Granny reached out towards it.

'I'll fetch you a glove,' said Hodgesaargh, but she waved him away.

The bird hopped on to her wrist.

Granny gasped, and little threads of green and blue burned like marsh gas along her arm for a moment.

'Are you all right?' said Oats.

'Never been better. I'll need this bird, Hodgesaargh.'

'It's dark, mistress.'

'That won't matter. But it'll need to be hooded.'

'Oh, I never hood wowhawks, mistress. They're never any trouble.'

'This bird... this bird,' said Granny, 'is a bird I reckon no one's ever seen before. Hood it.'

Hodgesaargh hesitated. He recalled the circle of scorched earth and, before it, something looking for a shape in which it could survive...

'It is a wowhawk, isn't it, mistress?'

'And what makes you ask that?' said Granny slowly. 'After all, you're the falconer in these parts.'

'Because I found... in the woods... I saw...'

'What did you see, Hodgesaargh?'

Hodgesaargh gave up in the face of her stare. To think that he'd tried to capture a phoenix! At least the worst the other birds could do would be to draw blood. Supposing he'd been holding it... He was overcome by a very definite burning desire to get this bird out of here.

Strangely, though, the other birds weren't disturbed at all. Every hooded head was turned towards the little bird on Granny Weatherwax's wrist. Every blind, hooded head.

Hodgesaargh picked up another hood. As he fastened it over the bird's head he thought, for a moment, that there was a flash of gold from underneath.

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 on to 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 armoury's in there. All our weaponsl 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 armoury, 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's 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 by 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 cottagel 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 cant'

Oats gave up. Granny smirked triumphantly at the crowd and strode through them and towards 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 pummelled 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 humour 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.