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paid them any attention when they jumped, or in Gaspode’s case plopped, down from the carriage.
‘All evening in some stuffy pit ain’t my idea of a good night out,’ muttered Gaspode. ‘This is the big city. This ain’t Holy Wood. You stick by me, pup, and you’ll be all right. First stop, the back door of Harga’s House of Ribs. They know me there. OK?’
‘Good boy Laddie!’
‘Yeah,’ said Gaspode.

‘Look at what it’s wearing!’ said Victor.
‘Red velvet of very expensive chocolates.
Or a nightmare. Victor half expected to hear the roar of the sea, to see drapes fall away with a smear of black slime.
‘Oh, gods,’ he repeated.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Ginger, grinning fixedly at the line of civic dignitaries waiting to be introduced to them.jacket with gold frogging,’ said Ginger out of the corner of her mouth. ‘So what? A pair of trousers would have been a good idea.’‘Oh, gods,’ breathed Victor.They stepped into the brightly‑lit foyer of the Odium.Bezam had done his best. Trolls and dwarfs had worked overnight to finish it.There were red plush drapes, and pillars, and mirrors.Plump cherubs and miscellaneous fruit, all painted gold, seemed to cover every surface.It was like stepping into a box

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here. He rejected it. It sounded too much like the silly, bouncy sort of thing that Laddie would do. It suggested that the best a dog could think of when confronted with a puzzle was to find a human to solve it.
He trotted come to the right place, kitty,’ snarled Gaspode, barring his rotting teeth again.
‘I don’t have to tolerate that short of thing,’ said the cat, lifting its nose haughtily. ‘Come, Squeak. Let us hie us to a garbage heap where there ain’t sho much rubbish.’
Gaspode scowled at their departing backs.
‘Pussy!’ he yelled after them. forward and gripped the trailing hem of the sleepwalker’s nightdress firmly in his jaws. She walked on, pulling him off his feet. The cat laughed, far too sarcastically for Gaspode’s liking. ‘Time to wake up, miss,’ he growled, letting the nightdress go. Ginger strode onwards. ‘See?’ said the cat. ‘Give them an opposed thumb and they think they’re something shpecial.’ ‘I’m going to follow her,’ said Gaspode. ‘A girl could come to harm out by herself at night.’ ‘That’s dogs for you,’ said the cat to Squeak. ‘Alwaysh fawning on people. It’ll be diamante collars and a bowl with his name on it nexsht, I’m telling you.’ ‘If you’re lookin’ to lose a mouthful of fur you’ve

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Klatchian, isn’t it?’ said Dibbler.
‘Well, technically, but I think it’s the wrong part of Klatch and maybe "effendies" or something-’
‘Just so long .
‘Just do it!’
The artist looked down at the paper. ‘ "She has the face",’ he read, ‘ "of a Spink." ‘
‘Right,’ said Dibbler. ‘Right!’
‘I thought maybe Sphinx–’ as it’s foreign,’ said Dibbler with an air that suggested the matter was settled. He patted Victor on the back again. ‘OK, kid, get into costume.’ He chuckled. ‘A hundred camels! What a mind!’ ‘Excuse me, Mr Dibbler,’ said the poster artist, who had been hovering uneasily, ‘I don’t understand this bit here . . . ‘ Dibbler snatched the paper from him. ‘Which bit?’ he snapped. ‘Where you’re describing Miss De Syn-’ ‘It’s obvious,’ said Dibbler. ‘What we want here is to conjure up the exotic, alluring yet distant romance of pyramid-studded Klatch, right, so nat’r’ly we gotta use the symbol of a mysterious and unscrutable continent, see? Do I have to explain everything to everyone all the time?’ ‘It’s just that I thought-’ the artist began

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s’pose there’s no chance that I could sort of . . . ‘
NO.
‘Thought not,’ said Deccan despondently.
He looked at the waves crashing down on the shore.
‘Used to be a big city down there, thousands of years ago,’ he said. ‘I mean, where the sea is. When it’s stormy dune grass and trotted up to Death. Deccan was surprised to see that it left hoofprints in the sand. He’d have expected sparks, or at least fused rock.
‘Er,’ he said, ‘can you tell me, er . . . what happens now?’
Death told him.
‘Thought so,’ said Deccan glumly. you can hear the ole temple bells ringin’ under the sea.’ I KNOW. ‘I used to sit out here on windy nights, listenin’. Used to imagine all them dead people down there, ringin’ the bells.’ AND NOW WE MUST GO. ‘Ole Tento said there was somethin’ under the hill there that could make people do things. Put strange fancies in their ‘eads,’ said Deccan, reluctantly following the stalking figure. ‘I never had any strange fancies.’ BUT YOU WERE CHANTING, said Death. He snapped his fingers. A horse ceased trying to graze the sparse

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'Where are they all coming from?' he said.
'You're the expert. You tell me.
'Are they dead?'
Ptaclusp scrutinised some of the approaching marchers.
'If they're not, some of them are awfully ill,' he said.
'Let's make a run for it!'
'Where to? Up the pyramid?'
The Great Pyramid loomed up behind them, its throbbing filling the air. Ptaclusp stared at it.
'What's going to happen tonight?' he said.
'What?'
'Well, is it going to - do whatever it did - again?'
IIb stared at him. 'Dunno.'
'Can you findhappen now, sergeant?'
The sergeant moved a foot tentatively. The atmosphere would have induced claustrophobia in a sardine.
'Well, lad. They'll find us, see, and be so impressed they'll out?' 'Only by waiting. I'm not even sure what it's done now. 'Are we going to like it?' 'I shouldn't think so, dad. Oh, dear.' 'What's up now?' 'Look over there.' Heading towards the marching dead, trailing behind Koomi like a tail behind a comet, were the priests. It was hot and dark inside the horse. It was also very crowded. They waited, sweating. Young Autocue stuttered: 'What'll

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'Yes, yes, something like that. Er. Twice the normal size,' said Teppic desperately, and had the brief satisfaction of seeing Dios look momentarily disconcerted.
'Sire?' he said.
'It is only 'What?'
'The burial chamber, that is, and the outer chamber. I'd recommend the Memphis, very select, that comes with a matching extra large treasure room, so handy for all those little things one cannot bear to leave behind.' Ptaclusp turned the tablet over and started on the other side. 'And of course a similar suite for the Queen, I take it? O King who shall live right and proper,' said Teppic. Dios opened his mouth to protest, saw Teppic's expression, and shut it again. Ptaclusp scribbled busily, his adam's apple bobbing. Something like this only happened once in a business career. 'Can do you a very nice black marble facing on the outside,' he said, without looking up. 'We may have just enough in the quarry. O king of the celestial orbs,' he added hurriedly. 'Very good,' said Teppic. Ptaclusp picked up a fresh tablet. 'Shall we say the capstone picked out in electrum? It's cheaper to have built in right from the start, you don't want to use just silver and then say later, I wish I'd had a-' 'Electrum, yes.' 'And the usual offices?'

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BUT I ASSURE YOU, YOU ARE NOT DEAD. TAKE IT FROM ME.
The duke giggled. He had found a sheet from somewhere and had draped it over himself, and was sidling along some ofthe house—'
THAT'S BANSHEES.
'I shall if I want,' said the duke, with a trace of earlier determination. 'And I shall float through walls, and knock on tables, and drip ectoplasm on anyone I don't like. Ha. Ha.'
IT WON'T WORK. LIVING PEOPLE ARENT ALLOWED TO BE GHOSTS. I'M SORRY. the castle's more deserted corridors. Sometimes he would go 'whoo-oo' in a low voice.This worried Death. He was used to people claiming that they were not dead, because death always came as a shock, and a lot of people had some trouble getting over it. But people claiming that they were dead with every breath in their body was a new and unsettling experience.'I shall jump out on people,' said the duke dreamily. 'I shall rattle my bones all night, I shall perch on the roof and foretell a death in

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thought cats could find their own way home,' the Fool muttered.
He cursed himself under his breath. It would have been easy to take this wretched creature back to Nanny Ogg's house, which was only a few streets away, almost in the shadow of the castle. But then he'd had the idea of deliveringGreebo's grin gradually faded, until there was nothing left but the cat. This was nearly as spooky as the opposite way round.
He stretched and yawned to hide his embarrassment. Being called a good cat in the middle of one of his it to Magrat. It would impress her, he thought. Witches were very keen on cats. And then she'd be bound to ask him in, for a cup of tea or something . . .He put his foot in another water-filled hole. Something wriggled underneath it. The Fool groaned, and stepped back on to a tumescent mushroom.'Look, cat,' he said. 'You've got to come down, right? And then you can find your way home and I'll follow you. Cats are good at seeing in the dark and finding their own way home,' he added hopefully.He reached up. Greebo sank his claws into his arm as a friendly warning, and found to his surprise that this had no effect on chain mail.'There's a good cat,' said the Fool, and lowered him to the ground. 'Go on, find your way home. Any home will do.'

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'You're not a witch, are you?' he said, fumbling awkwardly with his pike.
'Of . Apple sellers were not a problem. It was witches that were the problem. She'd said she was an apple seller and he wasn't about to doubt a witch's word.
Feeling happy with this application of logic, he stood to one side and gave an expansive wave.
'Pass, apple seller,' he said.
'Thank you,' said Magrat sweetly. 'Would you like an apple?'
'No, thanks. I haven't finished the one the other witch gave me.' His eyes course not. Do I look like one?'The guard looked at her occult bangles, her lined cloak, her trembling hands and her face. The face was particulary worrying. Magrat had used a lot of powder to make her face pale and interesting. It combined with the lavishly applied mascara to give the guard the impression that he was looking at two flies that had crashed into a sugar bowl. He found his fingers wanted to make a sign to ward off the evil eyeshadow.'Right,' he said uncertainly. His mind was grinding through the problem. She was a witch. Just lately there'd been a lot of gossip about witches being bad for your health. He'd been told not to let witches pass, but no-one had said anything about apple sellers

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Death stood with his skull on one side, as though listening to some inner voice. As his hood fell away the late king noticed that Death resembled a polished skeleton in every way but one. His eye sockets glowed sky blue. Verence wasn't frightened, however; not simply because it is difficult to be in fear of anything when the bits you need to be frightened with are curdling several yards away, but because he had never really been frightened of to them.
But Verence had always lived only for the present. Until now, anyway.
Death sighed.
I SUPPOSE NO-ONE MENTIONED ANYTHING TO YOU? he hazarded.anything in his life, and wasn't going to start now. This was partly because he didn't have the imagination, but he was also one of those rare individuals who are totally focused in time.Most people aren't. They live their lives as a sort of temporal blur around the point where their body actually is – anticipating the future, or holding on to the past. They're usually so busy thinking about what happens next that the only time they ever find out what is happening now is when they come to look back on it. Most people are like this. They learn how to fear because they can actually tell, down at the subconscious level, what is going to happen next. It's already happening

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did leave the problem of whether to knock. Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate. Supposing no-one answered, or told him to go away?
So he lifted the thumb latch and pushed at the door. It swung inwards quite easily, without a creak.
There was a low-her blinked calmly at Mort.
The scythe bumped off a beam. The woman looked up.
'Be with you in a minute,' she said. She frowned at the paper. 'I haven't put in the bit about being of sound mind and body yet, lot of foolishness anyway, no-one sound in mind and body would be dead. Would you like a drink?'
'Pardon?' said Mort. He recalled himself, and repeated 'PARDON?'ceilinged kitchen, its beams at trepanning height for Mort. The light from the solitary candle glinted off crockery on a long dresser and flagstones that had been scrubbed and polished into iridescence. The fire in the cave-like inglenook didn't add much light, because it was no more than a heap of white ash under the remains of a log. Mort knew, without being told, that it was the last log.An elderly lady was sitting at the kitchen table, writing furiously with her hooked nose only a few inches from the paper. A grey cat curled on the table beside

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white ash under the remains of a log. Mort knew, without being told, that it was the last log.
An elderly lady was sitting at the kitchen table, with her hooked nose only a few inches from the paper. A grey cat curled on the table beside her blinked calmly at Mort.'Pardon?' said Mort. He recalled himself, and repeated 'PARDON?'
'If you drink, that is. It's raspberry port. On the dresser. You might as well finish the bottle.'
Mort eyed the dresser suspiciously. He felt he'd rather lost the initiative. He pulled out the hourglass and glared at it. There was a little heap of sand left.
There's still a few minutes yet,' said the witch, without looking up.
'How, I mean, HOW DO YOU KNOW?'
She ignored him, and dried the ink in front of the candle, sealed the letter with a drip of wax, and tucked it under the candlestick. Then she picked up the cat.
'Granny Beedle will be around directly tomorrow to tidy up
The scythe bumped off a beam. The woman looked up.
'Be with you in a minute,' she said. She frowned at the paper. 'I haven't put in the bit about being of sound mind and body yet, lot of foolishness anyway, no-one sound in mind and body would be dead. Would you like a drink?'

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apprehensive, as if he could remember something that hadn't happened yet.
The fair seemed to work like this: men looking for work stood in ragged lines in the centre of the square. Many of them sported 'And then what?' said Mort.
'Then you go and learn a trade,' said Lezek.
'What trade in particular?'
'Well . . . carpentry is a good one,' Lezek hazarded. 'Or thievery. Someone's little symbols in their hats to tell the world the kind of work they were trained in – shepherds wore a wisp of wool, carters a hank of horsehair, interior decorators a strip of rather interesting hessian wallcovering, and so on.The boys seeking apprenticeships were clustered on the Hub side of the square.'You just go and stand there, and someone comes and offers you an apprenticeship,' said Lezek, his voice trimmed with uncertainty. 'If they like the look of you, that is.''How do they do that?' said Mort.'Well,' said Lezek, and paused. Hamesh hadn't explained about this bit. He drew on his limited knowledge of the marketplace, which make sure you don't wheeze and your feet are all right. I shouldn't let on about the reading, it unsettles people.'

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No," said Esk. "I don't even want to imagine it. I thought reading was more peaceful than that, I mean, Granny read her Almanack every day and nothing ever happened to her."
"I d-daresay ordinary tame www-"
"- words -"
"- are all right," Simon conceded, magnanimously.
"Are you absolutely certain?" said Esk.
"It's just .
Around her the muted rustling of the books rose to a desperate riffling of pages. Some of the more that words can have power," said Simon, slotting the book firmly back on its shelf, where it rattled its chains at him. "And they do say the p-pen is mightier than the sss-" "- sword," said Esk. "All right, but which would you rather be hit with?" "Um, I d-don't think it's any use m-me t-telling you you shouldn't be in here, is it?" said the young wizard. Esk gave this due consideration. "No," she said, "I don't think it is." "I could send for the p-porters and have you t-taken away." "Yes, but you won't." "I just d-don't www-" "- want -" "- you to get hurt, you see. I r-really don't. This can b-be a ddddangerou-" Esk caught a faint swirling in the air above his head. For a moment she saw them, the great grey shapes from the cold place. Watching. And in the calm of the Library, when the weight of magic was wearing the Universe particularly thin, they had decided to Act

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thin, gangling, pale from reading disturbing books in unhealthy rooms, and had watery eyes like two lightly-poached eggs. It crossed Gander's mind that one must speculate in order to accumulate.
All he needs to get right to the top, he thought, is a bit of a handicap. Wizards are martyrs to things like asthma and flat feet, it somehow seems to give them their drive.
"What's your name, lad?" he said, as kindly as possible.
" "My young friend follows higher magic than the mere hurling of sorceries," said the wizard.
"-o," said Simon.
Gander nodded.
"Well," he said, "maybe you will indeed be a wizard, lad. Maybe when you have your fine staff you'll consent to travel with me one time, yes? I will make an investment in you, yes?"Sssssssssssssss" said the boy. His Adam's apple bobbed like a captive balloon. He turned to his companion, full of mute appeal. "Simon," said Trestle. "- imon," agreed Simon, thankfully. "Can you cast fireballs or whirling spells, such as might be hurled against an enemy?" Simon looked sideways at Trestle. "Nnnnnnnnnn" he ventured.

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Occasionally she would throw herself into frantic bouts of housework; ancient crusts were unceremoniously dug out of the cracks in the flagstones, and the fireback was scraped free of the winter's soot and blackleaded to withinnest of mice in the back of the dresser were kindly but firmly ejected into the goatshed.
Sunset came.
The light of the Discworld was old and slow and heavy. From the cottage door Granny watched as it drained off the greater effort. But something was wrong. Her thoughts seemed to be chasing around beyond her control, and disappearing. Pain and exhilaration and weariness poured into her mind, but it was as if other things were spilling out at the same time. Memories mountains, flowing in golden rivers through the forest. Here and there it pooled in hollows until it faded and vanished. She drummed her fingers sharply on the doorpost, humming a small and bitter little tune. Dawn came, and the cottage was empty except for Esk's body, silent and unmoving on the bed. But as the golden light flowed slowly across the Discworld like the first freshing of the tide over mudflats the eagle circled higher into the dome of heaven, beating the air down with slow and powerful wingbeats. The whole of the world was spread out beneath Esk - all the continents, all the islands, all the rivers and especially the great ring of the Rim Ocean. There was nothing else up here, not even sound.Esk gloried in the feel of it, willing her flagging muscles into

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Esk was sitting up in the narrow bed, unsinged but shrieking. Granny took the child in her arms and tried to comfort her; she wasn't sure how one went about it, but a distracted patting on the back and vague reassuring noises seemed to work, and the screams became wails and, eventually, sobs. Here and there Granny could pick out words like "fire" and "hot", and her mouth set in a thin, bitter line.
made the most of her implied license to explore.
She found that life in the cottage wasn't entirely straightforward. There was the matter of the goats' names, for example.
"But they've got to have names!" she said. "Everything's got a name."Finally she settled the child down, tucked her in, and crept quietly down stairs. The staff was back against the wall. She was not surprised to see that the fire hadn't marked it at all. Granny turned her rocking chair to face it, and sat down with her chin in her hand and an expression of grim determination. Presently the chair began to rock, of its own accord. It was the only sound in a silence that thickened and spread and filled the room like a terrible dark fog. Next morning, before Esk got up, Granny hid the staff in the thatch, well out of harm's way. Esk ate her breakfast and drank a pint of goat's milk without the least sign of the events of the last twenty-four hours. It was the first time she had been inside Granny's cottage for more than a brief visit, and while the old woman washed the dishes and milked the goats she

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'What? In his head?''Um. No. In the fabric of the Universe,' said Wert. 'He might think he can control it by himself, but —'They felt the sound before they heard it. It started off in the stones as a slow vibration, then rose suddenly to a knife-edge whine that bypassed the eardrums and bored straight into the brain. It sounded like a human voice singing, or chanting, or screamfng, but there were deeper and more horrible pink crescent where it caught the light of the star.
But in front of everything the top of the Tower of Art was an incandescent fury. Shapes could be dimly glimpsed within it, but there was nothing reassuring about them. The sound had changed now to the wasplike buzzing, magnified a million times.
Some of the wizards sank to their knees.
'He's done it,' said Wert, shaking his head. 'He's opened a pathway.'
'Are those things demons?' said Twoflower.
'Oh, demons,' said Wert. 'Demons would be harmonics.The wizards went pale. Then, as one man, they turned and ran up the steps.There were crowds outside the building. Some people were holding torches, others had stopped in the act of piling kindling around the walls. But everyone was staring up at the Tower of Art.The wizards pushed their way through the unheeding bodies, and turned to look up.The sky was full of moons. Each one was three times bigger

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yes,' Rincewind agreed fervently, eyeing the doorway. 'Not much conversation, I imagine.'
'It's always "When I was alive — " and "We really knew how to breathe in my day — ",' she said, laying a small white hand on his arm and smiling at him. They're always so set in their ways, too. No fun at all. So formal.'
'Stiff?' suggested Rincewind. She was propelling him towards an archway.
'Absolutely. What's your name? My name is Ysabell.'
'Um, Rincewind. Excuse me, but if this is the house of Death, what are you doing here? You don't look dead to me.'
'Oh, I live here.' She looked intently at him. 'I say, you haven't come to rescue your lost love, have you? That always of clothes?'
As he spoke he was aware that he may have missed something vital. He shut his eyes and tried to recall the last few minutes of conversation. Then it hit him like a sandbag.
'Daddy?'
She looked down demurely. 'Adopted, actually,' she said. 'He found meannoys daddy, he says it's a good job he never sleeps because if he did he'd be kept awake by the tramp, tramp, tramp of young heroes coming down here to carry back a lot of silly girls, he says.''Goes on a lot, does it?' said Rincewind weakly, as they walked along a black-hung corridor.'All the time. I think it's very romantic. Only when you leave, it's very important not to look back.''Why not?'She shrugged. 'I don't know. Perhaps the view isn't very good. Are you a hero, actually?''Um, no. Not as such. Not at all, really. Even less than that, in fact. I just came to look for a friend of mine,' he said wretchedly. 'I suppose you haven't seen him?Little fat man, talks a lot, wears eyeglasses, funny sort

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'You summoned me, master,' said Trymon levelly. At least, that's what his voice said. Deep in his grey eyes was the faintest about the Pyramid of Tsort in the Library, you would have thought there'd be something, wouldn't you?'
The librarian will be disciplined, of course.'
Galder looked sideways at him. 'Nothing drastic,' he said. 'Withold his bananas, perhaps.'
They looked at each other for a moment.glitter that said he had a list of every slight, every patronising twinkle, every gentle reproof, every knowing glance, and for every single one Galder's living brain was going to spend a year in acid.'Oh, yes, so I did. Humour the deficiencies of an old man,' said Galder pleasantly. He held up the book he had been reading.'I don't hold with all this running about,' he said. 'It's all very dramatic, mucking about with magic carpets and the like, but it isn't true magic to my mind. Take seven league boots, now. If men were meant to walk twenty-one miles at a step I am sure God would have given us longer legs . . . Where was I?''I am not sure,' said Trymon coldly.'Ah, yes. Strange that we could find nothing

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If you will follow me to my house I will find you food and a change of clothing," said the troll solemnly. He set off over the rocks without turning to see if they would follow him. After all, where else could they go? It was getting dark, and a chilly damp breeze was blowing over the edge of the world. Already the transient Rimbow had faded think we'll be able to look down and see Great A'tuin the World Turtle?" asked Twoflower, staring at the rolling clouds.
"I hope not," said Rincewind, "I really do. Now let's go, shall we?"
Twoflower followed him reluctantly into the shack. The troll had lit a couple of lamps and was sitting comfortably in a rocking chair. He got to his feet as they entered and poured two cups of a green liquid from a tall pitcher. In the dim light he appeared to phosphoresce, in the manner and the mists above the waterfall were beginning to thin."Come on," said Rincewind, grabbing Twoflower's elbow. But the tourist didn't appear to want to move."Come on," the wizard repeated."When it gets really dark, do you