'I don't think you're real,' she said levelly. 'There's not a little old woman in a shawl running this place. You're out of my head. That's how you defend yourself... You poke around in people's heads and find the things that work...'

She swung the candlestick. It passed through the figure in the bed.

'See?' she said. 'You're not even real.'

'Oh, I am real, dear,' said the old woman, as her outline changed. 'The candlestick wasn't.'

Susan looked down at the new shape.

'Nope,' she said. 'It's horrible, but it doesn't frighten me. No, nor does that.' It changed again, and again. 'No, nor does my father. Good grief, you're scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you? I like spiders. Snakes don't worry me. Dogs? No. Rats are fine, I like rats. Sorry, is anyone frightened of that?'

She grabbed at the thing and this time the shape stayed. It looked like a small, wizened monkey, but with big deep eyes under a brow overhanging like a balcony. Its hair was grey and lank. It struggled weakly in her grasp, and wheezed.

'I don't frighten easily,' said Susan, 'but you'd be amazed at how angry I can become.'

The creature hung limp.

'I... I...' it muttered.

She let it down again.

'You're a bogeyman, aren't you?' she said.

It collapsed in a heap when she took her hand away.

'... Not a... The...' it said.

'What do you mean, the?' said Susan.

'The bogeyman,' said the bogeyman. And she saw how rangy it was, how white and grey streaked its hair, how the skin was stretched over the bones...

'The first bogeyman?'

'I... there were... I do remember when the land was different. Ice. Many times of... ice. And the... what do you call them?' The creature wheezed. '... The lands, the big lands... all different...'

Susan sat down on the bed.

'You mean continents?'

'... all different.' The black sunken eyes glinted at her and suddenly the thing reared up, bony arms waving. 'I was the dark in the cave! I was the shadow in the trees! You've heard about... the primal scream? That was... at me! I was...' It folded up and started coughing. 'And then... that thing, you know, that thing... all light and bright... lightning you could carry, hot, little sunshine, and then there was no more dark, just shadows, and then you made axes, axes in the forest, and then... and then...'

Susan sat down on the bed. 'There's still plenty of bogeymen,' she said.

'Hiding under beds! Lurking in cupboards! But,' it fought for breath, 'if you had seen me... in the old days... when they came down into the deep caves to draw their hunting pictures... I could roar in their heads... so that their stomachs dropped out of their bottoms...'

'All the old skills are dying out,' said Susan gravely.

'... Oh, others came later... They never knew that first fine terror. All they knew,' even whispering, the bogeyman managed to get a sneer in its voice, 'was dark corners. I had been the dark! I was the... first! And now I was no better than them... frightening maids, curdling cream... hiding in shadows at the stub of the year... and then one night, I thought... why?'

Susan nodded. Bogeymen weren't bright. The moment of existential uncertainty probably took a lot longer in heads where the brain cells bounced so very slowly from one side of the skull to the other. But ... Granddad had thought like that. You hung around with humans long enough and you stopped being what they imagined you to be and wanted to become something of your own. Umbrellas and silver hairbrushes...

'You thought: what was the point of it all?' she said.

'... frightening children... lurking... and then I started to watch them. Didn't really used to be children back in the ice times... just big humans, little humans, not children... and... and there was a different world in their heads... In their heads, that's where the old days were now. The old days. When it was all young.'

'You came out from under the bed...'

'I watched over them... kept 'em safe...'

Susan tried not to shudder.

'And the teeth?'

'I... oh, you can't leave teeth around, anyone might get them, do terrible things. I liked them, I didn't want anyone to hurt them... ' it bubbled. 'I never wanted to hurt them, I just used to watch, I kept the teeth all safe... and, and, and sometimes I just sit here listening to them ... '

It mumbled on. Susan listened in embarrassed amazement, not knowing whether to take pity on the thing or, and this was a developing option, to tread on it.

'... and the teeth... they remember ...

It started to shake.

'The money?' Susan prompted. 'I don't see many rich bogeymen around.'

' ... money everywhere... buried in holes... old treasure... back of sofas... it adds up... investments... money for the tooth, very important, part of the magic, makes it safe, makes it proper, otherwise it's thieving... and I labelled 'em all, and kept 'em safe, and... and then I was old, but I found people...' The Tooth Fairy sniggered, and for a moment Susan felt sorry for the men in the ancient caves. 'They don't ask questions, do they?' it bubbled. '... You give 'em money and they all do their jobs and they don't ask questions...'

'It's more than their job's worth,' said Susan.

I... and then they came... stealing...'

Susan gave in. Old gods do new jobs.

'You look terrible.'

... thank you very much . .

'I mean ill.'

'...very old... all those men, too much effort'

The bogeyman groaned.

'... you... don't die here,' it panted. 'Just get old, listening to the laughter...'

Susan nodded. It was in the air. She couldn't hear words, just a distant chatter, as if it was at the other end of a long corridor.

'... and this place... it grew up round me...'

'The trees,' said Susan. 'And the sky. Out of their heads...'

'... dying... the little children... you've got to... I'

The figure faded.

Susan sat for a while, listening to the distant chatter.

Worlds of belief, she thought. Just like oysters. A little piece of shit gets in and then a pearl grows up around it.

She got up and went downstairs.

Banjo had found a broom and mop somewhere. The circle was empty and, with surprising initiative, the man was carefully washing the chalk away.

'Banjo?'

'Yes, miss.'

'You like it here?'

'There's trees, miss.'

That probably counts as a 'yes', Susan decided. 'The sky doesn't worry you?'

He looked at her in puzzlement.

'No, miss?'

'Can you count, Banjo?'

He looked smug.

'Yes, miss. On m'fingers, miss.'

'So you can count up to... ?' Susan prompted. 'Thirteen, miss,' said Banjo proudly.

She looked at his big hands.

'Good grief.'

Well, she thought, and why not? He's big and trustworthy and what other kind of life has he got?

'I think it would be a good idea if you did the Tooth Fairy's job, Banjo.'

'Will that be all right, miss? Won't the Tooth Fairy mind?'

'You... do it until she comes back.'

'All right, miss.'

'I'll... er... get people to keep an eye on you, until you get settled in. I think food comes in on the cart. You're not to let people cheat you.' She looked at his hands and then up and up the lower slopes until she saw the peak of Mount Banjo, and added, 'Not that I think they'll try, mind you.'

'Yes, miss. I will keep things tidy, miss. Er.

The big pink face looked at her.

'Yes, Banjo?'

'Can I have a puppy, miss? I had a kitten once, miss, but our mam drownded it 'cos it was dirty.'

Susan's memory threw up a name.

'A puppy called Spot?'

'Yes, miss. Spot, miss.'

'I think it'll turn up quite soon, Banjo.'

He seemed to take this entirely on trust.

'Thank you, miss.'

'And now I've got to go.'

'Right, miss.'

She looked back up the tower. Death's land might be dark, but when you were there you never thought anything bad was going to happen to you. You were beyond the places where it could. But here...

When you were grown up you only feared, well, logical things. Poverty. Illness. Being found out. At least you weren't mad with terror because of something under the stairs. The world wasn't full of arbitrary light and shade. The wonderful world of childhood? Well, it wasn't a cut-down version of the adult one, that was certain. It was more like the adult one written in big heavy letters. Everything was... more. More everything.

She left Banjo to his sweeping and stepped out into the perpetually sunlit world.

Bilious and Violet hurried towards her. Bilious was waving a branch like a club.

'You don't need that,' said Susan. She wanted some sleep.

'We talked about it and we thought we ought to come back and help,' said Bilious.

'Ah. Democratic courage,' said Susan. 'Well, they're all gone. To wherever they go.'

Bilious lowered the branch thankfully.

'It wasn't that-' he began.

'Look, you two can make yourselves useful,' said Susan. 'There's a mess in there. Go and help Banjo.'

'Banjo?'

'He's... more or less running the place now.'

Violet laughed.

'But he's-'

'He's in charge,' said Susan wearily.

'All right,' said Bilious. 'Anyway, I'm sure we can tell him what to do...'

'No! Too many people have told him what to do. He knows what to do. Just help him get started, all right? But...'

If the Hogfather comes back now, you'll vanish, won't you? She didn't know how to phrase the question.

'I'm, er, giving up my old job,' said Bilious. 'Er... I'm going to go on working as a holiday relief for the other gods.' He gave her a pleading look.

'Really?' Susan looked at Violet. Oh, well, maybe if she believes in him, at least... It might work. You never know.

'Good,' she said. 'Have fun. Now I'm going home. This is a hell of a way to spend Hogswatch.'

She found Binky waiting by the stream.

The Auditors fluttered anxiously. And, as always happens in their species when something goes radically wrong and needs fixing instantly, they settled down to try to work out who to blame.

One said, It was...

And then it stopped. The Auditors lived by consensus, which made picking scapegoats a little problematical. It brightened up. After all, if everyone was to blame, then it was no one's actual fault. That's what collective responsibility meant, after all. It was more like bad luck, or something.

Another said, Unfortunately, people might get the wrong idea. We may be asked questions.

One said, What about Death? He interfered, after all.

One said, Er... not exactly.

One said, Oh, come on. He got the girl involved.

One said, Er... no. She got herself involved.

One said, Yes, but he told her...

One said, No. He didn't. In fact he specifically did not tell—

It paused, and then said, Damn!

One said, On the other hand...

The robes turned towards it.

Yes?

One said, There's no actual evidence. Nothing written down. Some humans got excited and decided to attack the Tooth Fairy's country. This is unfortunate, but nothing to do with us. We are shocked, of course.

One said, There's still the Hogfather. Things are going to be noticed. Questions may be asked.

They hovered for a while, unspeaking.

Eventually one said, We may have to take... It paused, loath even to think the word, but managed to continue... a risk.

Bed, thought Susan, as the mists rolled past her. And in the morning, decent human things like coffee and porridge. And bed. Real things...

Binky stopped. She stared at his ears for a moment, and then urged him forward. He whinnied, and didn't budge.

A skeletal hand had grabbed his bridle. Death materialized.

IT IS NOT OVER. MORE MUST BE DONE. THEY TORMENT HIM STILL.

Susan sagged. 'What is? Who are?'

MOVE FORWARD. I WILL STEER. Death climbed into the saddle and reached around her for the reins.

'Look, I went...' Susan began.

YES. I KNOW. THE CONTROL OF BELIEF, said Death, as the horse moved forward again. ONLY A VERY SIMPLE MIND COULD THINK OF THAT. MAGIC SO OLD IT'S HARDLY MAGIC. WHAT A SIMPLE WAY TO MAKE MILLIONS OF CHILDREN CEASE TO BELIEVE IN THE HOGFATHER.

'And what were you doing?' Susan demanded.

I TOO HAVE DONE WHAT I SET OUT TO DO. I HAVE KEPT A SPACE. A MILLION CARPETS WITH SOOTY BOOTMARKS, MILLIONS OF FILLED STOCKINGS, ALL THOSE ROOFS WITH RUNNER MARKS ON THEM... DISBELIEF WILL FIND IT HARD GOING IN THE FACE OF THAT. ALBERT SAYS HE NEVER WANTS TO DRINK ANOTHER SHERRY FOR DAYS. THE HOGFATHER WILL HAVE SOMETHING TO COME BACK TO, AT LEAST.

'What have I got to do now?'

YOU MUST BRING THE HOGFATHER BACK.

'Oh, must I? For peace and goodwill and the tinkling of fairy bells? Who cares. He's just some fat old clown who makes people feel smug at Hogswatch! I've been through all this for some old man who prowls around kids' bedrooms?'

NO. SO THAT THE SUN WILL RISE.

'What has astronomy got to do with the Hogfather?'

OLD GODS DO NEW JOBS.

The Senior Wrangler wasn't attending the Feast. He got one of the maids to bring a tray up to his rooms, where he was Entertaining and doing all those things a man does when he finds himself unexpectedly tкte-а-tкte with the opposite sex, like trying to shine his boots on his trousers and clean his fingernails with his other fingernails.

'A little more wine, Gwendoline? It's hardly alcoholic,' he said, leaning over her.

'I don't mind if I do, Mr Wrangler.'

'Oh, call me Horace, please. And perhaps a little something for your chic-ken?'

'I'm afraid she seems to have wandered off somewhere,' said the Cheerful Fairy. 'I'm afraid I'm, I'm I'm rather dull company...' She blew her nose noisily.

'Oh, I certainly wouldn't say that,' said the Senior Wrangler. He wished he'd had time to tidy up his rooms a bit, or at least get some of the more embarrassing bits of laundry off the stuffed rhinoceros.

'Everyone's been so kind,' said the Cheerful Fairy, dabbing at her streaming eyes. 'Who was the skinny one that kept making the funny faces for me?'

'That was the Bursar. Why don't you...'

'He seemed very cheerful, anyway.'

'It's the dried frog pills, he eats them by the handful,' said the Senior Wrangler dismissively. 'I say, why don't...'

'Oh dear. I hope they're not addictive.'

'I'm sure he wouldn't keep on eating them if they were addictive,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Now, why don't you have another glass of wine, and then... and then...' a happy thought struck him '... and then... and then perhaps I could show you Archchancellor Bowell's Remembrance? It's got a-a-a-a very interesting ceiling. My word, yes.'

'That would be very nice,' said the Cheerful Fairy. 'Would it cheer me up, do you think?'

'Oh, it would, it would,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Definitely! Good! So I'll, er, I'll just go and... just go and... I'll... ' He pointed vaguely in the direction of his dressing room, while hopping from one foot to the other. 'I'll just go and, er... go... just...'

He fled into the dressing room and slammed the door behind him. His wild eyes scanned the shelves and hangers.

'Clean robe,' he mumbled. 'Comb face, wash socks, fresh hair, where's that Insteadofshave lotion...'

From the other side of the door came the adorable sound of the Cheerful Fairy blowing her nose. From this side came the sound of the Senior Wrangler's muffled scream as, made careless by haste and a very poor sense of smell, he mistakenly splashed his face with the turpentine he used for treating his feet.

Somewhere overhead a very small plump child with a bow and arrow and ridiculously unaerodynamic wings buzzed ineffectually against a shut window on which the frost was tracing the outline of a rather handsome Auriental lady. The other window already had an icy picture of a vase of sunflowers.

In the Great Hall one of the tables had already collapsed. It was one of the customs of the Feast that although there were many courses each wizard went at his own speed, a tradition instituted to prevent the slow ones holding everyone else up. And they could also have seconds if they wished, so that if a wizard was particularly attracted to soup he could go round and round for an hour before starting on the preliminary stages of the fish courses.

'How're you feeling now, old chap?' said the

Dean, who was sitting next to the Bursar. 'Back on the dried frog pills?'

'I, er, I, er, no, Im not too bad,' said the Bursar. 'It was, of course, rather a, rather a shock when-'

'That's a shame, because here's your Hogswatch present,' said the Dean, passing over a small box. It rattled. 'You can open it now if you like.'

'Oh, well, how nice...'

'It's from me,' said the Dean.

'What a lovely...'

'I bought it with my own money, you know,' said the Dean, waving a turkey leg airily.

'The wrapping paper is a very nice...'

'More than a dollar, I might add.'

'My goodness...'

The Bursar pulled off the last of the wrapping paper.

'It's a box for keeping dried frog pills in. See? It's got "Dried Frog Pills" on it, see?'

The Bursar shook it. 'Oh, how nice,' he said weakly. 'It's got some pills in it already. How thoughtful. They will come in handy.'

'Yes,' said the Dean. 'I took them off your dressing table. After all, I was down a dollar as it was.'

The Bursar nodded gratefully and put the little box neatly beside his plate. They'd actually allowed him knives this evening. They'd actually allowed him to eat other things than those things that could only be scraped up with a wooden spoon.

He eyed the nearest roast pig with nervous anticipation, and tucked his napkin firmly under his chin.

'Er, excuse me, Mr Stibbons,' he quavered. 'Would you be so good as to pass me the apple sauce tankard-'

There was a sound like coarse fabric ripping, somewhere in the air in front of the Bursar, and a crash as something landed on top of the roast pig. Roast potatoes and gravy filled the air. The apple that had been in the pig's mouth was violently expelled and hit the Bursar on the forehead.

He blinked, looked down, and found he was about to plunge his fork into a human head.

'Ahaha,' he murmured, as his eyes started to glaze.

The wizards heaved aside the overturned dishes and smashed crockery.

'He just fell out of the air!'

'Is he an Assassin? Not one of their student pranks, is it?'

'Why's he holding a sword without a sharp bit?'

'Is he dead?'

'I think so!'

'I didn't even have any of that salmon mousse! Will you look at it? His foot's in it! It's all over the place! Do you want yours?'

Ponder Stibbons fought his way through the throng. He knew his more senior fellows when they were feeling helpful. They were like a glass of water to a drowning man.

'Give him air!' he protested.

'How do we know if he needs any?' said the Dean.

Ponder put his ear to the fallen youth's chest.

'He's not breathing!'

'Breathing spell, breathing spell,' muttered the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Er... SpoIt's Forthright Respirator, perhaps? I think I've got it written down somewhere...'

Ridcully reached through the wizards and pulled out the black-clad man by a leg. He held him upside down in his big hand and thumped him heavily on the back.

He met their astonished gaze. 'Used to do this on the farm,' he said. 'Works a treat on baby goats.'

'Oh, now, really,' said the Dean, 'I don't...'

The corpse made a noise somewhere between a choke and a cough.

'Make some space, you fellows!' the Archchancellor bellowed, clearing an area of table with one sweep of his spare arm.

'Hey, I hadn't had any of that Prawn Escoffe!' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'I didn't even know we had any,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Someone, and I name no names, Dean, shoved it behind the soft-shelled crabs so they could keep it for themselves. I call that cheap.'

Teatime opened his eyes. It said a lot for his constitution that it survived a very close-up view of Ridcully's nose, which filled the immediate universe like a big pink planet.

'Excuse me, excuse me,' said Ponder, leaning over with his notebook open, 'but this is vitally important for the advancement of natural philosophy. Did you see any bright lights? Was there a shining tunnel? Did any deceased relatives attempt to speak to you? What word most describes the...'

Ridcully pulled him away.

'What's all this, Mr Stibbons?'

'I really should talk to him, sir. He's had a near-death experience!'

'We all have. It's called "living",' said the Archchancellor shortly. 'Pour the poor lad a glass of spirits and put that damn pencil away.

'Uh... This must be Unseen University?' said Teatime. 'And you are all wizards?'

'Now, just you lie still,' said Ridcully. But Teatime had already risen on his elbows.

'There was a sword,' he muttered.

'Oh, it's fallen on the floor,' said the Dean, reaching down. 'But it looks as though it's— Did I do that?'

The wizards looked at the large curved slice of table falling away. Something had cut through everything wood, cloth, plates, cutlery, food. The Dean swore that a candle flame that had been in the path of the unseen blade was only half a flame for a moment, until the wick realized that this was no way to behave.

The Dean raised his hand. The other wizards scattered.

'Looks like a thin blue line in the air,' he said, wonderingly.

'Excuse me, sir,' said Teatime, taking it from him. 'I really must be off.'

He ran from the hall.

'He won't get far,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'The main doors are locked in accordance with Archchancellor Spode's Rules.'

'Won't get far while holding a sword that appears to be able to cut through anything,' said Ridcully, to the sound of falling wood.

'I wonder what all that was about?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, and then turned his attention to the remains of the Feast. 'Anyway, at least this joint's been nicely carved

'Bu-bu-bu...'

They all turned. The Bursar was holding his hand in front of him. The cut surface of a fork gleamed at the wizards.

'Nice to know his new present will come in handy,' said the Dean. 'It's the thought that counts.'

Under the table the Blue Hen of Happiness relieved itself on the Bursar's foot.

THERE ARE... ENEMIES, said Death, as Binky galloped through icy mountains.

'They're all dead...'

OTHER ENEMIES. YOU MAY AS WELL KNOW THIS. DOWN IN THE DEEPEST KINGDOMS OF THE SEA, WHERE THERE IS NO LIGHT, THERE LIVES A TYPE OF CREATURE WITH NO BRAIN AND NO EYES AND NO MOUTH. IT DOES NOTHING BUT LIVE AND PUT FORTH PETALS OF PERFECT CRIMSON WHERE NONE ARE THERE TO SEE. IT IS NOTHING EXCEPT A TINY YES IN THE NIGHT. AND YET... AND YET... IT HAS ENEMIES THAT BEAR ON IT A VICIOUS, UNBENDING MALICE, WHO WISH NOT ONLY FOR ITS TINY LIFE TO BE OVER BUT ALSO THAT IT HAD NEVER EXISTED. ARE YOU WITH ME SO FAR?

'Well, yes, but...'

GOOD. NOW, IMAGINE WHAT THEY THINK OF HUMANITY.

Susan was shocked. She had never heard her grandfather speak in anything other than calm tones. Now there was a cutting edge in his words.

'What are they?' she said.

WE MUST HURRY. THERE IS NOT MUCH TIME.

'I thought you always had time. I mean... whatever it is you want to stop, you can go back in time and...'

AND MEDDLE?

'You've done it before ...'

THIS TIME IT IS OTHERS WHO ARE DOING IT. AND THEY HAVE NO RIGHT.

'What others?'

THEY HAVE NO NAME. CALL THEM THE AUDITORS. THEY RUN THE UNIVERSE. THEY SEE TO IT THAT GRAVITY WORKS AND THE ATOMS SPIN, OR WHATEVER IT IS ATOMS DO. AND THEY HATE LIFE.

'Why?'

IT IS... IRREGULAR. IT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. THEY LIKE STONES, MOVING IN CURVES. AND THEY HATE HUMANS MOST OF ALL. Death sighed. IN MANY WAYS, THEY LACK A SENSE OF HUMOUR.

'Why the Hog...'

IT IS THE THINGS YOU BELIEVE WHICH MAKE YOU HUMAN. GOOD THINGS AND BAD THINGS, IT'S ALL THE SAME.

The mists parted. Sharp peaks were around them, lit by the glow off the snow.

'These look like the mountains where the Castle of Bones was,' she said.

THEY ARE, said Death. IN A SENSE. HE HAS GONE BACK TO A PLACE HE KNOWS. AN EARLY PLACE...

Binky cantered low over the snow.

'And what are we looking for?' said Susan.

YOU WILL KNOW WHEN YOU SEE IT.

'Snow? Trees? I mean, could I have a clue? What are we here for?'

I TOLD YOU. TO ENSURE THAT THE SUN COMES UP.

'Of course the sun will come up!'

NO.

'There's no magic that'll stop the sun coming up!'

I WISH I WAS AS CLEVER AS YOU.

Susan stared down out of sheer annoyance, and saw something below.

Small dark shapes moved across the whiteness, running as if they were in pursuit of something.

'There's... some sort of chase...' she conceded. 'I can see some sort of animals but I can't see what they're after...'

Then she saw movement in the snow, a blurred, dark shape dodging and skidding and never clear. Binky dropped until his hooves grazed the tops of the pine trees, which bent in his wake. A rumble followed him across the forest, dragging broken branches and a smoke of snow behind it.

Now they were lower she could see the hunters clearly. They were large dogs. Their quarry was indistinct, dodging among snowdrifts, keeping to the cover of snow-laden bushes.

A drift exploded. Something big and long and blue-black rose through the flying snow like a sounding whale.

'It's a pig!'

A BOAR. THEY DRIVE IT TOWARDS THE CLIFF. THEY'RE DESPERATE NOW.

She could hear the panting of the creature. The dogs made no sound at all.

Blood streamed onto the snow from the wounds they had already managed to inflict.

'This... boar,' said Susan. It's . .

YES.

'They want to kill the Hogf...'

NOT KILL. HE KNOWS HOW TO DIE. OH, YES... IN THIS SHAPE, HE KNOWS HOW TO DIE. HE'S HAD A LOT OF EXPERIENCE. NO, THEY WANT TO TAKE AWAY HIS REAL LIFE, TAKE AWAY HIS SOUL, TAKE AWAY EVERYTHING. THEY MUST NOT BE ALLOWED TO BRING HIM DOWN.

'Well, stop them!'

YOU MUST. THIS IS A HUMAN THING.

The dogs moved oddly. They weren't running but flowing, crossing the snow faster than the mere movement of their legs would suggest.

'They don't look like real dogs ...

NO.

'What can I do?'

Death nodded his head towards the boar. Binky was keeping level with it now, barely a few feet away.

Realization dawned.

'I can't ride that!' said Susan.

WHY NOT? YOU HAVE HAD AN EDUCATION.

'Enough to know that pigs don't let people ride them!'

MERE ACCUMULATION OF OBSERVATIONAL EVIDENCE IS NOT PROOF.

Susan glanced ahead. The snowfield had a cut-off look.

YOU MUST, said her grandfather's voice in her head. WHEN HE REACHES THE EDGE THERE HE WILL STAND AT BAY. HE MUST NOT. UNDERSTAND? THESE ARE NOT REAL DOGS. IF THEY CATCH HIM HE WON'T JUST DIE, HE WILL... NEVER BE...

Susan leapt. For a moment she floated through the air, dress streaming behind her, arms outstretched...

Landing on the animal's back was like hitting a very, very firm chair. It stumbled for a moment and then righted itself.

Susan's arms clung to its neck and her face was buried in its sharp bristles. She could feel the heat under her. It was like riding a furnace.

And it stank of sweat, and blood, and pig. A lot of pig.

There was a lack of landscape in front of her.

The boar ploughed into the snow on the edge of the drop, almost flinging her off, and turned to face the hounds.

There were a lot of them. Susan was familiar with dogs. They'd had them at home like other houses had rugs. And these weren't that big floppy sort.

She rammed her heels in and grabbed a pig's ear in each hand. It was like holding a pair of hairy shovels.

'Turn left!' she screamed, and hauled.

She put everything into the command. It promised tears before bedtime if disobeyed.

To her amazement the boar grunted, pranced on the lip of the precipice and scrambled away, the hounds floundering as they turned to follow.

This was a plateau. From here it seemed to be all edge, with no way down except the very simple and terminal one.

The dogs were flying at the boar's heels again.

Susan looked around in the grey, Sightless air. There had to be somewhere, some way...

There was.

It was a shoulder of rock, a giant knife-edge connecting this plain to the hills beyond. It was sharp and narrow, a thin line of snow with chilly depths on either side.

It was better than nothing. It was nothing with snow on it.

The boar reached the edge and hesitated. Susan put her head down and dug her heels in again.

Snout down, legs moving like pistons, the beast plunged out onto the ridge. Snow sprayed up as its trotters sought for purchase. It made up for lack of grace by sheer manic effort, legs moving like a tap dancer climbing a moving staircase that was heading down.

'That's right, that's right, that's...'

A trotter slipped. For a moment the boar seemed to stand on two, the others scrabbling at icy rock. Susan flung herself the other way, clinging to the neck, and felt the dragging abyss under her feet.

There was nothing there.