He tossed the notebook aside and took the pendant. 'And this is the holy turtle of Om, which I believe should make me cringe back in fear. My, my. Not even a very good replica. Cheaply made.'
Oats found a reserve of strength. He managed to say, 'And how would you know, foul fiend?'
'No, no, that's for demons,' sighed the Count.
He handed the turtle back to Oats.
'A commendable effort, none the less,' he said. 'If I ever want a nice cup of tea and a bun and possibly also a cheery sing-song, I will be sure to patronize your mission. But, at the moment, you are in my way.'
He hit the priest so hard that he slid under the long table.
'So much for piety,' he said. 'All that remains is for Granny Weatherwax to turn up. It should be any minute now. After all, did you think she'd trust you to get it right?'
The sound of the huge iron doorknocker reverberated through the hall.
The Count nodded happily. 'And that will be her,' he said. 'Of course it will. Timing is everything.'
The wind roared in when the doors were opened, swirling twigs and rain and Granny Weatherwax, blown like a leaf. She was soaked and covered in mud, her dress torn in several places.
Agnes realized that she'd never actually seen Granny Weatherwax wet before, even after the worst storm, but now she was drenched. Water poured off her and left a trail on the floor.
'Mistress Weatherwax! So good of you to come,' said the Count. 'Such a long walk on a dark night. Do sit by the fire for a while and rest.'
'I'll not rest here,' said Granny.
'At least have a drink or something to eat, then.'
'I'll not eat nor drink here.'
'Then what will you do?'
'You know well why I've come.'
She looks small, said Perdita. And tired, too.
'Ah, yes. The set-piece battle. The great gamble. The Weatherwax trademark. And... let me see... your shopping list today will be... "if I win I will expect you to free everyone and go back to Uberwald,' am I right?'
'No. I will expect you to die,' said Granny.
To her horror, Agnes saw that the old woman was swaying slightly.
The Count smiled. 'Excellent! But... I know how you think, Mistress Weatherwax. You always have more than one plan. You're standing there, clearly one step away from collapse, and yet... I'm not entirely certain that I believe what I'm seeing.'
'I couldn't give a damn what you're certain of,' said Granny. 'But you daren't let me walk out of here, I do know that. 'Cos you can't be sure of where I'll go, or what I'll do. I could be watching you from any pair of eyes. I might be behind any door. I have a few favours I might call in. I could come from any direction, at any time. An' I'm good at malice.'
'So? If I was so impolite, I could kill you right now. A simple arrow would suffice. Corporal Svitz?'
The mercenary gave a wave that was as good as he'd ever get to a salute, and raised his crossbow.
'Are you sure?' said Granny. 'Is your ape sure he'd have time for a second shot? That I'd still be here?'
'You're not a shape-changer, Mistress Weatherwax. And by the look of it you're in no position to run.'
'She's talking about moving her self into someone else's head,' said Vlad.
The witches looked at one another.
'Sorry, Esme,' said Nanny Ogg, at last. 'I couldn't stop meself thinking. I don't think I drunk quite enough.'