'It's not what you think.'
'You don't know what I think.'
'I can guess, though.' He smiled at her. 'I wonder if Father said yes because he wants you to see? It's so easy to be frightened of what you don't know. And then, perhaps, you could be a sort of ambassador. You could tell Lancre what life under the Magpyrs is really like.'
'People being dragged out of their beds, blood on the walls, that sort of thing?'
'There you go again, Agnes. It's most unfair. Once people find out you're a vampire they act as if you're some kind of monster.'
They curved gently through the night air.
'Father's rather proud of his work in Escrow,' said Vlad. 'I think you'll be impressed. And then perhaps I could dare hope-'
No.
'I'm really being rather understanding about this, Agnes.'
'You attacked Granny Weatherwax! You bit her.'
'Symbolically. To welcome her into the family.'
'Oh, really? Oh, that makes it all better, does it? And she'll be a vampire?'
'Certainly. A good one, I suspect. But that's only horrifying if you believe being a vampire is a bad thing. We don't. You'll come to see that we're right, in time,' said Vlad. 'Yes, Escrow would be good for you. For us. We shall see what can be done...'
Agnes stared.
He does smile nicely... He's a vampire! All right, but apart from that- Oh, apart from that, eh? Nanny would tell you to make the most of it. That might work for Nanny, but can you imagine kissing that? Yes, I can. I will admit, he does smile nicely, and he looks good in those waistcoats, but look at what he is- Do you notice? Notice what? There's something different about him. He's just trying to get round us, that's all. No... there's something...new...
'Father says Escrow is a model community,' said Vlad. 'it shows what happens if ancient enmity is put aside and humans and vampires learn to live in peace. Yes. It's not far now. Escrow is the future.'
A low ground mist drifted between the trees, curling up in little tongues as the mule's hooves disturbed it. Rain dripped off the branches. There was even a bit of sullen thunder now, not the outgoing sort that cracks the sky but the other sort, which hangs around the horizons and gossips nastily with other storms.
Mightily Oats had tried a conversation with himself a few times, but the problem with a conversation was that the other person had to join in. Occasionally he heard a snore from behind him. When he looked around, the wowhawk on her shoulder flapped its wings in his face.
Sometimes the snoring would stop with a grunt, and a hand would tap him on a shoulder and point out a direction which looked like every other direction.
It did so now.
'What's that you're singing?' Granny demanded.
'I wasn't singing very loudly.'
'What's it called?'
'It's called "Om Is In His Holy Temple".'
'Nice tune,' said Granny.
'It keeps my spirits up,' Oats admitted. A wet twig slapped his face. After all, he thought, I may have a vampire behind me, however good she is.
'You take comfort from it, do you?'
'I suppose so.'
'Even that bit about "smiting evil with thy sword"? That'd worry me, if I was an Omnian. Do you get just a little sort of tap for a white lie but minced up for murder? That's the sort of thing that'd keep me awake o' nights.'
'Well, actually... I shouldn't be singing it at all, to be honest. The Convocation of Ee struck it from the songbook as being incompatible with the ideals of modern Omnianism.'