Carpe Jugulum

belching?”
    “That’s optional.”
    “And…”
    “Yes, dear?”
    “He’ll be all right, will he?”
    “Oh yes. Nothing’s going to happen to him. It’s like that chess stuff, see? Let the Queen do the fightin’, ’cos if you lose the King you’ve lost everything.”
    “And us?”
    “Oh, we’re always all right. You remember that. We happen to other people.”

A lot of people were happening to King Verence. He lay in a sort of warm, empty daze, and every time he opened his eyes it was to see scores of the Feegle watching him in the firelight. He overheard snatches of conversation or, more correctly, argument.
    “…he’s oor kingie noo?”
    “Aye, sortaley.”
    “That pish of a hobyah?”
    “Hushagob! D’man’s sicken, can y’no vard?”
    “Aye, mucken! Born sicky, imhoe!”
    Verence felt a small yet powerful kick on his foot.
    “See you, kingie? A’ye a lang stick o’midlin or wha’, bigjobs?”
    “Yes, well done,” he mumbled.
    The interrogating Feegle spat near his ear.
    “Ach, I wouldna’ gi’ye skeppens for him—”
    There was a sudden silence, a real rarity in any space containing at least one Feegle. Verence swiveled his eyes sideways.
    Big Aggie had emerged from the smoke.
    Now that he could see her clearly, the dumpy creature looked like a squat version of Nanny Ogg. And there was something about the eyes. Verence was technically an absolute ruler and would continue to be so provided he didn’t make the mistake of repeatedly asking Lancrastians to do anything they didn’t want to do. He was aware that the commander-in-chief of his armed forces was more inclined to take orders from his mum than his king.
    Whereas Big Aggie didn’t even have to say anything. Everyone just watched her, and then went and got things done.
    Big Aggie’s man appeared at her side.
    “Ye’ll be wantin’ to save yer ladie and yer bairn, Big Aggie’s thinkin’,” he said.
    Verence nodded. He didn’t feel strong enough to do anything else.
    “But ye’ll still be verra crassick from loss o’ blud, Big Aggie reckons. The heelins put something in their bite that makes ye biddable.”
    Verence agreed absolutely. Anything anyone said was all right by him.
    Another pixie appeared through the smoke, carrying an earthenware bowl. White suds slopped over the top.
    “Ye canna be kinging lyin’ down,” said Big Aggie’s man. “So she’s made up some brose for ye…”
    The pixie lowered the bowl, which looked as though it was full of cream, although dark lines spiraled on its surface. Its bearer stood back reverentially.
    “What’s in it?” Verence croaked.
    “Milk,” said Big Aggie’s man, promptly. “And some o’ Big Aggie’s brewin’. An’ herbs.”
    Verence grasped the last word thankfully. He shared with his wife the curious but unshakeable conviction that anything with herbs in it was safe and wholesome and nourishing.
    “So you’ll be having a huge dram,” said the old pixie. “And then we’ll be finding you a sword.”
    “I’ve never used a sword,” said Verence, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. “I—I believe violence is the last resort…”
    “Ach, weel, so long as ye’ve brung yer bucket and spade,” said Big Aggie’s man. “Now you just drink up, kingie. Ye’ll soon see things differently.”

The vampires glided easily over the moonlit clouds. There was no weather up here and, to Agnes’s surprise, no chill either.
    “I thought you turned into bats!” she shouted to Vlad.
    “Oh, we could if we wanted to,” he laughed. “But that’s a bit too melodramatic for Father. He says we should not conform to crass stereotypes.”
    A girl glided alongside them. She looked rather like Lacrimosa; that is, she looked like someone who admired the way Lacrimosa looked and so had tried to look like her. I bet she’s not a natural brunette, said Perdita. And if I used that much mascara I’d at least try not to look like Harry the Happy Panda .
    “This is Morbidia,” said Vlad. “Although she’s been calling herself Tracy lately, to be cool. Mor—Tracy, this is Agnes.”
    “What a good name!” said Morbidia. “How clever of you to come up with it! Vlad, everyone wants to stop off at Escrow. Can we?”
    “It’s my real—” Agnes began, but her words were carried away on the wind.
    “I thought we were going to the castle,” said Vlad.
    “Yes, but some of us haven’t fed for days and that old woman was hardly even a snack and the