Carpe Jugulum (Discworld 23)

'Excuse me?' said the Count.

'"-trouble not more the-"

'Could I just make a point?'

' "-thou spirit that troubles thee, thou'... What?'

The Count took the notebook out of Oats's suddenly unresisting hand.

'This is from Ossory's Malleus Maleficarum,' he said. 'Why do you look so surprised? I helped write it, you silly little man!'

'But... you... but that was hundreds of years ago!' Oats managed.

'So? And I contributed to Auriga Clavorum Maleficarum, Torquus Simiae Maleficarum... the whole damn Arca Instrumentorum, in fact. None of those stupid fictions work on vampires, didn't you even know that?'The Count almost growled. 'Oh, I remember your prophets. They were mad bearded old men with the sanitary habits of a stoat but, by all that's crazed, they had passion! They didn't have holy little minds full of worry and fretfulness. They spoke the idiot words as though they believed them, with specks of holy foam bubbling away in the corners of their mouths. Now they were real priests, bellies full of fire and bile! You are a joke.'

He tossed the notebook aside and took the pendant. 'And this is the holy turtle of Om, which I believe should make me cringe back in fear. My, my. Not even a very good replica. Cheaply made.'

Oats found a reserve of strength. He managed to say, 'And how would you know, foul fiend?'

'No, no, that's for demons,' sighed the Count.

He handed the turtle back to Oats.

'A commendable effort, none the less,' he said. 'If I ever want a nice cup of tea and a bun and possibly also a cheery sing-song, I will be sure to patronize your mission. But, at the moment, you are in my way.'

He hit the priest so hard that he slid under the long table.

'So much for piety,' he said. 'All that remains is for Granny Weatherwax to turn up. It should be any minute now. After all, did you think she'd trust you to get it right?'

The sound of the huge iron doorknocker reverberated through the hall.

The Count nodded happily. 'And that will be her,' he said. 'Of course it will. Timing is everything.'

The wind roared in when the doors were opened, swirling twigs and rain and Granny Weatherwax, blown like a leaf. She was soaked and covered in mud, her dress torn in several places.

Agnes realized that she'd never actually seen Granny Weatherwax wet before, even after the worst storm, but now she was drenched. Water poured off her and left a trail on the floor.

'Mistress Weatherwax! So good of you to come,' said the Count. 'Such a long walk on a dark night. Do sit by the fire for a while and rest.'

'I'll not rest here,' said Granny.

'At least have a drink or something to eat, then.'

'I'll not eat nor drink here.'

'Then what will you do?'

'You know well why I've come.'

She looks small, said Perdita. And tired, too.

'Ah, yes. The set-piece battle. The great gamble. The Weatherwax trademark. And... let me see... your shopping list today will be... "if I win I will expect you to free everyone and go back to Uberwald,' am I right?'

'No. I will expect you to die,' said Granny.

To her horror, Agnes saw that the old woman was swaying slightly.

The Count smiled. 'Excellent! But... I know how you think, Mistress Weatherwax. You always have more than one plan. You're standing there, clearly one step away from collapse, and yet... I'm not entirely certain that I believe what I'm seeing.'