Plogviehze, Baby: 8/14
Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
More plot. Also: ex-lover(s), mention of underwear (or lack thereof), disgusting imagery, and - drum roll - the reason I kept my mouth shut during some past speculations.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 8
Polly did need help, after all, because it turned out the suit consisted of more parts then any suit should legally be allowed to have. There were trousers, and she figured those out on her own. There was a shirt, and a waistcoat, and a frock coat, all of which wouldn't have posed a problem, considered individually.
It was the details that were killing her.
There were small buttons on the inside of the shirt sleeves. There were cufflinks. There was a strange shawl thing that had probably been popular for around five minutes during the second to last century. Even Mal didn't know what it was called, and Mal did make a rather worldly impression otherwise.
And -
Lacy shiny puffy cuffs! A gold pin with a black taffeta rose on it! A black satin handkerchief with lace trimming! Impossibly sparkly wrist-length satin gloves! With tiny, tiny buttons!
"If we should really run from here," said Polly darkly, "I think I'm going to keep the gloves."
Mal, who had just spent about five minutes closing buttons for Polly, grinned. "Like them, do you?"
"Not exactly," said Polly. "It's just that I won't be able to get them off in a hurry. You vampires are really big on the impractical clothing, aren't you?"
"That's nothing," said Mal. "Try underwire, I dare you. Not the wimpy thing Molly's wearing, either. Vampire corsetry means business."
"Er," said Polly, her mind wandering off. "How?"
"Let me put it this way," said Mal. "They'll help anyone to some serious cleavage." She carefully closed the last of the buttons, and added: "You, for example. Or me. Or, to pick one example completely at random, Major Blouse."
"That," said Polly, "was a mental image I could have done without. Thank you so very much."
"I did miss most of the Daphne show," said Mal. "I've got to entertain myself somehow, haven't I?"
"So, Mal, do you often fantasise about your superiors cross-dressing?"
There was amused silence.
"Okay," said Polly. "Lemme reformulate. Do you often fantasise about your superiors wearing women's undergarments?"
"No," said Mal, seemingly concentrating on buttons. "As a matter of fact, I fantasise about my superiors wearing nothing at all."
Polly lifted her hand to inspect the ease with which the lacy cuffs made her feel estranged from her own wrists. It took a few seconds until her brain caught up with her ears, and when it did, she -
- glared.
Mal chuckled. "Polly, come on, you asked for it."
The whole of Borogravia for a witty retort...
"I suppose I did," said Polly, finally. "But I will not take cheek from you, corporal."
"What would you accept, then?" asked Mal, and winked.
"You know, Mal, I don't think we're in Zlobenia anymore," said Polly. "I think we're in Bad Pun Land. Get dressed, woman, I'm hungry."
"This is a very strange sentence, coming from a vampire," said Mal, turning back to the wardrobe to look through its contents again.
"Ha ha, very funny, Mal. I hate you."
"This will only take a minute," said Mal, and emerged with clothes.
Of course, it didn't take a minute, even though Mal sounded very efficient; she hardly cursed at all while getting dressed. Polly had a quite interesting time studying the wallpaper before, finally, sauntering over to help with a few buttons.
Vampire clothing did always seem to require at least two people to put on and off, and a diagram would still be helpful. It boggled Polly's mind.
"I can't help but notice," she said. "Is this suit you're wearing even remotely traditional?"
"Er," said Mal. "No-one said we have to wear black all the time. And it's got ruffles, and laces, and cuffs, and a high collar, and it's lined with very shiny scarlet satin. What's not traditional about this?"
"It's white," pointed Polly out.
"Ivory, actually, but I catch your meaning," admitted Mal, pinning the black ribbon in place.
"Show-off."
"That's the general idea, yes."
"Didn't we want to make a good impression?" asked Polly.
"An impression, at least," said Mal, and smiled. "C'mon. We're not going to do anything that's daring, stupid, or both, right? Nothing wrong with being a bloody nuisance."
She did reach for a highly dramatic black cape, though. It billowed even as she was holding it, more so when she threw it over her shoulders.
"Ready to go?" she asked.
"Er," said Polly. "You might want to replace that bandage. It's green and it has little yellow and white flowers on it, see?"
"Whoops," said Mal. "And I'm supposed to be the one with fashion sense."
"Hey!"
Mal dug some gloves out of the wardrobe yet again. Polly moved to help with the buttons without being asked. It was that kind of situation. As such, it lasted all of a moment.
"So are you comfortable with this, then?" asked Mal.
"Um," said Polly, and blinked, "I'm wearing shoes that I can't help but call high-heeled even though you keep insisting that they're very manly, and I've got the overall feeling I look like a very decorative, albeit black, cream tart. Also, I'm surrounded by nutcases. What do you think?"
"I think," said Mal, "that you need a drink."
She walked over to the pack.
"You brought the liqueur," said Polly. "I don't believe it. You die, you get resurrected, you get confronted with family, all in one evening, and you still remember to pack the liqueur." She shook her head wearily. "One of these days, I'm going to demand the story of your life."
"It's coffee-flavoured," said Mal. "It was the only sensible thing to do." She dug around, then triumphantly held up the bottle from the inn.
She also got two other items out of the pack, namely, her coffee bag and... something else. Something long and thin and wrapped in black fabric...
Having hidden the object under her jacket, Mal uncorked the bottle with her teeth. She took a swig, still looking elegant, then offered it to a confused Polly.
"Drink," she said. "I promise it will not put hair on your chest." After a moment of looking thoughtful, she added, "It might remove it, though."
Polly took the bottle, her mind still rather absent. Staring into Mal's eyes, she mouthed "Stake?"
Mal merely shrugged.
Er. Okay then. This was probably family business, and Polly wasn't family, so it would be all right if she just disregarded it. No problem. No problem at all. She took a mouthful of the dark brown liquid, and stared.
To say it was sweet would have rendered icing sugar a mere white powder. This left the realms of sweet and plunged headfirst into the definition of... really damn sweet, or something; Polly wasn't at her most eloquent right now. She swallowed, and there was a hint of bitterness, right there. Comparing this to the scent of Mal's morning coffee would be like... like comparing two items that were diametrically opposite.
The taste of alcohol just hung there like a split infinitive.
"It's not entirely unlike coffee," said Mal, "but it's certainly trying."
"Crivens," said Polly in an attempt to unstick her tongue from her teeth. "Mal, while we're at it and seeing as I probably won't ever catch you drunker than now -"
"Shouldn't we be leaving?" asked Mal calmly.
Damn, thought Polly. She knows exactly what I'm going to ask. If that's an ability that comes with vampirism, I want it, too.
"The story of your life, Mal," said Polly. "What was that about your father?"
Maybe it was the alcohol that made her say that. Maybe it was the bar wench Polly, or what was left of her. She was so used to people telling her all kinds of things when they were drunk.
Ha. Too early for that. And yet -
"Why?"
"Because I'm nosy?" said Polly. "Sorry. You don't have to -"
"Oh, to hell with it," said Mal, "so there was some kind of accident that spoiled our relationship, all right?"
There was a knock on the door.
"I know what your accidents look like," said Polly. "They're done entirely on purpose."
Mal smiled. "Exactly." Walking over to the door, she called: "Come in, Benedict."
Vampire lounging against the doorframe! Smirking! Polly calculated the distance to the nearest wall, just in case she'd get the impulse to bang her head against something solid.
"Nice suits, ladies."
Bastard.
"Say, Benedict, have you been listening all the time, or was that someone else before you?" asked Mal.
"I distinctly did not see cousin Heinrich from Uberwald coming my way. Myself, I've only just arrived," said Benedict.
"Liar," said Mal, but she said it with a certain amount of affection.
"All right. I might have heard that you two were in the middle of some sort of revelation. Do go on, I'm on your side."
"Er," said Polly. Really? she thought. "I had the impression this was private."
"Nah," said Benedict. "I had the impression this was family. I've got a right to be nosy."
"It is family," said Mal. "Now, Benedict, how would you describe our late father to Polly's very innocent ears?"
"Tough," said her brother. "So much to choose from. Despotic? Bit loony? Complete bastard?"
"You're taking after him, I see," murmured Polly.
"C'mon," said Benedict. "I'm not despotic. Much."
"Remember what I said about the spectacular failure, Polly?" asked Mal.
Polly nodded.
"See how this room's been renovated? See the painted ceiling?" asked Mal. "Consider that, and then tell me you want details."
"Mal, what did he do?" asked Polly, thinking: why the hell do I want to know?
"You crazy little detail fiend," said Mal, looking defeated. "So I was having a bit of a bad time, on account of being, you know, in the middle of fucking withdrawal, and I swear you do not want details. Do you want details, Pol? "
"Er," said Polly. Regrettably, Mal took that as a 'yes'.
"My loving father found himself restless with worry, so he sent one of the human servant girls down here to see how I was doing," said Mal.
She let that piece of information sink in.
"Gods," said Polly in disbelief. "Was there anything left?"
Shit. She hated it when her tongue outran her brain like that.
"Quite a lot, actually," said Benedict lightly. "Only somewhat... distributed. Igor looked as if Hogswatchnight had come early."
Polly desperately tried to shut out her imagination. It didn't work very well.
"Eurgh," she said. There was some kind of a solemn moment, and then, "You did become a Black Ribboner after this, right? And please say yes 'cause I'm beginning to lose faith in humanity, and while I realise just now that that last sentence was sort of ridiculous, I still want you very much to say yes. Please?"
"No," said Mal flatly. "I believe the term you're looking for is 'monster'. It took two years and a stake before I tried again."
"... I guess I did ask," said Polly, thinking: someone better remind me to not ask a single question ever again. This is bloody... this is blooming madness.
"Now, what did you want here, Benedict?" asked Mal, changing the topic as if they had been talking about... something else entirely. Not about distributed people. Oh dear.
"Mother sent me. The feast has begun, and everyone's missing you," said Benedict. "Or, at least," he added as an afterthought, "they're making jokes about you sucking on root vegetables. They're not being very mean about it, though."
"Ah," said Mal. "Regrettably, we were planning to be offensively late for the feast. So, Polly, how 'bout something to eat? From the kitchen?"
"Not quite sure if I'm still hungry, thanks," said Polly, who couldn't tear her eyes away from the wallpaper.
"Polly, you've been living off rats. Before that, you've been living off rat scubbo. Before that, you spent a week living off what was probably rat scubbo," said Mal. "Surely you won't let something so superficial as lack of appetite stand between you and a meal?"
"Right," said Polly, remembering just now the feeling of Mal's neck under her... teeth, and her vivid imagination painted the rest of the picture. It wasn't a pretty picture. Enticing, yes, but not - "We're gonna grab a bite, you show me the castle, and then we're going to that dance thing and - what was it? Impress everyone with our charm," she added.
"Agreed," said Mal, and without a further word, she took Polly's arm and dragged her into the corridor; Benedict caught up with them in a split second, no effort involved by the look of it.
"Now," said Mal, as they were walking through the corridor, "on a not completely unrelated note, Benedict, how's the Molly kid doing?"
"Hypovolemia," said Benedict. "Now, Maladict, dear, you of all people should really respect the right of others to be called what they want."
"Well, yeah," said Mal. "Only I don't think I can say that without laughing. C'mon, it's hysterical."
"That's beside the point," said Benedict, but he was grinning.
"Where is she, then?"
The expression on Benedict's face could have been embarrassment, possibly. If you squinted. "She's not at the feast, if that's what you wanted to know," he said.
"Isn't she?" said Mal. "Benedict, that woman is about as clever as a codfish. This is me warning you."
"I wasn't planning on -," said Benedict, "imagine having to spend immortality with her! It's just - look, I showed her the castle, because that's traditional. Then she was all over me all of a sudden, possibly because that is also traditional, and then I said, no, my dear, I think I need more time."
Mal paused, and said, "... What?"
"I mean, she's wearing about three pounds of occult silver jewellery," said Benedict. "I'm not into pain, you know? And it's all bats and octagramms and ankhs and skulls and suchlike. It breaks my heart just thinking about asking her to put them off."
Mal chuckled. "That's sweet," she said.
"And she put effort into that eyeliner," said Benedict. "Never seen such a fine depiction of soul-crushing despair on any vampire, actually." He sighed. "But all in all, I fear that might just be a facade. Behind her painted face and , ah, honest attempt at underwire, she's hiding some serious cheerfulness, and I'm not sure I can cope with that."
"Yeah, you've always been the delicate type," said Mal. "Where's she now?"
"Wandering about, I think," said Benedict. "She should be quite safe, though," he added, "I mean, she's practically wearing full body armour. Think about it."
"You're avoiding her, are you?"
"I might be," admitted Benedict.
"Ha!"
They reached a crossing.
"Kitchen's downstairs," said Mal. "We're catching up later, Benedict."
"Do your thing, then," said Benedict with a side glance on Polly, who rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Mum you're having a good time, shall I? And if you want to come, there'll be something better than pet food, so, wanna come?"
"Absolutely not," said Polly, and Benedict grinned, vanishing in a highly dramatic whirl of black fabric.
Pause.
"Pet food?" asked Polly. "As in, little scraps and... things you feed pets?"
"You'll see," said Mal.
The kitchen was huge, just like everything else in this castle, with the possible exception of buttons. And there were people, just like outside, people without teeth, or at least, without those teeth, without widow's peaks, without unhealthy complexions. This posed a question.
"Who are these?" asked Polly as they were looking down from a gallery overviewing the whole of the kitchen.
"Ordinary people," said Mal. "Vampires can't be arsed with cooking now, can they?"
"I kinda figured," said Polly. "Are they being paid?"
"'course," said Mal. "Otherwise, they'd probably run screaming. They mostly work during the day. After all, menial labor is so hard on the delicate eye."
A few metres below, a red-faced woman in a decorative lace apron was chopping up carrots. Another was slicing large amounts of onions. Their scent made Polly's eyes water, but the woman seemed completely unimpressed.
"Who are they cooking for?" she asked.
"Pets," said Mal softly. "Over there."
It was a group of young to middle-aged women, all very thin and dressed in black. They were human, or at least... reasonably human-shaped. They weren't talking. They weren't even looking at anything. And there was something odd about their facial expressions... Polly squinted.
They didn't have any. Empty-eyed and silent, they stood at the kitchen entrance, completely motionless.
Polly had to turn around and face the wall instead. Suddenly, the ground didn't seem so steady anymore.
"What are they?" she asked.
"They used to be human," said Mal, "and they're not vampires yet. Not going to be, either, the way things are going." She paused. "See, Polly, if you're going to turn somebody, you draw a bit of blood, and -"
"Yes, thank you, I know that," said Polly. "You already explained this in more detail than I care for. Human larders. How convenient. And sorta disgusting. This wall is really very interesting, um."
"I hoped you'd say that," said Mal. "I mean, yes, it's probably better then raiding nearby villages every other week, 'cos then the castle'd be drowning in pitchforks and their respective owners. Still -"
Polly thought.
"Can we do anything for them?"
"No," said Mal. "I mean, yes, but we'd have to collect blood from everyone who's been in this castle during the last, oh, two hundred years or so."
Polly managed an almost honest grin. "That'd be fun," she said, and added as an afterthought, "Er. In a completely wholesome and family-friendly way, of course."
She risked another glance down. With enough time, one could probably get used to these levels of crazy, she thought, but -
"This all is rather hard on my appetite," she said.
"You've got to eat," said Mal. "I'm not showing you these things for nothing. You know what can happen otherwise."
"Don't get all moralistic on me," snapped Polly. "You don't have to convince me that vampires are a bunch of sociopathic monsters, because, you know, I kind of already figured that out on my own. I don't need demagogic support, I need -"
"Yes?" asked Mal. "What do you need, Polly?"
She was looking at Polly in a mildly distressing way, and all Polly could think about was... distributed people. What good did a little black satin ribbon do, then?
"Information," said Polly. "Do you think we're being overheard here?"
"Probably not," said Mal. "The sort to overhear us wouldn't go near the kitchen, I think."
"All right then," said Polly, switching into questions mode. "Sex in a tree, Mal. What were you really doing that night?"
Mal looked up.
"Talking to Otto Chriek," she said.
"What?" hissed Polly. "Do you realise that this counts as... that's giving aid and comfort to the enemy, that's what it is!"
"Actually," said Mal, "we did have some sort of treaty with Ankh-Morpork, at least until the command went and invaded Zlobenia again, and as far as I'm aware, we've never been at war with Uberwald. So, no aid, no comfort, no enemy." She paused, gave Polly a thoughtful stare, and added, "You did realise that sex in a tree thing was a joke, didn't you?"
Polly groaned. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am aware that you find maintaining a private life to be a bit of a challenge," she said.
"Whoa," said Mal. "Now you're just getting nasty, Pol."
"It's the whole newspaper aspect that's the problem. You know the command tends to be a bit tetchy when it comes to that," said Polly. "Look, I'm honestly concerned here..." oh yes, indeed, added her treacherous mind.
"Well," said Mal, "there is the small matter of me having deserted anyway. They can't execute me twice."
"You are a vampire," Polly pointed out.
"All right," said Mal, "they can execute me twice. Details, Polly."
"What were you talking about?" asked Polly, and thought, oh please tell me it was private, because it would sort out quite a few matters once and for all.
"Otto came through Borogravia on his way from Uberwald," said Mal. "He's been investigating for the Ankh-Morpork Times. This anti temperance thing looks rather worrying."
"How are you involved, then?" asked Polly. "There's not really anything you can do, right?"
"Yes, well," said Mal, and trailed off. "See, I've got to. The Anti Temperance League -"
Polly lifted an eyebrow. "Creative," she said.
"Yes. They're not going on crusade by means of leaflets, Polly. There's been deaths."
"Who?" asked Polly.
"Black Ribboners, mostly," said Mal, and turned away to watch the people below.
It was now that Polly realised just how loud the sounds from the kitchen were. A general buzzing, that was what it was. Nothing to do with the blood humming in her ears.
"... Shit," she said, just for the sake of saying something. "He was warning you, right?"
"Yes," said Mal. "That's why I agreed to come here. I'd really like to find out who's behind it. 'm not satisfied by the status quo."
"Yes, I noticed," said Polly. "Now, there's still something you aren't telling me."
It was a shot in the dark, of course, thought Polly, but a good way to get people talking was to let them think you already knew the answers.
"Yes," said Mal, still watching the ongoings below with studied interest.
"Okay," said Polly, thinking: shoot in the dark, shoot in the dark... er... "They've already attacked you," she said.
"Yes," said Mal, "in a manner of speaking. They missed and, so far, haven't tried again. Unless they sent Mr Pitchfork and his friend, but that would be ridiculous even for them."
"They missed?" asked Polly. "Surely it can't be that hard to direct a stake? Those two guys managed just fine."
"Yeah, thank you so much for reminding me," said Mal. "It wasn't a stake, though; they tried to shoot me. Bit dumb, really, but that's crazy fundamentalists to you."
"So when you said they missed you -," said Polly.
"They hit someone close to me."
Silence, and silence, and, "Me," said Polly. "They hit me? You may lie now, I think I need it."
Mal didn't say anything, which was as good as an answer.
"But that's... completely pointless," said Polly, shocked enough to flee into the arms of logic. "I don't understand. Arrows don't hurt vampires."
"Not in general, no," said Mal. "This one, however...," she trailed off, pulling something out of her jacket, something long and thin and wrapped in cloth. Not a stake, after all.
"You took the arrow with you?" asked Polly. "What kind of macabre souvenir is that?"
Mal unwrapped the thing, carefully so as not to touch it, even though she was wearing gloves. Something dark emerged.
They blackened it, so it wouldn't shine in the sunlight...
"Silver arrow," said Mal simply. She rewrapped the thing and put it back.
"Gods," said Polly. "That was some barbed nightmare. You... er..."
She pointed to Mal's right hand.
"I picked it up," said Mal. "After our friend the army surgeon ripped it out of you in complete disregard of the barb situation." She shook her head. "What a butcher."
"Er," said Polly. "Why did you hold it so tightly for?"
Mal shrugged. "There were people looking. Couldn't just let go now, could I?" She looked pointedly away, as if daring her to comment.
Polly looked at Mal's gloved hand and tried to imagine this with reversed roles, and shuddered slightly. She understood that, at least.
"Okay," she said. She felt she was getting over the shock. "Okay. That's it. Can you lend me that arrow? For later?"
"Whatever happened to pacifism?" asked Mal with a grin that said 'I'd love to be uncomfortable, but really I'm just amused.'
"Pacifism can rot," said Polly. "Now really, I mean it. Some complete righteous wanker shot me and I'm supposed to discuss the matter over a cup of... tea?"
Probably not tea, but -
"I'm keeping the arrow, Polly," said Mal. "For reasons of, one, this is family, two, the arrow won't actually kill anyone. It's just for show."
"Yes, but it hurts, doesn't it?" asked Polly.
"I think," said Mal, "that one of those barbs was meant to fall off, once inside. Be glad it didn't."
"Let's go, then," said Polly, somewhat relieved to be able to direct her anger on someone other than Mal, which was how this was supposed to go.
"Nah," said Mal, "dinner first. We won't impress anyone if we start drooling, or something."
"I bloody hate vampires," said Polly, "and vampirism, and blood, and rats. Now, where can I get some?"
"Follow me," said Mal. "I think they're almost done upstairs, so we'd better hurry. And I should hope one of these fine ladies will be able to brew me some coffee."
-
There had been something distinctly unsatisfying about that rat just now, thought Polly. Now, was this a recent development or had rats always been like that?
She tried to analyse this: one, soldiers never felt satisfied after rat scubbo. Except, of course, if you'd just spent a week eating what was probably rat scubbo. Two, she had spent the last week on rats (and once, on Mal, which didn't count except in some strange and frightening alternate reality). She had also spent the last week perpetually angry, which might or might not be related to the rats situation.
On a completely unrelated note, there was a very small figure sitting on the table right in front of her. It was clad in black and holding a very tiny scythe and that was why Polly hadn't mentioned its presence to Mal yet.
Right now, Polly was eating bread. Bread was good. Nourishing, delicious, and it worked to get that metallic taste out of her mouth. Other than that, she might as well have been eating cardboard, and she knew what she was talking about.
Mal, of course, was drinking her coffee. In a small chamber just adjacent to the kitchen, and sitting opposite her, she had regained that thoroughly disgusting air of universal confidence.
"What are you thinking of?" asked Mal.
"People asking this kind of question should be shot," growled Polly.
"Ah," said Mal.
SNH SNH SNH.
Polly glared at the very tiny figure. Mal didn't seem to notice.
"I wish you'd get angry once in a while," said Polly. "Just so I don't feel alone."
"Are you trying to provoke me, kid?" asked Mal with a smile that said 'come, try it'.
The very tiny figure sat completely still, but Polly had the distinct impression it was snickering. Light was reflected off its scythe.
Forget Uberwald, thought Polly. This is the clue I need. A battlefield and moonlight reflected off a scythe, a bigger scythe, and words. Now what -
"Oh shit," she said, and meant it.
"What's up?" asked Mal. She looked right through the tiny figure, that tiny Death on the table.
Polly took a deep breath. "Look, I can hear that cook's heartbeat from here, all right? It's disturbing. I don't think I've got much longer, actually."
Mal's glance flickered from the cook, who was visible through the half-open door some ten metres away, to Polly. It stayed there for a long time; her coffee was temporarily abandoned.
Tiny Death walked over to the cup and sniffed it. Ghostly whiskers trembled.
... Death had whiskers?
"It should be a few days still," murmured Mal, "but maybe -"
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe there's too many vampires around. Bad influence sort of thing. I don't know," said Mal, "d'you think we should just leave and get on with life?"
"What good would that do?" asked Polly. "We were planning to leave in a few hours anyway, so we should really spend some time finding things out. Come on Mal," she added as an afterthought, "Otto'd be delighted."
Now, of course this was another shot in the dark. With enough of these, Polly mused, she might one day get a clear picture of Mal. Or maybe not. The vampire - oh, to hell with that - the other vampire was glaring at her.
"What are you implying, exactly?" asked Mal.
"Nothing."
"... Good," said Mal. "Now, we really should get going. People might grow a bit impatient otherwise."
She put the empty coffee cup onto a shelf for people to find, something which is done by annoying party guests all over the multiverse. Polly got up in a fluid motion and very nearly sat down again. The dizziness, of course, was due to lack of sleep. Nothing to worry about, and Mal hadn't noticed anyway.
"Are you sure about this all?" asked Mal.
Or maybe she had. Well.
"Get out of my head," said Polly. "'m not in the mood."
Tiny Death disappeared behind a cupboard, and Mal merely shrugged, clearly not intending to press the point any further. She did, however, take Polly's hand again, dragging her on a complicated route through the castle.
After about ten minutes, Polly started to hear the music. It sounded strange to her ears, a low, flowing rhythm that reminded her of... something, but maybe this was a vampire thing. After a while. she could also make out the distant sound of a harmonium. Couldn't be much longer, now. And voices, a low whispering on the edge of her hearing. Well, low until -
"Maladicta," hissed somebody from an adjacent corridor, and before Polly knew it, Mal had let go of her hand.
"Maladict," she said without looking, then turned around and peeked into the corridor. "Er, wait, probably Maladicta to you. Sorry."
A woman stepped into the flickering light of the dim gas lamps lining the main corridors. She was pretty, saw Polly, all black hair and pale skin and... wait, that was some really serious corsetry she was wearing. Polly felt her ribs crack in sympathy.
"I haven't heard from you in a while, Maladicta," said the woman.
"Four years," said Mal. "I'm awful at keeping touch. Sorry 'bout that."
"Some double entendre," said the woman, with a grin that made Mal nervous, or at least, Polly thought so. It made Polly nervous, at the very least.
"It wasn't that clever," said Mal.
"I grew... concerned over the time," said the woman. "I trust that you've been well?"
Pause.
"Look," said Mal, "I don't have much time, and more than enough vague hints. I need names."
The woman smiled again, taking Mal's hands into her own. She did look at Polly for a moment, before concentrating on Mal. "Good luck with finding out, then," she said, and leaned forward to drop a kiss onto her forehead.
"Er," said Mal, but the woman had already vanished. Confusion lay thick in the air.
"Sorry, Polly. I can't help it," said Mal, "sometimes things just get bizarre on their own."
"What was all that about?" asked Polly. "You obviously knew her."
"Old friend," said Mal. "Well, very old friend, if you think about it. That was just her way of telling us she's on our side, but she won't tell us what she knows, and won't help us if we get into trouble. Maybe she'll crack a smile if we survive, or something."
"Really bloody helpful, then," said Polly. "What did you do to piss her off?"
"Er," said Mal, and blushed, she actually blushed. "I didn't, actually, piss her off, 'cos I think she's much too -"
"Much too what? Cheerful? Easy-going? Forgiving?"
"Indifferent, probably," said Mal. "I hope. Let's just say I... er... let's just not say anything at all."
"... All right."
More plot. Also: ex-lover(s), mention of underwear (or lack thereof), disgusting imagery, and - drum roll - the reason I kept my mouth shut during some past speculations.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 8
Polly did need help, after all, because it turned out the suit consisted of more parts then any suit should legally be allowed to have. There were trousers, and she figured those out on her own. There was a shirt, and a waistcoat, and a frock coat, all of which wouldn't have posed a problem, considered individually.
It was the details that were killing her.
There were small buttons on the inside of the shirt sleeves. There were cufflinks. There was a strange shawl thing that had probably been popular for around five minutes during the second to last century. Even Mal didn't know what it was called, and Mal did make a rather worldly impression otherwise.
And -
Lacy shiny puffy cuffs! A gold pin with a black taffeta rose on it! A black satin handkerchief with lace trimming! Impossibly sparkly wrist-length satin gloves! With tiny, tiny buttons!
"If we should really run from here," said Polly darkly, "I think I'm going to keep the gloves."
Mal, who had just spent about five minutes closing buttons for Polly, grinned. "Like them, do you?"
"Not exactly," said Polly. "It's just that I won't be able to get them off in a hurry. You vampires are really big on the impractical clothing, aren't you?"
"That's nothing," said Mal. "Try underwire, I dare you. Not the wimpy thing Molly's wearing, either. Vampire corsetry means business."
"Er," said Polly, her mind wandering off. "How?"
"Let me put it this way," said Mal. "They'll help anyone to some serious cleavage." She carefully closed the last of the buttons, and added: "You, for example. Or me. Or, to pick one example completely at random, Major Blouse."
"That," said Polly, "was a mental image I could have done without. Thank you so very much."
"I did miss most of the Daphne show," said Mal. "I've got to entertain myself somehow, haven't I?"
"So, Mal, do you often fantasise about your superiors cross-dressing?"
There was amused silence.
"Okay," said Polly. "Lemme reformulate. Do you often fantasise about your superiors wearing women's undergarments?"
"No," said Mal, seemingly concentrating on buttons. "As a matter of fact, I fantasise about my superiors wearing nothing at all."
Polly lifted her hand to inspect the ease with which the lacy cuffs made her feel estranged from her own wrists. It took a few seconds until her brain caught up with her ears, and when it did, she -
- glared.
Mal chuckled. "Polly, come on, you asked for it."
The whole of Borogravia for a witty retort...
"I suppose I did," said Polly, finally. "But I will not take cheek from you, corporal."
"What would you accept, then?" asked Mal, and winked.
"You know, Mal, I don't think we're in Zlobenia anymore," said Polly. "I think we're in Bad Pun Land. Get dressed, woman, I'm hungry."
"This is a very strange sentence, coming from a vampire," said Mal, turning back to the wardrobe to look through its contents again.
"Ha ha, very funny, Mal. I hate you."
"This will only take a minute," said Mal, and emerged with clothes.
Of course, it didn't take a minute, even though Mal sounded very efficient; she hardly cursed at all while getting dressed. Polly had a quite interesting time studying the wallpaper before, finally, sauntering over to help with a few buttons.
Vampire clothing did always seem to require at least two people to put on and off, and a diagram would still be helpful. It boggled Polly's mind.
"I can't help but notice," she said. "Is this suit you're wearing even remotely traditional?"
"Er," said Mal. "No-one said we have to wear black all the time. And it's got ruffles, and laces, and cuffs, and a high collar, and it's lined with very shiny scarlet satin. What's not traditional about this?"
"It's white," pointed Polly out.
"Ivory, actually, but I catch your meaning," admitted Mal, pinning the black ribbon in place.
"Show-off."
"That's the general idea, yes."
"Didn't we want to make a good impression?" asked Polly.
"An impression, at least," said Mal, and smiled. "C'mon. We're not going to do anything that's daring, stupid, or both, right? Nothing wrong with being a bloody nuisance."
She did reach for a highly dramatic black cape, though. It billowed even as she was holding it, more so when she threw it over her shoulders.
"Ready to go?" she asked.
"Er," said Polly. "You might want to replace that bandage. It's green and it has little yellow and white flowers on it, see?"
"Whoops," said Mal. "And I'm supposed to be the one with fashion sense."
"Hey!"
Mal dug some gloves out of the wardrobe yet again. Polly moved to help with the buttons without being asked. It was that kind of situation. As such, it lasted all of a moment.
"So are you comfortable with this, then?" asked Mal.
"Um," said Polly, and blinked, "I'm wearing shoes that I can't help but call high-heeled even though you keep insisting that they're very manly, and I've got the overall feeling I look like a very decorative, albeit black, cream tart. Also, I'm surrounded by nutcases. What do you think?"
"I think," said Mal, "that you need a drink."
She walked over to the pack.
"You brought the liqueur," said Polly. "I don't believe it. You die, you get resurrected, you get confronted with family, all in one evening, and you still remember to pack the liqueur." She shook her head wearily. "One of these days, I'm going to demand the story of your life."
"It's coffee-flavoured," said Mal. "It was the only sensible thing to do." She dug around, then triumphantly held up the bottle from the inn.
She also got two other items out of the pack, namely, her coffee bag and... something else. Something long and thin and wrapped in black fabric...
Having hidden the object under her jacket, Mal uncorked the bottle with her teeth. She took a swig, still looking elegant, then offered it to a confused Polly.
"Drink," she said. "I promise it will not put hair on your chest." After a moment of looking thoughtful, she added, "It might remove it, though."
Polly took the bottle, her mind still rather absent. Staring into Mal's eyes, she mouthed "Stake?"
Mal merely shrugged.
Er. Okay then. This was probably family business, and Polly wasn't family, so it would be all right if she just disregarded it. No problem. No problem at all. She took a mouthful of the dark brown liquid, and stared.
To say it was sweet would have rendered icing sugar a mere white powder. This left the realms of sweet and plunged headfirst into the definition of... really damn sweet, or something; Polly wasn't at her most eloquent right now. She swallowed, and there was a hint of bitterness, right there. Comparing this to the scent of Mal's morning coffee would be like... like comparing two items that were diametrically opposite.
The taste of alcohol just hung there like a split infinitive.
"It's not entirely unlike coffee," said Mal, "but it's certainly trying."
"Crivens," said Polly in an attempt to unstick her tongue from her teeth. "Mal, while we're at it and seeing as I probably won't ever catch you drunker than now -"
"Shouldn't we be leaving?" asked Mal calmly.
Damn, thought Polly. She knows exactly what I'm going to ask. If that's an ability that comes with vampirism, I want it, too.
"The story of your life, Mal," said Polly. "What was that about your father?"
Maybe it was the alcohol that made her say that. Maybe it was the bar wench Polly, or what was left of her. She was so used to people telling her all kinds of things when they were drunk.
Ha. Too early for that. And yet -
"Why?"
"Because I'm nosy?" said Polly. "Sorry. You don't have to -"
"Oh, to hell with it," said Mal, "so there was some kind of accident that spoiled our relationship, all right?"
There was a knock on the door.
"I know what your accidents look like," said Polly. "They're done entirely on purpose."
Mal smiled. "Exactly." Walking over to the door, she called: "Come in, Benedict."
Vampire lounging against the doorframe! Smirking! Polly calculated the distance to the nearest wall, just in case she'd get the impulse to bang her head against something solid.
"Nice suits, ladies."
Bastard.
"Say, Benedict, have you been listening all the time, or was that someone else before you?" asked Mal.
"I distinctly did not see cousin Heinrich from Uberwald coming my way. Myself, I've only just arrived," said Benedict.
"Liar," said Mal, but she said it with a certain amount of affection.
"All right. I might have heard that you two were in the middle of some sort of revelation. Do go on, I'm on your side."
"Er," said Polly. Really? she thought. "I had the impression this was private."
"Nah," said Benedict. "I had the impression this was family. I've got a right to be nosy."
"It is family," said Mal. "Now, Benedict, how would you describe our late father to Polly's very innocent ears?"
"Tough," said her brother. "So much to choose from. Despotic? Bit loony? Complete bastard?"
"You're taking after him, I see," murmured Polly.
"C'mon," said Benedict. "I'm not despotic. Much."
"Remember what I said about the spectacular failure, Polly?" asked Mal.
Polly nodded.
"See how this room's been renovated? See the painted ceiling?" asked Mal. "Consider that, and then tell me you want details."
"Mal, what did he do?" asked Polly, thinking: why the hell do I want to know?
"You crazy little detail fiend," said Mal, looking defeated. "So I was having a bit of a bad time, on account of being, you know, in the middle of fucking withdrawal, and I swear you do not want details. Do you want details, Pol? "
"Er," said Polly. Regrettably, Mal took that as a 'yes'.
"My loving father found himself restless with worry, so he sent one of the human servant girls down here to see how I was doing," said Mal.
She let that piece of information sink in.
"Gods," said Polly in disbelief. "Was there anything left?"
Shit. She hated it when her tongue outran her brain like that.
"Quite a lot, actually," said Benedict lightly. "Only somewhat... distributed. Igor looked as if Hogswatchnight had come early."
Polly desperately tried to shut out her imagination. It didn't work very well.
"Eurgh," she said. There was some kind of a solemn moment, and then, "You did become a Black Ribboner after this, right? And please say yes 'cause I'm beginning to lose faith in humanity, and while I realise just now that that last sentence was sort of ridiculous, I still want you very much to say yes. Please?"
"No," said Mal flatly. "I believe the term you're looking for is 'monster'. It took two years and a stake before I tried again."
"... I guess I did ask," said Polly, thinking: someone better remind me to not ask a single question ever again. This is bloody... this is blooming madness.
"Now, what did you want here, Benedict?" asked Mal, changing the topic as if they had been talking about... something else entirely. Not about distributed people. Oh dear.
"Mother sent me. The feast has begun, and everyone's missing you," said Benedict. "Or, at least," he added as an afterthought, "they're making jokes about you sucking on root vegetables. They're not being very mean about it, though."
"Ah," said Mal. "Regrettably, we were planning to be offensively late for the feast. So, Polly, how 'bout something to eat? From the kitchen?"
"Not quite sure if I'm still hungry, thanks," said Polly, who couldn't tear her eyes away from the wallpaper.
"Polly, you've been living off rats. Before that, you've been living off rat scubbo. Before that, you spent a week living off what was probably rat scubbo," said Mal. "Surely you won't let something so superficial as lack of appetite stand between you and a meal?"
"Right," said Polly, remembering just now the feeling of Mal's neck under her... teeth, and her vivid imagination painted the rest of the picture. It wasn't a pretty picture. Enticing, yes, but not - "We're gonna grab a bite, you show me the castle, and then we're going to that dance thing and - what was it? Impress everyone with our charm," she added.
"Agreed," said Mal, and without a further word, she took Polly's arm and dragged her into the corridor; Benedict caught up with them in a split second, no effort involved by the look of it.
"Now," said Mal, as they were walking through the corridor, "on a not completely unrelated note, Benedict, how's the Molly kid doing?"
"Hypovolemia," said Benedict. "Now, Maladict, dear, you of all people should really respect the right of others to be called what they want."
"Well, yeah," said Mal. "Only I don't think I can say that without laughing. C'mon, it's hysterical."
"That's beside the point," said Benedict, but he was grinning.
"Where is she, then?"
The expression on Benedict's face could have been embarrassment, possibly. If you squinted. "She's not at the feast, if that's what you wanted to know," he said.
"Isn't she?" said Mal. "Benedict, that woman is about as clever as a codfish. This is me warning you."
"I wasn't planning on -," said Benedict, "imagine having to spend immortality with her! It's just - look, I showed her the castle, because that's traditional. Then she was all over me all of a sudden, possibly because that is also traditional, and then I said, no, my dear, I think I need more time."
Mal paused, and said, "... What?"
"I mean, she's wearing about three pounds of occult silver jewellery," said Benedict. "I'm not into pain, you know? And it's all bats and octagramms and ankhs and skulls and suchlike. It breaks my heart just thinking about asking her to put them off."
Mal chuckled. "That's sweet," she said.
"And she put effort into that eyeliner," said Benedict. "Never seen such a fine depiction of soul-crushing despair on any vampire, actually." He sighed. "But all in all, I fear that might just be a facade. Behind her painted face and , ah, honest attempt at underwire, she's hiding some serious cheerfulness, and I'm not sure I can cope with that."
"Yeah, you've always been the delicate type," said Mal. "Where's she now?"
"Wandering about, I think," said Benedict. "She should be quite safe, though," he added, "I mean, she's practically wearing full body armour. Think about it."
"You're avoiding her, are you?"
"I might be," admitted Benedict.
"Ha!"
They reached a crossing.
"Kitchen's downstairs," said Mal. "We're catching up later, Benedict."
"Do your thing, then," said Benedict with a side glance on Polly, who rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Mum you're having a good time, shall I? And if you want to come, there'll be something better than pet food, so, wanna come?"
"Absolutely not," said Polly, and Benedict grinned, vanishing in a highly dramatic whirl of black fabric.
Pause.
"Pet food?" asked Polly. "As in, little scraps and... things you feed pets?"
"You'll see," said Mal.
The kitchen was huge, just like everything else in this castle, with the possible exception of buttons. And there were people, just like outside, people without teeth, or at least, without those teeth, without widow's peaks, without unhealthy complexions. This posed a question.
"Who are these?" asked Polly as they were looking down from a gallery overviewing the whole of the kitchen.
"Ordinary people," said Mal. "Vampires can't be arsed with cooking now, can they?"
"I kinda figured," said Polly. "Are they being paid?"
"'course," said Mal. "Otherwise, they'd probably run screaming. They mostly work during the day. After all, menial labor is so hard on the delicate eye."
A few metres below, a red-faced woman in a decorative lace apron was chopping up carrots. Another was slicing large amounts of onions. Their scent made Polly's eyes water, but the woman seemed completely unimpressed.
"Who are they cooking for?" she asked.
"Pets," said Mal softly. "Over there."
It was a group of young to middle-aged women, all very thin and dressed in black. They were human, or at least... reasonably human-shaped. They weren't talking. They weren't even looking at anything. And there was something odd about their facial expressions... Polly squinted.
They didn't have any. Empty-eyed and silent, they stood at the kitchen entrance, completely motionless.
Polly had to turn around and face the wall instead. Suddenly, the ground didn't seem so steady anymore.
"What are they?" she asked.
"They used to be human," said Mal, "and they're not vampires yet. Not going to be, either, the way things are going." She paused. "See, Polly, if you're going to turn somebody, you draw a bit of blood, and -"
"Yes, thank you, I know that," said Polly. "You already explained this in more detail than I care for. Human larders. How convenient. And sorta disgusting. This wall is really very interesting, um."
"I hoped you'd say that," said Mal. "I mean, yes, it's probably better then raiding nearby villages every other week, 'cos then the castle'd be drowning in pitchforks and their respective owners. Still -"
Polly thought.
"Can we do anything for them?"
"No," said Mal. "I mean, yes, but we'd have to collect blood from everyone who's been in this castle during the last, oh, two hundred years or so."
Polly managed an almost honest grin. "That'd be fun," she said, and added as an afterthought, "Er. In a completely wholesome and family-friendly way, of course."
She risked another glance down. With enough time, one could probably get used to these levels of crazy, she thought, but -
"This all is rather hard on my appetite," she said.
"You've got to eat," said Mal. "I'm not showing you these things for nothing. You know what can happen otherwise."
"Don't get all moralistic on me," snapped Polly. "You don't have to convince me that vampires are a bunch of sociopathic monsters, because, you know, I kind of already figured that out on my own. I don't need demagogic support, I need -"
"Yes?" asked Mal. "What do you need, Polly?"
She was looking at Polly in a mildly distressing way, and all Polly could think about was... distributed people. What good did a little black satin ribbon do, then?
"Information," said Polly. "Do you think we're being overheard here?"
"Probably not," said Mal. "The sort to overhear us wouldn't go near the kitchen, I think."
"All right then," said Polly, switching into questions mode. "Sex in a tree, Mal. What were you really doing that night?"
Mal looked up.
"Talking to Otto Chriek," she said.
"What?" hissed Polly. "Do you realise that this counts as... that's giving aid and comfort to the enemy, that's what it is!"
"Actually," said Mal, "we did have some sort of treaty with Ankh-Morpork, at least until the command went and invaded Zlobenia again, and as far as I'm aware, we've never been at war with Uberwald. So, no aid, no comfort, no enemy." She paused, gave Polly a thoughtful stare, and added, "You did realise that sex in a tree thing was a joke, didn't you?"
Polly groaned. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am aware that you find maintaining a private life to be a bit of a challenge," she said.
"Whoa," said Mal. "Now you're just getting nasty, Pol."
"It's the whole newspaper aspect that's the problem. You know the command tends to be a bit tetchy when it comes to that," said Polly. "Look, I'm honestly concerned here..." oh yes, indeed, added her treacherous mind.
"Well," said Mal, "there is the small matter of me having deserted anyway. They can't execute me twice."
"You are a vampire," Polly pointed out.
"All right," said Mal, "they can execute me twice. Details, Polly."
"What were you talking about?" asked Polly, and thought, oh please tell me it was private, because it would sort out quite a few matters once and for all.
"Otto came through Borogravia on his way from Uberwald," said Mal. "He's been investigating for the Ankh-Morpork Times. This anti temperance thing looks rather worrying."
"How are you involved, then?" asked Polly. "There's not really anything you can do, right?"
"Yes, well," said Mal, and trailed off. "See, I've got to. The Anti Temperance League -"
Polly lifted an eyebrow. "Creative," she said.
"Yes. They're not going on crusade by means of leaflets, Polly. There's been deaths."
"Who?" asked Polly.
"Black Ribboners, mostly," said Mal, and turned away to watch the people below.
It was now that Polly realised just how loud the sounds from the kitchen were. A general buzzing, that was what it was. Nothing to do with the blood humming in her ears.
"... Shit," she said, just for the sake of saying something. "He was warning you, right?"
"Yes," said Mal. "That's why I agreed to come here. I'd really like to find out who's behind it. 'm not satisfied by the status quo."
"Yes, I noticed," said Polly. "Now, there's still something you aren't telling me."
It was a shot in the dark, of course, thought Polly, but a good way to get people talking was to let them think you already knew the answers.
"Yes," said Mal, still watching the ongoings below with studied interest.
"Okay," said Polly, thinking: shoot in the dark, shoot in the dark... er... "They've already attacked you," she said.
"Yes," said Mal, "in a manner of speaking. They missed and, so far, haven't tried again. Unless they sent Mr Pitchfork and his friend, but that would be ridiculous even for them."
"They missed?" asked Polly. "Surely it can't be that hard to direct a stake? Those two guys managed just fine."
"Yeah, thank you so much for reminding me," said Mal. "It wasn't a stake, though; they tried to shoot me. Bit dumb, really, but that's crazy fundamentalists to you."
"So when you said they missed you -," said Polly.
"They hit someone close to me."
Silence, and silence, and, "Me," said Polly. "They hit me? You may lie now, I think I need it."
Mal didn't say anything, which was as good as an answer.
"But that's... completely pointless," said Polly, shocked enough to flee into the arms of logic. "I don't understand. Arrows don't hurt vampires."
"Not in general, no," said Mal. "This one, however...," she trailed off, pulling something out of her jacket, something long and thin and wrapped in cloth. Not a stake, after all.
"You took the arrow with you?" asked Polly. "What kind of macabre souvenir is that?"
Mal unwrapped the thing, carefully so as not to touch it, even though she was wearing gloves. Something dark emerged.
They blackened it, so it wouldn't shine in the sunlight...
"Silver arrow," said Mal simply. She rewrapped the thing and put it back.
"Gods," said Polly. "That was some barbed nightmare. You... er..."
She pointed to Mal's right hand.
"I picked it up," said Mal. "After our friend the army surgeon ripped it out of you in complete disregard of the barb situation." She shook her head. "What a butcher."
"Er," said Polly. "Why did you hold it so tightly for?"
Mal shrugged. "There were people looking. Couldn't just let go now, could I?" She looked pointedly away, as if daring her to comment.
Polly looked at Mal's gloved hand and tried to imagine this with reversed roles, and shuddered slightly. She understood that, at least.
"Okay," she said. She felt she was getting over the shock. "Okay. That's it. Can you lend me that arrow? For later?"
"Whatever happened to pacifism?" asked Mal with a grin that said 'I'd love to be uncomfortable, but really I'm just amused.'
"Pacifism can rot," said Polly. "Now really, I mean it. Some complete righteous wanker shot me and I'm supposed to discuss the matter over a cup of... tea?"
Probably not tea, but -
"I'm keeping the arrow, Polly," said Mal. "For reasons of, one, this is family, two, the arrow won't actually kill anyone. It's just for show."
"Yes, but it hurts, doesn't it?" asked Polly.
"I think," said Mal, "that one of those barbs was meant to fall off, once inside. Be glad it didn't."
"Let's go, then," said Polly, somewhat relieved to be able to direct her anger on someone other than Mal, which was how this was supposed to go.
"Nah," said Mal, "dinner first. We won't impress anyone if we start drooling, or something."
"I bloody hate vampires," said Polly, "and vampirism, and blood, and rats. Now, where can I get some?"
"Follow me," said Mal. "I think they're almost done upstairs, so we'd better hurry. And I should hope one of these fine ladies will be able to brew me some coffee."
-
There had been something distinctly unsatisfying about that rat just now, thought Polly. Now, was this a recent development or had rats always been like that?
She tried to analyse this: one, soldiers never felt satisfied after rat scubbo. Except, of course, if you'd just spent a week eating what was probably rat scubbo. Two, she had spent the last week on rats (and once, on Mal, which didn't count except in some strange and frightening alternate reality). She had also spent the last week perpetually angry, which might or might not be related to the rats situation.
On a completely unrelated note, there was a very small figure sitting on the table right in front of her. It was clad in black and holding a very tiny scythe and that was why Polly hadn't mentioned its presence to Mal yet.
Right now, Polly was eating bread. Bread was good. Nourishing, delicious, and it worked to get that metallic taste out of her mouth. Other than that, she might as well have been eating cardboard, and she knew what she was talking about.
Mal, of course, was drinking her coffee. In a small chamber just adjacent to the kitchen, and sitting opposite her, she had regained that thoroughly disgusting air of universal confidence.
"What are you thinking of?" asked Mal.
"People asking this kind of question should be shot," growled Polly.
"Ah," said Mal.
SNH SNH SNH.
Polly glared at the very tiny figure. Mal didn't seem to notice.
"I wish you'd get angry once in a while," said Polly. "Just so I don't feel alone."
"Are you trying to provoke me, kid?" asked Mal with a smile that said 'come, try it'.
The very tiny figure sat completely still, but Polly had the distinct impression it was snickering. Light was reflected off its scythe.
Forget Uberwald, thought Polly. This is the clue I need. A battlefield and moonlight reflected off a scythe, a bigger scythe, and words. Now what -
"Oh shit," she said, and meant it.
"What's up?" asked Mal. She looked right through the tiny figure, that tiny Death on the table.
Polly took a deep breath. "Look, I can hear that cook's heartbeat from here, all right? It's disturbing. I don't think I've got much longer, actually."
Mal's glance flickered from the cook, who was visible through the half-open door some ten metres away, to Polly. It stayed there for a long time; her coffee was temporarily abandoned.
Tiny Death walked over to the cup and sniffed it. Ghostly whiskers trembled.
... Death had whiskers?
"It should be a few days still," murmured Mal, "but maybe -"
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe there's too many vampires around. Bad influence sort of thing. I don't know," said Mal, "d'you think we should just leave and get on with life?"
"What good would that do?" asked Polly. "We were planning to leave in a few hours anyway, so we should really spend some time finding things out. Come on Mal," she added as an afterthought, "Otto'd be delighted."
Now, of course this was another shot in the dark. With enough of these, Polly mused, she might one day get a clear picture of Mal. Or maybe not. The vampire - oh, to hell with that - the other vampire was glaring at her.
"What are you implying, exactly?" asked Mal.
"Nothing."
"... Good," said Mal. "Now, we really should get going. People might grow a bit impatient otherwise."
She put the empty coffee cup onto a shelf for people to find, something which is done by annoying party guests all over the multiverse. Polly got up in a fluid motion and very nearly sat down again. The dizziness, of course, was due to lack of sleep. Nothing to worry about, and Mal hadn't noticed anyway.
"Are you sure about this all?" asked Mal.
Or maybe she had. Well.
"Get out of my head," said Polly. "'m not in the mood."
Tiny Death disappeared behind a cupboard, and Mal merely shrugged, clearly not intending to press the point any further. She did, however, take Polly's hand again, dragging her on a complicated route through the castle.
After about ten minutes, Polly started to hear the music. It sounded strange to her ears, a low, flowing rhythm that reminded her of... something, but maybe this was a vampire thing. After a while. she could also make out the distant sound of a harmonium. Couldn't be much longer, now. And voices, a low whispering on the edge of her hearing. Well, low until -
"Maladicta," hissed somebody from an adjacent corridor, and before Polly knew it, Mal had let go of her hand.
"Maladict," she said without looking, then turned around and peeked into the corridor. "Er, wait, probably Maladicta to you. Sorry."
A woman stepped into the flickering light of the dim gas lamps lining the main corridors. She was pretty, saw Polly, all black hair and pale skin and... wait, that was some really serious corsetry she was wearing. Polly felt her ribs crack in sympathy.
"I haven't heard from you in a while, Maladicta," said the woman.
"Four years," said Mal. "I'm awful at keeping touch. Sorry 'bout that."
"Some double entendre," said the woman, with a grin that made Mal nervous, or at least, Polly thought so. It made Polly nervous, at the very least.
"It wasn't that clever," said Mal.
"I grew... concerned over the time," said the woman. "I trust that you've been well?"
Pause.
"Look," said Mal, "I don't have much time, and more than enough vague hints. I need names."
The woman smiled again, taking Mal's hands into her own. She did look at Polly for a moment, before concentrating on Mal. "Good luck with finding out, then," she said, and leaned forward to drop a kiss onto her forehead.
"Er," said Mal, but the woman had already vanished. Confusion lay thick in the air.
"Sorry, Polly. I can't help it," said Mal, "sometimes things just get bizarre on their own."
"What was all that about?" asked Polly. "You obviously knew her."
"Old friend," said Mal. "Well, very old friend, if you think about it. That was just her way of telling us she's on our side, but she won't tell us what she knows, and won't help us if we get into trouble. Maybe she'll crack a smile if we survive, or something."
"Really bloody helpful, then," said Polly. "What did you do to piss her off?"
"Er," said Mal, and blushed, she actually blushed. "I didn't, actually, piss her off, 'cos I think she's much too -"
"Much too what? Cheerful? Easy-going? Forgiving?"
"Indifferent, probably," said Mal. "I hope. Let's just say I... er... let's just not say anything at all."
"... All right."