mine ugly frent,’ Victor the First whispered hoarsely. He then glided over to his son lying in the coffin.
‘Is vot is in your mind, mine Herr, the same as vot is in mine mind, mine Doctor?’
The Doctor looked away.
‘Do you think the same think as I am thinking? I think that mine son has got the dreaded and vile Vampire vapours.’
The Doctor could only nod his long face. King Victor’s eyes almost burnt through the shaking Doctor Plump.
‘Then I look very much forward to you curink him, mine Doctor.’
The Doctor almost had the vapours himself as he heard what the King said.
‘But your Vampship … er … no one has ever cured a Vampire of the vapours … ever.’
‘Then you vill be the first, Doctor.’
‘But … Bu … t.’
Igon, whose head only came up to the Doctor’s knees, watched his knees start to shake, rattle and roll. Victor the First carried on talking.
‘Mine dear Doctor. If you do not cure mine younkest son, the baby of mine family, if you do not cure him … then I’m afraid you vill cure no von else, ever again. I repeat, if you do not cure him ant restore him back to normal health, then I’m afraid I shall have to giff you to Vernon to experiment vit. That means, Doctor Plump, that you vill probably leef this castle in a bucket. Vernon has a liking for that sort of think. A small bucket; the type children use at the seaside. Ant I promise you, Doctor Plump, although the bucket may be small, all off you vill be in it.’
The bat fell off Victor’s shoulders in a deep sleep. Victor caught it in the toe of his Italian, hand-made shoes just before it hit the ground. He continued as if nothing had happened.
‘Do you remember Mayor Goop off Katchem?’
The white-faced Doctor nodded.
‘Did you ever vonder vot became off him?’
Once again the Doctor nodded and gulped.
‘Vell, vould you like to take him off mine shoe ant put him on mine shoulder?’
At this point the servant fainted on top of the already-fainted Doctor Plump.
Victor the First looked at both of them lying at his feet. He stepped over them with great poise, and placed his hand on the forehead of his still son. With closed eyes he stood for a few seconds. Within that time ice began to form around the inside of the coffin.
‘Ve must keep him cold, Igon, mine ugly frent.’ He then patted Igon on his head, leaving a snowball resting there. He walked over to the open window, stood on the edge and looked down at the village four hundred feet below. Flicking the ex-Mayor awake with his fingers he looked once more at his son, and said to Igon:
‘If mine vife should come lookink for me, tell her I’ve gone to the blood bank in the village to make a withdrawal, ya?’ and with that he jumped.
Igon ran to the window and waved into the darkness. He closed the window with difficulty, thinking ‘It’s all very well for these people to leave by windows, but I wish they’d close them.’ He looked back into the room.
The Doctor and the servant were starting to stir. Both of them stood up rather shakily at first, trying to work out what had happened.
When the Doctor at last fully realised the terrible situation he was in, he burst into tears and lay down on the floor, kicking his legs in the air like a badly brought-up child who has been given too much of its own way.
‘Help me. Please help me!’ he shouted. ‘I don’t want to leave here in a bucket. Igon, you are my friend. ‘Can’t you think of anything to save me?’
‘Why should I? Earlier you called me a curled up lout.’
‘You’re not. I’ll give you money. I’m not a rich man but I’ll give you all the money I have if you will only help me. Please, Igon. Please help me, my friend.’
‘How much is all your money?’ Igon asked.
‘I’ll give you fifty krooms,’ sobbed the Doctor.
‘Sixty.’
‘But I haven’t got sixty. I’ve only got fifty.’
‘It’s not enough,’ Igon said stubbornly.
‘But can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours, you bent idiot, it’s all I’ve got.’
‘Now it’s gone up to sixty-five krooms for calling me a bent idiot. I’ll let you off for saying I have a thick skull.’
‘All right, all right,’ the Doctor said, knowing he wasn’t going to get much change out of Igon. ‘Sixty-five krooms.’
‘O.K. Shake.’
‘I am shaking.’
‘No, I mean shake hands.’
They shook hands.
‘You heard that, didn’t you?’ Igon said to the servant. ‘You heard him say he’d give me sixty-five krooms.’
The servant who was still in a state of shock nodded vaguely.
Igon shouted to the Doctor, ‘He heard you. He heard you. The servant heard you.’
‘Yes, yes,’ shouted the agitated Doctor, ‘but how can you help me?’
‘Easy,’ answered Igon.
For the first time that evening the Doctor smiled a real, genuine smile. Igon carried on.
‘Now, it’s obvious that you do not want to leave this place in a small bucket, right?’
‘Right,’ said the smiling Doctor, eagerly.
‘Right,’ repeated Igon, ‘So – and this is the clever part – I’ll hide the bucket.’ He flashed his gums and continued. ‘Now give me sixty-five krooms.’
The Doctor looked at him with a frozen smile on his face for at least a minute, a thousand things chasing through his head. But one thought kept leaping up in front of the others. It kept asking, ‘Is he joking or does he mean that last stupid remark?’
Within the next few seconds the Doctor realised that Igon meant it. He could tell by the vacant look in his eye. Their three eyes held each other till the spell was broken by the Doctor who whispered in a soft voice, convulsed with fear;
‘You stupid, twisted fool. Hiding the bucket is no good.’ His voice became louder. ‘You can’t just hide the bucket, you … you …’ He was at a loss for words.
‘You owe me sixty-five krooms,’ Igon
