Carpe Jugulum

by Terry Pratchett

  “I can’t be having with this!” Agnes shouted, marching up to Granny. “I can’t think straight. It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Granny reached out and touched the wounds on her neck.

  “Ah, I see,” she said. “One them bit you, yes?”

  “Yes! And somehow you spoke to me!”

  “Not me. That was something in your blood talkin’, I reckon,” said Granny. “Who’re all these people? Why’s that man trying to set fire to the wall?

  Don’t he know stone don’t burn?”

  “Oh, that’s Claude, he’s a bit single-minded. Just let me know if he picks up a stake, will you? Look, they’re from Escrow, it’s a town not far away…the Magpyrs treated them like…well…pets. Farm animals! Just like they were trying to do back home!”

  “We ain’t leaving until we’ve dealt with the Count,” said Granny. “Otherwise he’ll be sneaking back—”

  “Er, excuse me,” said Oats, who seemed to have been thinking about something. “Excuse me, but did someone mention that the Queen was locked up in the crypt?”

  “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 backward.

  “Ah, I know what he means,” said Nanny. “It’s all right, we’re not daft, she won’t open up until she’s 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 center 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 backward, her other hands 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 overdesigned.

  It hung open.

  “But we heard her put the bars across!” wailed Nanny.

  A variously colored lump was sprawled in front of the door. Igor knelt down and picked up a limp paw.

  “They kill 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 cathtle, 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 th
inks 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 Win-dow” 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—”

  “She’s coming back to Lancre with us, you bastard!” screamed Magrat. She twisted in the Count’s grip and tried to slap him, but Agnes saw her face whiten as his hand tightened on her wrist.

  “That’s very bad language for a queen,” said the Count. “And I am still very strong, even for a vampire. But you’re right. We shall all go back to Lancre. One big happy family, living in the castle. I must say this place is losing its attractions. Oh, don’t blame yourself, Mrs. Ogg. I’m sure others will do that for you—”

  He stopped. A sound that had been on the edge of hearing was getting louder. It had a rhythmic, almost tinny sound.

  The crowd parted. Granny Weatherwax walked forward, slowly stirring

  “No milk in this place,” she said, “Not to be wondered at, really. I sliced a bit of lemon, but it’s not the same, I always think.”

  She laid the spoon in the saucer with a clink that echoed around the hall, and gave the Count a smile.

  “Am I too late?” she said.

  The bolts rattled back, one by one.

  “…’th gone too far,” Igor muttered. “The old marthter wouldn’t…”

  The door creaked back on lovingly rusted hinges. Cool dry air puffed out of the darkness.

  Igor fumbled with some matches and lit a torch.

  “…it’th all very well wanting a nithe long retht, but thith ith a dithgrathe…”

  He ran along the dark corridors, half rough masonry, half sheer naked rock, and reached another chamber which was completely empty apart from a large stone sarcophagus in the center, on the side of which was carved MAGPYR.

  He stuffed the torch into a bracket, removed his coat, and after considerable pushing heaved the stone lid aside.

  “Thorry about thith, marthter,” he grunted as it thudded to the ground.

  Inside the coffin, gray dust twinkled in the torchlight.

  “…coming up here, mething everything up…” Igor picked up his coat and took a thick wad of material out of his pocket. He unrolled it on the edge of the stone. Now the light glinted off an array of scalpels, scissors and needles.

  “…threatening little babieth now…you never done that…only adventurouth femaleth over the age of theventeen and looking good in a nightie, you alwayth thed…”

  He selected a scalpel and, with some care, nicked the little finger of his left hand.

  A drop of blood appeared, swelled and dropped onto the dust, where it smoked.

  “That one’th for Thcrapth,” said Igor with grim satisfaction.

  By the time he’d reached the door white mist was already pouring over the edge of the coffin.

  “I’m an old lady,” said Granny Weatherwax, looking around sternly. “I’d like to sit down, thank you so very much.”

  A bench was rushed forward. Granny sat, and eyed the Count.

  “What were you saying?” she said.

  “Ah, Esmerelda,” said the Count. “At last you come to join us. The call of the blood is too strong to be disobeyed, yes?”

  “I hope so,” said Granny.

  “We’re all going to walk out of here, Miss Weatherwax.”

  “You’re not leaving here,” said Granny. She stirred the tea again. The eyes of all three vampires swiveled to follow the spoon.

  “You have no choice but to obey me. You know that,” said the Count.

  “Oh, there’s always a choice,” said Granny.

  Vlad and Lacrimosa leaned down on either side of their father. There was some hurried whispering. The Count looked up.

  “No, you couldn’t have resisted it,” he said. “Not even you!”

  “I won’t say it didn’t cost me,” said Granny. She stirred the tea again.

  There was more whispering.

  “We do have the Queen and the baby,” said the Count. “I believe you think highly of them.”

  Granny raised the cup halfway to her lips. “Kill ’em,” she said. “It won’t benefit you.”

  “Esme!” snapped Nanny Ogg and Magrat together.

  Granny put the cup back in the saucer. Agnes thought she saw Vlad sigh. She could feel the pull herself…

  I know what she did, whispered Perdita. So do I, thought Agnes.

  “He’s bluffing,” Granny said.

  “Oh? You’d like a vampire queen one day, would you?” said Lacrimosa.

  “Had one once, in Lancre,” said Granny, conversationally. “Poor woman got bitten by one of you people. Got by on blue steak and such. Never laid a tooth on anyone, the way I heard it. Griminir the Impaler, she was.”

  “The Impaler?”

  “Oh, I just said she wasn’t a bloodsucker. I didn’t say she was a nice person,” said Granny. “She didn’t mind shedding blood, but she drew the line at drinking it. You don’t have to, neither.”

  “You know nothing about true vampires!”

  “I know more’n you think, and I know about Gytha Ogg,” said Granny. Nanny Ogg blinked.

  Granny Weatherwax raised the teacup again, and then lowered it. “She likes a drink. She’ll tell you it has to be the best brandy…” Nanny nodded affirmation “…and that’s certainly what she desires, but really she’ll settle for beer just like everyone else.” Nanny Ogg shrugged as Granny went on: “But you wouldn’t settle for black puddings, would you, because what you really drink is power over people. I know you like I know myself. And one of the things I know is that you ain’t going to hurt a hair of that child’s head. Leastways,” and here Granny absentmindedly stirred the tea again, “if she had any yet, you wouldn’t. You can’t, see.”

  She picked up the cup and carefully scraped it on the edge o
f the saucer. Agnes saw Lacrimosa’s lips part, hungrily.

  “So all I’m really here for, d’you see, is to see whether you get justice or mercy,” said Nanny. “It’s just a matter of choosing.”

  “You really think we wouldn’t harm meat?” said Lacrimosa, striding forward. “Watch!”

  She brought her hand down hard toward the baby, and then jerked back as if she’d been stung.

  “Can’t do it,” said Granny.

  “I nearly broke my arm!”

  “Shame,” said Granny calmly.

  “You’ve put some…something magical in the child, have you?” said the Count.

  “Can’t imagine who’d think I’d do such a thing,” said Granny, while behind her Nanny Ogg looked down at her boots. “So here’s my offer, you see. You hand back Magrat and the baby and we’ll chop your heads off.”

  “And that’s what you call justice, is it?” said the Count.

  “No, that’s what I call mercy,” said Granny. She put the cup back in the saucer.

  “For goodness’ sake, woman, are you going to drink that damn tea or not?” roared the Count.

  Granny sipped it, and made a face.

  “Why, what have I been thinkin’ of? I’ve been so busy talking, it’s got cold,” she said, and daintily tipped the contents of the cup onto the floor.

  Lacrimosa groaned.

  “It’ll probably wear off soon,” Granny went on, in the same easy voice. “But until it does, you see, you’ll not harm a child, you’ll not harm Magrat, you hate the thought of drinking blood, and you won’t run because you’ll never run from a challenge…”

  “What will wear off?” said Vlad.

  “Oh, they’re strong, your walls of thought,” said Granny dreamily. “I couldn’t get through them.”

  The Count smiled.

  Granny smiled, too. “So I didn’t,” she added.

  The mist rolled through the crypt, flowing along the floor, walls and ceiling. It poured up the steps and along a tunnel, the billows boiling ahead on one another as though engaged in a war.