Count Magpyr stirred in the darkness of his room and opened his eyes. The pupils widened to take in more light.

'I think she has gone to ground,' he said.

'That was remarkably quick,' said the Countess. 'I thought you said she was quite powerful.'

'Oh, indeed. But human. And she's getting older. With age comes doubt. It's so simple. All alone in that barren cottage, no company but the candlelight... it's so simple to open up all the little cracks and let her mind turn in on itself. It's like watching a forest fire when the wind changes and suddenly it's roaring down on all the houses you thought were built so strongly.'

'So graphically put.'

'Thank you.'

'You were so successful in Escrow, I know...'

'A model for the future. Vampires and humans in harmony at last. There is no need for this animosity, just as I have always said.'

The Countess walked over to the window and gingerly pulled aside the curtain. Despite the overcast sky, grey light filtered in.

'There's no requirement to be so cautious about this, either,' said her husband, coming up behind her and jerking the curtain aside. The Countess shuddered and turned her face away.

'You see? Still harmless. Every day, in every way, we get better and better,' said Count Magpyr cheerfully. 'Self help. Positive thinking. Training. Familiarity. Garlic? A pleasant seasoning. Lemons? Merely an acquired taste. Why, yesterday I mislaid a sock and I simply don't care. I have lots of socks. Extra socks can be arranged!' His smile faded when he saw his wife's expression.

'The word "but" is on the tip of your tongue,' he said flatly.

'I was just going to say that there were no witches in Escrow.'

'And the place is all the better for it!'

'Of course, but-'

'There you go again, my dear. There is no room for 'but' in our vocabulary. Verence was right, oddly enough. There's a new world coming, and there won't be any room in it for those ghastly little gnomes or witches or centaurs and especially not for the firebirds! Away with theml Let us progress! They are unfitted for survival!'

'You only wounded that phoenix, though.'

'My point exactly. It allowed itself to be hurt, and therefore extinction looms. No, my dear, if we won't fade with the old world we must make shift in the new. Witches? I'm afraid witches are all in the past now.'

The broomsticks in the present landed just above the treeline, on the edge of the moor. As Agnes had said, it was barely big enough to deserve the term. She could even hear the little mountain brook at the far end.

'I can't see anything gnarly-looking,' said Agnes. She knew it was a stupid thing to say, but the presence of Magrat was getting on her nerves.

Nanny looked up at the sky. The other two followed her gaze.

'You've got to get your eye in, but you'll see it if you watch,' she said. 'You can only see it if you stands on the moor.'

Agnes squinted at the overcast.

'Oh... I think I can,' said Magrat.

I bet she doesn't, said Perdita, I can't.

And then Agnes did. It was tricky to spot, like a join between two sheets of glass, and it seemed to move away whenever she was certain she could see it, but there was an... inconsistency, flickering in and out on the edge of vision.

Nanny licked a finger and held it up to the wind. Then she pointed.

'This way. An' shut your eyes.'

'There's no path,' said Magrat.

'That's right. You hold on to my hand, Agnes will hold on to yours. I've been this way a few times. It ain't hard.'

'It's like a children's story,' said Agnes.

'Yes, we're down to the bone now, all right,' said Nanny. 'And... off we go...'

Agnes felt the heather brush her feet as she stepped forward. She opened her eyes.

Moorland stretched away on every side, even behind them. The air was darker, the clouds heavier, the wind sharper. The mountains looked a long way away. There was a distant thunder of water.

'Where are we now?' said Magrat.

'Still here,' said Nanny. 'I remember my dad saying sometimes a deer or somethin' would run into gnarly ground if it was bein' hunted.'

'It'd have to be pretty desperate,' said Agnes. The heather was darker here, and scratched so much it was almost thorny. 'Everything's so... nasty-looking.'

'Attitude plays a part,' said Nanny. She tapped something with her foot.

It was... well, it had been a standing stone, Agnes thought, but now it was a lying stone. Lichen grew thickly all over it.

'The marker. Hard to get out again if you don't know about it,' said Nanny. 'Let's head for the mountains. Esme all wrapped up, Magrat? Little Esme, I mean.'

'She's asleep.'

'Yeah,' said Nanny, in what Agnes thought was an odd tone of voice. 'Just as well, really. Let's go. Oh, I thought we might need these...'

She fumbled in the bottomless storeroom of her knickerleg and produced a couple of pairs of socks so thick that they could have stood up by themselves.

'Lancre wool,' she said. 'Our Jason knits 'em of an evenin' and you know what strong fingers he's got. You could kick your way through a wall.'

The heather ripped fruitlessly at the wire-like wool as the women hurried over the moor. There was still a sun here, or at least a bright spot in the overcast, but darkness seemed to come up from beneath the ground.

Agnes... said Perdita's voice, in the privacy of her shared brain.

What? thought Agnes.

Nanny's worried about something to do with the baby and Granny. Have you noticed?

Agnes thought: I know Nanny keeps looking at little Esme as if she's trying to make up her mind about something, if that's what you mean.

Well, l think it's to do with Borrowing...

She thinks Granny's using the baby to keep an eye on us?

I don't know. But something's happening...

The roar ahead grew louder.

'There's a little stream, isn't there?' said Agnes.

'That's right,' said Nanny. 'Just here.'

The moor fell away. They stared into the abyss, which didn't stare back. It was huge. White water was just visible far below. Cold, damp air blew past their faces.

'That can't be right,' said Magrat. 'That's wider and deeper than Lancre Gorge!'

Agnes looked down into the mist. It's a couple of feet deep, Perdita told her. I can see every pebble.

'Perdita thinks it's a... well, an optical illusion,' Agnes said aloud.

'She could be right,' said Nanny. 'Gnarly ground, see? Bigger on the inside.'

Magrat picked up a rock and tossed it in. It bounced off the wall a few times, tumbling end over end, and then nothing was left but a stony echo. The river was too far down even to see the splash.

'It's very realistic, isn't it?' she said weakly.

'We could use the bridge,' said Nanny, pointing.

They regarded the bride. It had a certain negative quality. That is to say, while it was possible at the limits of probability that if they tried to cross the chasm by walking out over thin air this might just work — because of sudden updraughts, or air molecules suddenly all having a crazy idea at the same time — trying to do the same thing via

the bridge would dearly be laughable.

There was no mortar in it. The pillars had been piled up out of rocks laid like a drystone wall, and then a series of big flat stones dropped across the top. The result would have been called primitive even by people who were too primitive to have a word yet for 'primitive'. It creaked ominously in the wind. They could hear stone grind against stone.

'That's not right,' said Magrat. 'It wouldn't stand up to a gale.'

'It wouldn't stand up to a dead calm,' said Agnes. 'I don't think it's really real.'

'Ah, I can see where that'd make crossing it a bit tricky, then,' said Nanny.

It's just a slab laid over a ditch, Perdita insisted. I could cartwheel over it. Agnes blinked.