'There is?'
'Ath much ath you want. The old marthter wath very keen on that. When we had vithitorth ecthpected, he alwayth thed, "Igor, make thertain the windowth are clean and there'th lotth of lemonth and birth of ornament that can be turned into religiouth thymbolth around the plathe." He enjoyed it when people played by the ruleth. Very fair, the old marthter.'
'Yeah, but that'd mean he'd die, wouldn't it?' said Nanny. She opened a cupboard and a stack of wrinkled lemons fell out.
Igor shrugged. 'You win thome, you lothe thome,' he said. 'The old marthter uthed to that'; "Igor, the day vampireth win all the time, that'th the day we'll be knocked back beyond return." Mind you, he got annoyed when people pinched hith thockth. He'd thay, "Thod, that wash thilk, ten dollarth a pair in Ankh-Morpork."'
'And he probably spent a lot of money on blotting paper, too,' said Nanny. Another cupboard revealed a rack of stakes, along with a mallet and a simple anatomical diagram with an X over the heart area.
'The chart wath my idea, Mithith Ogg,' said Igor proudly. 'The old marthter got fed up with people just hammering the thtaketh in any old where. He thed he didn't mind the dying, that wath quite rethtful, but he did object to looking like a colander.'
'You're a bright chap, aren't you, Igor?' said Nanny.
Igor beamed. 'I've got a good brain in my head.'
'Chose it yourself, did you? No, only joking. You can't do brains.'
'I've got a dithtant couthin at Untheen Univerthity, you know.'
'Really? What's he do there?'
'Floatth around in hith jar,' said Igor proudly. 'Thall I thow you the holy water thellar? The old marthter built up a very good collection.'
'Sorry? A vampire collected holy water?' said Magrat.
'I think I'm beginning to understand,' said Nanny. 'He was a sportsman, right?'
'Egthactly!'
'And a good sportsman always gives the valiant prey a decent chance,' said Nanny. 'Even if it means having a cellar of Chateau Nerf de Pope. Sounds an intelligent bird, your old boy. Not like this new one. He's just clever.'
'I don't follow you,' said Magrat.
'Being killed's nothing to a vampire,' said Nanny. 'They always find a way of coming back. Everyone knows that, who knows anything about vampires. If they're not too hard to kill and it's all a bit of an adventure for people, well, like as not they'll just stake him or chuck him in the river and go home. Then he has a nice restful decade or so, bein' dead, and comes back from the grave and away he goes again. That way he never gets totally wiped out and the lads of the village get some healthy exercise.'
'The Magpyrs will come after us,' said Magrat, clutching the baby to her. 'They'll see we're not in Lancre and they'll know we couldn't have gone down to the plains. They'll find the smashed coach, too. They'll find us, Nanny.'
Nanny looked at the array of jars and bottles, and the stakes neatly organized in order of size.
'It'll take them a little while,' she said. 'We've got time to get... prepared.'
She turned around with a bottle of blessed water in one hand, a crossbow loaded with a wooden bolt, and a bag of musty lemons in her mouth.
'Eg oo it I ay,' she said.
'Pardon?' said Magrat.
Nanny spat out the lemons.
'Now we'll try things my way,' she said. 'I'm not good at thinkin' like Granny but I'm bloody good at actin' like me. Headology's for them as can handle it. Let's kick some bat.'
The wind soughed across the moors on the edge of Lancre, and hissed through the heather.
Around some old mounds, half buried in brambles, it shook the wet branches of a single thorn tree, and shredded the curling smoke that drifted up through the roots.
There was a single scream.
Down below, the Nac mac Feegle were doing their best, but strength is not the same as weight and mass and even with pixies hanging on to every limb and Big Aggie herself sitting on