Carpe Jugulum

by Terry Pratchett

  She was really still. Oats had only seen stillness like that when movement was no longer an option. Up the airy mountain and down the rushy glen ran the Nac mac Feegle, who seemed to have no concept of stealth. Progress was a little slower now, because some of the party broke away occasionally to have a fight amongst themselves or an impromptu hunt, and in addition to the King of Lancre there was now, bobbing through the heather, the fox, a stunned stag, a wild boar, and a weasel who’d been suspected of looking at a Nac mac Feegle in a funny way.

  Verence saw, muzzily, that they were heading for a bank at the edge of a field, long deserted and overgrown, topped with some ancient thorn trees.

  The pixies stopped with a jolt when the King’s head was a few inches away from a large rabbit hole.

  “Danna fittit!”

  “G’shovitt, s’yust!”

  Verence’s head was banged hopefully against the wet soil once or twice.

  “Hakkis lugs awa’!”

  “Bigjobs!”

  One of the pixies shook his head. “Canna’ do’t, ken? Els’ y’ole carlin’ll hae oor guts fae garters…”

  Unusually, the Nac mac Feegle fell silent for a moment. Then one of them said, “Na one’s got tha’ much guts, right eno’.”

  “An’ b’side, she’ll gi’us uskabarch muckell. We oathit. Y’canna’ cross a hag.”

  “Al’ at it noo, then…”

  Verence was dropped on the ground. There was a brief sound of digging, and mud showered over him. Then he was picked up again and carried through a much enlarged hole, his nose brushing tree roots in the ceiling. Behind him there was the sound of a tunnel being rapidly filled in.

  Then there was just a bank where rabbits obviously lived, topped with thorn trees. Unseen in the wild night, the occasional wisp of smoke drifted among the trunks.

  Agnes leaned against the castle wall, which was streaming with water, and fought for breath. Granny hadn’t just told her to go away. The command had hit her brain like a bucket of ice. Even Perdita had felt it. There was no question of not obeying.

  Where would Nanny have gone? Agnes felt a pressing desire to be near her. Nanny Ogg radiated a perpetual field of It’ll-be-all-rightness. If they’d got out through the kitchens she could be anywhere…

  She heard the coach rattle out through the arch that led to the stables. It was just a looming shape, shrouded in spray from the rain, as it bounced across the cobbles of the courtyard. A figure by the driver, holding a sack over its head against the wind and rain, might have been Nanny. It hardly mattered. No one would have seen Agnes running through the puddles and waving.

  She trooped back to the arch as the coach disappeared down the hill. Well, they had been trying to get away, hadn’t they? And stealing a vampire’s coach had a certain Nanny Ogg style…

  Someone gripped both her arms from behind. Instinctively she tried to thrust back with her elbows. It was like trying to move against rock.

  “Why, Miss Agnes Nitt,” said Vlad, coldly. “A pleasant stroll to take in a little rain?”

  “They’ve got away from you!” she snapped.

  “You think so? Father could send that coach right into the gorge in a moment if he wanted to,” said the vampire. “But he won’t. We much prefer the personal touch.”

  “The in-your-neck approach,” said Agnes.

  “Hah, yes. But he really is trying to be reasonable. So I can’t persuade you to become one of us, Agnes?”

  “What, someone who lives by taking life from other people?”

  “We don’t usually go as far as that anymore,” said Vlad, dragging her forward. “And when we do…well, we make sure that we only kill people who deserve to die.”

  “Oh well, that’s all right then, isn’t it,” said Agnes. “I’m sure I’d trust a vampire’s judgment.”

  “My sister can be a bit too…rigorous at times, I admit.”

  “I’ve seen the people you brought with you! They practically moo!”

  “Oh, them. The domestics. Well? It’s not much different from the lives they would have had in any case. Better, in fact. They are well fed, sheltered—”

  “—milked.”

  “And is that bad?”

  Agnes tried to twist out of his grip. Just here, there was no castle wall. There hadn’t been any need. Lancre Gorge was all the wall anyone could need, and Vlad was walking her right to the sheer drop.

  “What a stupid thing to say!” she said.

  “Is it? I understand you’ve traveled, Agnes,” said Vlad, as she struggled. “So you’ll know that so many people lead little lives, always under the whip of some king or ruler or master who won’t hesitate to sacrifice them in battle or turn them out when they can’t work anymore.”

  But they can run away, Perdita prompted.

  “But they can run away!”

  “Really? On foot? With a family? And no money? Mostly they never even try. Most people put up with most things, Agnes.”

  “That’s the most unpleasant, cynical—”

  Accurate, Perdita said.

  “—accur—No!”

  Vlad raised his eyebrows. “You have such a strange mind, Agnes. Of course, you are not one of the…cattle. I expect that no witch is. You people tend to know your own mind.” He gave her a toothy grin, and on a vampire this was not pleasant. “I wish I did. Come along.”

  There was no resisting the pull, unless she wanted to be dragged along the ground.

  “Father’s very impressed with you witches,” he said, over his shoulder. “He says we should make you all vampires. He says you’re halfway there anyway. But I’d much rather you came to see how marvelous it could be.”

  “You would, would you? I’d like to be constantly craving blood?”

  “You constantly crave chocolate, don’t you?”

  “How dare you!”

  “Blood tends to be low in carbohydrates. Your body will adapt. The pounds will just drop away…”

  “That’s sickening!”

  “You’ll have complete control over yourself…”

  “I’m not listening!”

  “All it takes is a little prick—”

  “It’s not going to be yours, mister!”

  “Hah! Wonderful!” said Vlad and, dragging Agnes behind him, he leapt into the Lancre Gorge.

  Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes. At least, she had to assume they were open. She’d felt the lids move.

  Darkness lay in front of her. It was velvet black, starless, a hole in space. But there was light behind her. She was standing with her back to the light, she could sense it, see it on her hands. It was streaming past, outlining the darkness that was the long rich deep shadow of her on the…

  …black sand. It crunched under her boots as she shifted her weight.

  This was a test. Everything was a test. Everything was a competition. Life put them in front of you every day. You watched yourself all the time. You had to make choices. You never got told which ones were right. Oh, some of the priests said you got given marks afterward, but what was the point of that?

  She wished her mind was working faster. She couldn’t think properly. Her head felt full of fog.

  This…wasn’t a real place. No, that wasn’t the right way of thinking about it. It wasn’t a usual place. It might be more real than Lancre. Across it her shadow stretched, waiting…

  She glanced up at the tall, silent figure beside her.

  GOOD EVENING.

  “OH…you again.”

  ANOTHER CHOICE, ESMERELDA WEATHERWAX.

  “Light and dark? It’s never as simple as that, you know, even for you.”

  Death sighed. NOT EVEN FOR ME.

  Granny tried to line up her thoughts.

  Which light and which dark? She hadn’t been prepared for this. This didn’t feel right. This wasn’t the fight she had expected. Whose light? Whose mind was this?

  Silly question. She was always her.

  Never lose your grip on that…

  So…ligh
t behind her, darkness in front…

  She’d always said witches stood between the light and the dark.

  “Am I dyin’?”

  YES.

  “Will I die?”

  YES.

  Granny thought this over.

  “But from your point of view, everyone is dying and everyone will die, right?”

  YES.

  “So you aren’t actually bein’ a lot of help, strictly speakin’.”

  I’M SORRY, I THOUGHT YOU WANTED THE TRUTH. PERHAPS YOU WERE EXPECTING JELLY AND ICE CREAM?

  “Hah…”

  There was no movement in the air, no sound but her own breathing. Just the brilliant white light on one side, and the heavy darkness on the other…waiting.

  Granny had listened to people who’d nearly died but had come back, possibly because of a deft thump in the right place or the dislodging of some wayward mouthful that’d gone down the wrong way. Sometimes they talked about seeing a light—

  That’s where she ought to go, a thought told her. But…was the light the way in, or the way out?

  Death snapped his fingers.

  An image appeared on the sand in front of them. She saw herself, kneeling in front of the anvil. She admired the dramatic effect. She’d always had a streak of theatrics, although she’d never admit it, and she appreciated in a disembodied way the strength with which she had thrust her pain into the iron. Someone had slightly spoiled the effect by putting a kettle on one end.

  Death reached down and took a handful of sand. He held it up, and let it slip between his fingers.

  CHOOSE, he said. YOU ARE GOOD AT CHOOSING, I BELIEVE.

  “Is there any advice you could be givin’ me?” said Granny.

  CHOOSE RIGHT.

  Granny turned to face the sheer white brilliance, and closed her eyes.

  And stepped backward.

  The light dwindled to a tiny distant point, and vanished.

  The blackness was suddenly all around, closing in like quicksand. There seemed to be no way, no direction. When she moved she did not sense movement.

  There was no sound but the faint trickle of sand inside her head.

  And then, voices from her shadow.

  “…Because of you, some died who may have lived…”

  The words lashed at her, leaving livid lines across her mind.

  “Some lived who surely would have died,” she said.

  The dark pulled at her sleeves.

  “…you killed…”

  “No. I showed the way.”

  “…hah! That’s just words…”

  “Words is important,” Granny whispered into the night.

  “…you took the right to judge others…”

  “I took the duty. I’ll own up to it.”

  “…I know every evil thought you’ve ever had…”

  “I know.”

  “…the ones you’d never dare tell anyone…”

  “I know.”

  “…all the little secrets, never to be told…”

  “I know.”

  “…how often you longed to embrace the dark…”

  “Yes.”

  “…such strength you could have…”

  “Yes.”

  “…embrace the dark…”

  “No.”

  “…give in to me…”

  “No,”

  “…Lilith Weatherwax did. Alison Weatherwax did…”

  “That’s never been proved!”

  “…give in to me…”

  “No. I know you. I’ve always known you. The Count just let you out to torment me, but I’ve always known you were there. I’ve fought you every day of my life and you’ll get no victory now.”

  She opened her eyes and stared into the blackness.

  “I knows who you are now, Esmerelda Weatherwax,” she said. “You don’t scare me no more.”

  The last of the light vanished.

  Granny Weatherwax hung in the dark for a time she couldn’t measure. It was as if the absolute emptiness had sucked all the time and direction into it. There wasn’t anywhere to go, because there wasn’t any anywhere.

  After what may have been days or seconds, she began to hear another sound, the faintest of whispers on the borders of hearing. She pushed toward it.

  Words were rising through the blackness like little wriggling golden fish.

  She fought her way toward them, now that there was a direction.

  The slivers of light turned into sounds.

  “—and asketh you in your infinite compassion to see your way clear to possibly intervening here…”

  Not normally the kind of words she’d associate with light. Perhaps it was the way they were said. But they had a strange echo to them, a second voice, woven in amongst the first voice, glued to every syllable…

  “…what compassion? How many people prayed at the stake? How foolish I look, kneeling like this…”

  Ah…one mind, split in half. There were more Agneses in the world than Agnes dreamed of, Granny told herself. All the girl had done was give a thing a name, and once you gave a thing a name you gave it a life…

  There was something else near by, a glimmer a few photons across, which winked out as she looked for it again. She turned her attention away for a moment, then jerked it back. Again, the tiny spark blinked out.

  Something was hiding.

  The sand stopped rushing. Time was up.

  Now to find out what she was.

  Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes, and there was light.

  The coach swished to a halt on the mountain road. Water poured around its wheels.

  Nanny got out and paddled over to Igor, who was standing where the road wasn’t.

  Water was foaming where it should have been.

  “Can we get acroth?” said Igor.

  “Probably, but it’ll be worse down below, where there’s really bad run-off,” said Nanny. “The plains have been cut off all winter before now…”

  She looked at the other way. The road wound farther into the mountains, awash but apparently sound.

  “Where’s the nearest village that way?” she said. “One with a good stone building in it? Slake, isn’t it? There’s a coaching inn up there.”

  “That’th right. Thlake.”

  “Well, we ain’t going anywhere on foot in this weather,” said Nanny. “Slake it’s got to be, then.”

  She got back into the coach and felt it turn around.

  “Is there a problem?” said Magrat. “Why are we going uphill?”

  “Road’s washed out,” said Nanny.

  “We’re heading into Uberwald?”

  “Yes.”

  “But there’s werewolves and vampires and—”

  “Yes, but not everywhere. We should be safe on the main road. Anyway, there’s not much of a choice.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Magrat reluctantly.

  “And it could be worse,” said Nanny.

  “How?”

  “Well…there could be snakes in here with us.”

  Agnes saw the rocks rush past, looked down and saw the foam of the swollen river.

  The world spun around her when Vlad stopped in mid-air. Water washed over her toes.

  “Let there be…lightness,” he said. “You’d like to be as light as the air, wouldn’t you, Agnes?”

  “We—we’ve got broomsticks…” Agnes panted. Her life had just flashed past her eyes and wasn’t it dull? Perdita added.

  “Useless cumbersome stupid things,” he said. “And they can’t do this—”

  The walls of the gorge went past in a blur. The castle dropped away. Clouds drenched her. Then they unrolled as a silver-white fleece, under the silent cold light of the moon.

  Vlad wasn’t beside her. Agnes slowed in her rise, flung out her arms to grip what wasn’t there, and began to fall back—

  He appeared, laughing, and grabbed her around the waist.

  “—can they?” he said.

  Agnes cou
ldn’t speak. Her life passing in front of her eyes one way had met it passing in front of her eyes going in the opposite direction, and words would fail her now until she could decide when now was.

  “And you haven’t seen anything yet,” said Vlad. Wisps of cloud coiled behind them as he raced forward.

  The clouds vanished under Agnes. They might have been as thin as smoke but their presence, their imitation of groundness, had been a comfort. Now they were a departing edge, and far below were the moonlit plains.

  “Ghjgh,” gurgled Agnes, too tense and terrified even to scream. Wheee! crowed Perdita, inside.

  “See that?” said Vlad, pointing. “See the light all around the Rim?”

  Agnes stared, because anything now was better than looking down.

  The sun was under the Disc. Around the dark Rim, though, it found its way up through the endless waterfall, creating a glowing band between the nighttime ocean and the stars. It was, indeed, beautiful, but Agnes felt that beauty was even more likely to be in the eye of the beholder if the feet of the beholder were on something solid. At ten thousand feet up, the eye of the beholder tends to water.

  Perdita thought it was beautiful. Agnes wondered if, should Agnes end up as a circle of pink splash marks on the rocks, Perdita would still be there.

  “Everything you want,” whispered Vlad. “Forever.”

  “I want to get down,” said Agnes.

  He let go.

  There was this about Agnes’s shape. It was a good one for falling. She turned automatically belly down, hair streaming behind her, and floated in the rushing wind.

  Oddly enough, the terror had gone. That had been fear of a situation out of her control. Now, arms outspread, skirts whipping her legs, eyes streaming in the freezing air, she could at least see what the future held even if it was not big enough to hold very much.

  Perhaps she could hit a snowbank, or deep water—

  It might have been worth a try, said Perdita. He doesn’t seem entirely bad.

  “Shut up.”

  It’d just be nice if you could stop looking as though you were wearing saddlebags under your skirt…

  “Shut up.”

  And it’d be nice if you didn’t hit the rocks like a balloon full of water…