Mr. Tiny shook his head. "Three hunters must seek — no more, no less. Non-vampires may assist them, but if any of their kinsmen tag along, they shall fail."

Angry mutters greeted that statement.

"Why should we believe you?" Mika asked. "Surely ten stand a better chance than three, and twenty more than ten, and thirty—"

Mr. Tiny clicked his fingers. There was a sharp, snapping sound and dust fell from overhead. Looking up, I saw long jagged cracks appear in the ceiling of the Hall of Princes. Other vampires saw them too and cried out, alarmed.

"Would you, who has not seen three centuries, dare to tell me, who measures time in continental drifts, about the mechanisms of fate?" Mr. Tiny asked menacingly. He clicked his fingers again and the cracks spread. Chunks of the ceiling crumbled inwards. "A thousand vampaneze couldn't chip the walls of this Hall, yet I, by clicking my fingers, can bring it tumbling down." He lifted his fingers to click them again.

"No!" Mika shouted. "I apologize! I didn't mean to offend you!"

Mr. Tiny lowered his hand. "Think of this before crossing me again, Mika Ver Leth," he growled, then nodded at the Little People he'd brought with him, who headed for the doors of the Hall. "They'll patch the roof up before we leave," Mr. Tiny said. "But next time you anger me, I'll reduce this Hall to rubble, leaving you and your precious Stone of Blood to the whim of the vampaneze."

Blowing dust off his heart-shaped watch, Mr. Tiny beamed around the Hall again. "I take it we're decided — three it shall be?"

"Three," Paris agreed.

"Three," Mika muttered bleakly.

"As I said, non-vampires may — indeed, must — play a part, but for the next year no vampire should seek out any of the hunters, unless for reasons which have nothing to do with the search for the Vampaneze Lord. Alone they must stand and alone they must succeed or fail."