Carpe Jugulum

told himself conscientiously, but that was because Om had given them the power. But by all accounts the old woman didn’t believe in anything.
    She was very still now.
    The others had talked about her as though she was some great magician, but the figure he’d seen in the hall had been just a tired, worn-out old woman. He’d seen people down in the hospice in Aby Dyal, stiff and withdrawn until the pain was too great and all they had left was a prayer and then…not even that. That seemed to be where she was now.
    She was really still. Oats had only seen stillness like that when movement was no longer an option. Up the airy mountain and down the rushy glen ran the Nac mac Feegle, who seemed to have no concept of stealth. Progress was a little slower now, because some of the party broke away occasionally to have a fight amongst themselves or an impromptu hunt, and in addition to the King of Lancre there was now, bobbing through the heather, the fox, a stunned stag, a wild boar, and a weasel who’d been suspected of looking at a Nac mac Feegle in a funny way.
    Verence saw, muzzily, that they were heading for a bank at the edge of a field, long deserted and overgrown, topped with some ancient thorn trees.
    The pixies stopped with a jolt when the King’s head was a few inches away from a large rabbit hole.
    “Danna fittit!”
    “G’shovitt, s’yust!”
    Verence’s head was banged hopefully against the wet soil once or twice.
    “Hakkis lugs awa’!”
    “Bigjobs!”
    One of the pixies shook his head. “Canna’ do’t, ken? Els’ y’ole carlin’ll hae oor guts fae garters…”
    Unusually, the Nac mac Feegle fell silent for a moment. Then one of them said, “Na one’s got tha’ much guts, right eno’.”
    “An’ b’side, she’ll gi’us uskabarch muckell. We oathit. Y’canna’ cross a hag.”
    “Al’ at it noo, then…”
    Verence was dropped on the ground. There was a brief sound of digging, and mud showered over him. Then he was picked up again and carried through a much enlarged hole, his nose brushing tree roots in the ceiling. Behind him there was the sound of a tunnel being rapidly filled in.
    Then there was just a bank where rabbits obviously lived, topped with thorn trees. Unseen in the wild night, the occasional wisp of smoke drifted among the trunks.

Agnes leaned against the castle wall, which was streaming with water, and fought for breath. Granny hadn’t just told her to go away. The command had hit her brain like a bucket of ice. Even Perdita had felt it. There was no question of not obeying.
    Where would Nanny have gone? Agnes felt a pressing desire to be near her. Nanny Ogg radiated a perpetual field of It’ll-be-all-rightness. If they’d got out through the kitchens she could be anywhere …
    She heard the coach rattle out through the arch that led to the stables. It was just a looming shape, shrouded in spray from the rain, as it bounced across the cobbles of the courtyard. A figure by the driver, holding a sack over its head against the wind and rain, might have been Nanny. It hardly mattered. No one would have seen Agnes running through the puddles and waving.
    She trooped back to the arch as the coach disappeared down the hill. Well, they had been trying to get away, hadn’t they? And stealing a vampire’s coach had a certain Nanny Ogg style…
    Someone gripped both her arms from behind. Instinctively she tried to thrust back with her elbows. It was like trying to move against rock.
    “Why, Miss Agnes Nitt,” said Vlad, coldly. “A pleasant stroll to take in a little rain?”
    “They’ve got away from you!” she snapped.
    “You think so? Father could send that coach right into the gorge in a moment if he wanted to,” said the vampire. “But he won’t. We much prefer the personal touch.”
    “The in-your-neck approach,” said Agnes.
    “Hah, yes. But he really is trying to be reasonable. So I can’t persuade you to become one of us, Agnes?”
    “What, someone who lives by taking life from other people?”
    “We don’t usually go as far as that anymore,” said Vlad, dragging her forward. “And when we do…well, we make sure that we only kill people who deserve to die.”
    “Oh well, that’s all right then, isn’t it,” said Agnes. “I’m sure I’d trust a vampire’s judgment.”
    “My sister can be a bit too…rigorous at times, I admit.”
    “I’ve seen the people you brought with you! They practically moo!”
    “Oh, them . The domestics.