Many miles away, the children followed the guide Puck had assigned them.
"Yet what is a vampire?" Cordelia asked.
"Have a care," said a reedy voice in front of them. "A root doth bulk up, to trip thee."
"Oh! I thank thee, elf." Cordelia lifted her skirts and stepped carefully over the root, following the foot-high manikin who led them. " Tis _hard going as the woods darken."
"It will be night soon," Fess said, "and the vampire will be active. We should return home and come here again by daylight, when the monster sleeps within his cave."
Magnus frowned. "Wherefore doth he so?"
"Because he will turn to dust if sunlight strikes him." Fess lifted his head sharply. "What am I speaking of? Vampires are mythical!"
"Any myth may gain weight and substance, in Grama-rye," Magnus assured him. "Yet thou hast not answered Delia, Fess. What is a vampire?"
Fess heaved a burst of white noise and answered. "A vampire, children, is a person who lives by drinking other people's blood."
Cordelia froze, horrified. Geoffrey made a retching noise. " Tis disgusting," Gregory said, looking a little green.
"Why do Other folk suffer such a one to live?" Magnus demanded.
"They do not, Magnus. When people learn of a vampire's existence, they generally attempt to slay it—but the monsters cannot truly be killed, for they are no longer completely alive."
"Immortal?" Magnus asked.
"Until they are disposed of, yes. A vampire can be immobilized indefinitely by driving a stake through its heart and burying it at a crossroad—or it can be burned."
"What of their souls?" Cordelia whispered.
"I am not programmed to conjecture about spiritual matters, Cordelia."
"Then there is no certain knowledge?"
"Surely their souls must be lost!" Geoffrey protested. "Have they not slain innocent folk?"
"Not precisely. Vampires generally do not take enough blood to kill a person at one sitting. But after several visits over a period of time, the victim becomes a vampire in his or her own turn."
"Thou dost not say so!" Cordelia gasped. "Is't to Ms that Arachne hath condemned the lass she sold to the vampire?"
"We must save her," Geoffrey said, with decision. Then he frowned, uncertain. "Or hath she already become like to him?"
"How are we to know?" Magnus asked.
"By her vitality, according to the literature. If she is listless and apathetic, the vampire is still feeding upon her; but if she is energetic and burning with greed, she has become a vampire herself."
"We shall know her when we see her, then." Magnus frowned. "If we can see aught, in this gloaming."
" 'Tis still light enough for that," the elf replied. He parted some ferns and breathed, "Behold!"
The sourceless twilight showed them a clearing in front of a cliff face. In its base, a crevice widened into a cave mouth seven feet high and four feet wide, with a semicircle of beaten earth before it and rubble to either side. The rubble must have contained some music-rocks, for a three-chord melody murmured through the clearing. The heavy thrumming of its bass notes seemed to be moving the feet of the girl who danced in front of the cave. Certainly she did not seem to be stepping by herself, for her face was drawn and pale, and her whole body limp and drooping, waving vaguely to the rhythm. She was perhaps sixteen, and should have been bursting with the vitality of youth, but her eyes were only half-open.
"Regard," Geoffrey breathed. "Her throat!"
The children stared, fascinated and repelled, at the cluster of double marks on the girl's neck.
"She is apathetic," Fess murmured.
"Why, 'tis so!" Cordelia lifted her head. "She doth care for naught! She is not yet herself a vampire!"
"We may save her, then." Magnus stood up, purpose settling about him like a cloak. "Come, my sibs." He stepped forward into the clearing.
"Beware," the elf said near his ankle. "When darkness falls, the vampire will come out."
"I await him with hunger to match his own," Geoffrey answered.
"Thou shouldst hide thee, elf," Gregory advised, hurrying after his brothers and sister.
"Why, so I shall," the elf answered. "Yet be sure, a score of Wee Folk do watch, and await thy need." Then he ducked down into the grass, and was gone.
Magnus stepped up to the girl and inclined his head. "Greetings, lass. I am called Magnus, and I would speak with thee."
The girl's glance strayed to his face, then strayed away. She gave no other sign of having heard him.
"Let me try." Cordelia moved in front of Magnus, gazing up at the bigger girl. "I am Cordelia. Wilt thou not pause to speak with me?"
The lass frowned slightly, her gaze wandering toward Cordelia; but it never quite arrived, for her face smoothed out, and she ended by gazing over the younger girl's head.
"Oh!" Cordelia said. "How rude! Wilt thou not cease dancing for a few moments' speech?"
"I doubt me an she can." Magnus beckoned to Geoffrey and Gregory. "Come, brothers! We must catch and hold her, an we wish speech with her."
"Done!" Geoffrey cried, and dove into a flying tackle.
"Not that way!" Magnus threw his arms around the girl, holding her up. Finally her gaze met his, looking up only a little, and her eyes widened, almost completely open.
"I have her feet," Geoffrey called out from below.
"And I have her arms." Magnus leaned back a little. "Now, lass! Tell me thy name!"
The girl just blinked at him, not understanding.
"Thy name," Magnus urged. "Thy name that folk do call thee by!"
She blinked again, and said, "What matter?"
"What matter!" Cordelia cried. "Wilt thou forget thyself also?"
The girl's eyes strayed to her. She blinked again, and yawned. "Mayhap. 'Tis naught."
"Naught!" Geoffrey exploded. "Is 'naught' thy name, then? Are we to call thee 'Naught'?—'Ho, Naught! How dost thou fare? 'Tis a fine day, Naught, is't not? Come, Naught, let us…' "
"Geoffrey!" Cordelia pinned him with a glare. "The poor lass hath grief enow, without thy…"
"Nay, I have no grief." The girl puckered her brow. "Yet thou art truly a rude fellow. An thou must needs know it, my name is Nan."
Geoffrey returned Cordelia's glare. "There are times when rudeness doth serve purpose, sister."
"Aye, it angered her enow to draw her from her apathy a moment." Gregory studied Nan, watching her face smooth into blandness again. "Yet only a moment. Dost thou care so little for thy name, lass?"
"I ha' told thee, 'tis naught," the girl murmured.
"And thy life?" Gregory whispered.
Finally, Nan sighed. "What matters life? The days do pass; one doth sleep, then doth wake to another day that swimmeth by."
"Wouldst thou liefer be dead?"
"I care not." She blinked several times and yawned again.
"Thou must needs care for summat!" Geoffrey insisted.
But Nan only shrugged once more, her eyelids fluttering, closing. Her head lolled to the side.
"She sleeps," Gregory observed with a start.
"Why, certes!" Cordelia lifted her head. "She hath so little of life within her that if she doth cease to move, she doth sleep! Brother, wake her!"
"Wake?" Magnus protested. "I do well to uphold her!"
" 'Tis thine office, sister," Gregory explained. "Thou art most skilled at moving thoughts within another's mind."
"Thou art not greatly less so," Cordelia huffed, but she turned to gaze intently at Nan, brow wrinkling with concentration. After a moment, the bigger girl sighed; her eyelids fluttered again, and she lifted her head, blinking and looking about her. She started to speak, but the words turned into a yawn, and she passed her tongue-tip over her lips as she looked about her. "What… ? Oh. Thou art not dreams, then?"