.'

'Shall I see you again tomorrow?' said Vlad, proving to Agnes that males of every species could possess a stupidity gene.

'You won't be able to turn her into a vampire!' she said, ignoring him.

'She won't be able to help it,' said the Count. 'It's in the blood, if we choose to put it there.'

'She'll resist.'

'That would be worth seeing.'

The Count dropped Oats on to the floor again.

'Now go away, Miss Nitt. Take your soggy priest. Tomorrow, well, you can have your old witch back. But she'll be ours. There's a hierarchy. Everyone knows that... who knows anything about vampires.'

Behind him Oats was being sick.

Agnes thought of the hollow-eyed people now working in the castle. No one deserved that.

She grabbed the priest by the back of his jacket and held him like a bag.

'Goodbye, Miss Nitt,' said the Count.

She hauled the limp Oats to the main doors. Now it was raining hard outside, great heavy unmerciful rain slanting out of the sky like steel rods. She kept close to the wall for the slight shelter that this gave and propped him up under the gush from a gargoyle.

He shuddered. 'Oh, that poor old woman,' he moaned, slumping forward so that a flattened star of rain poured off his head.

'Yes,' said Agnes. The other two had run off. They'd shared a thought  -  and Perdita had too. They'd all felt the shock as Granny set her mind free and... well, the baby was even called Esme, wasn't she? But... she couldn't have imagined Granny's voice in her head. She had to be somewhere close...

'I really made a terrible mess of it, didn't I?' said Oats.

'Yes,' said Agnes vaguely. No, lending her self to the baby did have a sort of rightness to it, a folklore touch, a romantic ring, and that's why Nanny and Magrat would probably believe it and that was why Granny wouldn't do it. Granny had no romance in her soul, Agnes thought. But she did have a very good idea of how to manipulate the romance in other people.

So... where else was she? Something had happened. She'd put the essence of herself somewhere for safety, and no matter what she'd told the Count she couldn't have put it very far away. It had to be in something alive, but if it was in a human the owner wouldn't even know it-

'If only I'd used the right exorcism,' Oats mumbled.

'Wouldn't have worked,' said Agnes sharply. 'I don't think they're very religious vampires.'

'It's probably only once in his life that a priest gets a chance like this...'

'You were just the wrong person,' said Agnes. 'If a pamphlet had been the right thing to scare them away, then you'd have been the very best man for the job.'

She stared down at Oats. So did Perdita.

'Brother Melchio is going to get very abrupt about this,' he said, pulling himself to his feet. 'Oh, look at me, all covered in mud. Er... why are you looking at me like that?'

'Oh... just an odd thought. The vampires still don't affect your head?'

'What do you mean?'

'They don't affect your mind? They don't know what you're thinking?'

'Hah! Most of the time even I don't know what I'm thinking,' said Oats miserably.

'Really?' said Agnes. Really? said Perdita.

'He was right,' mumbled Oats, not listening. 'I've let everyone down, haven't I? I should have stayed in the college and taken that translating post.'

There wasn't even any thunder and lightning with the rain. It was just hard and steady and grim.

'But I'm... ready to have another go,' said Oats.

'You are? Why?'

'Did not Kazrin return three times into the valley of Mahag, and wrest the cup of Hiread from the soldiers of the Oolites while they slept?'

'Did he?'

'Yes. I'm... I'm sure of it. And did not Om say to the Prophet Brutha, "'I will be with you in dark places"?'

'I imagine he did.'

'Yes, he did. He must have done.'

'And,' said Agnes, 'on that basis you'd go back

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because if I didn't, what use am I? What use am I anyway?'

'I don't think we'd survive a second time,' said Agnes. 'They let us go this time because it was the cruel thing to do. Dang! I've got to decide what to do now, and it shouldn't be me. I'm the maiden, for goodness' sake!' She saw his expression and added, for reasons she'd find hard to explain at the moment, 'A technical term for the junior member of a trio of witches. I shouldn't have to decide things. Yes, I know it's better than making the tea!'

'Br... I didn't say anything about making the tea-'

'No, sorry, that was someone else. What is it she wants me to do?'

Especially since now you think you know where she's hiding, said Perdita.

There was a creak, and they heard the hall doors open. Light spilled out, shadows danced in the mist raised by the driving rain, there was a splash and the doors shut again. As they closed, there was the sound of laughter.

Agnes hurried to the bottom of the steps, with the priest squelching along beside her.

There was already a wide and muddy puddle at this end of the courtyard. Granny Weatherwax lay in it, her dress torn, her hair uncoiling from its rock-hard bun.

There was blood on her neck.

'They didn't even lock her in a cell or something,' said Agnes, steaming with rage. 'They just threw her like... like a meat bone!'

'I suppose they think she is locked up now, the poor soul,' said Oats. 'Let's get her under cover, at least...'

'Oh... yes... of course.'

Agnes took hold of Granny's legs, and was amazed that someone so thin could be so heavy.

'Perhaps there'd be someone in the village?' said Oats, staggering under his end of the load.

'Not a good idea,' said Agnes.

'Oh, but surely-'

'What would you say to them? "This is Granny, can we leave her here, oh, and when she wakes up she'll be a vampire"?'

'Ah.'

'It's not as though people are that happy to see her anyway, unless they're ill...'

Agnes peered around through the rain.

'Come on, let's go round to the stables and the mews, there's sheds and things...'

King Verence opened his eyes. Water was pouring down the window of his bedroom. There was no light but that which crept in under the door, and he could just make out the shapes of his two guards, nodding in their seats.

A windowpane tinkled. One of the Uberwaldians went and opened the window, looked out into the wild night, found nothing of interest and shuffled back to his seat.

Everything felt very... pleasant. It seemed to Verence that he was lying in a nice warm bath, which was very relaxing and comfortable. The cares of the world belonged to someone else. He bobbed like happy flotsam on the warm sea of life.

He could hear very faint voices, apparently coming from somewhere below his pillow.

'Rikt, gi' tae yon helan bigjobs?'

'Ach, fashit keel!'

'Hyup?'

'Nach oona whiel ta' tethra... yin, tan, TETRA!'

'Hyup! Hyup!'

Something rustled on the floor. The chair of one man jerked up into the air and bobbed at speed to the window.

'Hyup!' The chair and its occupant crashed through the glass.

The other guard managed to get to his feet, but something was growing in the air in front of him. To Verence, an alumnus of the Fools' Guild, it looked very much like a very tall human pyramid made up of very small acrobats.

'Hup! Hup!'

'Hyup!'

'Hup!'

It grew level with the guard's face. The single figure at the top yelled: 'What ya lookin' a', chymie? Ha' a wee tastie!' and launched itself directly at a point between the man's eyes. There was a little cracking noise, and the man keeled over backwards.

'Hup! Hup!'

'Hyup!'

The living pyramid dissolved to floor level. Verence heard tiny pattering feet and suddenly there was a small, heavily tattooed man in a blue pointy hat standing on his chin.

'Seyou, kingie! Awa' echt ta' branoch, eh?'

'Well done,' Verence murmured. 'How long have you been a hallucination? Jolly good.'

'Ken ye na' saggie, ye spargit?'

'That's the way,' said Verence dreamily.

'Auchtahelweit!'

'Hyup! Hyup!'

Verence felt himself lifted off the bed. Hundreds of little hands passed him from one to the other and he was glided through the window and out into the void.

It was a sheer wall and, he told himself dreamily, he had no business drifting down it so slowly, to cries of 'Ta ya! Ta me! Hyup!' Tiny hands caught his collar, his nightshirt, his bedsocks...

'Good show,' he murmured, as he slid gently to the ground and then, six inches above ground level, was carried off into the night.

There was a light burning in the rain. Agnes hammered on the door, and the wet wood gave way to the slightly better vision of Hodgesaargh the falconer.

'We've got to come in!' she said.

'Yes, Miss Nitt.'

He stood back obediently as they carried Granny into the little room.

'She been hurt, miss?'

'You do know there's vampires in the castle?' said Agnes.

'Yes, miss?' said Hodgesaargh. His voice suggested that he'd just been told a fact and he was waiting with polite interest to be told whether this was a good fact or a bad fact.

'They bit Granny Weatherwax. We need to let her lie down somewhere.'

'There's my bed, miss.'

It was small and narrow, designed for people who went to bed because they were tired.

'She might bleed on it a bit,' said Agnes.

'Oh, I bleed on it all the time,' said Hodgesaargh cheerfully. 'And on the floor. I've got any amount of bandages and ointment, if that will be any help.'

'Well, it won't do any harm,' said Agnes. 'Er... Hodgesaargh, you do know vampires suck people's blood, do you?'

'Yes, miss? They'll have to queue up behind the birds for mine, then.'

'It doesn't worry you?'

'Mrs Ogg made me a huge tub of ointment, miss.'

That seemed to be that. Provided they didn't touch his birds, Hodgesaargh didn't much mind who ran the castle. For hundreds of years the falconers had simply got on with the important things, like falconry, which needed a lot of training, and left the kinging to amateurs.

'She's soaking wet,' said Oats. 'At least let's wrap her up in a blanket or something.'

'And you'll need some rope,' said Agnes.

'Rope?'

'She'll wake up.'

'You mean... we ought to tie her up?'

'If a vampire wants to turn you into a vampire, what happens?'

Oats's hands clasped his turtle pendant for comfort as he tried to remember. 'I... think they put something in the blood,' he said. 'I think if they want to turn you into a vampire you get turned. That's all there is to it. I don't think you can fight it when it's in the blood. You can't say you don't want to join. I don't think it's a power you can resist.'

'She's good at resisting,' said Agnes.

'That good?' said Oats.

One of the Uberwald people shuffled along the corridor. It stopped when it heard a sound, looked around, saw nothing that had apparently made a noise, and plodded on again.

Nanny Ogg stepped out of the shadows, and then beckoned Magrat to follow her.

'Sorry, Nanny, it's very hard to keep a baby quiet-'

'Shh! There's quite a bit of noise coming from the kitchens. What could vampires want to cook?'

'It's those people they've brought with them,' hissed Magrat. 'They've been moving in new furniture. They've got to be fed, I suppose.'

'Yeah, like cattle. I reckon our best bet is to walk out bold as brass,' said Nanny. 'These folk don't look like they're big on original thinkin'. Ready?' She absentmindedly took a swig from the bottle she was carrying. 'You just follow me.'

'But look, what about Verence? I can't just leave him. He's my husband!'

'What will they do to him that you could prevent if you was here?' said Nanny. 'Keep the baby safe, that's the important thing. It always has been. Anyway... I told you, he's got protection. I saw to that.'

'What, magic?'

'Much better'n that. Now, you just follow me and act snooty. You must've learned that, bein' a queen. Never let 'em even think you haven't got a right to be where you are.'

She strode out into the kitchen. The shabbily dressed people there gave her a dull-eyed look, like dogs waiting to see if a whipping was in prospect. On the huge stove, in place of Mrs Scorbic's usual array of scoured-clean pots, was a large, blackened cauldron. The contents were a basic grey. Nanny wouldn't have stirred it for a thousand dollars.

'Just passing through,' she said sharply. 'Get on with whatever you were doing.'

The heads all turned to watch them. But towards the back of the kitchen a figure unfolded from the old armchair where Mrs Scorbic sometimes held court and ambled towards them.

'Oh, blast, it's one of the bloody hangers-on,' said Nanny. 'He's between us and the door...'

'Ladies!' said the vampire, bowing. 'May I be of assistance?'

'We were just leaving,' said Magrat haughtily.

'Possibly not,' said the vampire.

' 'scuse me, young man,' said Nanny, in her soft old biddy voice, 'but where are you from?'

'Uberwald, madam.'

Nanny nodded and referred to a piece of paper she'd pulled out of her pocket. 'That's nice. What part?'

'Klotz.'

'Really? That's nice. 'scuse me.' She turned her back and there was a brief twanging of elastic before she turned round again, all smiles.

'I just likes to take an interest in people,' she said. 'Klotz, eh? What's the name of that river there? The Um? The Eh?'

'The Ah,' said the vampire.

Nanny's hand shot forward and wedged something yellow between the vampire's teeth. He grabbed her but, as she was dragged forward, she hit him on the top of the head.

He fell to his knees, clutching at his mouth and trying to scream through the lemon he'd just bitten into.

'Seems an odd superstition, but there you are,' said Nanny, as he started to foam around the lips.

'You have to cut their heads off, too,' said Magrat.

'Really? Well, I saw a cleaver back there-'

'Shall we just go?' Magrat suggested. 'Before someone else comes, perhaps?'

'All right. He's not a high-up vampire, anyway,' said Nanny dismissively. 'He's not even wearing a very interestin' waistcoat.'

The night was silver with rain. Heads down, the witches dashed through the murk.

'I've got to change the baby!'

'For a raincoat'd be favourite,' muttered Nanny. 'Now?'

'It's a bit urgent...'

'All right, then, in here...'

They ducked into the stables. Nanny peered back into the night and shut the door quietly.

'It's very dark,' whispered Magrat.

'I could always change babies by feel when I was young.'

'I'd prefer not to have to. Hey... there's a light...'

The weak glow of a candle was just visible at the far end of the loose boxes.

Igor was brushing the horses until they shone. His muttering kept time with the strokes of the brush. Something seemed to be on his mind.

'Thilly voithe, eh? Thilly walk? What the hell doth he know? Jumped-up whipper-thnapper! Igor thtop thith, Igor thtop that... all thethe kidth thwanning around, trying to puth me around... there'th a covenant in thethe thingth. The old marthter knew that! A thervant ith not a thlave...'

He glanced around. A piece of straw drifted to the ground.

He began brushing again. 'Huh! Fetch thith, fetch that... never a morthel of rethpect, oh no...'

Igor stopped and pulled another piece of straw off his sleeve.

'... and another thing..

.'

There was a creak, a rush of air, the horse reared in its stall and Igor was borne to the ground, his head feeling as though it was caught in a vice.

'Now, if I brings my knees together,' said a cheerful female voice above him, 'it's very probable I could make your brains come right down your nose. But I know that ain't going to happen, because I'm sure we're all friends here. Say yes.'

' 'th.'

'That's the best we're going to get, I expect.'

Nanny Ogg got up and flicked straw off her dress. 'I've been in cleaner haylofts,' she said. 'Up you get, Mr Igor. And if you're thinking of anything clever, my colleague over there is holdin' a pitchfork and she ain't much good at aiming so who knows what part of you she might hit?'

'Ith that a baby thee'th carrying?'

'We're very modern,' said Nanny. 'We've got hedge money and everything. And now we'll have your coach, Igor.'

'Will we?' said Magrat. 'Where're we going?'

'It's a wicked night. I don't want to keep the babby out, and I don't know where we'd be safe near here. Maybe we can get down on to the plains before morning.'

'I won't leave Lancre I'

'Save the child,' said Nanny. 'Make sure there's going to be a future. Besides...' She mouthed something at Magrat which Igor did not catch.

'We can't be sure of that,' said Magrat.

'You know the way Granny thinks,' said Nanny. 'She'll want us to keep the baby safe,' she added loudly. 'So hitch up the horses, Mr Igor.'

'Yeth, mithtreth,' said Igor meekly.*

'Are you kicking my bucket, Igor?'[12]

'No, it'th a pleathure to be commanded in a clear, firm authoritative voithe, mithtreth,' said Igor, lurching over to the bridles. 'None of thith "Would you mind..." rubbith. An Igor liketh to know where he thtandth.'

'Slightly lopsidedly?' said Magrat.

'The old marthter uthed to whip me every day!' said Igor proudly.

'You liked that?' said Magrat.

'Of courthe not! But it'th proper! He wath a gentleman, whothe bootth I wath not fit to lick clean...'

'But you did, though?' said Nanny.

Igor nodded. 'Every morning. Uthed to get a lovely thine, too.'

'Well, help us out and I'll see you're flogged with a scented bootlace,' said Nanny.

'Thankth all the thame, but I'm leaving anyway,' said Igor, tightening a strap. 'I'm thick up to here with thith lot. They thouldn't be doing thith! They're a dithgrathe to the thpethieth!'

Nanny wiped her face. 'I like a man who speaks his mind,' she said, 'and is always prepared to lend a towel  -  did I say towel? I mean hand.'

'Are you going to trust him?' said Magrat.

'I'm a good judge of character, me,' said Nanny. 'And you can always rely on a man with stitches all round his head.'

'Waley, waley, waley!'

'Ta' can onlie be one t'ousan!'

'Bigjobs!'

A fox peered cautiously around a tree.

Through the rain-swept woods a man was moving at speed, while apparently lying down. He wore a nightcap, the bobble of which bounced on the ground.

By the time the fox realized what was going on it was too late. A small blue figure leapt out from under the rushing man and landed on its nose, smacking it between the eyes with his head.

'Seeyu? Grich' ta' bones outa t'is yan!'

The Nac mac Feegle leapt down as the fox collapsed, grabbed its tail with one hand and ran after the others, punching the air triumphantly.

'Obhoy! We 'gan eat t'nicht!'

They'd pulled the bed out into the middle of the room. Now Agnes and Oats sat on either side of it, listening to the distant sounds of Hodgesaargh feeding the birds. There was the rattle of tins and the occasional yelp as he tried to remove a bird from his nose.

'Sorry?' said Agnes.

'Pardon?'

I thought you whispered something,' said Agnes. 'I was, er, saying a short prayer,' said Oats.

'Will that help?' said Agnes.

'Er... it helps me. The Prophet Brutha said that Om helps those who help one another.'

'And does he?'

'To be honest, there are a number of opinions of what was meant.'

'How many?'

'About one hundred and sixty, since the Schism of 10.30 a.m., February 23. That was when the ReUnited Free Chelonianisis (Hubwards Convocation) schismed from the Re-United Free Chelonianists (Rimwards Convocation). It was rather serious.'

'Blood spilled?' said Agnes. She wasn't really interested, but it took her mind off whatever might be waking up in a minute.

'No, but there were fisticuffs and a deacon had ink spilled on him.'

'I can see that was pretty bad.'

'There was some serious pulling of beards as well.'

'Gosh.' Sects maniacs, said Perdita.

'You're making fun of me,' said Oats solemnly.

'Well, it does sound a little... trivial. You're always arguing?'

'The Prophet Brutha said, "Let there be ten thousand voices,"' said the priest. 'Sometimes I think he meant that it was better to argue amongst ourselves than go out putting unbelievers to fire and the sword. It's all very complicated.' He sighed. 'There are a hundred pathways to Om. Unfortunately I sometimes think someone left a rake lying across a lot of them. The vampire was right. We've lost the fire...'

'But you used to burn people with it.'

'I know... I know...'

Agnes saw a movement out of the corner of her eye.

Steam was rising from under the blanket they'd pulled over Granny Weatherwax.

As Agnes looked down Granny's eyes sprang open and swivelled from side to side.

Her mouth moved once or twice.

'And how are you, Miss Weatherwax?' said Mightily Oats, in a cheerful voice.

'She was bitten by a vampire! What sort of question is that?' Agnes hissed.

'One that's better than "What are you?"' Oats whispered.

Granny's hand twitched. She opened her mouth again, arched her body against the rope and then slumped back against the pillow.

Agnes touched her forehead, and drew her hand back sharply.

'She's burning up! Hodgesaargh! Bring some water!'

'Coming, miss!'

'Oh, no...' whispered Oats. He pointed to the ropes. They were unknotting themselves, stealthily moving across one another like snakes.

Granny half rolled, half fell out of the bed, landing on her hands and knees. Agnes went to pick her up and received a blow from an elbow that sent her across the room.

The old witch dragged the door open and crawled out into the rain. She paused, panting, as the drops hit her. Agnes swore that some of them sizzled.

Granny's hands slipped. She landed in the mud and struggled to push herself upright.

Blue-green light spilled out from the mews 's open door. Agnes looked back inside. Hodgesaargh was staring at a jamjar, in which a point of white light was surrounded by a pale blue flame that stretched well beyond the jar, and curled and pulsed.

'What's that?'

'My phoenix feather, miss! It's burning the air!'

Outside, Oats had pulled Granny upright and had got his shoulder under one of her arms.

'She said something,' he said. "I am", I think...'

'She might be a vampire!'

'She just said it again. Didn't you hear?'

Agnes moved closer, and Granny's limp hand was suddenly gripping her shoulder. She could feel the heat of it through her sodden dress and made out the word in the hiss of the rain.

'Iron?' said Oats. 'Did she say iron?'

'There's the castle forge next door,' said Agnes. 'Let's get her in there.'

The forge was dark and cold, its fire only lit when there was work to be done. They pulled Granny inside and she slipped out of their grip and landed on hands and knees on the flagstones.

'But iron's no good against vampires, is it?' said Agnes. 'I've never heard of people using iron-'

Granny made a noise somewhere between a snort and a growl. She pulled herself across the floor, leaving a trail of mud, until she reached the anvil.