He spread the cloak dramatically. There was a brief, implosive noise, and a small fat bat hung in the air. It looked down, gave an angry squeak, and nose-dived onto the soil. Doreen picked it up by its feet and dusted it off.
“It’s having to sleep with the window open all night that I object to,” she said vaguely. “I wish they’d stop that music! I’m getting a headache.”
There was another whoomph. Arthur reappeared upside down and landed on his head.
“It’s the drop, you see,” said Doreen. “It’s like a run-up, sort of thing. If he doesn’t get at least a one-story start he can’t get up a proper airspeed.”
“I can’t get a proper airspeed,” said Arthur, struggling to his feet.
“Excuse me,” said Windle, “The music doesn’t affect you?”
“It puts my teeth on edge is what it does,” said Arthur. “Which is not a good thing for a vampire, I prob’ly don’t have to tell you.”
“Mr. Poons thinks it does something to people,” said Ludmilla.
“Sets everyone’s teeth on edge?” said Arthur.
Windle looked at the crowd. No one was taking any notice of the Fresh Starters.
“They look as though they’re waiting for something,” said Doreen. “Vaiting, I mean.”
“It’s scary,” said Ludmilla.
“Nothing wrong with scary,” said Doreen. “We’re scary.”
“Mr. Poons wants to go inside the heap,” said Ludmilla.
“Good idea. Get them to turn that damn music off,” said Arthur.
“But you could get killed!” said Ludmilla.
Windle clapped his hands together, and rubbed them thoughtfully.
“Ah,” he said, “that’s where we’re ahead of the game.”
He walked into the glow.
He’d never seen such bright light. It seemed to emanate from everywhere, hunting down every last shadow and eradicating it ruthlessly. It was much brighter than daylight without being anything like it—there was a blue edge to it that cut vision like a knife.
“You all right, Count?” he said.
“Fine, fine,” said Arthur.
Lupine growled.
Ludmilla pulled at a tangle of metal.
“There’s something under this, you know. It looks like…marble. Orange-colored marble.” She ran her hand over it. “But warm. Marble shouldn’t be warm, should it?”
“It can’t be marble. There can’t be this much marble in the whole world…vorld,” said Doreen. “We tried to get marble for the vault,” she tasted the sound of the word and nodded to herself, “the vault, yes. Those dwarfs should be shot, the prices they charge. It’s a disgrace.”
“I don’t think dwarfs built this,” said Windle. He knelt down awkwardly to examine the floor.
“I shouldn’t think so, the lazy little buggers. They wanted nearly seventy dollars to do our vault. Didn’t they, Arthur?”
“Nearly seventy dollars,” said Arthur.
“I don’t think anyone built it,” said Windle quietly. Cracks. There should be cracks, he thought. Edges and things, where one slab joins another. It shouldn’t be all one piece. And slightly sticky.