'You idiot! Supposing there was someone in there!'
'Vampires are weak during the day. Everyone knows that,' said Oats reproachfully.
'I can... feel them here... somewhere,' said Agnes. The rattling of the cart changed as it rumbled on to the cobblestones of the courtyard.
'Get off the other one and I'll have a look.'
'But supposing-'
He pushed her off and raised the lid before she could protest further. 'No, no vampire in here, either,' he said.
'Supposing one'd just reached out and grabbed you by the throat!'
'Om is my shield,' said Oats.
'Really? That's nice.'
'You may chortle-'
'I didn't chortle.'
'You can if you want to. But I'm sure we are doing the right thing. Did not Sonaton defeat the Beast of Batrigore in its very cave?'
'I don't know.'
'He did. And didn't the prophet Urdure vanquish the Dragon of Sluth on the Plain of Gidral after three days' fighting?'
'I don't know that we've got that much time-'
'And wasn't it true that the Sons of Exequial beat the hosts of Myrilom?'
'Yes?'
'You've heard of that?'
'No. Listen, we've stopped. I don't particularly want us to be found, do you? Not right now. And not by those guards. They didn't look like nice men at all.'
They exchanged a meaningful glance over the coffins, concerning a certain inevitability about the immediate future.
'They'll notice they're heavier, won't they?' said Oats.
'Those people driving the carts didn't look as though they notice anything very much.'
Agnes stared at the coffin beside her. There was some dirt in the bottom, but it was otherwise quite clean and had a pillow at the head end. There were also some side pockets in the lining.
'It's the easiest way in,' she said. 'You get into this one, I'll get into that one. And, look... those people you just told me about... Were they real historical characters?'
'Certainly. They-'
'Well, don't try to imitate them yet, all right? Otherwise you'll be a historical character too.'
She shut the lid, and still felt there was a vampire around.
Her hand touched the side pocket. There was something soft yet spiky there. Her fingers explored it in fascinated horror and discovered it to be a ball of wool with a couple of long knitting needles stuck through it, suggesting either a very domesticated form of voodoo or that someone was knitting a sock.
Who knitted socks in a coffin? On the other hand, perhaps even vampires couldn't sleep sometimes, and tossed and turned all day.
She braced herself as the coffin was picked up and tried to occupy her mind by working out where it was being taken. She heard the sound of footsteps on the cobbles, and then the ring of the flagstones on the main steps, echoing in the great hall, a sudden dip