Summary: After the Zlobenian troupers had been captured and Blouse had been talking with De Worde, you remember that Maladict had a conversation with Otto? This is that conversation. (Well, part of it, anyway).
Characters: Maladict, Otto.
Rating: A

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.

An Old Friend of the Family
by Amazon Syren

      There was a cough behind them. The squad turned to see Otto, the vampire with the iconograph box looking politely at Maladict, whose heart sank.
     "I see you also vear ze black ribbon," he said. "Ve have much to talk about, you and I." Taking her arm, he led her to the other side of the shed.          In the far corner, Otto turned to Mal, and gave her a sharp look. "You vouldn't happen to know a Borogravian countess by ze name of Miseria, vould you?"
     The murder burning in Maladict's eyes made Lofty's flames look like birthday candles. "I might," she said, tightly. Her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides.
     Otto nodded, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. "I thought you looked familiar." He glanced at her, "She said you had run avay almost a year ago."
     Maladict started. "My mother talks to you?" She hissed.
     "Of course," he replied, "I grew up a stones throw from here, just across the Ubervald border. Ve used to play Spot ze Stiff vhen ze army marched by."
     "No, I mean," Mal gestured at the black ribbon pinned to the vampire's vest.
     "Oh, yes. Vell," he said lightly, "vhen you've known somevun for nearly five hundred years—" He took in Mal's pained expression, and his voice softened. "She didn't take it vell, vhen you joined ze league, did she?"
     Mal shook her head.
     "Mozzers never do," he assured her. "She terribly vorried about you, you know."
     Mal's eyes went wide. Surely he wouldn't—
     "Don't vorry," he said, reading her expression, if not her mind. "Vhen I get back to Ankh Morpork, I'll write her a letter saying zat I saw you and zat you vere vell. I von't tell her vhere I saw you, she doesn't need to know zat." He smiled at Maladict's palpable relief. "Anyvay. Enough about zat. Come, my league... brozzer," he glanced wryly at the ribbon pinned to her uniform, "let me tell you about ze clacks."