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25.1: ATTENTION SPANS (part 1)

In which small things make big differences.

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Pim tried her best to keep watch. She had found a prime position, lying stomach-down on the thatched roof of a cottage opposite the inn, peering over its peak. She'd even flown up there without anyone seeing her, as far as she knew. Well, she'd heard no screams, no strangled gasps, no yells of "Day and her rays, it's a vampire!", none of the telltale signs that she'd been spotted, so she thought it safe to assume she hadn't. Aunt Lizzie would be proud of her, Pim thought. Up until today, it had been clear that Elizabeth thought her a mere nuisance, but Pim had proven her wrong. She'd done everything asked of her today, plus she'd been—what was the word?—proactive. That wasn't something Pim was usually inclined to be. Her favourite pastime—apart from coddling Juggalug and intimidating Middlers, of course—was to laze in her coffin, all night long if she could get away with it.

But here she was, on a rooftop, acting as sentry—a crucial role, anyone would agree. Even Fang would have been proud of her, had he known about it. Thinking of her uncle, a frown wrinkled Pim's forehead. Aunt Lizzie was clearly worried about her brother, and that bothered Pim. Vampires over three centuries old shouldn't get worried, that was what Pim thought. Otherwise who could Pim turn to if she felt worried? It was all wrong. But then, everything was wrong at the moment: Rupert running about in the Middling for no apparent reason; Fang running about with two Middlers, again for no apparent reason; Juggalug running away from Pim, which she was certain there wasn't a reason for, as she'd always looked after her banshee so well...

Pim sighed and tried to focus on the inn again. Fang, Winkton, and the spurred Middler had frogmarched the red-haired girl in there hours ago, which had been quite exciting, but since then everything had been relatively quiet. She'd spotted the girl in the top-storey window earlier. She'd tried to open it, but it seemed to be jammed, and after a while she'd given up and retreated into the recesses of the room where Pim couldn't see. Nothing had happened since. Pim hadn't seen Rupert, nor Juggalug, nor even Fang. This led Pim to conclude that, while being sentry might well be an important job, it was boring as watching blood dry (which, if you don't know, is extremely boring—and wasteful besides). Where had Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Edmund got to, anyway? They were supposed to join her. Then they could take over, and Pim could... Pim could...

Pim's eyelids fluttered closed, then open again. The sun was beating down on her heavy cloak, its rays soaking into the black weave so that Pim felt as though she were wrapped in a hot towel. She was in no danger as long as the sunlight didn't fall directly on her skin, but the warmth nonetheless made her feel rather strange. Her head felt syrupy and heavy, so that it drooped and rested on the thatch—which, Pim realised dully, was actually quite comfortable. And the warmth also seemed to be making her attention wander, and drawing her eyes shut...

Pim's last coherent thought, before her mind drifted into the cosy sea of slumber, was: Aunt Lizzie's going to stake me for this.

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At Henrick's House of Horrers, chaos was erupting for the second time that day. Rupert and Juggalug waited, listening, as a hearty bark, the ripping of fabric, and a chorus of screams informed them that Bracken had begun his role in the operation: wreaking havoc. From the sound of it, he was doing a stellar job—though Rupert hadn't expected anything less. The way Bracken's eyes had lit up when Rupert mimed out the plan had been all the confirmation he needed that the werewolf would play his part, and play it with gusto.

Taking the din as his signal, Juggalug grabbed Rupert's woollen waist in his paws and took off, zipping out of the jagged gap the werewolf had torn in the tent's side. Cool evening air buffeted Rupert's face. The sun had set, but there were plenty of revellers still enjoying the fair by lamplight, swigging from jugs of spiced mead and chomping on sweet pastries as they wandered between the stalls. At least, they had been enjoying it—until the huge werewolf had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

Rupert's head lolled backward in Juggalug's grasp, so he witnessed the panic only in snatches as the banshee swooped overhead: Henrick bellowing as the wolf bowled him over; a sweaty hand clamped on a child's shoulder; awnings tearing as stalls toppled; a basket of candied fruits spraying its contents into the grass. Ignoring the chaos, Juggalug rose over the tent-tops and made a bee-line for the village.

If Rupert had been his usual fleshly self, he would have been whimpering aloud. As it was, he couldn't help wondering what would happen if Juggalug dropped him, and whether a vampire-trapped-in-the-body-of-a-doll would survive such an event with his afterlife and dignity intact.

Knowing my luck—or lack of it—I'd probably end up impaled on a stick of candy floss.

As it happened, Juggalug did not drop Rupert, and he did not end up impaled on a stick of candy floss, nor drowned in a bowl of punch, nor even stuck to a toffee apple. Instead, after a great deal of weaving and banking on Juggalug's part, and a great deal of flopping and flailing on Rupert's, he was deposited gently upon the uppermost windowsill of the village inn. When Rupert sat up, he saw Juggalug standing with his front paws up on the glass. Staggering upright, Rupert joined him and peered into the room. There was no lamp or candle inside, but in the dimness he could just make out a form huddled on the bare mattress—a form with red hair fallen over its face.

Rupert gave Juggalug a hearty pat. Then he tried to get Harriet's attention by beating his fists against the window. As you might imagine, this was not very successful; his knitted hands made only tiny, muffled thuds that wouldn't have woken a mouse let alone a human girl. Juggalug, however, had claws. Unsheathing them, he scratched at the glass. On the bed, Harriet stirred. Juggalug scrabbled harder. Harriet sat up. Rupert jumped up and down and waved. He saw Harriet's white eyes turn towards them in the darkness, wary at first, then animated with joy as she spotted the two intrepid adventurers perched outside. Rupert waved even more wildly in greeting, then struck a pose that meant: Do not fear, young lady! We are here to rescue you!

Harriet hopped off the bed and scurried to the window, but instead of opening it she pointed to the latch and mouthed something. Rupert shook his head, clueless. Harriet repeated the words, took hold of the window, and tugged. It shifted, but nothing more.

"...jammed!" Harried said loudly, then threw a fearful glance at the door.

Darn it. Of course it is. Rupert waved to Juggalug, who sat down obediently, allowing Rupert to clamber onto his head and examine the offending fastening. There was nothing obviously wrong that he could see. He looked up at Harriet and shrugged. She bit her lip in reply and tried tugging once more. Again, the window refused to open.

Rupert felt Juggalug move beneath him.

All right, all right, he thought, slithering back down to the windowledge. As soon as he was clear, Juggalug fluttered up to take a look at the latch himself. He purred thoughtfully, then turned and dived below the windowsill and out of sight.

Where in Night's dark halls— But Rupert didn't even have time to complete his thought before the banshee popped back into view, grinning as he hoisted a garden trowel up onto the ledge beside Rupert.

Cleverer than you look, aren't you, Juggalug? As he realised what Juggalug had in mind, pride for the stunted banshee crept up inside of Rupert, as stealthy and as unexpected as a vampire creeping upon his victim. Who'd have thought, eh? Pim was clearly stifling his creative talents.

Together, doll and banshee manoeuvred the trowel into place, slotting the blade between the window and its frame and preparing to push on the handle. But they were halted by Harriet, who signalled at them frantically from behind the glass. She pointed to the trowel, then to the door, then cupped her ear. Finally, she put a finger to her lips.

She's worried someone will hear, Rupert interpreted. Good thing we've already taken measures that will solve that... He nodded his understanding to Harriet, then held up an arm as a signal for her to wait.

They all three stood still, tense, listening. Harriet leaned forward and peered out at the village, casting inquisitive glances at Rupert every now and again. Rupert watched her breath bloom on the glass, then fade. Bloom and fade. Bloom and fade. Imagine having to rely on something as fragile as breathing, he thought. What kind of short-sighted creator came up with that bright idea?

After a minute, Juggalug pricked up his ears, and shortly after Rupert heard it too: the sounds of crashing and running feet, of snarling and yapping, of shouts and cries.

Here he comes.