Free Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett Page B

vampires’?”
    “Ladies?”
    They turned. The young man who had introduced himself as Vlad was approaching.
    Agnes began to blush.
    “I think you were talking about vampires,” he said, taking a garlic pasty from Agnes’s tray and biting into it with every sign of enjoyment. “Could I be of assistance?”
    Nanny looked him up and down.
    “Do you know much about them?” she said.
    “Well, I am one,” he said. “So I suppose the answer is yes. Charmed to meet you, Mrs. Ogg.” He bowed, and reached for her hand.
    “Oh no you don’t!” said Nanny, snatching it away. “I don’t hold with bloodsuckers!”
    “I know. But I’m sure you shall in time. Would you like to come and meet my family?”
    “They can bugger off! What was the King thinking of?”
    “Nanny!” snapped Agnes.
    “What?”
    “You don’t have to shout like that. It’s not very…polite. I don’t think—”
    “Vlad de Magpyr,” said Vlad, bowing.
    “—is going to bite my neck!” shouted Nanny.
    “Of course not,” said Vlad. “We had some sort of bandit earlier. Mrs. Ogg is, I suspect, a meal to be savored. Any more of these garlic things? They’re rather piquant.”
    “You what?” said Nanny.
    “You just…killed someone?” said Agnes.
    “Of course. We are vampires,” said Vlad. “Or, we prefer, vampyres. With a ‘y.’ It’s more modern. Now, do come and meet my father.”
    “You actually killed someone?” said Agnes.
    “Right! That’s it !” snarled Nanny, marching away. “I’m getting Shawn and he’s gonna come back with a big sharp—”
    Vlad coughed quietly. Nanny stopped.
    “There are several other things people know about vampires,” he said. “And one is that they have considerable control over the minds of lesser creatures. So forget all about vampires, dear ladies. That is an order. And do come and meet my family.”
    Agnes blinked. She was aware that there had been…something. She could feel the tail of it, slipping away between her fingers.
    “Seems a nice young man,” said Nanny, in a mildly stunned voice.
    “I…he…yes,” said Agnes.
    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.”
    “What about?” said Nanny. “She ain’t good at parties.”
    “I feel a bit…odd,” said Agnes.
    “Ah, could be the drink,” said Nanny.
    “I haven’t had any!”
    “No? Well, there’s the problem right there. Come on.”
    They hurried into the hall. Even though it was now well after midnight, the noise level was approaching the pain threshold. When the midnight hour lies on the glass like a big cocktail onion, there’s always an extra edge to the laughter.
    Vlad gave them an encouraging wave and beckoned them over to a group around King Verence.
    “Ah, Agnes and Nanny,” said the King, “Count, may I present—”
    “Gytha Ogg and Agnes Nitt, I believe,” said the man the King had just been talking to. He bowed. For some reason a tiny part of Agnes was expecting a somber-looking man with an exciting widows’ peak hairstyle and an opera cloak. She couldn’t think why.
    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 to tell someone all about it.
    “Allow me to present the Countess de Magpyr,” he said. “These are the witches I told you about, dear. I believe you’ve met my son? And this is my daughter, Lacrimosa.”
    Agnes met the gaze of a thin girl in a white dress, with very