Disc-laimer: Pratchett's.
Characters: Sally, Igor
Rating: K+/PG for violence

Cruel Amends

It was winter in Uberwald, snowed-in and starless. Winters in Uberwald were always mild enough to encourage outdoors activity, but snowy enough to ensure that any carriage or horseman who braved the weather would inevitably lose control of their transport and need to seek sanctuary in a nearby castle. It was, in short, a very good country for vampires.

Igor was cleaning out the parapets. There'd be a great deal to do here when spring came – the dirt that stuck in ice on the rocks would become runny in the spring, and he would have to come out here with a bucketful of rags and spend the whole afternoon cleaning. He was quite looking forward to it. For now, there was just chipping the ice so that no vampire might slip on the landing – not that he'd ever seen one slip – and brushing out the snow.

Igor wasn't young anymore, and with age he found himself liking change less and less. As the bones stiffened, so did old ways. He was distressed. This was because he'd recognised change, from her unique flight pattern, soaring over the treetops, closing in from the direction of Bonk.

He expected her to go straight for one of the usual landing balconies, but instead she touched down on the recently chipped parapet. 'Hello, Igor.'

The natural subservience of Igors met the natural superiority of vampires and Igor's personal resentment was steamrolled. 'Good evening, Miss Salacia,' he mumbled and bowed. 'The Baron and Baroness are in the library, I believe.'

'That's all right, Igor,' said Sally, and began to stroll up and down the parapet. She was dressed in trousers, of a neat becoming cut, but also a modest light brown colour. Igor tried not to look at them, or her long brown man's coat with it's fur trimmings. In fact, he decided, it was best not to look up at all, but keep his eyes modestly on the ground. At least her hair was still as ever, long gingery-brown locks falling free over her shoulders.

Before, she had at least tried to look what passed decent for a vampire. Now, they both knew that the Baron and Baroness would rather not see her than see her like this.

'As a matter of fact, I came to see you,' said Sally.

'Me, Miss?' Igor looked up, but had to look back down again. She wasn't even wearing thick mascara. Her lips were coloured pink. There may even have been a touch of gloss.

Sally was quiet for a while; if Igor had looked up, he'd have seen her do something rather uncharacteristic for a vampire, which was hesitate.

'I owe you an apology,' she said at last, smoothly, in a tone that suggested that while this was an apology, she could think of a hundred excellent excuses for her past behaviour.

'Surely not, Miss,' said Igor, but thought otherwise.

'Yes. I have a list.' Sally groped about her inner pocket and pulled out a scroll of paper. 'Let's see.' She cleared her throat. 'I would like to apologise for treating you as an Object or Toy rather than a person. Instances include: playing with food in the bedroom in the fifteen minutes between your cleaning it and the inspection; thirty-two whippings; making you go back and forth fetching different drinks sixteen times five months and four days ago, because I was bored; making you clean my boots with...'

'Miss!' So horrified was Igor that he'd cried out aloud.

Sally, startled, stopped reading. 'Please do let me finish, Igor.'

'Miss,' pleaded Igor, 'please don't apologise for that. That's how it's supposed to be. I wish you'd come back and whip me another thirty-two times.'

'Aww.'

'I'm serious, Miss. The Baron and Baroness...' were livid with her, and had already burned her name from several family trees. 'They miss you very much,' finished Igor, and that was true as well. 'They will forgive you if you give up this nonsense and come home.'

This was exactly the wrong thing to say. Sally's eyes gleamed red, and her mouth curved in a smile. 'I will never do that!'

Igors are perceptive people. They have to be, in order to keep their reputation as the best servants on the Disc. Igor cursed himself. Salacia would never return home as long as that meant her parents hated her.

'I have to do this, you know,' she said, waving the list. 'It's all part of the temperance program.'

Igor hadn't known. He listened for the sound of his hearts breaking, but they, treacherous things, merely skipped a few beats.

'Where was I? Oh, right. Making you clean my boots with your daughter's letter before you'd had a chance to read it...'

This reading was the first cruelty for which Igor had ever resented her. Tears welled up, and, embarrassed by his own lack of tact, he tried to wipe them surreptitiously.

'There,' Sally finished, and looked at him curiously. 'Will you forgive me?'

'Oh, Miss,' said Igor miserably. 'Yes. Even for this.'

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder gently, but still didn't dare to look up; not until some servant-sense told him she was gone, glided silently off the parapet. He watched her shape diminish against the deepening blue, and sighed.

It was not unheard of for reformed vampires to turn back to the old ways. Someday, his little Salacia might come back.