Note: Pratchett's. Try not to hate me for the ending.

-

Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 12. In which there is fluff. Well, technically.

-

Polly and Mal had lodgings in a run-down inn in one of the more interesting districts of Ankh-Morpork, and all Polly could say about them was that they weren't completely disgusting. That was to say, Polly had seen worse. Not much worse, but worse, in any way. At least, the bedsheets here promised a entertaining new set of skin diseases. Elsewhere, you'd merely get educational.

"Gotta be something really easy," said Polly. "Air, for example. Can I crave air?"

They were sitting in the guestroom of the inn, which was underground and possibly just the tiniest bit damp, but they were a bit short of money right now. This town had, so far, proved completely immune to Mal's glare if it hadn't also been accompanied by the gleam of a coin. It was worrying.

"Bit hard to pull off," said Mal. "It should be something that's at least halfway interesting."

"I reckon air's very interesting," said Polly. "Fresh air, I mean. This town's a bit stinky."

"Nah," said Mal. She was poking around in the remains of what the locals called breakfast, namely, a slab of fried bacon that was so well-done it gave off a small cloud of dust. Apparently, this was a sign of quality. Ordering rare meat in Ankh-Morpork, she had said, was an adventure in and of itself.

There wasn't much that killed a vampire, but a dish of steak tartare would probably make their next six hours or so very interesting indeed.

"I mean," she added, "once you've managed to get yourself addicted to air, you're probably fine, unless you should happen to find yourself underwater for a week, or something equally bizarre. But I really don't see how one could pull that off."

"Hm," said Polly. "How substantial's this supposed to be, anyway?"

Mal shrugged. "Can be anything," she said. "Could be light, if you're artistically inclined."

"Er," said Polly. "That was Otto, right?"

She watched in fascination while Mal raised the fork to her mouth. It was practically charcoal she ate. Polly herself had declined on account of feeling edgy, and she was glad she had.

"Yeah," said Mal, "that was Otto." She fixed Polly's eyes over an untouched beer mug. "Out with it, Polly. I know you want to ask."

Polly watched a little fly buzzing around in a consequent zig-zag. It flew over the beer mug. It fell into the beer mug. That was the end of the little fly.

"Yes," said Polly. "But will I get an answer?"

A slight smile. "That depends," said Mal.

"Okay then," said Polly. "Back when you'd vanished for half a year -"

"I was here," said Mal.

"And you were with -?"

"You may have noticed I came back," said Mal. "Anything else? A diagram, maybe? There ain't many trees 'round here, though."

"Ah," said Polly, finding that her imagination didn't need details, or trees, right now. "I could start obsessing over other people's private lives," she added.

Mal stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I can just imagine the craving episodes," she said. "Gimme details or die."

"Ah," said Polly. "I see how that can be impractical."

She did take up the beer mug at this point, just to give her hands something to do; however, she wouldn't go so far as to actually drink the stuff. Maybe it wouldn't dissolve pennies, but it sure had dissolved the fly.

Polly was watching Mal over the rim of the mug, and there was a thought -

"How 'bout people?" she asked. On the other side of the table, Mal examined her fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"They'd have to stick around for a pretty long time," she said softly, looking up.

"Okay," said Polly. "I got it. Bad idea."

"Besides," added Mal, "it doesn't quite meet the criterion of social acceptance. Vampirism is already some sort of people craving."

"Look, I said I got it," said Polly. "Just forget about it, will you?"

She leaned back in her chair, less comfortable then she'd have liked to, but more comfortable than the old Polly would have been. And then she had an idea.

"Saloop," she said.

"Boring," said Mal.

"Since when was that a criterion?" asked Polly.

"Since never," said Mal. "Sorry."

"I reckon that one's easy," continued Polly, "'cause saloop's hot sweet milky tea, and it's still saloop if it, you know, isn't. I've had saloop that was lukewarm water, and it was great. And the way I see it, if we can't even get a fire burning, we're buggered either way."

"And you already have an unhealthy fixation on it," said Mal, "just like the whole damn army. So you're really going to go back, then?"

Polly was a little surprised. "'course," she said. "So, Mal, are you really going to not go back?"

A blink, a pause.

"Got it," said Mal.

"But," said Polly, "and I'm honestly trying not to be self-centered here, but seeing as no-one attacked us on our way here, do you really think it's necessary to go to bloody Uberwald and provoke these people to hell and back?"

"Polly," said Mal. "You may have noticed that I've managed to acquire enemies with a rather unfriendly attitude, very sharp weapons and hilariously bad aim, yes? How could I possibly justify staying around anyone that I even remotely like?"

"By accepting that they can take care of themselves?" said Polly.

"We saw how that worked out," said Mal. "I've got to, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Polly, who'd just remembered that her army was, for the most part, mortal and maybe should not be subjected to the wrath of a bunch of unreformed fundamentalist vampires. "How long d'you think this withdrawal thing will take?"

"About ten days, in most cases," said Mal. "Might be a bit shorter for you, but I honestly don't know."

There was one question that had been nagging on the edge of Polly's consciousness for a while now. Polly gave in to it.

"Will you still be there when I get out?" she asked, hoping that she didn't sound like a whiny toddler. I'm old enough to get things done on my own, she thought. Only it'd be nice if I didn't have to all the time.

"'course," said Mal. "What, did you think it'd be 'thank you and goodbye, ma'am' now?"

"Er," said Polly. "I wouldn't have put it quite like that."

"Probably not," said Mal. "Tell you what, let's leave this place. It's too sticky for my taste."

She got up, extending a hand to Polly. All gentleman now.

"Time?" asked Polly.

"Time," said Mal. "I think."

Outside, the new morning presented itself with redness.

-

"Abbatoirs Lane," said Polly. "How really very bloody fitting. And how, pray tell, did we manage to end up early? We were late when we left."

Mal was leaning against the wall, taking a sip of her coffee-to-run-like-a-total-prat-'cause-we-know-you're-late-for-work, looking, very content. Ankh-Morpork clearly was some kind of messed up vampire heaven to her, thougt Polly, not without a slight twinge of annoyance.

"It's only ten minutes or so," she said. "And don't look at me like that. It's not my fault they open later in this season."

"But they're vampires," pointed Polly out. "It's absurd. They're not supposed to do the daylight savings thing."

"That's why they do it," said Mal. "Fag?"

Without awaiting an answer, she lit another cigarette and passed it over. Without complaining, Polly took it. She was getting jittery, anyway.

"I probably won't stay long," said Mal.

"Why not?"

"Because," said Mal, "i've got the inkling of a feeling that it might possibly not be a very good idea."

"Mal?" said Polly, and inhaled deeply, savouring the feeling of smoke abrading the inside of her lungs. "You promised me something. You promised me not to be so damn vague all the time."

"Yeah, well, except when people are listening," said Mal.

"But these people are supposed to be on our side," said Polly, and thought about that sentence, and took the moment to be righteously scandalised. "They are on our side, are they? Mal?"

"'course," said Mal. "But don't worry if they kick me right out."

"Huh," said Polly. "Why?"

"It's just that I suspect I'm not too welcome here," said Mal, "on account of the whole, you know, biting situation. Either that or they'll drown me in cocoa and well-meant support, and I'm not sure I can deal with that, either."

Polly narrowed her eyes. "And you're not just trying to make me feel better about spending the next ten days in there?"

At this moment, the door was opened with a flourish. In the frame, there stood a vampire. He was barely recognisable as such, though whether this was achieved by the fuzzy woolly purple jumper or rather his air of general goodwill, she couldn't tell.

"Maladicta," he said, "so good of you to come. I see you brought someone new?"

"Yeah," said Mal, and Polly noticed how very much she wasn't correcting the man on the issues of names. "Can we get in? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"We'll see what we can do," said the man. "Do come in. I daresay there's time for a cup of cocoa, Maladicta?"

"Not... really," said Mal.

"Oh, you absolutely must."

Mal cast a glance at Polly. It said something along the lines of 'they might want to kill us, but as long as their weapon of choice is cocoa...'

"And no ash on the carpets, please," said the man.

Carpets, thought Polly. Oh well. She crushed the cigarette under her boot. A boot that was, just now, being subjected to a very thorough inspection.

"We've got guest slippers," added the man. "They're obligatory. Please?"

Once inside, Polly was a bit surprised. She'd expected something, well, gloomier. She'd expected style. Instead, it was flowery wallpapers and footmats and very fluffy guest slippers. Obscenely fluffy guest slippers. They were rather puzzling.

"Very fluffy guest slippers," she said, as if naming the things could ban their inherent demonic nature. "Very fluffy pink guest slippers." She got out of her boots and tentatively put them on,

"Huh," she added, staring down at her feet. "'s this supposed to be some sort of initiation ritual?"

Polly could hear someone practising something that sounded like a harmonium, and badly at that. It stopped soon, though.

"What's your name, aspiring Black Ribboner?" asked the man in the jolly and entirely nerve-grating manner of anti-social vampires who by some mistake of the system have been given a job as receptionist.

"Perks," said Polly. "Polly Perks," she added, to clear any possible confusion.

"... Ah," said the man. "Any titles? Middle names? Anything?"

"Er," said Polly. "You can call me sergeant, if that makes you happy."

"Well, now," said the man, "we've prepared a few contracts..."

Prepared?

As Polly tried to catch Mal's eyes, another man came hurrying down the corridor, or rather, sliding along, on account of the slipper situation.

"Maladicta!" he said. He wasn't out of breath, Polly noticed. This might be a vampire thing. Mal turned to look at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"So good to see you alive and well -," the man began, and stopped, and cleared his throat. "Lady Draconia would be delighted to talk to you. She said it was urgent business."

"Ah," said Mal. "So you're her lapdog now?"

"She made herself very clear, Maladicta," said the man. "You simply cannot resist."

Yeah, thought Polly. I'm urgent business, too. I think I'm about to collapse, actually, so can someone, anyone, please hurry up?

She felt Mal squeeze her hand, already turning to go. Polly couldn't believe it. How could anyone -

- how could Mal -

- be so damn stupid?

"Mal," she said, nudging her. "I know it's hard for you, but can you try using your brain for once?"

There was an eyebrow being raised at her. "Oh, I love you, too, Polly," said Mal. "Why?"

The cheek!

"Fine," said Polly. "Go visit your Lady Draconia. See if I care."

Mal moved her lips silently for a moment, her expression perfectly blank, then said, "... Oh."

"I see you're getting the idea," said Polly.

"Of course," said Mal. "I'm not completely uncunning, thanks." She turned to the man waiting for her. "You can tell your Lady Draconia I'll be in the drawing room. Five minutes," she said.

"Contrary," said the man, smiling faintly . "I'm going to accompany you."

Mal sighed. "One minute," she said. "You will give me one minute." She held his eyes for a few seconds. It almost - almost - looked like there was more than a little convincing going on underneath, but Polly wouldn't know. As far as she was concerned, strange mind powers didn't happen to people she knew.

"Of course," the stranger said, grinning and tilting his head slightly. "We're all grown-ups here, yes?"

Polly was getting increasingly uneasy, and that wasn't helped when Mal took her arm and dragged her off into a corner.

And pulled her close.

Er.

"So it's like that," whispered Mal into her ear. "Contract guy is on our side. I think. Fluffy bunny slipper guy has just demonstrated that he, well, isn't. The lady with the silly name is so far from our side it's almost funny. So, you'll be safe, I'll be, well, I'll try to be cunning -"

"We could still run," said Polly. "Before they try sticking stakes in you."

Mal looked at her for a long moment. "No, we can't," she said, very softly. Polly opened her mouth to protest, but, really, there was nowhere to go and she was fixating on necks again.

"You can," Polly whispered. "You can run. I can take care of myself."

Mal bit her lip. "You know I can't," she said. "Do come on, Polly, I know these people."

"That puts me right at ease," said Polly, rolling her eyes, but that was just for show. She did take one of Mal's hands, tentatively. "Be careful?"

A grin. "'s my middle name," said Mal. "And that reminds me - " She slipped something into the pocket of Polly's jacket.

"If you could avoid giving that up to people who make the impression of crazy murderers that would be swell," she whispered. "Good luck," and with that, she actually dropped a kiss on Polly's forehead and -

(she's standing on tiptoes how sweet)

- was gone.

-

The next hour Polly spent pretending to read a contract that basically said that, if she were to die during withdrawal, she couldn't sue the League. All right, then, she thought.

"Shall I sign that in blood, then?" she joked.

The man in the woolly jumper got pale. Paler.

"Do not say that word again," he said. "We strive to create an atmosphere of awareness here. People are sensitive."

Polly shrugged and signed in ink so black it glowed. She noticed there was rather a lot of blank space for her name. Two pages, in fact. We could really use that for our death notfications, thought Polly. And the ink's pretty stylish -

"Follow me, then, Sergeant Polly," said the man and, without awaiting her response, he wandered off.

"It's Sergeant Perks," said Polly, hurrying to keep up with him. "I'm not royalty, or something."

"I do apologise, Sergeant Perks," said the man stiffly. He really was the anti-vampire, thought Polly. Fuzzy all over and uncharming and checkered and also, probably on her side. Fancy that.

They were going downstairs, she noticed. There was quite a lot of downstairs underneath this building, and there were no flowery wallpapers here. No need for fluffy slippers, either. She was lead to a row of lockers, most of them open.

"You can leave your personal belongings here," said the man. "They will be kept safe. We don't offer guarantees on valuables."

"I thought so," said Polly. "Er. I don't think I've got much in the way of personal belongings, really."

"Empty your pockets."

There it was again, thought Polly, there went the red-hot anger. She swallowed it down. She was trying to make an effort here. Contract guy was on her side.

Probably.

"Sure," she said. An extensive search of the pockets in her jacket revealed a used handkerchief, which was, to Polly's surprise, carefully noted down on a list. She also pulled out Mal's toothbrush. Whoops, she thought. But certainly Mal could acquire a new one in this city, right?

"... Stake," said the man. "You've brought a stake?"

"It's for self-defence," said Polly, oh so intelligently. "Er. I kinda forgot about it, actually."

The man was holding the stake thoughtfully. Gods, thought Polly. I'm about to be murdered by a very cunning double agent in a fuzzy sweater. The shame. And it's my own stake, too.

"Very well," said the man. "It's a piece of wood, right? Nothing significant about it. Nothing... at... all. And we're tolerant of... no that there's anything wrong with..."

In an attempt to even out the madness, Polly went through her pockets again, and then thought, oh damn, so that was what Mal had given her -

"What's that?" said the man, unwinding the small vial from Polly's hand.

"Oh, no," said Polly. "Look, that one's really impor -"

The man uncorked the vial and sniffed carefully, then held the it far away, while closing it with a bit more force than was, technically, necessary.

"Ngk," he said, while trying to regain control over his facial expression. "Thought you could smuggle that in?"

"Look, I don't know what -"

"We'll take that into safekeeping," said the man. "Secure safekeeping, that is. As opposed to standard safekeeping, which is what we have here." He might or might not have been looking at Polly in a conspirational way. It was hard to tell. "It will later be decided if you get it back. Follow me now."

Polly did, although she was thinking of a nice, recreational bloodbath with a bit more vigour than even her condition required at the moment. Welcome back, good old Polly anger. The ruperts really are everywhere, right?

They passed empty cells on their way. They weren't very bad, for cells. They had wooden floorboards and the walls were painted with a shiny sort of paint. Probably washable.

"I've noticed the whole building is decorated in warm and inviting colours," said Polly. "Why isn't the cellar?"

"Can't renovate all the time, can we?" said the man. "There you go. Cell number nineteen. It's a lucky number. Most people survive."

"Aw, thanks for telling me," said Polly, getting inside. Voluntarily! Her inner sergeant shook his head sadly. "Anything else?"

"You may receive visitors during the first three days," said the man. "But don't be too put off if there aren't any."

"Wait," said Polly, "what the hell do you mean by that?"

The door clicked, the key turned, and she was alone with the sound of retreating footsteps and her own heart.

-

Polly believed it quite possible that she had never been as alone as this.

She lay on a cold floor. She was warm, getting warmer still. This may have been day five, day six, day two. Withdrawal, so far, had been a lot of falling asleep and waking up again, and she'd lost count of the days.

She got up; her body felt oddly blurred until it caught up with her. Polly got a hold of the wall. Her legs were shaking a bit by now, and she staggered over to a small basin that was built into the opposite wall. Water trickled lightly, pooling up before going down the drain. The sound of dripping was almost too much.

Polly collected some of the water in her hands. It took some time, and when there was enough of it, she splashed it into her face, seeking coolness, feeling coolness -

- boiling hot -

So that's it, then, thought Polly. Hallucinations. She'd been waiting for them to start, like one waits for a rupert to yell 'attack', because, really, the sooner things start, the sooner they stop and maybe she'd still be there afterwards.

During battle, nothing much was real (slicing into bodies, getting sliced, no really, it never happened to people). Here, she knew what was real. Polly drank some of the water, and while it felt hot, and while it burned her mouth and throat, she knew it was really cool.

Really.

Breathing and breathing and quite suddenly Polly grew beyond the cell.

There was something inside her, and it sensed. Real people on Abbatoir Lane, uncomfortably close. There were so many of them, lovely, alive, high in nutrients -

Polly collapsed against a wall. What was real, she thought. What was real was the wall, and her body against it, and nothing much more. What wasn't real was the heat, and the hunger, the burning need to tear and kill.

The shaking, now, that wasn't real, either. Polly sat perfectly still as the world around her shook. Blinked.

The cell wasn't bright enough to actually see anything, but she still saw the blood on the walls. Polly shifted a little, and her shirt stuck to the wall.

Easy, she thought. I'm sweating. It's a perfectly normal wall. Her palms lay flat upon the floor, and the floor was sticky.

Polly breathed in, and she smelled it. She smelled it for what felt like another day, and that was when she began to hurt.

-

There were things on the edge of her consciousness. She was opening up, like a flower, like a wound, only backwards. Polly drew things in. Fluttering heartbeats, more felt than heard. Lingering thoughts that felt like they were hers, of lettuce, of shoes that were getting uncomfortable, of cocoa, of sex. Ankh-Morporkian pedestrians seemed strangely fascinated with sex. She thought she spotted Mal, once. Sleeping, curled around herself and not hanging upside down at all -

- and -

Great, thought Polly. Now that I am in the ultimate position to go inquisitive on people's private lives, she's -

And Polly got more. She was walking the streets of Ankh-Morpork with a thousand pairs of legs. Probably more, but that was when she lost count and got a headache instead.

Need to concentrate, she thought. Need to - there. She was back in her cell, still on the same old spot, same old flow in her veins, and, wait -

All the blood in this room was inside her.

Polly whimpered and got up again. Not real. It was only a few steps to the basin, something made her stop in the middle of the room.

Brighter now, she noticed with distress. Not really a cell. She was pressed against the wall where there had been no wall before.

"Hands out," said a voice -

- directly in front of her -

- and she was trapped, really, she didn't have much of a chance. She inspected the chains he was holding with gloved hands, not iron or copper or -

Soft, her voice, only not really. "You bastard," she said.

A smile. "Hands out."

Held out her hands. Looked all different now, thought Polly. She recalled having dirtier fingernails than that.

And then the silver closed around her wrists and -

Pain.

The force of it actually threw her out of her skull.

-

Polly blinked. She was back in the cell, her hands by her side. No chains at all.

Tried to sleep for a while, away from dreams or panic attacks or flashsides or whatever the hell that had been. Found that her original plan didn't work as well as she had thought it would.

(Original plan: (1) lie down on floor, (2) close eyes, (3) fall asleep without any intrusions whatsoever. It might have been a tad optimistic.)

Blinked again.

And she was crouching on the floor, back to wall, hands chained, dull pain in her wrists that became sharp when she moved, so she didn't. Smiling people were around her.

"Oh, we have nothing against publicity for the League," said the voice of the harmonium player. "You just have to admit you shot the girl."

"Ha," said Polly's mouth. "What'd have been the point?"

"So you could blame it on us?" suggested the woman. "The evil old-fashioned control-lacking vampires, as opposed to the shiny new reformed sucking up to humankind really our teeth are only for opening pickle jars vampires?"

"It's personal, I see," said her mouth, again, but the voice wasn't hers. "Now, you've got to admit that's pretty damn silly even as far as most conspirational theories go. Since I'm sucking up to humankind, and all."

"People will believe it," said Miss Ainocard, suddenly kneeling down next to her, holding a cup of strong, sweet-smelling coffee, completely out of reach. The body wanted to strain into the general direction, but didn't.

"Five days passed, and we've got all the time in the world," she whispered. "We could bring you a human. It's what you want."

"No," a hiss. A flash of -

- room full of blood -

"Or," Miss Ainocard leaned closer, thumb dragging along one feverish brow. "We could bring you the Polly girl. See who survives." She laughed. "Said it was a good plan."

Polly wanted to spring up, break the chains, leap at her, rip her beating heart out, but the body resisted, forcibly so. It was like trying to dislodge a brick wall with bare hands. Strange, because Polly had thought all the right things to get the body going.

"Polly's nineteen," she said, talking in third person for which ever reason. "She's nineteen. Vampires don't hurt children, yes?"

I'm not a child, thought Polly. I've killed and attacked and kissed people and childhood doesn't work like that -

"Yes," said Miss Ainocard, looking a bit disappointed. "Vampires don't. Usually."

Polly was looking down on bound hands, burned wrists, and without Polly remembering to give the order, her right hand turned around, palm upwards. That wound, now, right there, had almost healed completely, Polly noticed. Wait -

Her lips were moving soundlessly, and Polly strained her - brain? - to make sense of that.

Get out of my head, Polly.

Miss Ainocard got up in a lazy rustle of skirts. "Remember the twins from the ball? I heard they got staked a month ago, the both of them." Eyes followed the coffee cup, body tense, wrists still burning up and hair deranged and cold sweat all over.

"But this is not about the children, is it?" Get out of my head.

The glance she got was more pitiful than anything else. "I thought you knew how war is played."

Please.

Polly wasn't quite sure how to go about that, but with the next breath she drew, the room shattered and she was back in her cell with a multitude of heartbeats from all over the town, and without the one she wanted.

-

She continued her way to the basin, she drank some of the water. By now, it had acquired a rather sticky quality, and there were things in it. Always changing around, always flowing, all over her arms, and it stuck to her skin.

Polly lay down on the floor again, sprawled out until she became too cold for that, curled up until she became too hot, all circled around that dull ache in her belly. She uncurled again, already freezing as she did so.

Maybe if she just concentrated on breathing -

The pain came in waves, pulsating with the beat of her own heart. One minute, it was far away, or maybe she was detached, it didn't matter. It would build up from there, reaching that threshold where pain became agony, and stay, and stay. Sometimes, it got worse from there. Sometimes, Polly screamed. More often, she lay there whimpering until the pain got bearable again. She treasured these moments.

I'm going to find Mal, she thought, and then I'm going to fucking kill her. Repeatedly until she gets the message. Gonna kill Mal.

Gonna kill -

-

Maybe she could sleep if she hit her head on the floor.

Thought. Done. A little blackness. The water was dripping, and she counted. She gave up twice, and began again, and she supposed she'd slept a little, because the basin was almost full when she approached it again.

She turned and Ankh-Morpork hit her. Too many voices, too many thoughts. She had to concentrate. She had to...

- pick and choose -

"You are a very small pawn in a significantly bigger games," said a female voice.

Oh, not again.

"Do you know what happens to small pawns in big games?", the same voice.

"They get to be queen?" said the body Polly was currently residing in. It might have been Mal. Only Mal had never made it a habit to kneel on a floor like this, hands bound and eyes closed. "Look," she added, "if you want to use metaphor, you've got to think. I don't look good in dresses."

"They're disposable," said the voice. "They die. Are you following me?"

"Well, actually -"

A blow across her face. Polly was impressed. Coming from a vampire, even the most ladylike slap certainly added weight to an argument.

"So, the question is," said the voice, and there was no movement in it, "who sent you, little pawn?"

"I wasn't sent," complained the body.

"Try again?" A suggestion with a threat in it. It was unpleasant.

"I was sort of maybe nudged into a general direction. You might guess by whom." A crooked smile, eyes still closed.

And laughter. Laughter. Polly was scandalised. "Lady Margolotta has finally acknowledged our existence?"

The smile didn't fade. "And aren't you proud." A pause in which Polly thought, so that's what these arrogant little grins feel like from the inside. "Your little extremist movement, all grown up now."

Silence, dead silence except for the faint sound of a lid being screwed off. Someone gave a small chuckle, and Polly realised it was her. Mal. Didn't matter.

"Look at me, Maladicta."

A hand under her chin forced her head up.

"Open your eyes."

Lips moving again, and these were not Polly's words.

Leave me, Polly.

"Do come on," that voice again. "Open your eyes." And then, softer, "Do it for Mum."

A pause, and "No," the body said, startled. "Certainly not -"

Leave me. I'll be fine.

The eyes opened, and for a split second they saw a face, wearing an eye mask, and then, a flash of light, brighter than anything Polly had ever known. Someone screamed. Not Polly. She was blinded, she was -

- dust -

-

In her cell, Polly collapsed, hugging herself. She did not know how much longer this would take, or if she would get out of here alive, but she did know, with absolute certainty, that Mal was dead.