One of the Uberwald people shuffled along the corridor. It stopped when it heard a sound, looked around, saw nothing that had apparently made a noise, and plodded on again.

Nanny Ogg stepped out of the shadows, and then beckoned Magrat to follow her.

“Sorry, Nanny, it’s very hard to keep a baby quiet—”

“Shh! There’s quite a bit of noise coming from the kitchens. What could vampires want to cook?”

“It’s those people they’ve brought with them,” hissed Magrat. “They’ve been moving in new furniture. They’ve got to be fed, I suppose.”

“Yeah, like cattle. I reckon our best bet is to walk out bold as brass,” said Nanny. “These folk don’t look like they’re big on original thinkin’. Ready?” She absentmindedly took a swig from the bottle she was carrying. “You just follow me.”

“But look, what about Verence! I can’t just leave him. He’s my husband!”

“What will they do to him that you could prevent if you was here?” said Nanny. “Keep the baby safe, that’s the important thing. It always has been. Anyway…I told you, he’s got protection. I saw to that.”

“What, magic?”

“Much better’n that. Now, you just follow me and act snooty. You must’ve learned that, bein’ a queen. Never let ’em even think you haven’t got a right to be where you are.”

She strode out into the kitchen. The shabbily dressed people there gave her a dull-eyed look, like dogs waiting to see if a whipping was in prospect. On the huge stove, in place of Mrs. Scorbic’s usual array of scoured-clean pots, was a large, blackened cauldron. The contents were a basic gray. Nanny wouldn’t have stirred it for a thousand dollars.

“Just passing through,” she said, sharply. “Get on with whatever you were doing.”

The heads all turned to watch them. But toward the back of the kitchen a figure unfolded from the old armchair where Mrs. Scorbic sometimes held court and ambled toward them.

“Oh blast, it’s one of the bloody hangers-on,” said Nanny. “He’s between us and the door…”

“Ladies!” said the vampire, bowing. “May I be of assistance?”

“We were just leaving,” said Magrat haughtily.

“Possibly not,” said the vampire.

“’Scuse me, young man,” said Nanny, in her soft old biddy voice, “but where are you from?”

“Uberwald, madam.”

Nanny nodded, and referred to a piece of paper she’d pulled out of her pocket. “That’s nice. What part?”

“Klotz.”

“Really? That’s nice. ’Scuse me.” She turned her back and there was a brief twanging of elastic before she turned around again, all smiles.

“I just likes to take an interest in people,” she said. “Klotz, eh? What’s the name of that river there? The Um? The Eh?”

“The Ah,” said the vampire.

Nanny’s hand shot forward and wedged something yellow between the vampire’s teeth. He grabbed her, but, as she was dragged forward, she hit him on the top of the head.

He fell to his knees, clutching at his mouth and trying to scream through the lemon he’d just bitten into.

“Seems an odd superstition, but there you are,” said Nanny, as he started to foam around the lips.

“You have to cut their heads off, too,” said Magrat.

“Really? Well, I saw a cleaver back there—”

“Shall we just go?” Magrat suggested. “Before someone else comes, perhaps?”

“All right. He’s not a high-up vampire, anyway,” said Nanny dismissively. “He’s not even wearing a very interestin’ waistcoat.”

The night was silver with rain. Heads down, the witches dashed through the murk.

“I’ve got to change the baby!”

“For a raincoat’d be favorite,” muttered Nanny. “Now?”

“It’s a bit urgent…”

“All right, then, in here…”

They ducked into the stables. Nanny peered back into the night, and shut the door quietly.

“It’s very dark,” whispered Magrat.

“I could always change babies by feel when I was young.”

“I’d prefer not to have to. Hey…there’s a light…”

The weak glow of a candle was just visible at the far end of the loose boxes.

Igor was brushing the horses until they shone. His muttering kept time with the strokes of the brush. Something seemed to be on his mind.

“Thilly voithe, eh? Thilly walk? What the hell doth he know? Jumped-up whipper-thnapper! Igor thtop thith, Igor thtop that…all thethe kidth thwanning around, trying to puth me around…there’th a covenant in thethe thingth. The old marthter knew that! A thervant ith not a thlave…”

He glanced around. A piece of straw drifted to the ground.

He began brushing again. “Huh! Fetch thith, fetch that…never a morthel of rethpect, oh no…”

Igor stopped and pulled another piece of straw off his sleeve.

“…and another thing…”

There was a creak, a rush of air, the horse reared in its stall and Igor was borne to the ground, his head feeling as though it were caught in a vice.

“Now, if I brings my knees together,” said a cheerful female voice above him, “it’s very probable I could make your brains come right down your nose, But I know that ain’t going to happen, because I’m sure we’re all friends here. Say yes.”

“’th.”

“That’s the best we’re going to get, I expect.”

Nanny Ogg got up and flicked straw off her dress.

“I’ve been in cleaner haylofts,” she said. “Up you get, Mr. Igor. And if you’re thinking of anything clever, my colleague over there is holdin’ a pitchfork and she ain’t much good at aiming so who knows what part of you she might hit?”

“Ith that a baby thee’th carrying?”

“We’re very modern,” said Nanny. “We’ve got hedge money and everything. And now we’ll have your coach, Igor.”

“Will we?” said Magrat. “Where’re we going?”

“It’s a wicked night. I don’t want to keep the babby out, and I don’t know where we’d be safe near here. Maybe we can get down onto the plains before morning.”

“I won’t leave Lancre!”

“Save the child,” said Nanny. “Make sure there’s going to be a future. Besides…” She mouthed something at Magrat which Igor did not catch.

“We can’t be sure of that,” said Magrat.

“You know the way Granny thinks,” said Nanny. “She’ll want us to keep the baby safe,” she added, loudly. “So hitch up the horses, Mr. Igor.”

“Yeth, mithtreth,” said Igor meekly.

“Are you kicking my bucket, Igor?”*

“No, it’th a pleathure to be commanded in a clear, firm authoritative voithe, mithtreth,” said Igor, lurching over to the bridles. “None of this ‘Would you mind…’ rubbith. An Igor liketh to know where he thtandth.”

“Slightly lopsidedly?” said Magrat.

“The old marthter uthed to whip me every day!” said Igor proudly.

“You liked that?” said Magrat.

“Of courthe not! But it’th proper! He wath a gentleman, whothe bootth I wath not fit to lick clean…”

“But you did, though?” said Nanny.

Igor nodded. “Every morning. Uthed to get a lovely thine, too.”

“Well, help us out and I’ll see you’re flogged with a scented bootlace,” said Nanny.

“Thankth all the thame, but I’m leathing anyway,” said Igor, tightening a strap. “I’m thick up to here with thith lot. They thouldn’t be doing thith! They’re a dithgrathe to the thpethieth!”

Nanny wiped her face. “I like a man who speaks his mind,” she said, “and is always prepared to lend a towel—did I say towel? I mean hand.”

“Are you going to trust him?” said Magrat.

“I’m a good judge of character, me,” said Nanny. “And you can always rely a man with stitches all around his head.”