Carpe Jugulum

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 take 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