'I mean bless it, or dedicate it to Om, or... boil the hell out of it, perhaps,' said Agnes.
'There is a small ceremony I can-' He stopped. 'That's right! Vampires can be stopped by holy water!'
'Good. We'll go via the kitchens, then.'
The huge kitchens were almost empty. They never bustled these days, since the royal couple were not the sort who demanded three meat courses with every meal, and at the moment there was only Mrs Scorbic the cook in there, calmly rolling out pastry.
'Afternoon, Mrs Scorbic,' said Agnes, deciding the best course was to march past and rely on the authority of the pointy hat. 'We've just dropped in for some water, don't worry, I know where the pump is, but if you've got a couple of empty bottles that would be helpful.'
'That's right, dear,' said Mrs Scorbic.
Agnes stopped and turned.
Mrs Scorbic was famously acerbic, especially on the subject of soya, nut cutlets, vegetarian meals and any vegetable that couldn't be boiled until it was yellow. Even the King hesitated to set foot in her kitchen but, whereas he only got an angry silence, lesser mortals got the full force of her generalized wrath. Mrs Scorbic was permanently angry, in the same way that mountains are permanently large.
Today she was wearing a white dress, a white apron, a big white mob cap and a white bandage around her throat. She also looked, for want of any better word, happy.
Agnes urgently waved Oats towards the pump. 'Find something to fill up,' she hissed, and then said brightly, 'How are you feeling, Mrs Scorbic?'
'All the better for you asking, miss.'
'I expect you're busy with all these visitors?'
'Yes, miss.'
Agnes coughed. 'And, er, what did you give them for breakfast?'
The cook's huge pink brow wrinkled. 'Can't remember, miss.'
'Well done.'
Oats nudged her. 'I've filled up a couple of empty bottles and I said the Purification Rite of Om over them.'
'And that will work?'
'You must have faith.'
The cook was watching them amiably.
'Thank you, Mrs Scorbic,' said Agnes. 'Please get on with... whatever you were doing.'
'Yes, miss.' The cook turned back to her rolling pin.
Plenty of meals on her, said Perdita. Cook and larder all in one.
'That was tasteless!' said Agnes.
'What was?' said the priest.
'Oh... just a thought I had. Let's go up the back stairs.'
They were bare stone, communicating with the public bits of the keep via a door at every level. On the other side of those doors it was still bare stone, but a better class of masonry altogether and with tapestries and carpets. Agnes pushed open a door.
A couple of the Uberwald people were ambling along the corridor beyond, carrying something covered in a cloth. They didn't spare the newcomers a glance as Agnes led the way to the royal apartments.
Magrat was standing on a chair when they came in. She looked down at them while little painted wooden stars and animals tangled themselves around her upraised arm.
'Wretched things,' she said. 'You'd think it would be easy, wouldn't you? Hello, Agnes. Could you hold the chair?'