Carpe Jugulum

by Terry Pratchett

He put that down as not his business. He’d survived quite happily in the castle for many years by knowing where his business was, and he was suddenly very clear that it wasn’t here, thank goodness.

  Granny took a few deep breaths.

  “Right,” she said. “Now we’ll go up to the castle.”

  “What for? Why?” said Oats.

  “Good grief, man, why d’you think?”

  “The vampires are gone,” said the priest. “While you were…getting better. Mr. Hodges…aargh found out. They’ve just left the soldiers and the, er, servants. There was a lot of noise and the coach went, too. There’s guards all over the place.”

  “How did the coach get out, then?”

  “Well, it was the vampires’ coach and their servant was driving it, but Jason Ogg said he saw Mrs. Ogg, too.”

  Granny steadied herself against the wall.

  “Where did they go?”

  “I thought you could read their minds or something,” said Oats.

  “Young man, right now I don’t think I can read my own mind.”

  “Look, Granny Weatherwax, it’s obvious to me you’re still weak from loss of blood—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what I am,” said Granny. “Don’t you dare. Now, where would Gytha Ogg’ve taken them?”

  “I think—”

  “Uberwald,” said Granny. “That’ll be it.”

  “What? How can you know that?”

  “Because nowhere in the village’d be safe, she wouldn’t go up to the gnarly ground on a night like this and with a baby to carry as well, and heading down onto the plains’d be downright daft ’cos there’s no cover and I wouldn’t be surprised if the road is washed out by now.”

  “But that’ll be right into danger!”

  “More dangerous than here?” said Granny. “They know about vampires in Uberwald. They’re used to ’em. There’s safe places. Pretty strong inns all along the coach road, for a start. Nanny’s practical. She’ll think of that, I’m betting.” She winced, and added, “But they’ll end up in the vampires’ castle.”

  “Oh, surely not!”

  “I can feel it in my blood,” said Granny. “That’s the trouble with Gytha Ogg. Far too practical.” She paused. “You mentioned guards?”

  “They’ve locked themselves in the keep, mistress,” said a voice in the doorway. It was Shawn Ogg, with the rest of the mob behind him. He advanced awkwardly, one hand held in front of him.

  “That’s a blessing, then,” said Granny.

  “But we can’t get in, mistress,” said Shawn.

  “So? Can they get out?”

  “Well…no, not really. But the armory’s in there. All our weapons! And they’re boozing!”

  “What’s that you’re holding?”

  Shawn looked down. “It’s the Lancrastian Army Knife,” he said. “Er…I left my sword in the armory, too.”

  “Has it got a tool for extracting soldiers from castles?”

  “Er…no.”

  Granny peered closer. “What’s the curly thing?” she said.

  “Oh, that’s the Adjustable Device for Winning Ontological Arguments,” said Shawn. “The King asked for it.”

  “Works, does it?”

  “Er…if you twiddle it properly.”

  “And this?”

  “That is the Tool for Extracting the Essential Truth from a Given Statement,” said Shawn.

  “Verence asked for that one too, did he?”

  “Yes, Granny.”

  “Useful to a soldier, is it?” said Oats. He glanced at Granny. She’d changed as soon as the others had entered. Before, she’d been bowed and tired. Now she was standing tall and haughty, supported in a scaffolding of pride.

  “Oh yes, sir, ’cos of when the other side are yelling, ‘We’re gonna cut yer tonk—yer tongue off,’” Shawn blushed and corrected himself, “and things like that…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, you can tell if they’re going to be right,” said Shawn.

  “I need a horse,” said Granny.

  “There’s old Poorchick’s plough horse—” Shawn began.

  “Too slow.”

  “I…er…I’ve got a mule,” said Oats. “The King was kind enough to let me put it in the stables.”

  “Neither one thing nor t’other, eh?” said Granny. “It suits you. That’ll do for me, then. Fetch it up here and I’ll be off to get the girls back.”

  “What? I thought you wanted it to take you up to your cottage! Into Uberwald? Alone? I couldn’t let you do that!”

  “I ain’t asking you to let me do anything. Now off you go and fetch it, otherwise Om will be angry, I expect.”

  “But you can hardly stand up!”

  “Certainly I can! Off you go.”

  Oats turned to the assembled Lancrastians for support.

  “You wouldn’t let a poor old lady go off to confront monsters on a wild night like this, would you?”

  They watched him owlishly for a while just in case something interestingly nasty was going to happen to him.

  Then someone near the back said, “So why should we care what happens to monsters?”

  And Shawn Ogg said, “That’s Granny Weatherwax, that is.”

  “But she’s an old lady!” Oats insisted.

  The crowd took a few steps back. Oats was clearly a dangerous man to be around.

  “Would you go out alone on a night like this?” he said.

  The voice at the back said, “Depends if I knew where Granny Weatherwax was.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Bestiality Carter,” said Granny, but there was just a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “Now, are we fetchin’ your mule, Mr. Oats?”

  “Are you sure you can walk?”

  “Of course I can!”

  Oats gave up. Granny smirked triumphantly at the crowd and strode through them and toward the stables, with him trotting after her.

  When he hurried around the corner he almost collided with her, standing as stiff as a rod.

  “Is there anyone watchin’ me?” she said.

  “What? No, I don’t think so. Apart from me, of course.”

  “You don’t count,” said Granny.

  She sagged, and almost collapsed. He caught her, and she pummeled him on the arm. The wowhawk flapped its wings desperately.

  “Let go! I just lost my footin’, that’s all!”

  “Yes, yes, of course. You just lost your footing,” he said soothingly.

  “And don’t try to humor me, either.”

  “Yes, yes, all right.”

  “It’s just that it don’t do to let things slide, if you must know.”

  “Like your foot did just then…”

  “Exactly.”

  “So perhaps I’ll take your arm, because it’s very muddy.”

  He could just make out her face. It was a picture, but not one you’d hang over the fireplace. Some sort of inner debate was raging.

  “Well, if you think you’re going to fall over…” she said.

  “That’s right, that’s right,” said Oats, gratefully. “I nearly hurt my ankle back there as it is.”

  “I’ve always said young people today don’t have the stamina,” said Granny, as if testing out an idea.

  “That’s right, we don’t have the stamina.”

  “And your eyesight is prob’ly not as good as mine owin’ to too much readin’,” said Granny.

  “Blind as a bat, that’s right.”

  “All right.”

  And so, at cross purposes, and lurching occasionally, they reached the stables.

  The mule shook its head at Granny Weatherwax when they arrived at its loose box. It knew trouble when it saw her.

  “It’s a bit cantankerous,” said Oats.

  “Is it?” said Granny. “Then we shall see what we can do.”

  She walked unsteadily over to the creature and pulled one of its ears down to the level of her mouth. She whispered something. The mule blinked.

/>   “That’s sorted out, then,” she said. “Help me up.”

  “Just let me put the bridle on—”

  “Young man, I might be temp’ry not at my best, but when I need a bridle on any creature they can put me to bed with a shovel. Give me a hand up, and kindly avert your face whilst so doing.”

  Oats gave up, and made a stirrup of his hands to help her into the saddle.

  “Why don’t I come with you?”

  “There’s only one mule. Anyway, you’d be a hindrance. I’d be worrying about you all the time.”

  She slid gently off the other side of the saddle and landed in the straw. The wowhawk fluttered up and perched on a beam, and if Oats had been paying attention he’d have wondered how a hooded bird could fly so confidently.

  “Drat!”

  “Madam, I do know something about medicine! You are in no state to ride anything!”

  “Not right now, I admit,” said Granny, her voice slightly muffled. She pulled some straw away from her face and waved a hand wildly to be helped up. “But you just wait until I find my feet…”

  “All right! All right! Supposing I ride and you hang on behind me? You can’t weigh more than the harmonium, and he managed that all right.”

  Granny looked owlishly at him. She seemed drunk, at that stage when hitherto unconsidered things seem a good idea, like another drink. Then she appeared to reach a decision.

  “Oh…if you insist…”

  Oats found a length of rope and, after some difficulties caused by Granny’s determined belief that she was doing him some sort of favor, got her strapped into a pillion position.

  “Just so long as you understand that I didn’t ax you to come along and I don’t need your help,” said Granny.

  “Ax?”

  “Ask, then,” said Granny. “Slipped into a bit of rural there.”

  Oats stared ahead for a while. Then he dismounted, lifted Granny down, propped her up while she protested, disappeared into the night, came back shortly carrying the ax from the forge, used more rope to tie it to his waist, and mounted up again.

  “You’re learnin’,” said Granny.

  As they left she raised an arm. The wowhawk fluttered down and settled on her wrist.

  The air in the rocking coach was acquiring a distinct personality.

  Magrat sniffed. “I’m sure I changed Esme not long ago…”

  After a fruitless search of the baby they looked under the seat. Greebo was lying asleep with his legs in the air.

  “Isn’t that just like him?” said Nanny. “He can’t see an open door without going through it, bless ’im. And he likes to be near his mum.”

  “Could we open a window?” said Magrat.

  “The rain’ll get in.”

  “Yes, but the smell will go out.” Magrat sighed. “You know, we’ve left at least one bag of toys. Verence was really very keen on those mobiles.”

  “I still think it’s a bit early to start the poor little mite on education,” said Nanny, as much to take Magrat’s mind off the current dangers as from a desire to strike a blow for ignorance.

  “Environment is so very important,” said Magrat solemnly.

  “Did I hear he told you to read improvin’ books and listen to posh music while you were expecting?” said Nanny, as the coach rushed through a puddle.

  “Well, the books were all right, but the piano doesn’t work properly and all I could hear was Shawn practicing the trumpet solo,” said Magrat.

  “It’s not his fault if no one wants to join in,” said Nanny. She steadied herself as the coach lurched. “Good turn of speed on this thing.”

  “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 safe somewhere.”

  “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! D’man’s sicken, can y’no vard?”

  “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 swiveled 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 spiraled 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.