The vampires dived for cover as the bottle, turning over and over, arced down from the battlements.

It shattered on the bridge, and most of the contents hit a vampire, who burst into flame as if hit by burning oil.

'Now really, Cryptopher, there's no call for that sort of thing,' said the Count, as the blazing figure screamed and spun around in a circle. 'It's all in your mind, you know. Positive thinking, that's the ticket-'

'He's turning black,' said the Countess. 'Aren't you going to do something?'

'Oh, very well. Vlad, just kick him off the drawbridge, will you?'

The luckless Cryptopher was pushed, squirming, into the chasm.

'You know, that should not have happened,' said the Count, looking at his blistered fingers. 'He obviously was not... truly one of us.' Far below, there was a splash.

The rest of the vampires scrambled for the cover of the gate arch as another bottle exploded near the Count. A drop splashed his leg, and he glanced down at the little wisp of smoke.

'Some error appears to have crept in,' he said.

'I've never been one to put myself forward,' said the Countess, 'but I strongly suggest you find a new plan, dear. One which works, perhaps?'

'I have one already formed,' he said, tapping his knuckles against the huge oak gates. 'If everyone would perhaps stand aside...'

Up on the battlement Igor nudged Nanny Ogg, who lowered a decanter of water from the Holy Fountain of Seven-Handed Sek and followed his pointing thumb.[14]

Clouds were suddenly spiralling, with blue light flashing inside them.

'There'th going to be a thtorm!' he said. 'The top of my head'th tingling! Run!'

They reached the tower just as a single bolt of lightning blew the doors apart and shattered the stones where they had been standing.

'Well, that was easy,' said Nanny, lying full length on the floor.

'They can control the weather,' said Igor.

'Blast!' said Nanny. 'That's right. Everyone knows that, who knows anything about vampires.'

'Thorry. But they won't be able to try that on the inthide doorth. Come on!'

'What's that smell?' said Nanny, sniffing. 'Igor, your boots are on fire!'

'Damn! And thethe feet were nearly new thicth month ago,' said Igor, as Nanny's holy water sizzled over the smoking leather. 'It'th my wire, it pickth up thtray currentth.'

'What happened, someone was hit by a falling buffalo?' said Nanny, as they hurried down the stairs.

'It wath a tree,' said Igor reproachfully. 'Mikhail Thwenitth up at the logging camp, the poor man. Practically nothing left, but hith parentth thaid I could have hith feet to remember him by.'

'That was strangely kind of them.'

'Well, I gave him a thpare arm after the acthe acthident a few yearth ago and when old Mr Thwenitth'th liver gave out I let him have the one Mr Kochak left to me for giving Mithith Kochak a new eye.'

'People round here don't so much die as pass on,' said Nanny.

'What goeth around cometh around,' said Igor.

'And your new plan is... ?' said Lacrimosa, stepping across the rubble.

'We'll kill everyone. Not an original plan, I admit, but tried and tested,' said the Count. This met with general approval, but his daughter looked unsatisfied.

'What, everyone? All at once?'

'Oh, you can save some for later if you must.'

The Countess clutched his arm.

'Oh, this does so remind me of our honeymoon,' she said. 'Don't you remember those wonderful nights in Grjsknvij?'

'Oh, fresh morning of the world indeed,' said the Count solemnly.

'Such romance... and we met such lovely people, too. Do you remember Mr and Mrs Harker?'

'Very fondly. I recall they lasted nearly all week. Now, listen all of you. Holy symbols will not hurt us. Holy water is just water — yes, I know, but Cryptopher just wasn't concentrating. Garlic is just another member of the allium family. Do onions hurt us? Are we frightened of shallots? No. We've just got a bit tired, that's all. Malicia, call up the rest of the clan. We will have a little holiday from reason. And afterwards, in the morning, there will be room for a new world order I can't be having with this at all...'

He rubbed his forehead. The Count prided himself on his mind, and tended it carefully. But right now it felt exposed, as though someone was looking over his shoulder. He wasn't certain he was thinking right. She couldn't have got into his head, could she? He'd had hundreds of years of experience. There was no way some village witch could get past his defences. It stood to reason...

His throat felt parched. At least he could obey the call of his nature. But this time it was an oddly disquieting one.

'Do we have any... tea?' he said.

'What is tea?' said the Countess.

'It... grow on a bush, I think,' said the Count.

'How do you bite it, then?'

'You... er... lower it into boiling water, don't you?' The Count shook his head, trying to free himself of this demonic urge.

'While it's still alive?' said Lacrimosa, brightening up.

... sweet biscuits...'mumbled the Count.

'I think you should try to get a grip, dear,' said the Countess.

'This... tea,' said Lacrimosa. 'Is it... brown?'

'Yes,' whispered the Count..

'Because when we were in Escrow I was going to put the bite on one of them and I had this horrible mental picture of a cup full of the wretched stuff,' said his daughter.

The Count shook himself again.

'I don't know what's happening to me,' he said. 'So let's stick to what we do know, shall we? Obey our blood...'

The second casualty in the battle for the castle was Vargo, a lank young man who actually became a vampire because he thought he'd meet interesting girls, or any girls at all, and had been told he looked good in black. And then he'd found that a vampire's interests always centre, sooner or later, on the next meal, and hitherto he'd never really thought of the neck as the most interesting organ a girl could have.

Right now all he wanted to do was sleep, so as the vampires surged into the castle proper he sauntered gently away in the direction of his cellar and nice comfortable coffin. Of course he was hungry, since all he'd got in Escrow was a foot in the chest, but he had just enough sense of self-preservation to let the others get on with the hunting so that he could turn up later for the feast.

His coffin was in the centre of the dim cellar, its lid lying carelessly on the floor beside it. He'd always been messy with the bedclothes, even as a human.

Vargo climbed in, twisted and turned a few times to get comfortable on the pillow, then pulled the lid down and latched it.

As the eye of narrative drew back from the coffin on its stand, two things happened. One happened comparatively slowly, and this was Vargo's realization that he never recalled the coffin having a pillow before.

The other was Greebo deciding that he was as mad as hell and wasn't going to take it any more. He'd been shaken around in the wheely thing and then sat on by Nanny, and he was angry about that because he knew, in a dim, animal way, that scratching Nanny might be the single most stupid thing he could do in the whole world, since no one else was prepared to feed him. This hadn't helped his temper.

Then he'd encountered a dog, which had tried to lick him. He'd scratched and bitten it a few times, but this had had no effect apart from encouraging it to try to be more friendly.

He'd finally found a comfy resting place and had curled up into a ball, and now someone was using him as a cushion-

There wasn't a great deal of noise. The coffin rocked a few times, and then pivoted around.

Greebo sheathed his claws and went back to sleep.

'-burn, with a dear bright light-'