Agnes looked back at Nanny and her sons. They were listening quite contentedly to the worst music since Shawn Ogg's bagpipes had been dropped down the stairs.
'And... you're taking our country?' she said. 'Just like that?'
Vlad gave her another smile, stood up, and walked towards her. 'Oh, yes. Bloodlessly. Well... metaphorically. You really are quite remarkable, Miss Nitt. The Uberwald girls are so sheep-like. But you. .. you're concealing something from me. Everything I feel tells me you're quite under my power - and yet you're not.' He chuckled. 'This is delightful...'
Agnes felt her mind unravelling. The pink fog was blowing through her head...
... and looming out of it, deadly and mostly concealed, was the iceberg of Perdita.
As Agnes withdrew into the pinkness she felt the tingle spread down her arms and legs. It was not pleasant. It was like sensing someone standing right behind you and then feeling them take one step forward.
Agnes would have pushed him away. That is, Agnes would have dithered and tried to talk her way out of things, but if push had come to shove then she'd have pushed hard. But Perdita struck, and when her hand was halfway around she turned it palm out and curled her fingers to bring her nails into play...
He caught her wrist, his hand moving in a blur.
'Well done,' he said, laughing.
His other hand shot out and caught her other arm as it swung.
'I like a woman with spirit!'
However, he had run out of hands, and Perdita still had a knee in reserve. Vlad's eyes crossed and he made that small sound best recorded as 'ghni...'
'Magnificent!' he croaked as he folded up.
Perdita pulled herself away and ran over to Nanny Ogg, grabbing the woman's arm.
'Nanny, we are leaving!'
'Are we, dear?' said Nanny calmly, not making a move.
'And Jason and Darren too!'
Perdita didn't read as much as Agnes. She thought books were bor-ing. But now she really needed to know: what did you use against vampires?
Holy symbols! Agnes prompted from within.
Perdita looked around desperately. Nothing in the room looked particularly holy. Religion, apart from its use as a sort of cosmic registrar, had never caught on in Lancre.
'Daylight is always good, my dear,' said the Countess, who must have caught the edge of her thought. 'Your uncle always had big windows and easily twitched aside curtains, didn't he, Count?'
'Yes indeed,' said the Count.
'And when it came to running water, he always kept the moat flowing perfectly, didn't he?'
'Fed from a mountain stream, I think,' said the Count.
'And, for a vampire, he always seemed to have so many ornamental items around the castle that could be bent or broken into the shape of some religious symbol, as I recall.'
'He certainly did. A vampire of the old school.'
'Yes.' The Countess gave her husband a smile. 'The stupid school.' She turned to Perdita and looked her up and down. 'So I think you will find we are here to stay, my dear. Although you do seem to have made an impression on my son. Come here, girl. Let me have a good look at you.'
Even cushioned inside her own head Agnes felt the weight of the vampire's will hit Perdita like an iron bar, pushing her down. Like the other end of a seesaw, Agnes rose.
'Where's Magrat? What have you done with her?' she said.
'Putting the baby to bed, I believe,' said the Countess, raising her eyebrows. 'A lovely child.'