Carpe Jugulum (Discworld, #23; Witches, #6)

by Terry Pratchett

Something surfaced in her mind, like a message in a bottle written indistinctly in some foreign language. She tried, but she could not read it. “I wish Granny were here,” she said at last. “She’d know what to do.”

When the midnight hour lies on the glass like a big cocktail onion, there’s always an extra edge to the laughter.

This man looked like . . . well, like a gentleman of independent means and an inquiring mind, perhaps, the kind of man who goes for long walks in the morning and spends the afternoons improving his mind in his own private library or doing small interesting experiments on parsnips and never, ever, worrying about money. There was something glossy about him, and also a sort of urgent, hungry enthusiasm, the kind you get when someone has just read a really interesting book and is determined

“The Count was just telling me how he is planning to move into the castle and rule the country,” said Verence. “And I was saying that I think we shall be honored.”

“The trouble is that people always think of vampires in terms of their diet,” said the Count, as Nanny hurried away. “It’s really rather insulting. You eat animal flesh and vegetables, but it hardly defines you, does it?”

Hunter and prey are all just part of the great cycle of life.”

Didn’t you listen to what they were saying? They’re vampires!

He’s controlling you! Perdita screamed. They’re . . . affecting people!

Vlad gave her an odd look, as if she wasn’t reacting in quite the right way. Then he smiled. Agnes noticed that he had very white teeth.

That’s me! That’s me! He can’t work me out! Now let’s both get out of here! yelled Perdita.

Agnes gave him a nod and staggered away, clutching at her head. It felt like a ball of cotton wool in which there was, inexplicably, a needle.

“Haven’t seen any of those for a long time,” said Nanny. “I’ve never seen centaurs at all except in pictures,” said Agnes.

“My name is Perdita and I’m taking over this body right now.”

“They were saying all this stuff about drinkin’ blood and killin’ people and everyone was just noddin’ and sayin’, ‘Well, well, how very fascinatin’?”

Nanny rubbed her chin, torn between the vampiric revelation and prurient curiosity about Perdita.

“Look, you know the part of you that wants to do all the things you don’t dare do, and thinks the thoughts you don’t dare think?” Nanny’s face stayed blank. Agnes floundered. “Like . . . maybe . . . rip off all your clothes and run naked in the rain?” she hazarded. “Oh yes. Right,” said Nanny. “Well . . . I suppose Perdita is that part of me.” “Really? I’ve always been that part of me,” said Nanny. “The important thing is to remember where you left your clothes.”

“But . . . vampires . . . Verence wouldn’t be so stupid as to send an invitation to vampires, would he?” She paused for thought. “Yes, he would. Prob’ly think of it as offering the hand of friendship.”

The moment you get near them, you’ll forget all about it. They do something to your mind, Nanny.”

“Then this is Esme’s type of stuff,” said Nanny. “Messing with minds and so on. It’s meat and drink to her.”

Perdita who blurted it out, but it was Agnes who got the blow. It wasn’t a ladylike slap of disapproval. Nanny Ogg had reared some strapping sons; the Ogg forearm was a power in its own right.

If you looked at it closely, you could even see the detail. It was not exactly a flame. It was more like a bright feather . . .

They’ve got you again, said a voice in her mind. Vlad’s head jerked up. Agnes felt him staring at her.

You’re all standing around like rabbits in front of a fox! Perdita raged in the caverns of Agnes’s brain.

There was some sort of chemistry there, although it was the sort that results in the entire building being evacuated.

It’s a racket, said the Perdita within, after the first few bars. Everyone’s looking as though it’s wonderful but it’s a din!

Perdita was getting stronger in her left arm.

“You are a . . . fascinating woman, Miss Nitt,” he said. “Such lovely hair, may I say? But who is Perdita?”

“You . . . can resist, can’t you,” he said. “I was watching you when Lacci was playing the piano and losing. Do you have any vampire blood in you?” “What? No!” “It could be arranged, haha.”

Something was pouring over her like a pink fluffy cloud saying: it’s all right, everything is fine, this is exactly right . . .

Tell him you know he can read minds, Perdita commanded. And again, the puzzled, quizzical look. “You can—” Agnes began. “No, not exactly. Just people,” said Vlad. “One learns, one learns. One picks things up.”

“Things will be changing, Agnes Nitt,” he said. “My father is right. Why lurk in dark castles? Why be ashamed? We’re vampires. Or, rather, vampyres. Father’s a bit keen on the new spelling. He says it indicates a clean break with a stupid and superstitious past. In any case, it’s not our fault. We were born vampires.”

metaphorically. You really are quite remarkable, Miss Nitt. The Uberwald girls are so sheep-like. But you . . . you’re concealing something from me. Everything I feel tells me you’re quite under my power—and yet you’re not.” He chuckled. “This is delightful . . .” Agnes felt her mind unraveling. The pink fog was blowing through her head . . . . . . and looming out of it, deadly and mostly

As Agnes withdrew into the pinkness she felt the tingle spread down her arms and legs. It was not pleasant. It was like sensing someone standing right behind you, and then feeling them take one step forward.

Perdita struck, and when her hand was halfway around she turned it palm out and curled her fingers to bring her nails into play . . .

People often got the wrong idea about Nanny Ogg, and she took care to see that they did. One thing they often got wrong was the idea that she never thought further than the bottom of the glass.

She groaned inwardly, and felt the blush unfold. But Nanny hadn’t noticed. It was then she realized how really serious this was. Nanny would normally leap on such a gift like a cat on a feather. Nanny could find an innuendo in “Good morning.” She could certainly find one in “innuendo.” And “buoys with glass balls” should have lasted her all week.

A glass fishing float, five hundred miles from the sea. An ornament, like a shell. Not a crystal ball. You could use it like a crystal ball but it wasn’t a crystal ball . . . and she knew why that was important.

There might even be times—there had been times, long ago—when it was a good idea not to advertise what you were, and that was why all these things on the table didn’t betray their owner at all. There was no need for that anymore, there hadn’t been in Lancre for hundreds of years, but some habits get passed down in the blood.

Any fool could be a witch with a runic knife, but it took skill to be one with an apple-corer.

She learned to look around when she visited someone’s home, because in one way it was a piece of clothing and had grown to fit their shape. It might show not just what they’d been doing, but what they’d been thinking.

“I can’t start being a hag at my time of life,” she muttered. “None of my bras’ll fit.”

“Anyway, that’s why she’s always standin’ behind herself and criticizin’ what she’s doing. Sometimes I reckon she’s terrified she’ll go bad without noticin’.” “Granny? But she’s a moral as—” “Oh yes, she is. But that’s because she’s got Granny Weatherwax glarin’ over her shoulder the whole time.”

“It wasn’t holy at all,” said her father. “It was strongly diluted. Mildly devout at worst. But it made you strong, didn’t it?”

“Things were simpler then,” said the Count. “And also very, very

“Of course, parts of him have been in the family for centuries,”

“Look, it’s simple,” said Lacrimosa. “Just take him down to the cellars, slam him in the Iron Maiden, stretch him on the rack over a fire for a day or two, and then slice him thinly from the feet upward, so he can watch. You’ll be doing him a kindness, really.”

it was useless angling for sympathy in a puddle, so she gave up.

Nanny’s face was a picture, possibly one painted by an artist with a very strange sense of humor.

Agnes knew she was being altogether honest and absolutely nasty.

like many people seldom paid much attention to what others said when he was unrolling his miseries,