Carpe Jugulum

by Terry Pratchett

  An unwary rat, creeping across the flagstones, was too late. The mist flowed over it. There was a squeak, cut off, and when the mist had gone a few small white bones were all that remained.

  Some equally small bones, but fully assembled and wearing a black hooded robe and carrying a tiny scythe, appeared out of nowhere and walked over to them. Skeletal claws tippy-tapped on the stone.

  “Squeak?” said the ghost of the rat pathetically.

  SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats. This was really all it needed to know.

  “You wanted to know where I’d put my self,” said Granny. “I didn’t go anywhere. I just put it in something alive, and you took it. You invited me in. I’m in every muscle in your body and I’m in your head, oh yes. I was in the blood, Count. In the blood. I ain’t been vampired. You’ve been Weatherwaxed. All of you. And you’ve always listened to your blood, haven’t you?”

  The Count stared at her, open mouthed.

  The spoon dropped out of her saucer and tinkled onto the floor, raising a wave in a thin white mist. It was rolling in from the walls, leaving a shrinking circle of black and white tiles in the middle of which were the vampires.

  Igor pushed his way through the crowd until he was alongside Nanny.

  “It’th all right,” he said, “I couldn’t let it go on, it wath dithgratheful…”

  The mist rose in a boiling tower, there was a moment of discontinuity, a feeling of sliced time, and then a figure stood behind Vlad and Lacrimosa. He was rather taller than most men, and wearing evening dress that might have been in style once upon a time. His hair was streaked with gray and brushed back over his ears in a way that gave the impression his head had been designed for its aerodynamic efficiency.

  Beautifully manicured hands gripped the shoulders of the younger vampires. Lacrimosa turned to scratch him, and cowered when he snarled like a tiger.

  Then the face returned to something closer to human, and the newcomer smiled. He seemed genuinely pleased to see everyone.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Another bloody vampire?” said Nanny.

  “Not any old vampire,” said Igor, hopping from one foot to the other. “It’th the old marthter! Old Red Eyeth ith back!”

  Granny stood up, ignoring the tall figure firmly holding the two suddenly docile vampires. She advanced on the Count.

  “I know all about what you can and can’t do,” she said, “because you let me in. An’ that means you can’t do what I can’t do. An’ you think just like me, the difference bein’ I’ve done it longer and I’m better’n you at it.”

  “You’re meat,” snarled the Count. “Clever meat!”

  “And you invited me in,” said Granny. “I’m not the sort to go where I’m not welcome, I’m sure.”

  In the Count’s arms the baby started to cry. He stood up.

  “How sure are you that I won’t harm this child?” he said.

  “I wouldn’t. So you can’t.”

  The Count’s face contorted as he wrestled with his feelings and also with Magrat, who was kicking him in the shins.

  “It could have worked…” he said, and for the first time the certainty had been drained from his voice.

  “You mean it could have worked for you!” shouted Agnes.

  “We are vampires. We cannot help what we are.”

  “Only animals can’t help what they are,” said Granny. “Will you give me the child now?”

  “If I…” the Count began, and then straightened up. “No! I don’t have to bargain! I can fight you, just as you fought me! And if I walk out of here now, I don’t think there’s anyone who’ll dare stop me. Look at you…all of you…and look at me. And now look at…him.” He nodded at the figure holding Vlad and Lacri-mosa as still as statues. “Is that what you want?”

  “Sorry…who is this we’re supposed to be looking at?” said Granny. “Oh…Igor’s ‘old master’? The old Count Magpyr, I believe.”

  The old Count nodded gracefully. “Your servant, madam,” he said.

  “I doubt it,” said Granny.

  “Oh, no one minded him,” said Piotr, from among the Escrow citizens. “He only ever came around every few years and anyway if you remembered about the garlic he wasn’t a problem. He didn’t expect us to like him.”

  The old Count smiled at him.

  “You look familiar. One of the Ravi family, aren’t you?”

  “Piotr, sir. Son of Hans.”

  “Ah yes. Very similar bone structure. Do remember me to your grandmother.”

  “She passed away ten years ago, sir.”

  “Oh really? I am so sorry. Time goes so quickly when you’re dead.” The old master sighed. “A very fine figure in a nightdress, as I recall.”

  “Oh, he was all right,” said someone else in the crowd. “We got a nip every now and again but we got over it.”

  “That’s a familiar voice,” said the vampire. “Are you a Veyzen?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Related to Arno Veyzen?”

  “Great-granddaddy, sir.”

  “Good man. Killed me stone dead seventy-five years ago. Stake right through the heart from twenty paces. You should be proud.”

  The man in the crowd beamed with ancestral pride.

  “We’ve still got the stake hung up over the fireplace, yer honor,” he said.

  “Well done. Good man. I like to see the old ways kept up—”

  Count Magpyr screamed.

  “You can’t possibly prefer that? He’s a monster!”

  “But he never made an appointment!” shouted Agnes, even louder. “I bet he never thought it was all just an arrangement!”

  Count Magpyr was edging toward the door with his hostages.

  “No,” he said, “this is not how it’s going to happen. If anyone really believes that I won’t harm my charming hostages, perhaps you will try to stop me? Does anyone really believe that old woman?”

  Nanny Ogg opened her mouth, caught Granny’s eye, and shut it again. The crowd parted behind the Count as he dragged Magrat toward the door.

  He walked into the figure of Mightily Oats.

  “Have you ever thought of letting Om into your life?” said the priest. His voice trembled. His face glistened with sweat.

  “Oh…you again?” said the Count. “If I can resist her, little boy, you are not a problem!”

  Oats held his ax before him as if it were made of some rare and delicate metal.

  “Begone, foul fiend—” he began.

  “Oh, dear me,” said the Count, thrusting the ax aside. “And don’t you learn anything, you stupid man? Little stupid man who has a little stupid faith in a little stupid god?”

  “But it…lets me see things as they are,” Oats managed.

  “Really? And you think you can stand in my way? An ax isn’t even a holy symbol!”

  “Oh.” Oats looked crestfallen. Agnes saw his shoulders sag as he lowered the blade.

  Then he looked up, smiled brightly and said, “Let’s make it so.”

  Agnes saw the blade leave a gold trail in the air as it swept around. There was a soft, almost silken sound.

  The ax dropped onto the flagstones. In the sudden silence, it clanged like a bell. Then Oats reached out and snatched the child from the vampire’s unresisting hands. He held her out to Magrat, who took her in shocked silence.

  The first sound after that was the rustle of Granny’s dress as she stood up and walked over to the ax. She nudged it with her foot.

  “If I’ve got a fault,” she said, contriving to suggest that this was only a theoretical possibility, “it’s not knowing when to turn and run. And I tends to bluff on a weak hand.”

  Her voice echoed in the hall. No one else had even breathed out yet.

  She nodded at the Count, who’d slowly raised his hands to the red wound that ran all around his neck.

  “It was a sharp ax,” she said. “Who says there’s no mercy in the world? Just don’t nod, that’s all. And someone’ll ta
ke you down to a nice cold coffin and I daresay fifty years’ll just fly past and maybe you’ll wake with enough sense to be stupid.”

  There was a murmur from the mob as they came back to life. Granny shook her head.

  “They want you deader than that, I see,” she said, as the Count gazed ahead of him with frozen, desperate eyes and the blood welled and seeped between his fingers. “An’ there’s ways. Oh yes. We could burn you to ashes and scatter them in the sea—”

  This met with a general sigh of approval.

  “—or throw ’em up in the air in the middle of a gale—”

  This got a smattering of applause.

  “—or just pay some sailor to drop you over the edge.” This even got a few whistles. “Of course, you’d come back alive again, I suppose, one day. But just floating in space for millions of years, oh, that sounds very boring to me.” She raised a hand to silence the crowd.

  “No. Fifty years to think about things, that’s about right. People need vampires,” she said. “They helps ’em remember what stakes and garlic are for.”

  She snapped her fingers at the crowd. “Come on, two of you take him down to the vaults. Show some respect for the dead—”

  “That’s not enough!” said Piotr, stepping forward. “Not after all he—”

  “Then when he comes back you deal with him yourself!” snapped Granny loudly. “Teach your children! Don’t trust the cannibal just ’cos he’s usin’ a knife and fork! And remember that vampires don’t go where they’re not invited!”

  They backed away. Granny relaxed a little.

  “This time round, it’s up to me. My…choice.” She leaned closer to the Count’s horrible grimace. “You tried to take my mind away from me,” she said, in a lower voice. “And that’s everything to me. Reflect on that. Try to learn.” She stood back. “Take him away.”

  She turned away, to the tall figure. “So…you’re the old master, are you?” she said.

  “Alison Weatherwax?” said the old master. “I have a good memory for necks.”

  Granny froze for a second.

  “What? No! Er…how do you know the name?”

  “Why, she passed through here, what, fifty years ago. We met briefly, and then she cut off my head and stuck a stake in my heart.” The Count sighed happily. “A very spirited woman. You’re a relative, I presume? I lose track of generations, I’m afraid.”

  “Granddaughter,” said Granny weakly.

  “There’s a phoenix outside the castle, Igor tells me…”

  “It’ll leave, I expect.”

  The Count nodded. “I’ve always rather liked them,” he said, wistfully. “There were so many of them when I was young. They made the nights…pretty. So pretty. Everything was so much simpler then…” His voice trailed off, and then came back louder. “But now, apparently, we’re in modern times.”

  “That’s what they say,” murmured Granny.

  “Well, madam, I’ve never taken too much notice of them. Fifty years later they never seem so modern as all that.” He shook the younger vampires like dolls. “I do apologize for my nephew’s behavior. Quite out of keeping for a vampire. Would you people from Escrow like to kill these two? It’s the least I could do.”

  “Ain’t they your relatives?” said Nanny Ogg, as the crowd surged forward.

  “Oh yes. But we’ve never been much of a species for playing happy families.”

  Vlad looked imploringly at Agnes, and reached out to her.

  “You wouldn’t let them kill me, would you? You wouldn’t let them do this to me? We could have…we might…you wouldn’t, would you?”

  The crowd hesitated. This sounded like an important plea. A hundred pairs of eyes stared at Agnes.

  She took his hand. I suppose we could work on him, said Perdita. But Agnes thought about Escrow, and the queues, and the children playing while they waited, and how evil might come animal sharp in the night, or grayly by day on a list…

  “Vlad,” she said gently, looking deep into his eyes, “I’d even hold their coats.”

  “A fine sentiment but that ain’t happenin’,” said Granny, behind her. “You take ’em away, Count. Teach ’em the old ways. Teach ’em stupidity.”

  The Count nodded, and grinned toothily.

  “Certainly. I shall teach them that to live you have to rise again—”

  “Hah! You don’t live, Count. The phoenix lives. You just don’t know you’re dead. Now get along with you!”

  There was another moment sliced out of time and then a flock of magpies rose up from where the three vampires had been, screaming and chattering, and disappeared in the darkness of the roof.

  “There’s hundreds of them!” said Agnes to Nanny.

  “Well, vampires can turn into things,” said Nanny. “Everyone knows that, who knows anything about vampires.”

  “And what do three hundred magpies mean?”

  “They mean it’s time to put covers on all the furniture,” said Nanny. “And that it’s time for me to have a very big drink.”

  The crowd began to break up, aware that the show was over.

  “Why didn’t she just let us wipe them out?” hissed Piotr by Agnes’s ear. “Death’s too good for them!”

  “Yes,” said Agnes.” I suppose that’s why she didn’t let them have it.”

  Oats hadn’t moved. He was still staring straight ahead of him, but his hands were shaking. Agnes led him gently to a bench, and eased him down.

  “I killed him, didn’t I,” he whispered.

  “Sort of,” said Agnes. “It’s a bit hard to tell with vampires.”

  “There was just nothing else to do! Everything just went…the air just went gold, and there was just this one moment to do something—”

  “I don’t think anyone’s complaining,” said Agnes. You’ve got to admit he’s quite attractive, whispered Perdita. If only he’d do something about that boil…

  Magrat sat down on the other side of Oats, clutching the baby. She breathed deeply a few times.

  “That was very brave of you,” she said.

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Oats hoarsely. “I thought Mistress Weather-wax was going to do something…”

  “She did,” said Magrat, shivering. “Oh, she did.”

  Granny Weatherwax sat down on the other end of the bench and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “I just want to go home now,” she said. “I just want to go home and sleep for a week.” She yawned. “I’m dyin’ for a cuppa.”

  “I thought you’d made one!” said Agnes. “You had us slavering for it!”

  “Where’d I get tea here? It was just some mud in water. But I know Nanny keeps a bag of it somewhere on her person.” She yawned again. “Make the tea, Magrat.”

  Agnes opened her mouth, but Magrat waved her into silence and then handed her the baby.

  “Certainly, Granny,” she said, gently pushing Agnes back into her seat. “I’ll just find out where Igor keeps the kettle, shall I?”

  Mightily Oats stepped out onto the battlements. The sun was well up, and a breeze was blowing in over the forests of Uberwald. A few magpies chattered in the trees nearest the castle.

  Granny was leaning with her elbows on the wall, and staring out over the thinning mists.

  “It looks like it’s going to be a fine day,” said Oats, happily. And he did feel happy, to his amazement. There was sharpness to the air, and the sense of the future brimming with possibilities. He remembered the moment when he’d swung the ax, when both of him had swung it, together. Perhaps there was a way…

  “There’s a storm coming down from the Hub later,” said Granny.

  “Well…at least that’ll be good for the crops, then,” said Oats.

  Something flickered overhead. In the new daylight the wings of the phoenix were hard to see, mere yellow shimmers in the air, with the tiny shape of the little hawk in the center as it circled high over the castle.

  “Why would anyone want to kill something like that?”
said Oats.

  “Oh, some people’ll kill anything for the fun of it.”

  “Is it a true bird or is it something that exists within a—”

  “It’s a thing that is,” said Granny sharply. “Don’t go spilling allegory all down your shirt.”

  “Well, I feel…blessed to have seen it.”

  “Really? I gen’rally feel the same about the sunrise,” said Granny. “You would too, at my time of life.” She sighed, and then seemed to be speaking mainly to herself. “She never went to the bad, then, whatever people said. And you’d have to be on your toes with that ol’ vampire. She never went to the bad. You heard him say that, right? He said it. He didn’t have to.”

  “Er…yes.”

  “She’d have been older’n me, too. Bloody good witch, was Nana Alison. Sharp as a knife. Had her funny little ways, o’ course, but who hasn’t?”

  “No one I know, certainly.”

  “Right. You’re right.” Granny straightened up. “Good,” she said.

  “Er…”

  “Yes?”

  Oats was looking down at the drawbridge and the road to the castle.

  “There’s a man in a nightshirt covered in mud and waving a sword down there,” he said, “followed by a lot of Lancre people and some…little blue men…”

  He looked down again. “At least it looks like mud,” he added.

  “That’ll be the King,” said Granny. “Big Aggie’s given him some of her brose, by the sound of it. He’ll save the day.”

  “Er…hasn’t the day been saved?”

  “Oh, he’s the King. It looks like it might be a nice day, so let him save it. You’ve got to give kings something to do. Anyway, after a drink from Big Aggie he won’t know what day it is. We’d better get down there.”

  “I feel I should thank you,” said Oats, when they reached the spiral staircase.

  “For helping you across the mountains, you mean?”

  “The world is…different.” Oats’s gaze went out across the haze, and the forests, and the purple mountains. “Everywhere I look I see something holy.”

  For the first time since he’d met her, he saw Granny Weather-wax smile properly. Normally her mouth went up at the corners just before something unpleasant was going to happen to someone who deserved it, but this time she appeared to be pleased with what she’d heard.