Page 9 of 9
Chapter VI
After her morning nap Angua had played with Ire for a while until, by arrangement, one of the Interchangeable Emmas had arrived to take her to the hall for one night. The children both loved staying with Sir Samuel and Lady Sybil. Wolfie because he could play with Little Sam; and Ironhammer because all the Emmas made such a fuss over her. Ire seemed to be one of the few people who could tell them apart. She supposed it was a bit like the way Sally could not only distinguish between different Igors, but also ask after the health of related Igors, and the health and whereabouts of their related body-parts. Perhaps that was an ethnic minority thing.
Being from one herself, Angua was very sensitive to how minority races were perceived and valued. Dwarfs had been a problem from the beginning. Any race that quaffs a lot of beer, lusts after gold, appears to have no women and eats rats is always likely to have an image problem. Especially when it is as short of temper as it is of stature and doesn't bother with concealed carry. Yet now they were not only accepted but valued, because they could make any thing, from weapons to houses, out of anything: stone, wood, iron…gold, better than anyone else. They never tried to cheat you; never went back on their word… And if you ever tried to do any of those things to them; you never got the opportunity to do it twice.
Trolls were accepted, simply because there was nothing else you could do with them. Enough dwarfs could bring down a troll and even kill it, but they would do so only in battle, never sneakily in a back street. Humans simply didn't have the discipline, or the courage. Also while humans and dwarfs might have over-lapping desires on occasion, especially when it came to gold, trolls simply didn't want the same things. Sure, dwarfs might want phosphoric acid for the purposes of etching metal, and humans to throw in someone's face, but neither wanted to drink it, at least not more than once. And not in the quantities trolls did.
As for the Minor Minorities; they were mostly too small to be worth bothering about, for anyone. When she'd first come out there had been a few wolf-whistles and howls, and combinations of both. Then one day in Sator Square a pack of young men did it once too often. She had favoured them with a snarl: a full, head-transforming, burning-eyed, maw full of slavering fangs snarl. People hadn't known that she could do that at will, if she chose to.
There were a lot of people there to see it, but that was as nothing compared to the number of people who claimed to have been there to see it. She never received as much as a vaguely anti-Lupine comment after that. And nor did any other werewolf – or even anyone whose eyebrows met in the middle. She knew because they kept in touch using, of all things, the twilight howl. Some things are just bred in the fur and nothing to be done.
It was different for vampires, of course, it always was, no skulking around alleys looking for a bone and trying to avoid dogs for them. There it was. Her best friend in the world; the best friend she'd ever had; the friend that she trusted not only with her own life but with the lives of her children…was a vampire. The very word made her carnassials ache. She hated vampires.
There, she'd said it, if only to herself. Well, not all of them, of course not: Otto Chriek, Or Prince Vladimir Nicolai Jozef Illyich-Davidovich Ulyanov-Romanoff Vossarionovich – aka Vlad- who worked the rooves on the Nightwatch. Or Lucy –aka Donna Lucrezia la Gioconda di Magenta i Solferino; a soul so tortured by her past that, as punishment, she had chosen to work in an abattoir and live in the cellar where its waste drained into the Ankh. Until Sally had found her and persuaded her that good works were better than mere penance. Now she worked at Bernie's in the day, at the Sisters of Kindness in the evening and then through the night as a cleaner at Morpork Mercy.
She'd had Lucy round a couple of times for tea with Sally and all she could remember about her was: her shyness, almost childlike prettiness, skeletally-thin frame, paper-white skin, raven-black hair, giant, almost purple, eyes, incredibly long eyelashes…and bone-crushingly strong handshake. But that was the way with vampires: what you saw was never what you got.
Most people never met a vampire, at least not outside of Überwald, but then most people never went to the Opera or to society balls. Even Otto couldn't attend a murder-scene in The Shades in anything less than white-tie, tails and a cape. For every hard-working flatfoot like Vlad, or pathetic, wretched penitent like Lucy –asking forgiveness of gods she didn't even believe in- there were a hundred sociopaths moving graciously and effortlessly around the city's most fashionable salons..
She could almost hear herself and how she would sound: Oh, I don't mind gargoyles; remember what it was like with them pigeons before they arrived? We could do with a few more of them if you ask me, and they're so quiet, you never hear a peep out of them. But vampires, well…
When some vampires had moved out of the ballrooms and into the streets, to earn an honest, and modest, bite, The Post had briefly tried to whip up a "bloodsuckers in our midst" panic with one of its typically vicious campaigns. However, when the scions of a number of ancient and noted Überwald families –including the Lady Margalotta and Sally's mum- had explained to Lord Bothermore that polite society could, if pushed, become really rather impolite, the tone changed. Suddenly it was "They don't want a pint from you; they want to take you for a pint."
But what could she do? It wasn't thought it was pelt. And it was made all the worse for her being able to hear Sally preparing dinner in the kitchen downstairs. With two naps under her pelt and the prospect of a lovely, child-free evening and a delicious meal ahead, she suddenly felt a wonderful rush of mischievous girlishness that she had felt since…well, ever.
She concentrated, closed her glands and suppressed her scent. Then she slowed her heartbeat to less than one a minute and took a breath deep enough to last five. Only then did she slide out of bed.
Initially she thought she should only walk on her toes, but then decided that that put too much strain on her calves, which might require a heartbeat, or even a breath. Instead she tried a trick that she's picked up from Sally. She's noticed that her friend could walk across a dry floor in wet feet and leave barely a mark. She'd practised and practised and now she could more or less do it. Of course when Sally did it it looked both graceful and effortless. Angua didn't care how she looked but she knew this walk required no effort, at least physically; mentally it was a different matter but that didn't matter. It was as close to perfect as she was capable of.
For thirty seconds she'd carried a fly on her hand while the fly had moved less than the hand. Her only worry had been that there might be a creaky floorboard that could give her away. But, no, she'd reached the bottom of the stairs and all she could hear was Sally chopping. It was all stone now, without any possible creeks, just a few more steps and she'd actually be able to see her.
"Please tell me you are not trying to creep-up on me, "said Sally without turning round.
"Awww! How did you know!?"
"Where would you like me to start: the deep breath? The slowed heart? The cautious toe on the floor?"
"How can you possibly know that?!" Angua demanded.
"I'm a vampire," said Sally, "I'm sorry, did I forget to mention that? And put some clothes on; we evil bloodsuckers prefer our victims to be wearing a nice nightie. It's like garnish on your steak, or something."
"Clothes shmoes," said Angua, "I'm not the only one seen prowling the streets naked when decent folk ought to be in bed."
Sally went on chopping vegetables, a rare sight in Angua's house, but a welcome one.
"Sally…" continued Angua from the doorway.
"Yes, Angie." Grrr! Sally knew she hated that.
"You know how you said earlier that you once didn't sleep for two years," shallow breaths, shallow breaths, "well, was that really true?"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"No so far as I'm aware. Why didn't you sleep for two years?"
"I was busy."
"What could you possibly be doing that kept you so busy you couldn't sleep for two years?!"
"Oh, you know how hard it is for us to sleep: can't find the right coffin. Find the right coffin, but can't find the right soil. Find the right coffin and the right soil, and the crypt's too draughty…"
"Doesn't sound like enough, what else were you doing?"
"Oh, the usual: terrifying villages, sucking blood, ravishing virgins –though only ones in nice nighties- that sort of thing. You'd be amazed how it eats into your schedule…"
"SALLY?"
"I was in love! There, satisfied?"
Angua was not merely, not satisfied, she was dumbfounded, at least for a while. And that was probably just as well. Anything she might have said would likely have been: pointless, stupid, hurtful, or all three, or worse. Vampire's didn't fall in love. They often passed on their genes by methods other than fang but only, like all nobility, for reasons of advancing their family interests. Never for something as tawdry and plebeian as love. It would have been unspeakably vulgar and would have been shunned by all the very worst people. Once Angua had had a long enough pause she knew she had to speak.
"You've never said anything about this to me before," she offered quietly, not sure quite what tone to adopt.
"No, I haven't, have I?" said Sally.
"I'm sorry, I just wondered if you wanted to talk about it now."
"No, I bloody-well don't!" snapped Sally, "and don't you even dare try to make a joke out of that."
"Ok, but you're my best friend…"
"And you're my only friend."
"And you're mine. Will you ever want to tell me?"
"I promise to tell you everything before I die."
Angua wasn't as easily fooled as most marks though.
"Do you promise to tell me before I die?"
"Yes, that too. It's almost as though you don't trust me," accused Sally.
"With my life," said Angua "but not to tell me everything about yours… Let's leave that for another time and some…vine! What are you making?"
"Soup, vegetable," said Sally, "and I shall have some more…vine, thank you." She drained her glass and handed it over.
"What sort of soup?" asked Angua, refilling Sally's glass and handing it back. "Just vegetable?"
"No, no, vegetable and cheese."
Angua wasn't always sure when Sally was messing with her so she decided to play along.
"And what is the main course?"
"Fish, and more vegetables."
"And vegetables for pudding?"
"Oh, no. For dessert there is fruit and cream and eggs."
"Right, thank you, I get it, you're making a meal. It's like asking a dwarf about his bricks and mortar when he's building a house. I shall leave you to your art while I go for walkies."
"Ang, I'm sorry," said Sally, relenting, "you just stirred-up some emotions, and you know that's hard for me."
"I know, Sal."
"I'll tell you soon, I promise; when I know myself."
"I'm friends if you are." Sally nodded. "So are the vegetables, fish, cheese, fruit, eggs and cream just going to be boiled-up together in one pot? That's what Carrot would do."
"I haven't decided yet; I'm still creating."
"In that case I shall go and make myself even more beautiful than I already am."
With that she swept out of the room, which isn't easy with no clothes on, but easier if you have a built-in animal grace.
"Well, it's a lot of hair to brush," called Sally, just as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Angua smiled; they were definitely still best-friends. So she nipped back down.
"Sal, can I ask you a question?"
"As long it's not the one about why there are so many flies about."
"No. Is there any chance that you might give up two more years of sleep to help me take care of the children; so that I can get some?"
Sally tossed her hair: "Sleep never bothered me anyway."