Carpe Jugulum

if we could arrange some sort of mechanical linkage to the torture chamber. That certainly wasn’t a very realistic scream.”
    “This is ridiculous,” said Vlad. “We’ve got the child. We’ve got the woman. Why don’t we just leave? There’re plenty of other castles.”
    “That would be running away,” said the Count.
    “And surviving,” said Vlad, rubbing his head.
    “We don’t run,” said the Count. “And—No, step back, please…”
    This was to the mob, which was hovering uncertainly just inside the doors. Mobs become uncertain very quickly, in view of the absence of a central brain, and in this case the hesitation was caused by the sight of Magrat and the baby.
    Vlad had a bruise on his forehead. A push-and-go wooden duck on wheels can cause quite a lot of damage if wielded with enough force.
    “Well done,” said the Count, cradling baby Esme on one arm. Magrat writhed to escape the grip of his other hand, but it clamped her wrist like steel. “You see? Absolute obedience. It’s just as in chess. If you take the Queen, you’ve as good as won. It doesn’t matter if a few pawns are lost.”
    “That’s a very nasty way to talk about Mother,” said Vlad.
    “I am very attached to your mother,” said the Count. “And she’ll find a way to return, in the fullness of time. A voyage will be good for her health. Some fisherman will find the jar and next thing you know she’ll be back with us, fat and healthy—Ah, the inestimable Mrs. Ogg…”
    “Don’t you go smarming me!” snapped Nanny, pushing her way through the bewildered crowd. “I’m fed up with you smarming at me smarmily as if you were Mister Smarm! Now you just free the both of them or—”
    “Ah, so quickly we get to or ,” sighed the Count. “But I will say: you will all leave the castle, and then we shall see. Perhaps we shall let the Queen go. But the little princess…Isn’t she charming? She can remain as our guest. She’ll brighten the place up—”
    “She’s coming back to Lancre with us, you bastard!” screamed Magrat. She twisted in the Count’s grip and tried to slap him, but Agnes saw her face whiten as his hand tightened on her wrist.
    “That’s very bad language for a queen,” said the Count. “And I am still very strong, even for a vampire. But you’re right. We shall all go back to Lancre. One big happy family, living in the castle. I must say this place is losing its attractions. Oh, don’t blame yourself, Mrs. Ogg. I’m sure others will do that for you—”
    He stopped. A sound that had been on the edge of hearing was getting louder. It had a rhythmic, almost tinny sound.
    The crowd parted. Granny Weatherwax walked forward, slowly stirring
    “No milk in this place,” she said, “Not to be wondered at, really. I sliced a bit of lemon, but it’s not the same, I always think.”
    She laid the spoon in the saucer with a clink that echoed around the hall, and gave the Count a smile.
    “Am I too late?” she said.

The bolts rattled back, one by one.
    “…’th gone too far,” Igor muttered. “The old marthter wouldn’t…”
    The door creaked back on lovingly rusted hinges. Cool dry air puffed out of the darkness.
    Igor fumbled with some matches and lit a torch.
    “…it’th all very well wanting a nithe long retht, but thith ith a dithgrathe…”
    He ran along the dark corridors, half rough masonry, half sheer naked rock, and reached another chamber which was completely empty apart from a large stone sarcophagus in the center, on the side of which was carved MAGPYR .
    He stuffed the torch into a bracket, removed his coat, and after considerable pushing heaved the stone lid aside.
    “Thorry about thith, marthter,” he grunted as it thudded to the ground.
    Inside the coffin, gray dust twinkled in the torchlight.
    “…coming up here, mething everything up…” Igor picked up his coat and took a thick wad of material out of his pocket. He unrolled it on the edge of the stone. Now the light glinted off an array of scalpels, scissors and needles.
    “…threatening little babieth now… you never done that…only adventurouth femaleth over the age of theventeen and looking good in a nightie, you alwayth thed…”
    He selected a scalpel and, with some care, nicked the little finger of his left hand.
    A drop of blood appeared, swelled and dropped onto the dust, where it smoked.
    “That one’th for Thcrapth,” said Igor with grim satisfaction.
    By the time he’d reached the