'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! Wman's sicken, can y'no yard?'

'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 swivelled 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 spiralled 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.

'So you'll be having a huge dram,' said the 'old pixie. 'And then we'll be finding you a sword.

'I've never used a sword,' said Verence, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. 'I- I believe violence is the last resort...'

'Ach, weel, so long as ye've brung yer bucket and spade,' said Big Aggie's man. 'Now you just drink up, kingie. Ye'll soon see things differently.'

The vampires glided easily over the moonlit clouds. There was no weather up here and, to Agnes's surprise, no chill either.

'I thought you turned into bats!' she shouted to Vlad.

'Oh, we could if we wanted to,' he laughed. 'But that's a bit too melodramatic for Father. He says we should not conform to crass stereotypes.'

A girl glided alongside them. She looked rather like Lacrimosa; that is, she looked like someone who admired the way Lacrimosa looked and so had tried to look like her. I bet she's not a natural brunette, said Perdita. And if I used that much mascara I'd at least try not to look like Harry the Happy Panda.

'This is Morbidia,' said Vlad. 'Although she's been calling herself Tracy lately, to be cool. Mor- Tracy, this is Agnes.'

'What a good name!' said Morbidia. 'How clever of you to come up with it! Vlad, everyone wants to stop off at Escrow. Can we?'

'It's my real-' Agnes began, but her words were carried away on the wind.

'I thought we were going to the castle,' said Vlad.

'Yes, but some of us haven't fed for days and that old woman was hardly even a snack and the Count won't allow us to feed in Lancre yet and he says it'll be all right and it's not much out of our way.'

'Oh. Well, if Father says...'

Morbidia swooped away.

'We haven't been to Escrow for weeks,' said Vlad. 'It's a pleasant little town.'

'You're going to feed there?' said Agnes.

'It's not what you think.'

'You don't know what I think.'

'I can guess, though.' He smiled at her. 'I wonder if Father said yes because he wants you to see? It's so easy to be frightened of what you don't know. And then, perhaps, you could be a sort of ambassador. You could tell Lancre what life under the Magpyrs is really like.'

'People being dragged out of their beds, blood on the walls, that sort of thing?'

'There you go again, Agnes. It's most unfair. Once people find out you're a vampire they act as if you're some kind of monster.'

They curved gently through the night air.

'Father's rather proud of his work in Escrow,' said Vlad. 'I think you'll be impressed. And then perhaps I could dare hope-'

No.

'I'm really being rather understanding about this, Agnes.'

'You attacked Granny Weatherwax! You bit her.'

'Symbolically. To welcome her into the family.'

'Oh, really? Oh, that makes it all better, does it? And she'll be a vampire?'

'Certainly. A good one, I suspect. But that's only horrifying if you believe being a vampire is a bad thing. We don't. You'll come to see that we're right, in time,' said Vlad. 'Yes, Escrow would be good for you. For us. We shall see what can be done...'

Agnes stared.

He does smile nicely... He's a vampire! All right, but apart from that- Oh, apart from that, eh? Nanny would tell you to make the most of it. That might work for Nanny, but can you imagine kissing that? Yes, I can. I will admit, he does smile nicely, and he looks good in those waistcoats, but look at what he is- Do you notice? Notice what? There's something different about him. He's just trying to get round us, that's all. No... there's something...new...

'Father says Escrow is a model community,' said Vlad. 'it shows what happens if ancient enmity is put aside and humans and vampires learn to live in peace. Yes. It's not far now. Escrow is the future.'

A low ground mist drifted between the trees, curling up in little tongues as the mule's hooves disturbed it. Rain dripped off the branches. There was even a bit of sullen thunder now, not the outgoing sort that cracks the sky but the other sort, which hangs around the horizons and gossips nastily with other storms.

Mightily Oats had tried a conversation with himself a few times, but the problem with a conversation was that the other person had to join in. Occasionally he heard a snore from behind him. When he looked around, the wowhawk on her shoulder flapped its wings in his face.

Sometimes the snoring would stop with a grunt, and a hand would tap him on a shoulder and point out a direction which looked like every other direction.

It did so now.

'What's that you're singing?' Granny demanded.

'I wasn't singing very loudly.'

'What's it called?'

'It's called "Om Is In His Holy Temple".'

'Nice tune,' said Granny.

'It keeps my spirits up,' Oats admitted. A wet twig slapped his face. After all, he thought, I may have a vampire behind me, however good she is.

'You take comfort from it, do you?'

'I suppose so.'

'Even that bit about "smiting evil with thy sword"? That'd worry me, if I was an Omnian. Do you get just a little sort of tap for a white lie but minced up for murder? That's the sort of thing that'd keep me awake o' nights.'