'Granny? But she's as moral as-'

'Oh, yes, she is. But that's because she's got Granny Weatherwax glarin' over her shoulder the whole time.'

Agnes took another look around the spartan room. Now the rain was leaking steadily through the ceiling. She fancied she could hear the walls settling into the clay. She fancied she could hear them thinking.

'Did she know Magrat was going to call the baby Esme?' she said.

'Probably. It's amazin' what she picks up.'

'Maybe not tactful, when you think about it,' said Agnes.

'What do you mean? I'd have been honoured, if it was me.'

'Perhaps Granny thought the name was being passed on. Inherited.'

'Oh. Yes,' said Nanny. 'Yes, I can just imagine Esme workin' it up to that, when she's in one of her gloomy moods.'

'My granny used to say if you're too sharp you'll cut yourself,' said Agnes.

They sat in grey silence for a while, and then Nanny Ogg said: 'My own granny has an old country sayin' she always trotted out at times like this...'

'Which was...?'

' "Bugger off, you little devil, or I'll chop off your nose and give it to the cat." Of course, that's not so very helpful at a time like this, I'll admit.'

There was a tinkle behind them.

Nanny turned her head and looked down at the table.

'There's a spoon gone...'

There was another jangle, this time by the door.

A magpie paused in its attempt to pick the stolen spoon off the doorstep, cocked its head and glared at them with a beady eye. It just managed to get airborne before Nanny's hat, spinning like a plate, bounced off the doorjamb.

'The devils'll pinch anything that damn well shines-'she began.

The Count de Magpyr looked out of the window at the glow that marked the rising sun.

'There you are, you see?' he said, turning back to his family. 'Morning, and here we are.'

'You've made it overcast,' said Lacrimosa sullenly. 'It's hardly sunny.'

'One step at a time, dear, one step at a time,' said the Count cheerfully. 'I just wished to make the point. Today, yes, it is overcast. But we can build on it. We can acclimatize. And one day... the beach...'

'You really are very clever, dear,' said the Countess.

'Thank you, my love,' said the Count, nodding his private agreement. 'How are you doing with that cork, Vlad?'

'Is this such a good idea, Father?' said Vlad, struggling with a bottle and a corkscrew. 'I thought we did not drink... wine.'

'I believe it's time we started.'

'Yuck,' said Lacrimosa. 'I'm not touching that, it's squeezed from vegetables!'

'Fruit, I think you'll find,' said the Count calmly. He took the bottle from his son and removed the cork. 'A fine claret, I understand. You'll try some, my dear?'

His wife smiled nervously, supporting her husband but slightly against her better judgement.

'Do we, er, are we, eh, supposed to warm it up?' she said.

'Room temperature is suggested.'

'That's sickening,' said Lacrimosa. 'I don't know how you can bear it!'

'Try it for your father, dear,' said the Countess. 'Quickly, before it congeals.'

'No, my dear. Wine stays runny.'

'Really? How very convenient.'

'Vlad?' said the Count, pouring a glass. The son watched nervously.

'Perhaps it would help if you think of it as grape blood,' said his father, as Vlad took the wine. 'And you, Lacci?'

She folded her arms resolutely. 'Huh!'

'I thought you'd like this sort of thing, dear,' said the Countess. 'It's the sort of thing your crowd does, isn't it?'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' said the girl.

'Oh, staying up until gone noon and wearing brightly coloured clothes, and giving yourselves funny names,' said the Countess.

'Like Gertrude,' sneered Vlad. 'And Pam. They think it's cool.'

Lacrimosa turned on him furiously, nails out. He caught her wrist, grinning.

'That's none of your business!'

'Lady Strigoiul said her daughter has taken to calling herself Wendy,' said the Countess. 'I can't imagine why she'd want to, when Hieroglyphica is such a nice name for a girl. And if I was her mother I'd see to it that she at least wore a bit of eyeliner-'

'Yes, but no one drinks wine,' said Lacrimosa. 'Only real weirdos who file their teeth blunt drink wine-'

'Maladora Krvoijac does,' said Vlad. 'Or "Freda", I should say-'

'No she doesn't!'

'What? She wears a silver corkscrew on a chain round her neck and sometimes there's even a cork on it!'

'That's just a fashion item! Oh, I know she says she's partial to a drop of port, but really it's just blood in the glass. Henry actually brought a bottle to a party and she fainted at the smell!'

'Henry?' said the Countess.

Lacrimosa looked down sulkily. 'Graven Gierachi,' she said.

'The one who grows his hair short and pretends he's an accountant,' said Vlad.

'I just hope someone's told his father, then,' said the Countess.

'Be quiet,' said the Count. 'This is all just cultural conditioning, you understand? Please! I've worked hard for this! All we want is a piece of the day. Is that too much to ask? And wine is just wine. There's nothing mystical about it. Now, take up your glasses. You too, Lacci. Please? For Daddy?'

'And when you tell "Cyril" and "Tim" they'll be so impressed,' said Vlad to Lacrimosa.

'Shut up!' she hissed. 'Father, it'll make me sick!'

'No, your body will adapt,' said the Count. 'I've tried it myself. A little watery, perhaps, somewhat sour, but quite palatable. Please?'

'Oh, well...'

'Good,' said the Count. 'Now, raise the glasses-'

' Le sang nouveau est arrive,' said Vlad.

'Carpe diem,' said the Count.

'By the throat,' said the Countess.

'People won't believe me when I tell them,' said Lacrimosa.

They swallowed.

'There,' said Count Magpyr. 'That wasn't too bad, was it?'

'A bit chilly,' said Vlad.

'I'll have a wine warmer installed,' said the Count. 'I'm not an unreasonable vampire. But within a year, children, I think I can have us quite cured of phenophobia and even capable of a little light salad-'

Lacrimosa turned her back theatrically and made throwing-up noises into a vase.

'-and then, Lacci, you'll be free. No more lonely days. No more-'

Vlad was half expecting it, and kept an entirely blank expression as his father whipped a card from his pocket and held it up.

'That is the double snake symbol of the Djelibeybian water cult,' he said calmly.

'You see?' said the Count excitedly. 'You barely flinched! Sacrephobia can be beaten! I've always said so! The way may have been hard at times-'

'I hated the way you used to leap out in corridors and flick holy water on us,' said Lacrimosa.

'It wasn't holy at all,' said her father. 'It was strongly diluted. Mildly devout at worst. But it made you strong, didn't it?'

'I caught colds a lot, I know that.'

The Count's hand whipped out of his pocket.

Lacrimosa gave a sigh of theatrical weariness. 'The All-Seeing Face of the Ionians,' she said wearily.

The Count very nearly danced a jig.

'You see? It has worked! You didn't even wince! And apparently as holy symbols go it's pretty strong. Isn't it all worth it?'

'There'll have to be something really good to make up for those garlic pillows you used to make us sleep on.'

Her father took her by the shoulder and turned her towards the window.

'Will it be enough to know that the world is your oyster?'

Her forehead wrinkled in perplexity. 'Why should I want it to be some nasty little sea creature?' she said.

'Because they get eaten alive,' said the Count. 'Unfortunately I doubt if we can find a slice of lemon five hundred miles long, but the metaphor will suffice.'

She brightened up, grudgingly. 'We-ell...' she said.