Verence saw, muzzily, that they were heading for a bank at the edge of a field, long deserted and overgrown, topped with some ancient thorn trees.

The pixies stopped with a jolt when the King's head was a few inches away from a large rabbit hole.

'Danna fittit!'

'G'shovitt, s'yust!'

Verence's head was banged hopefully against the wet soil once or twice.

'Hakkis lugs awa'!'

'Bigjobs!'

One of the pixies shook his head. 'Canna' do't, ken? Els' y'ole carlin'll hae oor guts fae garters...'

Unusually, the Nac mac Feegle fell silent for a moment. Then one of them said, 'Na one's got tha' much guts, right eno'.'

'An' b'side, she'll gi'us uskabarch muckell. We oathit. Y' canna' cross a hag.'

'Al' at it noo, then...'

Verence was dropped on the ground. There was a brief sound of digging, and mud showered over him. Then he was picked up again and carried through a much enlarged hole, his nose brushing tree roots in the ceiling. Behind him there was the sound of a tunnel being rapidly filled in.

Then there was just a bank where rabbits obviously lived, topped with thorn trees. Unseen in the wild night, the occasional wisp of smoke drifted among the trunks.

Agnes leaned against the castle wall, which was streaming with water, and fought for breath. Granny hadn't just told her to go away. The command had hit her brain like a bucket of ice. Even Perdita had felt it. There was no question of not obeying.

Where would Nanny have gone? Agnes felt a pressing desire to be near her. Nanny Ogg radiated a perpetual field of it'll-be-0-rightness. If they'd got out through the kitchens she could be anywhere...

She heard the coach rattle out through the arch that led to the stables. It was just a looming shape, shrouded in spray from the rain, as it bounced across the cobbles of the courtyard. A figure by the driver, holding a sack over its head against the wind and rain, might have been Nanny. It hardly mattered. No one would have seen Agnes running through the puddles and waving.

She trooped back to the arch as the coach disappeared down the hill. Well, they had been trying to get away, hadn't they? And stealing a vampire's coach had a certain Nanny Ogg style...

Someone gripped both her arms from behind. Instinctively she tried to thrust back with her elbows. It was like trying to move against rock.

'Why, Miss Agnes Nitt,' said Vlad coldly. 'A pleasant stroll to take in a little rain?'

'They've got away from you!' she snapped.

'You think so? Father could send that coach right into the gorge in a moment if he wanted to,' said the vampire. 'But he won't. We much prefer the personal touch.'

'The in-your-neck approach,' said Agnes.

'Hah, yes. But he really is trying to be reasonable. So I can't persuade you to become one of us, Agnes?'

'What, someone who lives by taking life from other people?'

'We don't usually go as far as that any more,' said Vlad, dragging her forward. 'And when we do... well, we make sure that we only kill people who deserve to die.'

'Oh, well, that's all right, then, isn't it?' said Agnes. 'I'm sure I'd trust a vampire's judgement.'

'My sister can be a bit too... rigorous at times, I admit.'

'I've seen the people you brought with youl They practically moot'

'Oh, them. The domestics. Well? It's not much different from the lives they would have had in any case. Better, in fact. They are well fed, sheltered-'

'-milked.'

'And is that bad?'

Agnes tried to twist out of his grip. Just here there was no castle wall. There hadn't been any need. Lancre Gorge was all the wall anyone could need, and Vlad was walking her right to the sheer drop.

'What a stupid thing to say!' she said.

'Is it? I understand you've travelled, Agnes,' said Vlad, as she struggled. 'So you'll know that so many people lead little lives, always under the whip of some king or ruler or master who won't hesitate to sacrifice them in battle or turn them out when they can't work any more.'

But they can run away, Perdita prompted.

'But they can run away!'

'Really? On foot? With a family? And no money? Mostly they never even try. Most people put up with most things, Agnes.'

'That's the most unpleasant, cynical-'

Accurate, Perdita said.

'-accur- No!'

Vlad raised his eyebrows. 'You have such a strange mind, Agnes. Of course, you are not one of the... cattle. I expect that no witch is. You people tend to know your own mind.' He gave her a toothy grin, and on a vampire this was not pleasant. 'I wish I did. Come along.'

There was no resisting the pull, unless she wanted to be dragged along the ground.

'Father's very impressed with you witches,' he said, over his shoulder. 'He says we should make you all vampires. He says you're halfway there anyway. But I'd much rather you came to see how marvellous it could be.'

'You would, would you? I'd like to be constantly craving blood?'

'You constantly crave chocolate, don't you?'

'How dare you!'

'Blood tends to be low in carbohydrates. Your body will adapt. The pounds will just drop away...'

'That's sickening!'

'You'll have complete control over yourself...'

'I'm not listening!'

'All it takes is a little prick-'

'It's not going to be yours, mister!'

'Hah! Wonderful!' said Vlad and, dragging Agnes behind him, he leapt into the Lancre Gorge.

Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes. At least, she had to assume they were open. She'd felt the lids move.

Darkness lay in front of her. It was velvet black, starless, a hole in space. But there was light behind her. She was standing with her back to the light, she could sense it, see it on her hands. It was streaming past, outlining the darkness that was the long rich deep shadow of her on the...

... black sand. it crunched under her boots as she shifted her weight.

This was a test. Everything was a test. Everything was a competition. Life put them in front of you every day. You watched yourself all the time. You had to make choices. You never got told which ones were right. Oh, some of the priests said you got given marks afterwards, but what was the point of that?

She wished her mind was working faster. She couldn't think properly. Her head felt full of fog.

This... wasn't a real place. No, that wasn't the right way of thinking about it. It wasn't a usual place. It might be more real than Lancre. Across it her shadow stretched, waiting...

She glanced up at the tall, silent figure beside her.

GOOD EVENING.

'Oh... you again.'

ANOTHER CHOICE, ESMERELDA WEATHERWAX.

'Light and dark? It's never as simple as that, you know, even for you.'

Death sighed. NOT EVEN FOR ME.

Granny tried to line up her thoughts.

Which light and which dark? She hadn't been prepared for this. This didn't feel right. This wasn't the fight she had expected. Whose light? Whose mind was this?

Silly question. She was always her.

Never lose your grip on that...

So... light behind her, darkness in front...

She'd always said witches stood between the light and the dark.

'Am I dyin'?'

YES.

'Will I die?'

YES.

Granny thought this over.

'But from your point of view, everyone is dying and everyone will die, right?'

YES.

'So you aren't actually bein' a lot of help, strictly speakin'.'

I'M SORRY, I THOUGHT YOU WANTED THE TRUTH. PERHAPS YOU WERE EXPECTING JELLY AND ICE CREAM?

'Hah...'

There was no movement in the air, no sound but her own breathing. Just the brilliant white light on one side, and the heavy darkness on the other... waiting.

Granny had listened to people who'd nearly died but had come back, possibly because of a deft thump in the right place or the dislodging of some wayward mouthful that'd gone down the wrong way. Sometimes they talked about seeing a light