“What’s that around black thing up there?” said Arthur.
“Where?”
“There.” Arthur pointed.
“Okay, Reg and me will help you up, come on—”
“Me? But I can’t stand heights!”
“I thought you could turn into a bat?”
“Yeah, but a very nervous one!”
“Stop complaining. Right—one foot here, now your hand here, now put your foot on Reg’s shoulder—”
“And don’t go through,” said Reg.
“I don’t like this!” Arthur moaned, as they hoisted him up.
Doreen stopped glaring at the creeping trolleys.
“Artor! Nobblyesse obligay!”
“What? Is that some sort of vampire code?” Reg whispered.
“It means something like: a count’s gotta do what a count’s gotta do,” said Windle.
“Count!” snarled Arthur, swaying dangerously. “I never should have listened to that lawyer! I should have known nothing good ever comes in a long brown envelope! And I can’t reach the bloody thing anyway!”
“Can’t you jump?” said Windle.
“Can’t you drop dead?”
“No.”
“And I’m not jumping!”
“Fly, then. Turn into a bat and fly.”
“I can’t get the airspeed!”
“You could throw him up,” said Ludmilla. “You know, like a paper dart.”
“Blow that! I’m a count!”
“You just said you didn’t want to be,” said Windle mildly.
“On the ground I don’t want to be, but when it comes to being chucked around like a Frisbee—”
“Arthur! Do what Mr. Poons says!”
“I don’t see why—”
“Arthur!”
Arthur as a bat was surprisingly heavy. Windle held him by the ears like a misshapen bowling ball and tried to take aim.
“Remember—I’m an endangered species!” the Count squeaked, as Windle brought his arm back.