Plogviehze, Baby: 7/14

[latin_doll]

Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Watch the story acquire a plot. Heh.



Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 7

The coach had turned out to be very fancy indeed, all shiny black paint on the outside, and the inside a deep, plushy red, the kind of red that had connotations to all kinds of sticky liquids. It made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, but she figured, since it had been her who had talked Mal into all of this, she wasn't really in any sort of position where she ought to complain.

Mal was sitting up straight, not leaning against the upholstery in any way, shape or form, which was a shame because it was very good upholstery. If Polly felt uncomfortable, Mal looked the part.

The coachman turned out to look very much like an exaggerated Igorina. His face had bumps on top of bumps. His hair was at least three different shades of grey. His hands were on backwards. It must be the living around vampires, Polly mused, they did tend to make one rather self-conscious about one's looks.

None of the three passengers talked much, although Benedict seemed to be the only one who enjoyed himself somewhat. He kept looking at Polly. It was unsettling.

The coach rumpled on for a while, then stopped.

"We're not there yet, are we?" asked Mal.

"Can't be," said Benedict. "I'll go have a look."

There was talking outside. Out of habit, Polly counted voices: there were four - Benedict, Igor, and two people Polly didn't recognise. They sounded vaguely female and male, respectively, although with vampires...

"Oh, damn," said Mal.

"What's up?"

A light smile. It didn't look very happy. "You'll see."

The door swung open with an ominous creaking sound, and a young woman who was probably Polly's age entered. The first thing Polly noticed was a head full of fair hair, round pale blue eyes surrounded by the deepest black, an unreasonable amount of silver jewellery, and a wide smile that looked distressingly - normal.

A human, thought Polly. Is she mad?

The woman tried to curtsy in the limited space of the coach, and failed, but she failed in a very dainty way.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said in Morporkian. "So good of your companion to offer me a lift. Our coach broke down just now. Ronald will see if he can fix it, but," smilesmilesmile, "I doubt it."

Benedict climbed in after her, a smug grin on her face.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Molly Reed? She likes to be called Hypovolemia, though," he said.

Bastard.

"Hypovolemia, this is my brother Maladict," added Benedict, maybe because he was trying to be nice, maybe because he didn't want to be the one to explain the trousers.

"Charmed," said Mal, taking Molly's offered hand and kissing it lightly with a thoroughly disinterested air. Polly noticed she was carefully avoiding a good dozen silver rings as she did so.

"Maladict and Benedict?!" asked Molly. "That's interesting!"

Death by exclamation marks, thought Polly. Forget cats, that is a new one.

"Of course, I am in no position to fathom the sibling dynamics our parents had in mind when they named us," said Benedict, "which is why I won't. Sergeant Oliver Perks of the Borogravian army," he added with a nod to Polly.

Damn you damn you damn you. We're in bleedin' Zlobenia, thought Polly.

Molly didn't seem to mind much, and, granted, she didn't look the political type. But here was a Zlobenian human climbing into a coach full of Borogravian vampires and that was, Polly thought, possibly a little unwise.

"Sergeant," said Molly, still smiling and offering her hand. Polly tried to kiss it with the same air of sophisticated boredom that Mal had achieved, but only seemed to be able to conjure her own very special brand of soldier lad nervousness. Oh well.

"'m not in uniform," said Polly, and thought, no, seeing as I'm wearing bleeding ruffles and polka dots, what the hell, "just call me Oliver, please."

"Oliver," said Molly and sat down opposite to her. Their knees bumped.

Oh no, not again, thought Polly. What was it with Mollies and her? Polly tried to smile in a 'let me show you my shiny new set of teeth' way and hoped Molly'd get the hint.

Molly didn't, but a sidewards glance revealed that Mal was faintly smiling in a distinctively unsupportive way, vixen that she was.

Polly realised she'd just smiled at a girl who'd renamed herself Hypovolemia, for... someone's sake, and who wore more black eyeliner than could possibly be good for anyone. Oh damn.

The coach moved again.

Polly's nervousness was increasing by the minute. She was trying to remember vampire folklore, but all she could recall right now were vague ideas about how things were supposed to go, and these involved flowing dresses, boudoirs bathed in moonlight, curtains playing in the wind. Folk song material, at best. There was something about coaches breaking down -

The road was bumpy, thought Polly, no wonder coaches were breaking down. The night was dark and somewhat stormy, so maybe it was in the best interest of young ladies travelling alone to accept help offered by strangers, even if the strangers had strange teeth.

So?

"So, Benedict, how are the plans for tonight?" asked Mal, finally, after nobody had said a word for quite a long time.

Benedict had been watching Molly, with an expression of - and Polly scolded herself for the thoroughly nausea-inducing metaphor - a cat that had spotted the cream. "The guests are arriving just now," he said. "It'll be leisure time until midnight, then, feast and dance."

"I didn't know it would be this formal," said Mal. "Didn't bring anything fancy to wear, sorry."

"Oh, I am sure something suitable could be organised," said Benedict off-handedly. "Miss Hypovolemia, do stay for the feast. It's such a ghastly night for travelling alone."

"Oh!" said Molly, still smiling and entirely too fond of the vowel 'o'. Possibly she thought it make her look sweetly innocent, or at least as sweetly innocent as one could look while wearing black make up and underwired anything, Polly thought.

What really bugged her was that Molly was so successful in looking sweetly innocent.

"I'd love to stay!" said Molly. "I guess I'm too curious for my own good, huh?"

"On the contrary," said Benedict.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Mal very, very softly. Only a vampire could have heard her, and only vampires did. Benedict gave her a look that, if it had been a gesture, would have been a pat on the head. Polly stifled a laugh, if only because this situation was entirely too awful not to be amused.

"Er," said Polly. "Miss... Hypovolemia," gotta keep a straight face, gotta keep a... oh shit, "er, do you really think it's wise to travel with a coach full of strangers and accept invitations of, er, possibly questionable sincerity? In the middle of the night?"

There. Someone had to say it. Gotta give the girl a chance, thought Polly. Maybe it was only due to a faulty first impression that she had the feeling Molly was.. maybe not on top of the situation. Or most situations. Ahem.

Then again, maybe not. The girl smiled and said "Oh, but fine gentlemen such as you surely wouldn't pose a threat to helpless young maidens such as myself, Oliver."

Was there a certain hopefulness in her voice?

"Er, of course not," said Polly, "but on a more general note -"

She felt herself nudged. It was Mal, who was leaning over, whispering into her ear.

"You're being a dear, really, but I think you're making matters worse."

Mal smiled at Polly from the side and then, since she was already leaning over, nibbled her ear for emphasis. On the whole, Polly thought, Molly might have been the tiniest bit more surprised then Polly herself. At least, Polly had managed to keep her jaw in place.

Knees un-bumped. Polly breathed a tiny sigh of relief. She leaned over to Mal, who was back to sitting straight up and not looking at anyone, whispered "Thank you" into her ear, and kissed her cheek for good measure.

There was a faint glow somewhere in the coach. Metaphorically speaking.

-

The castle was huge.

"So let me get this straight," said Polly, when she and Mal had a moment to themselves in the melee. "This is only your summer residence?"

"Certainly not mine, and it's certainly not summer," said Mal. "Other than that, yeah, it used to be. Seems like my dear mother left Borogravia for good a year ago."

"It's a bit chilly in here," said Polly, because she thought it was expected of her. "And the interior is tasteless and the roof looks like it needs mending."

"There's a foot of water in the lower cellars," said Mal, not without a certain glee. "Awful, isn't it? What is it, Igor?"

Only now did Polly notice the small, bumpy man that was standing directly behind Mal. Funny, she'd have sworn he hadn't been there a moment ago.

"The Lady Ingrid ith ecthpecting you," said Igor. "Follow me."

Mal hesitated just for the fraction of a second before hoisting up her pack and going after him. Polly followed her. All the satin and silk and serious hairstyles were a bit much to face on her own.

They were being led along an awful lot of corridors, mainly. Maybe the castle was bigger on the inside, thought Polly, and then disregarded the idea as being childish. It was probably just an Igor thing.

Sooner than Polly'd hoped, they arrived at a doorway that lead to one of those rooms whose only function seemed to be taking up space. Rooms like these generally weren't seen in Munz. It must be bigger than the whole of The Duchess' lower bar, thought Polly, and yet held nothing more than a grand piano and a writing desk.

Polly looked at Mal, meaning to convey 'is that her?'

Mal nodded slightly. Standing by the window was a woman. Mal's mother looked like serious business, all silk and velvet and complicated hair, dear sweet Nuggan, the hair. She was radiating coldness even from several yards away.

Polly resisted the urge to call out "hello" though, figuring that, or something like it, was Mal's part. Mal didn't, either. Closing the door after her seemed to have stripped her of her usual self-confidence. For a moment, she was just standing there, looking helpless. Igor had vanished.

The woman at the window didn't turn around. She merely lifted a hand, beckoning them closer.

Polly was watching Mal. Mal, who had fought battles, who hadn't so much as flinched in the face of death, gore, and Jackrum, turned out to be afraid of a small woman.

Wow.

Polly took Mal's hand, felt her own squeezed, and let go after a moment, and then Mal moved in that very silent way she sometimes employed. Polly was unsure whether to follow. She did in the end, because just staying at the door would have been all kinds of awkward.

This would still be all kinds of awkward, but, well -

Polly caught herself thinking longingly of the great heaps of snow she wasn't in just now.

"Maladicta," said the woman, finally turning around. Like Benedict, she looked a lot like Mal, or rather, she had the same features, only completely different. Her eyebrows were thinner and blacker and more arched, her eyes heavily shadowed with kohl, her skin pure white. Not the kind of face that would show much in the way of movement.

"Maladict," said Mal with an indiscernible smile, taking the offered hand with her own, bandaged one and kissing it. She was bowing, too, Polly noticed.

Now, cross-dressing was quite all right, she thought, but cross-dressing... cross-acting? In front of Mum? Maybe things were different with vampires, although, come to think of it, the woman looked entirely disapproving. But maybe this was because -

"I notice you're still wearing that ribbon, Maladict," she said. "I thought things had... changed." There was a side glance on Polly. She didn't like it.

"I notice you're talking to me, mother," said Mal. "So maybe things have changed, after all?"

There was a thin smile. It fit the overall impression.

"Some things might have," said the woman. Polly noticed that she didn't actually look much older than Mal; she just gave off the general impression of a more matured kind of nastiness. "What happened to your hand?"

"I had some sort of accident with silver," said Mal. Maybe she had got used to the question by now.

The woman smiled, and there was another small glance at Polly, who still didn't like it. "You always were clumsy, Maladict," she said.

Polly found her lack of surprise disturbing. But maybe maternal feelings wore off after more than two hundred years of parenting.

"But I am forgetting my manners," the woman added. "Sergeant Perks, is it?"

Polly had never once been confronted with the technicalities on how to greet a snobby vampire. (Which, of course demanded a footnote saying, yes, she had, but that particular vampire would always accept a "Hi!". Still.)

"Lady Ingrid," she said, bowing as well and kissing the hand, trying not to show too much of... anything, really. Vampires tended to inspire nervousness.

"I notice you aren't wearing a ribbon," said Lady Ingrid. "How come you put up with Maladict?"

Well, I'm not doing too great a job, do I? thought Polly. What with trying to kill her all the time -

"Hadn't had the time to acquire one yet," she said with what she thought was just the right amount of annoying naivety. "We're working on it, though."

"Of course," said Lady Ingrid. "I've heard about what happened. I'd like to offer you my compliments." She took a look at Polly's expression. "Or condolences, if that suits you better. I won't be so presumptuous as to guess your viewpoint on immortality."

On the whole, Polly decided she hated vampires. She settled for a smile.

"How come you know what happened?" asked Mal. "It's not as if we sent a letter, and Benedict only just arrived."

"One hears these things, Maladict," said the woman. She seemed very much at home with the blank expression.

"... Ah," said Mal, and Polly could hear the suspicion in her voice. Well, there was probably a perfectly good explanation, thought Polly. Maybe Benedict hadn't settled for a cellar when the castle was that close -

"And I can't say I'm not glad about what I hear," added Lady Ingrid. "I do think this is an important step in mending the family. Now, if you would only get over your sentimentality -"

She reached out to tug at Mal's ribbon. Mal stepped back, making it look completely unprovoked. It was amazing.

"So far I have been shot at, forced to spend a week in heaps of snow, and the unwashed masses stuck a stake through my heart," said Mal calmly. "Surely you agree that these things are nothing to be glad about?"

There might have been a hint of a raised eyebrow. "Tell me about that stake," said Lady Ingrid.

"None of your concern," said Mal, and suddenly, her eyes narrowed. "It is none of your concern, isn't it?"

"Lay off the drama, Maladict."

"So how's Uberwald doing?"

If she had expected surprise at the sudden change of topic, she only got the mock version.

"How thoughtful of you to mention them," said Lady Ingrid. "They're arriving this very minute. In fact, I should really be off to greet them."

A whirl of black silk, and the woman gone. A moment of silence, and then -

"That one certainly went well," mumbled Mal. She was leaning against the wall, looking somewhat exhausted and avoiding Polly's eyes.

Polly couldn't help but feeling just the tiniest bit scandalised.

"I didn't just hear you asking your mother whether she's sent murderers after you, did I?" she said.

"One has got to know these things," said Mal. She cast a glance at Polly, and added, "You do have a very human concept of family, you know?"

"If by 'human concept' you mean that we don't generally set murderers on each other -," said Polly, not wanting to go there at all but, as usually, the art of living a quiet and easy life escaped her.

"Oh," said Mal, "we don't, either. Why go to all the trouble of committing murder when you can have perfectly good accidents?"

"Er," said Polly. "You said you'd been shot at -?"

Mal shrugged. "Aren't we all, sarge?"

Polly fixated on her for a moment, but Mal's face gave nothing away.

"What was that about Uberwald?"

"It's a... clue, nothing more," said Mal. Looking up at Polly, she added, "Damn it, Polly, I can't say much of anything right now. Just promise me to be careful, all right?"

"About what?" asked Polly. "Look, I'd really wish you'd tell me everything of importance, because keeping my eyes open isn't helpful as long as I don't know what to look out for."

Mal sighed. "It's... family," she said, "family and more. There's some kind of anti temperance group in Uberwald, too. Can't tell you anything else, sorry."

"I am on your side, Mal," said Polly.

"Yes, but everyone else isn't, and they're listening!" said Mal. "Polly, dear, we are in a vampire castle. Quite a lot of people with amazing ears and not enough honest affection to fill a bloody eggcup. I'm bitter, so what?"

"I'm beginning to see why," said Polly. "Lady Ingrid certainly hates my guts, doesn't she?"

Mal stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. "And she thinks she's hiding it so well," she said. "An important step in mending the family. The nerve."

"I did feel distinctly instrumentalised when she said that," said Polly. "Why, though? Is it 'cause I'm, er, new at this? A girl? Because I don't have manners? Or what?"

"Bit of everything, I suppose," said Mal. "I mean, I'm not saying she isn't a practical woman. As long as it's wearing trousers, you can call it Maladict. That's helpful, at least. But I think she draws the line at, you know -"

Polly thought about what she was supposed to know, and then settled for saying "I don't, actually."

"You know. Something traditional about biting people?"

"Er," said Polly. "Suddenly, the names Tonker and Lofty spring to mind. Something like that?"

"Yeah," said Mal. "Something like that."

Polly hadn't exactly wished to venture into this topic, but there was a question in her mind, and it began with, "But I thought vampires were supposed to be - "

"Open-minded," said Mal. "Yeah, I know. But we do not always think as a group, Polly."

"... I see."

"Now, I think we should get going," said Mal. "My old suite's subterranean, though. Hope you don't mind."

She moved to pick up the pack, but a small black-clad figure was faster. Polly stared. The man must have come out of nowhere.

"I wath thent to accompany you to guethtroom four," said Igor. "If you'd pleathe follow me -"

Mal froze. "Are you sure about this?" she said.

"Er," said Igor. Polly had never seen any member of the clan this embarrassed. Or embarrassed at all, really. It was strange.

He got over it quite quickly, though. "The old marthter got rid of the lockth quite thoon," he said. "I am thure there'th no offenthe meant."

Locks?

"Was it my mother who ordered the sleeping arrangements?" asked Mal. She surely didn't let this go.

"It'th the only guetht room left," said Igor stiffly. "Pleathe follow me."

Polly looked at Mal, who shrugged and followed.

Old habits died hard, and so Polly did try to memorise the way to the guestroom. She gave up at some point, though. There were staircases, some spiralled and narrow, others wide and straight; there were long and hollow corridors; and doors hidden in the tapestry that opened and closed without a sound.

The guest room turned out to be a suite, actually, and one of the rooms even had windows. Unlike the rest of the castle, it also looked as though it had been renovated at some point during the last fifty years, as opposed to, well, never. The wallpaper was all different, and the ceiling looked painted, instead of being bare stone.

Of course, there'd always be flowing curtains. This was probably traditional. The bed wasn't, though, thought Polly. Mal preferred rafters, didn't she?

Igor put their luggage on the floor, slowly. He seemed to have something on his mind.

"You may leave," said Mal. "There isn't anything else."

"I heard you have acquired a thilver burn?" said Igor, shifting uncomfortably. "There'th a thpecial ointment -"

Polly almost pitied him. Living in a vampire castle, he probably didn't get much of a chance to patch people up.

"Thank you, but this will be all," said Mal.

"Are you quite sure about thith?"

"Actually, Igor, I've changed my mind just now."

Igor narrowed his eyes, that was to say, at first he only narrowed one. The other just twitched, until he sharply tapped his temple.

"I thee. It'th one of thothe tharcathm thingth again?" he asked, and then his bumpy face twisted into what could generously be called a smile. "I mithed that, Lady Maladicta."

"Maladict," said Mal, but she said it oddly gently. "Leave us alone now, will you? The sergeant and I have got to talk."

"Of courthe, Lady Maladict," said Igor, bowing and shutting the door behind him.

"Don't worry," said Mal, "there's a more direct route to this suite. Remind me to show you."

"What's the bed for?" asked Polly. "Why's there no coffins? Or, you know, crossbeams, stuff like that?"

"Some things are rather hard to pull off hanging upside down," said Mal. "I mean, it's doable, but -"

"Er -"

Mal snickered. "This is a guestroom," she said. She caught Polly's glare and added, "It's called an insult, Polly."

Polly contemplated this.

"What kind of guests?" she asked.

"People who stay for dinner," said Mal, taking off her coat. "Now, let me see if they've left the clothes in here - look, they have. At least I don't have to meet family looking like a pig farmer." She inspected the contents of a wardrobe. "Bit old-fashioned, though."

"Hypovole -," said Polly, and interrupted herself. "Gosh, I feel silly saying that name."

"Yes," said Mal. "I think she's going to stay for dinner. Maybe she's going to stay forever, if she's lucky. Or unlucky. Of course," she drawled, "I won't be so presumptuous as to guess her viewpoint on immortality."

"One doesn't make fun of one's parents like that," said Polly, but without any real conviction.

"Yes, but I'm not having fun, am I?" said Mal. "And since you probably want to know, I don't think anyone can even see Molly's neck, because of all the jewellery. Let alone bite it."

She sat down on the bed, and yawned, and said, "Can't we just do a runner right now? 'm not feeling up to this."

"Ha," said Polly, who had some experience with dreadful family meetings. "At least you know how to dance. And behave. And dress. I'm feeling so thoroughly lower-class it's not even funny."

"Don't," said Mal. "At least you're nice."

Well, thank you so much for being honest, thought Polly, and then contemplated that.

"D'you think I can talk freely in here?" she asked.

"Probably not. What is it?"

"See, that's the question," said Polly. "What's with you and this room? You seemed a bit taken aback when Igor -"

"Just memories," said Mal. "I tried the withdrawal thing in here. It was a spectacular failure."

"Ah," said Polly uncertainly. That might explain the locks. "About withdrawal in general -"

Mal took off her muddy boots, and her socks, which turned out to be woolly, after all. She proceeded to wriggle her toes, watching them intently.

"It's not as life-threatening as Benedict wants you to believe," she said. "I succeeded second try, in Ankh-Morpork. The League may be a bit keen on cocoa, but they're quite efficient otherwise."

"So," said Polly, "how do you define a spectacular failure?"

Mal sat silent for a moment, then got up and went back to looking through the wardrobe. "I'll tell you later," she said. She inspected pile after pile of very frightening clothing, before turning to stare at Polly for a few seconds until Polly got distinctly uncomfortable.

"What is it, Mal?" she asked. She didn't like the feeling of being taxed. It was the kind of feeling you got when your own grandmother looked you up and down and then proceeded to say 'there's a dress Emily grew out of that you'd look quite lovely in'.

"I think black's the colour," she said, turning back to look through the wardrobe.

"How very surprising," said Polly. "Who do these clothes belong to?"

"My brother and various cousins," said Mal. "You'll find a lot of old clothing throughout the castle. Of course, we don't call it old, we call it vintage."

"And I expect your brother and various cousins will be present tonight?" asked Polly. "Not that I'm generally a timid kind of person, but I can imagine all kinds of awkward situations."

Nevertheless, she was handed a pile of silky blackness. It gave off a strong smell of mothballs and violets.

"My brother acquired this suit one hundred and fifty years ago," said Mal. "I admit he does seem to have some sort of clothes thing, but I shouldn't think he'd recognise it."

Polly snorted. "You recognised it, and it isn't even yours," she said.

"Point taken," said Mal. "Er. But he won't say a word, 'cause he's generally nice?"

"Except that he isn't," said Polly.

"For a given value of 'nice', anyway," said Mal, admitting defeat. "I guess I could find you one of my old dresses, but those are no use in case we need to, I dunno, run very fast. Or something."

Every day, thought Polly, my life is getting better and better. And better. And -

"Besides, you're already introduced as Oliver," said Mal, now digging through a drawer of socks until she found what she was looking for.

"But I thought vampires -"

"You begin a lot of sentences like that, did you know?" said Mal, throwing her a pair of socks. "And I told you. Vampires are somewhat lenient when it comes to identity issues. D'you think you need a second pair?" She winked.

"I don't have identity issues," said Polly. "And I don't think I need that second pair. What are these made of, spiderwebs?"

"Silk," said Mal. "Basically the same. Don't go 'ew' at me. I know you want to."

Polly, obediently, didn't go 'ew', but sat down to put the impossible silk stockings on. This posed a problem she hadn't, so far, considered. Lots and lots of walking around in army boots, while generally considered healthy (well, possibly not, thought Polly, what with all the getting shot at and accidentally hiding in bear caves. But at least she got a lot of fresh air), did nothing to improve the smoothness of her feet. She was far from being a foot fetishist's worst nightmare, because that position had been already filled quite sufficiently by Sergeant-Major Jackrum, but she'd do as a holidays replacement.

"These things are sticking to my heels," she said. "How do you get them on?"

Mal looked her way. Her eyes widened. "For heaven's sake, woman, don't pull!"

"What else am I supposed to do? They're stockings!"

Mal sighed. "Here, let me help you," she said, kneeling down in front of Polly, rolling one of the stockings up and then, starting with Polly's toes, unrolling it again over her foot and up her leg, dragging and tugging gently until it fit. There wasn't even a whole lot of touching involved.

"Er," said Polly.

"I think a pedicure might be in order," said Mal. "I hear they do that kind of thing in Ankh-Morpork."

"Mal, you complete girl," said Polly.

"Vampire," said Mal with the slightest roll of her eyes, her hands lightly resting on Polly's knee. "And since we're having a girly moment anyway, please for the sake of all that is good and holy be nice to your feet. You have very pretty feet, look, no hammer toes, no warts, no ingrown nails, but please. Pumice isn't that hard to come by." She shuddered. "I'm not going to say that again."

"What's next? D'you think I should paint my toenails?" asked Polly.

"I hear crimson is very fashionable these days," murmured Mal. She hadn't moved.

"Speaking of which," said Polly softly and took up Mal's right hand, which was still covered by the flowery fabric from the inn. "There's quite a lot you're not telling me, right?"

"Yes," said Mal, not looking at her. "I'm sorry."

"How did it happen?" asked Polly. "And don't tell me it was an accident. I saw the wounds."

"I," said Mal, and stopped. "I, er, picked something up. I didn't know it was silver, it had been blackened so it wouldn't shine in the sunlight. Really clever, if you think about it." She paused.

"What was it, Mal?" asked Polly.

"A clue," said Mal. "Just a clue." She made a subtle pointing movement towards her ears, and then towards the door. A tiny shrug.

Someone was listening? Or was she not sure?

Polly leaned forward and placed her fingers under Mal's chin, guding her upwards and towards her, and closer, still closer. "Clue to what?" she whispered into her ear.

Mal looked around before answering, but there wasn't anybody. "I'd quite like to find out -" she began.

Polly waited a few seconds. "What?" she whispered back.

"How much do you remember about getting injured?" asked Mal.

"Nothing much, really," said Polly, surprised. "Someone shot an arrow at me, I guess. It's a bit blurred."

There had been nothing blurred about the pain, nothing blurred about the fear, the falling down, the ringing in her ears. The blackness thereafter might have been called blurred, but you couldn't tell, it hadn't had edges.

Closing her eyes, she saw the blackness again.

"Hey," said Mal very, very softly. "I'm sorry, I'm here. Don't you go fuzzy now."

"'m not," said Polly. "Just bein' reminiscent."

"Don't be," said Mal.

"There's things you aren't telling me."

"Yes," said Mal. "I'm going to, I promise. I just haven't quite got a grasp on the whole picture yet."

"Is Uberwald a part of - ?" asked Polly, louder than she had intended. She was silenced by a finger on her lips.

"Shh," said Mal. "Don't know why you'd think that." There was something strange about the way she said it, and then Polly realised Mal was nodding her head at the same time.

Not good. Definitely not good. Polly had heard about Uberwald.

"What are we going to do?" asked Polly into Mal's ear.

"Get dressed up," murmured Mal. "Wait 'till the feast is over. Join for the dancing. Make a good impression. Leave and never come back." Her voice got even softer. "Find out a thing or two."

"Sounds good," whispered Polly.

It did seem a bit cowardly, she mused, not to do anything except smile and and nod and talk and maybe dance. But bravery wasn't the soldier's friend, she knew. Especially not if it was two against a castle full of vampires.

Vampires dancing, really. Nuggan knew where they got their charm from, it couldn't be from social interaction. Or so she had heard.

And speaking of social interaction -

Mal was still kneeling on the floor in front of Polly, actually leaning very much against her thighs, Polly couldn't help but notice, her head sort of resting against Polly's, like whispering but without the words. It was all very innocent and somehow Polly wasn't inclined to move at all.

She took a deep breath.

Somewhere off, and yet so close, she could hear a rhythm, faint and strong at the same time. It's a diametrical opposite, thought Polly, and then, wait -

"Heartbeat," said Mal. "Mine. You're getting better at this."

"Don't know if 'better' is the word," said Polly. She cast her eyes downwards, moved her head to follow. There it was, skin -

"Worse, then," said Mal softly.

Polly's lips tentatively brushed against Mal's neck. She heard that rhythm getting louder, speeding up, and she felt the flow underneath. Her hand was on Mal's jaw, pushing upwards with the lightest of pressures.

She opened her mouth, moving, teeth dragging on just a tiny bit and all the way to that point -

All she met was acquiescence, a slight bending of the neck, a shiver. Polly hesitated.

"I guess now is as good a moment as any," said Mal, calmer than Polly would have expected and definitely calmer than her pulse suggested.

Was that where all the knowingness came from? Polly wondered.

Her hand dropped, and Mal took it into her own. Polly breathed in, trying to concentrate, but she couldn't.

"I can't, Mal," she said. "I can't do this." Retreating already, she felt Mal's fingers stroke softly over her hand.

"It will only get worse," said Mal.

"Mal -"

"It's okay," said Mal. "Seems that you've still got time."

"I do," said Polly. Another deep breath, and - "Sorry. I didn't mean -"

"Hey, it's okay, really," said Mal. "Anyone can get distracted."

Polly really, really wanted to believe that. Actually, she did believe that. It wasn't because Mal was reasonably human-shaped, it was because -

She didn't know why, but there had to be a perfectly innocent reason.

"It would probably a good idea to get some dinner, though," said Polly. "I assume this place has rats?"

"Ha," said Mal. "It has a kitchen, even. There's bound to be rats, but maybe we find something else."

A kitchen? Here?

"We should get dressed, first," added Mal. "Could very well be we won't get taken seriously, otherwise. D'you need any help?"

"No," said Polly, picking up the other stocking. "I think I figured this socks business out."

Something inside her went 'er' at this sentence, but it was very firmly silenced.