'My granny used to say if you're too sharp you'll cut yourself,' said Agnes.
They sat in grey silence for a while, and then Nanny Ogg said: 'My own granny has an old country sayin' she always trotted out at times like this...'
'Which was...?'
' "Bugger off, you little devil, or I'll chop off your nose and give it to the cat." Of course, that's not so very helpful at a time like this, I'll admit.'
There was a tinkle behind them.
Nanny turned her head and looked down at the table.
'There's a spoon gone...'
There was another jangle, this time by the door.
A magpie paused in its attempt to pick the stolen spoon off the doorstep, cocked its head and glared at them with a beady eye. It just managed to get airborne before Nanny's hat, spinning like a plate, bounced off the doorjamb.
'The devils'll pinch anything that damn well shines-'she began.
The Count de Magpyr looked out of the window at the glow that marked the rising sun.
'There you are, you see?' he said, turning back to his family. 'Morning, and here we are.'
'You've made it overcast,' said Lacrimosa sullenly. 'It's hardly sunny.'
'One step at a time, dear, one step at a time,' said the Count cheerfully. 'I just wished to make the point. Today, yes, it is overcast. But we can build on it. We can acclimatize. And one day... the beach...'
'You really are very clever, dear,' said the Countess.
'Thank you, my love,' said the Count, nodding his private agreement. 'How are you doing with that cork, Vlad?'
'Is this such a good idea, Father?' said Vlad, struggling with a bottle and a corkscrew. 'I thought we did not drink... wine.'
'I believe it's time we started.'
'Yuck,' said Lacrimosa. 'I'm not touching that, it's squeezed from vegetables!'
'Fruit, I think you'll find,' said the Count calmly. He took the bottle from his son and removed the cork. 'A fine claret, I understand. You'll try some, my dear?'
His wife smiled nervously, supporting her husband but slightly against her better judgement.
'Do we, er, are we, eh, supposed to warm it up?' she said.
'Room temperature is suggested.'
'That's sickening,' said Lacrimosa. 'I don't know how you can bear it!'
'Try it for your father, dear,' said the Countess. 'Quickly, before it congeals.'
'No, my dear. Wine stays runny.'
'Really? How very convenient.'
'Vlad?' said the Count, pouring a glass. The son watched nervously.
'Perhaps it would help if you think of it as grape blood,' said his father, as Vlad took the wine. 'And you, Lacci?'
She folded her arms resolutely. 'Huh!'