Carpe Jugulum - Terry Pratchett [78]
“We’ve got to come in!” she said.
“Yes, Miss Nitt.”
He stood back obediently as they carried Granny into the little room.
“She been hurt, miss?”
“You do know there’s vampires in the castle?” said Agnes.
“Yes, miss?” said Hodgesaargh. His voice suggested that he’d just been told a fact, and he was waiting with polite interest to be told whether this was a good fact or a bad fact.
“They bit Granny Weatherwax. We need to let her lie down somewhere.”
“There’s my bed, miss.”
It was small and narrow, designed for people who went to sleep because they were tired.
“She might bleed on it a bit,” said Agnes.
“Oh, I bleed on it all the time,” said Hodgesaargh cheerfully. “And on the floor. I’ve got any amount of bandages and ointment, if that will be any help.”
“Well, it won’t do any harm,” said Agnes. “Er…Hodgesaargh, you do know vampires suck people’s blood, do you?”
“Yes, miss? They’ll have to queue up behind the birds for mine, then.”
“It doesn’t worry you?”
“Mrs. Ogg made me a huge tub of ointment, miss.”
That seemed to be that. Provided they didn’t touch his birds, Hodgesaargh didn’t much mind who ran the castle. For hundreds of years the falconers had simply got on with the important things, like falconry, which needed a lot of training, and left the kinging to amateurs.
“She’s soaking wet,” said Oats. “At least let’s wrap her up in a blanket or something.”
“And you’ll need some rope, said Agnes.
“Rope?”
“She’ll wake up.”
“You mean…we ought to tie her up?”
“If a vampire wants to turn you into a vampire, what happens?”
Oats’s hands clasped his turtle pendant for comfort as he tried to remember. “I…think they put something in the blood,” he said. “I think if they want to turn you into a vampire you get turned. That’s all there is to it. I don’t think you can fight it when it’s in the blood. You can’t say you don’t want to join. I don’t think it’s a power you can resist.”
“She’s good at resisting,” said Agnes.
“That good?” said Oats.
One of the Uberwald people shuffled along the corridor. It stopped when it heard a sound, looked around, saw nothing that had apparently made a noise, and plodded on again.
Nanny Ogg stepped out of the shadows, and then beckoned Magrat to follow her.
“Sorry, Nanny, it’s very hard to keep a baby quiet—”
“Shh! There’s quite a bit of noise coming from the kitchens. What could vampires want to cook?”
“It’s those people they’ve brought with them,” hissed Magrat. “They’ve been moving in new furniture. They’ve got to be fed, I suppose.”
“Yeah, like cattle. I reckon our best bet is to walk out bold as brass,” said Nanny. “These folk don’t look like they’re big on original thinkin’. Ready?” She absentmindedly took a swig from the bottle she was carrying. “You just follow me.”
“But look, what about Verence! I can’t just leave him. He’s my husband!”
“What will they do to him that you could prevent if you was here?” said Nanny. “Keep the baby safe, that’s the important thing. It always has been. Anyway…I told you, he’s got protection. I saw to that.”
“What, magic?”
“Much better’n that. Now, you just follow me and act snooty. You must’ve learned that, bein’ a queen. Never let ’em even think you haven’t got a right to be where you are.”
She strode out into the kitchen. The shabbily dressed people there gave her a dull-eyed look, like dogs waiting to see if a whipping was in prospect. On the huge stove, in place of Mrs. Scorbic’s usual array of scoured-clean pots, was a large, blackened cauldron. The contents were a basic gray. Nanny wouldn’t have stirred it for a thousand dollars.
“Just passing through,” she said, sharply. “Get on with whatever you were doing.”
The heads all turned to watch them. But toward the back of the kitchen a figure unfolded from the old armchair where Mrs. Scorbic sometimes held court and ambled toward them.
“Oh blast, it’s one of the bloody hangers-on,” said Nanny. “He’s between us and the door…”
“Ladies!” said the vampire, bowing. “May I be of assistance?”
“We were just