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10.3: MISS CAW (part 3)

Miss Caw was suddenly all smiles. "Of course, my dear. How silly of me to keep you up nattering. Your room is just up those stairs in the corner. Top floor, with a lovely- Well, a view of the town at any rate. I wouldn't open the window if I were you; the dawn chorus may be rather more raucous than you're used to. The calls of migrating drunks are just not the same as the birds back home." Her voice became wistful. "No matter how much trouble those birds put me through, I do miss them."

Rupert couldn't bring himself to care very much about troublesome birds. He had sagged so low on the stool that his head was about to hit the floor.

"Thank you again, Miss Caw," Harriet said. "Come along, Rupert. Come along, Juggalug." Juggalug, who had been snoozing all the while in the spout of the teapot, fluttered to Rupert's shoulder and proceeded to doze off again. "Goodnight, Miss Caw."

"Night, dears." She shook her head. "I still can't get over how unusual it is to see a vampire and a human-"

"We're not-" Rupert began as he staggered upstairs.

"Goodnight, Miss Caw," Harriet said again, firmly, and followed him up.

This stairway was even narrower than the one they'd climbed to reach Miss Caw's apartment in the first place. Even Rupert found his shoulders brushing the walls as he half-climbed, half-fell upwards. It should technically be impossible to fall upwards, but somehow he was doing it.

"Come on, Rupert," Harriet said soothingly, lending a hand to push him up the stairs. "Rest soon."

They came to the top. The room was poky, as they'd expected. But what they hadn't expected...

"There's only one bed," said Rupert stupidly.

He and Harriet stood side-by-side looking at it. It wasn't much of a bed, even more dilapidated than the one downstairs. But it had a mattress, two pillows, and blankets heaped on top of it.

"Well," said Harriet briskly. "One of us is just going to have to sleep on the floor."

Rupert immediately stepped forward and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress emitted a groan of protest, but held, grudgingly. Rupert sighed in relief as his head sank into the pillows.

"Hey!"

Rupert opened one eye to see Harriet standing at the foot of the bed, hands on hips.

"What?"

"So you're just taking the bed, are you?"

"Er... yes?"

"Well, isn't that gentlemanly behaviour."

Rupert held up a finger. "I never claimed to be a gentleman. In fact, being a vampire, you may say I am anything but gentle. Or a man," he added, "technically speaking."

Harriet scowled.

"Your idea of gentlemen," Rupert continued, "was probably gleaned from those wonderful books of yours. You must lend them to me sometime. I could do with a good laugh."

Rupert was shocked to see tears spring up in Harriet's eyes. He shut his own hurriedly, pretending he hadn't noticed. Harriet wasn't supposed to cry. Maybe he had been a bit harsh, but then, he was angry. It wasn't as though Harriet was blameless. After all, it was her father who'd hexed him, and she had helped too.

He heard Harriet sniff back her tears. Then she changed tack. "Look, be reasonable, Rupert. Don't you usually sleep in a coffin?"

"Night, no!"

This rather threw off Harriet's plan. "Really?"

"No!" Rupert reluctantly sat up. "Have you any idea how uncomfortable a coffin is?"

"Why would I?"

Rupert had to concede to this. Middlers were not generally in the habit of testing out their coffins. After all, by the time they needed them they weren't in any state to care. "Well," he said. "I'll tell you how uncomfortable they are: very."

Harriet's retort was interrupted by a scratching sound. They looked down, just in time to see the tip of a mouse's tail disappear under the bed.

"Brilliant," said Harriet. "So I have to sleep on the floor with the mice, do I?"

"Just don't roll over," advised Rupert. "You might squash Mr. Squeaky, previously known as Ernie."

"Rupert, stop it. That's not funny."

"I just wonder what the poor fellows did to deserve it."

"Perhaps they were too friendly."

"What, she liked them so much she turned them into mice?"

"To keep her company, yes."

They listened to the scratching for a moment, thinking.

"You know," said Rupert slowly, "that reminds me of my uncle."

"The strict one? He doesn't sound very mouse-like from the way you talk about him."

"Not in that way," Rupert said. "I mean, in the sense of wanting some company. He turned a Middler into one of us, once. She lived with us in the castle. We never knew where he found her. They were... They were in love." It felt odd, recalling that about Fang. It had been over a decade ago, and Rupert had almost forgotten that his uncle had once been different. When Fang had converted Isabella-that had been her name-he'd been the happiest Rupert had ever seen him. He'd even relaxed his hold on tradition, a little.

Harriet's eyes had gone all shiny. "Oh," she breathed. "That's so romantic. What happened to her?"

Rupert shrugged. "She took off, after just a year. No one knows where she went. She left Fang a note telling him not to follow her. He was... very upset." He had been more than upset. Isabella's disappearance had left Fang more bitter than ever. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Fang's temper was born, at least partly, from pain.

Rupert swallowed, feeling suddenly awkward; it felt wrong to be revealing such intimate information about his family. "But anyway," he said briskly, "it was a long time ago. Now Fang's back to being a grumpy old bore."

But Harriet's expression was still emotional. "I know what it's like to see someone changed like that," she said. "Father and I were never that close, but after Mother died he was like a different person. He's never been the same since. He lost her... and I lost both of them."

More tears had gathered in Harriet's eyes. Rupert wondered if he ought to hug her. That was what one did in these situations, wasn't it? But after Miss Caw's insinuations, the thought made him squirm. So he did the next best thing. He got out of the bed and gestured to it, putting on his most gallant manner.

"It's yours," he said.

Harriet sniffed. "Oh..." She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. "Thank you, Rupert."

"Don't mention it," said Rupert gruffly. "Only I hope you realise what I'm giving up here."

A hint of mischief rekindled in Harriet's eyes as she climbed into the bed. "The mice will be glad to have you, I'm sure."

"As long as it's not for dinner," Rupert grumbled as he tried (and failed) to make himself comfortable on the floorboards.

After a few minutes, Harriet's sleepy voice floated down to him from the bed. "Rupert?"

"Yes?"

"What's it like being a vampire?"

Rupert thought about it.

"Cold," he said. "Cold and dark."