Carpe Jugulum

'I don't know where Granny Weatherwax went,' she said. 'Maybe she is in here with me, eh?' A flash of mad inspiration struck her and she added, in Granny's sharp tones, 'And if you strike me down again I'll bite my way up through your boots!'

'A nice try, Miss Nitt,' said the Count, striding towards her. 'But I don't think so-'

He stopped, clutching at the gold chain that was suddenly around his neck.

Behind him the mayor hauled on it with all his weight, forcing the vampire to the ground.

The citizens looked at one another, and all moved at once.

Vampires rose into the air, trying to gain height, kicking at clutching hands. Torches were snatched from walls. The night was suddenly full of screams.

Agnes looked up at Vlad, who was staring in horror. Lacrimosa was surrounded by a closing ring of people.

'You'd better run,' she said, 'or they'll-'

He turned and lunged, and the last thing she saw was teeth.

The track downhill was worse than the climb. Springs had erupted in every hollow, and every path was a rivulet.

As Granny and oats lurched from mud slough to bog, Oats reflected on the story in the Book of Om — the story, really — about the prophet Brutha and his journey with Om across the burning desert, which had ended up changing Omnianism for ever. It had replaced swords with sermons, which at least caused fewer deaths except in the case of the really very long ones, and had broken the Church into a thousand pieces which had then started arguing with one another and finally turned out Oats, who argued with himself.

Oats wondered how far across the desert Brutha would have got if he'd been trying to support Granny Weatherwax. There was something unbending about her, something hard as rock. By about halfway the blessed prophet might, he felt guiltily, have yielded to the temptation to... well, at least say something unpleasant, or give a meaningful sigh. The old woman had got very crotchety since being warmed up. She seemed to have something on her mind.

The rain had stopped but the wind was sharp, and there were still occasional stinging bursts of hail.

'Won't be long now,' he panted.

'You don't know that,' said Granny, splashing through black, peaty mud.

'No, you're absolutely right,' said Oats. 'I was just saying that to be cheerful.'

'Hasn't worked,' said Granny.

'Mistress Weatherwax, would you like me to leave you here?' said Oats.

Granny sniffed. 'Wouldn't worry me,' she said.

'Would you like me to?' said Oats.

'It's not my mountain,' said Granny. 'I wouldn't be one to tell people where they should be.'

'I'll go if you want me to,' said Oats.

'I never asked you to come,' said Granny simply.

'You'd be dead if I hadn't!'

'That's no business of yours.'

'My god, Mistress Weatherwax, you try me sorely.'

'Your god, Mister Oats, tries everyone. That's what gods generally does, and that's why I don't truck with 'em. And they lays down rules all the time.'

'There have to be rules, Mistress Weatherwax.'

'And what's the first one that your Om requires, then?'

'That believers should worship no other god but Om,' said Oats promptly.

'Oh yes? That's gods for you. Very self-centred, as a rule.'

'I think it was to get people's attention,' said Oats. 'There are many commandments about dealing well with other people, if that's what you're getting at.'

'Really? And s'pose someone doesn't want to believe in Om and tries to live properly?'

'According to the prophet Brutha, to live properly is to believe in Om.'

'Oho, that's clever! He gets you coming and going,' said Granny. 'It took a good thinker to come up with that. Well done. What other clever things did he say?'

'He doesn't say things to be clever,' said Oats hotly. 'But, since you ask, he said in his Letter to the Simonites that it is through other people that we truly become people.'

'Good. He got that one right.'

'And he said that we should take light into dark places.'

Granny didn't say anything.

'I thought I'd mention that,' said Oats, 'because when you were... you know, kneeling, back in the forge ... you said something very similar...'

Granny stopped so suddenly that Oats nearly fell over.

'I did what?'

'You were mumbling and-'

'I was talkin' in my... sleep?'

'Yes, and you said something about darkness being where the light needs to be, which I remember because in the Book of Om-'

'You listened?'

'No, I wasn't listening, but I couldn't help hearing, could I? And you sounded as if you were having an argument with someone...'

'Can you remember everything I said?'

'I think so.'

Granny staggered on a little, and stopped in a puddle of black water that began to rise over her boots.

'Can you forget?' she said.

'Pardon?'

'You wouldn't be so unkind as to pass on to anyone else the ramblings of a poor of woman who was probably off her head, would you?' said Granny slowly.

Oats thought for a moment. 'What ramblings were these, Mistress Weatherwax?'

Granny seemed to sag with relief.

'Ah. Good thing you asked, really, bein' as there weren't any.'