Carpe Jugulum

we? There’d be none left to rule, for one thing!” There was polite laughter, loudest of all from the Count.
    It made perfect sense to Agnes. The Count was clearly a fair-minded man. Anyone who didn’t think so deserved to die.
    “And we are only human,” said the Countess. “Well…in fact, not only human. But if you prick us do we not bleed? Which always seems such a waste.”
    They’ve got you again, said a voice in her mind.
    Vlad’s head jerked up. Agnes felt him staring at her.
    “We are, above all, up to date,” said the Count. “And we do like what you’ve done to this castle, I must say.”
    “Oh, those torches back home!” said the Countess, rolling her eyes. “And some of the things in the dungeons, well, when I saw them I nearly died of shame. So… fifteen centuries ago. If one is a vampire then one is,” she gave a deprecating little laugh, “a vampire. Coffins, yes, of course, but there’s no point in skulking around as if you’re ashamed of what you are, is there? We all have…needs.”
    You’re all standing around like rabbits in front of a fox! Perdita raged in the caverns of Agnes’s brain.
    “Oh!” said the Countess, clapping her hands together. “I see you have a pianoforte!”
    It stood under a shroud in a corner of the room where it had stood for four months now. Verence had ordered it because he’d heard they were very modern, but the only person in the kingdom who’d come close to mastering it was Nanny Ogg who would, as she put it, come up occasionally for a tinkle on the ivories. * Then it had been covered over on the orders of Magrat and the palace rumor was that Verence had got an ear-bashing for buying what was effectively a murdered elephant.
    “Lacrimosa would so like to play for you,” the Countess commanded.
    “Oh, Mother ,” said Lacrimosa.
    “I’m sure we should love it,” said Verence. Agnes wouldn’t have noticed the sweat running down his face if Perdita hadn’t pointed it out: He’s trying to fight it, she said. Aren’t you glad you’ve got me?
    There was some bustling while a wad of sheet music was pulled out of the piano stool and the young lady sat down to play. She glared at Agnes before beginning. There was some sort of chemistry there, although it was the sort that results in the entire building being evacuated.
    It’s a racket, said the Perdita within, after the first few bars. Everyone’s looking as though it’s wonderful but it’s a din!
    Agnes concentrated. The music was beautiful but if she really paid attention, with Perdita nudging her, it wasn’t really there at all. It sounded like someone playing scales, badly and angrily.
    I can say that at any time, she thought. Any time I want, I can just wake up.
    Everyone else applauded politely. Agnes tried to, but found that her left hand was suddenly on strike. Perdita was getting stronger in her left arm.
    Vlad was beside her so quickly that she wasn’t even aware that he’d moved.
    “You are a…fascinating woman, Miss Nitt,” he said. “Such lovely hair, may I say? But who is Perdita?”
    “No one, really,” Agnes mumbled. She fought against the urge to bunch her left hand into a fist. Perdita was screaming at her again.
    Vlad stroked a strand of her hair. It was, she knew, good hair. It wasn’t simply big hair, it was enormous hair, as if she was trying to counterbalance her body. It was glossy, it never split, and was extremely well behaved except for a tendency to eat combs.
    “Eat combs?” said Vlad, coiling the hair around his finger.
    “Yes, it—”
    He can see what you’re thinking.
    Vlad looked puzzled again, like someone trying to make out some faint noise.
    “You…can resist, can’t you,” he said. “I was watching you when Lacci was playing the piano and losing. Do you have any vampire blood in you?”
    “What? No!”
    “It could be arranged, haha.” He grinned. It was the sort of grin that Agnes supposed was called infectious but, then, so was measles. It filled her immediate future. Something was pouring over her like a pink fluffy cloud saying: it’s all right, everything is fine, this is exactly right…
    “Look at Mrs. Ogg there,” said Vlad. “Grinning like a pumpkin, ain’t she. And she is apparently one of the more powerful witches in the mountains. It’s almost distressing, don’t you think?”
    Tell him you know he can read minds, Perdita commanded.
    And again, the puzzled, quizzical look.
    “You can—” Agnes