Carpe Jugulum

here.”
    “Mistress?”
    “Hodgesaargh,” said Granny patiently, “this phoenix laid more than one egg.”
    “What? But it can’t! According to mythology—” Oats began.
    “Oh, mythology ,” said Granny. “Mythology’s just the folktales of people who won ’cos they had bigger swords. They’re just the people to spot the finer points of ornithology, are they? Anyway, one of anything ain’t going to last for very long, is it? Firebirds have got enemies, same as everything else. Give me a hand up, Mister Oats. How many birds in the mews, Hodgesaargh?”
    The falconer looked at his fingers for a moment.
    “Fifty.”
    “Counted ’em lately?”
    They stood and watched while he walked from post to post. Then they stood and watched while he walked back and counted them again. Then he spent some time looking at his fingers.
    “Fifty-one?” said Granny, helpfully.
    “I don’t understand it, mistress.”
    “You’d better count them by types, then.”
    This produced a count of nineteen lappet-faced worriers where there should have been eighteen.
    “Perhaps one flew in because it saw the others,” said Oats. “Like pigeons.”
    “It doesn’t work like that, sir,” said the falconer.
    “One of ’em won’t be tethered,” said Granny. “Trust me.”
    They found it at the back, slightly smaller that the other worriers, hanging meekly from its perch.
    Fewer birds could sit more meekly than the Lancre wow-hawk, or lappet-faced worrier, a carnivore permanently on the lookout for the vegetarian option. It spent most of its time asleep in any case, but when forced to find food it tended to sit on a branch out of the wind somewhere and wait for something to die. When in the mews the worriers would initially perch like other birds and then, talons clamped around the pole, doze off peacefully upside down. Hodgesaargh bred them because they were found only in Lancre and he liked the plumage, but all reputable falconers agreed that for hunting purposes the only way you could reliably bring down prey with a wowhawk was by using it in a slingshot.
    Granny reached out toward it.
    “I’ll fetch you a glove,” said Hodgesaargh, but she waved him away.
    The bird hopped onto her wrist.
    Granny gasped, and little threads of green and blue burned like marsh gas along her arm for a moment.
    “Are you all right?” said Oats.
    “Never been better. I’ll need this bird, Hodgesaargh.”
    “It’s dark, mistress.”
    “That won’t matter. But it’ll need to be hooded.”
    “Oh, I never hood wowhawks, mistress. They’re never any trouble.”
    “This bird… this bird,” said Granny, “is a bird I reckon no one’s ever seen before. Hood it.”
    Hodgesaargh hesitated. He recalled the circle of scorched earth and, before it, something looking for a shape in which it could survive…
    “It is a wowhawk, isn’t it, mistress?”
    “And what makes you ask that?” said Granny slowly. “After all, you’re the falconer in these parts…”
    “Because I found…in the woods…I saw…”
    “What did you see, Hodgesaargh?”
    Hodgesaargh gave up in the face of her stare. To think that he’d tried to capture a phoenix! At least the worst the other birds could do would be to draw blood. Supposing he’d been holding it…He was overcome by a very definite burning desire to get this bird out of here.
    Strangely, though, the other birds weren’t disturbed at all. Every hooded head was turned toward the little bird on Granny Weatherwax’s wrist. Every blind, hooded head.
    Hodgesaargh picked up another hood. As he fastened it over the bird’s head he thought, for a moment, that there was a flash of gold from underneath.
    He put that down as not his business. He’d survived quite happily in the castle for many years by knowing where his business was, and he was suddenly very clear that it wasn’t here, thank goodness.
    Granny took a few deep breaths.
    “Right,” she said. “Now we’ll go up to the castle.”
    “What for? Why?” said Oats.
    “Good grief, man, why d’you think?”
    “The vampires are gone,” said the priest. “While you were…getting better. Mr. Hodges…aargh found out. They’ve just left the soldiers and the, er, servants. There was a lot of noise and the coach went, too. There’s guards all over the place.”
    “How did the coach get out, then?”
    “Well, it was the vampires’ coach and their servant was driving it, but Jason Ogg said he saw Mrs. Ogg, too.”
    Granny steadied