"Captain Carrot," said Leonard, as Rincewind sulked in his seat, "oblige me by opening the cabinet there, will you?"

This revealed a fragment of smashed omniscope and the face of Ponder Stibbons.

"It works!" His shout sounded muffled and somehow small, like the squeaking of an ant. "You're alive?"

"We have separated the first dragons and everything is going well, sir," said Carrot.

"No, it's not!" Rincewind shouted. "They want to go dow— !"

Without turning his head, Carrot reached around behind Leonard and pulled Rincewind's hat down over his face.

"The second-stage dragons will be about ready to burn now," said Leonard. "We had better get on, Mr Stibbons."

"Please take careful observations of all —" Ponder began, but Leonard had politely closed the case.

"Now then," he said, "if you gentlemen will undo the clips beside you and turn the large red handles you should be able to start the process of folding the wings back in. I believe that as we increase speed the impellers will make the process easier." He looked at Rincewind's blank face as the angry wizard freed himself from his hat. "We will use the rushing air as we fall to help us reduce the size of the wings, which we will not require for a while."

"I understand that," said Rincewind distantly. "I just hate it."

"The only way home is down, Rincewind," said Carrot, adjusting his seat belt. "And put your helmet on!"

"So if everyone would once again hold tight?" said Leonard, and pushed gently on a lever. "Don't look so worried, Rincewind. Think of it as a sort of... well, a magic carpet ride..."

The Kite shuddered.

And dived...

And suddenly the Rimfall was under them, stretching to an infinite misty horizon, its rocky outcrops now islands in a white wall.

The ship shook again, and the handle Rincewind had been leaning on started to move under its own power.

There was no solid surface any more. Every piece of the ship was vibrating.

He stared out of the porthole next to him. The wings, the precious wings, the things that kept you up, were folding gracefully in on themselves...

"Rrincewwind," said Leonard, a blur in his seat, "pplease ppull the bblack lleverr!"

The wizard did so, on the basis that it couldn't make things worse.

But it did. He heard a series of thumps behind him. Five score of dragons, having recently digested a hydrocarbon-rich meal, saw their own reflections in front of them as a rack of mirrors was, for a moment, lowered in front of their cages.

They flared.

Something crashed and smashed, back in the fuselage. A giant foot pressed the crew back into their seats. The Rimfall blurred. Through red-rimmed eyes they stared at the speeding white sea and the distant stars and even Carrot joined in the hymn of terror, which goes:

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhggggggg..."

Leonard was trying to shout something. With terrible effort Rincewind turned his huge and heavy head and just made out the groan: "Ttthe wwwhite lllever!"

It took him years to reach it. For some reason his arms had been made out of lead. Bloodless fingers with muscles weak as string managed to get a grip and tow the lever back.

Another foreboding thump rattled the ship. The pressure ceased. Three heads thumped forward.

And then there was silence. And lightness. And peace.

Dreamily, Rincewind pulled down the periscope and saw the huge fish section curving gently away from them. It came apart as it flew, and more dragons spread their wings and whirled away behind the Kite. Magnificent. A device for seeing behind you without slowing down? Just the thing no coward should be without.

"I've got to get one of these," he murmured.

"That seemed to go quite well, I thought," said Leonard. "I'm sure the little creatures will get back, too. Flitting from rock to rock... yes, I'm sure they will..."

"Er... there's a strong draught by my seat —" Carrot began.

"Ah, yes... it would be a good idea to keep the helmets handy," Leonard said. "I've done my best, varnishing and laminating and so forth... but the Kite is not, alas, completely airtight. Well, here we are, well on our way," he added brightly. "Breakfast, anyone?"

"My stomach feels very —" Rincewind began, but stopped.

A spoon drifted past, tumbling gently.

"What has switched off the down-ness?" he demanded.

Leonard opened his mouth to say: No, this was expected, because everything is falling at the same speed, but he didn't, because he could see this was not a happy thing to say.

"It's the sort of thing that happens," he said. "It's... er... magic."

"Oh. Really? Oh."

A cup bumped gently off Carrot's ear. He batted it away and it disappeared somewhere aft.

"What kind of magic?" he said.

The wizards were clustered around the piece of omniscope, while Ponder struggled to adjust it.

A picture exploded into view. It was horrible.

"Hello? Hello? This is Ankh-Morpork calling!"

The gibbering face was pushed aside and Leonard's dome rose slowly into view.

"Ah, yes. Good morning," he said. "We are having a few... teething troubles."

From somewhere offscreen came the sound of someone being sick.

"What is going on?" bellowed Ridcully.

"Well, you see, it's rather amusing... I had this idea of putting food in tubes, you see, so that it could be squeezed out and eaten neatly in weightless conditions and, er, because we didn't tie everything down, er, I'm afraid my box of paints came open and the tubes got, er, confused, so what Mr Rincewind thought was broccoli and ham turned out to be Forest Green... er."

"Let me speak to Captain Carrot, will you?"

"I'm afraid that is not entirely convenient at the moment," said Leonard, his face clouded with concern.

"Why? Did he have the broccoli and ham too?"

"No, he had the Cadmium Yellow." There was a yelp and a series of clangs somewhere behind Leonard. "On the brighter side, however, I can report that the Mk II privy appears to function perfectly."

The Kite, in its headlong plunge, curved back towards the Rimfall. Now the water was a great tumbling cloud of mist.

Captain Carrot hovered in front of a window, taking pictures with the iconograph.

"This is amazing," he said. "I'm sure we'll find the answers to some questions that have puzzled mankind for millennia."

"Good. Can you get this frying pan off my back?" said Rincewind.

"Um," said Leonard.

It was a sufficiently troubling syllable for the others to look at him.

"We seem to be, er, losing air rather faster than I thought," said the genius. "But I'm sure the hull isn't any leakier than I allowed for. And we seem to be falling faster, according to Mr Stibbons. Uh... it's a little difficult to piece it all together, of course, because of the uncertain effects of the Disc's magical field. Um... we should be all right if we wear our helmets all the time..."

"There's plenty of air nearer to the world, isn't there?" said Rincewind. "Can't we just fly into it and open a window?"

Leonard stared mournfully into the mists that filled half of their view.

"We are, er, moving very fast," he said, slowly. "And air at this speed... air is... the thing about air... tell me, what do you understand by the words "shooting star"?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rincewind demanded.

"Um... that we die an immensely horrible death."

"Oh, that," said Rincewind.

Leonard tapped a dial on one of the tanks of air. "I really don't think my calculations were that wro—"

Light exploded into the cabin.

The Kite rose through tendrils of mist.

The crew stared.

"No one will ever believe us," said Carrot, eventually. He raised his iconograph towards the view and even the imp inside, which belonged to a species that was seldom impressed with anything, said "Gosh!" in a tiny voice as it painted furiously.

"I don't believe this," said Rincewind, "and I'm seeing it."

A tower, an immensity of rock, rose from the mist. And looming over the mist, huge as worlds, the backs of four elephants. It was like flying through a cathedral, thousands of miles high.

"It sounds like a joke," Rincewind babbled, "elephants holding up the world, hahaha... and then you see it..."

"My paints, where are my paints... ?" mumbled Leonard.

"Well, some of them are in the privy," said Rincewind.

Carrot turned, and looked puzzled. The iconograph floated away, trailing small curses.

"And where's my apple?" he said.

"What?" said Rincewind, perplexed at the sudden subject of fruit.

"I'd just started eating an apple, and I just rested it in the air... and it's gone."

The ship creaked in the glaring sunlight.

And an apple core came tumbling gently through the air.

"I suppose there are just the three of us aboard?" said Rincewind innocently.

"Don't be silly," said Carrot. "We're sealed in!"

"So... your apple ate itself?"

They looked at the jumble of bundles held in the webbing behind them.

"I mean, call me Mr Suspicious," said Rincewind, "but if the ship is heavier than Leonard thought, and we're using up more air, and food is vanishing —"

"You're not suggesting that there's some kind of monster floating around below the Rim that can bore into wooden hulls, are you?" said Carrot, drawing his sword.

"Ah, I hadn't thought of that one," said Rincewind. "Well done."

"Interesting," said Leonard. "It would be, perhaps, a cross between a bird and a bivalve. Somewhat squid-like, possibly, using jets of —"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, yes!"

Carrot pulled out a roll of blankets and tried to look back along the cabin.

"I think I saw something move," he said. "Just behind the air reservoirs..."

He ducked under a bundle of skis and disappeared into the shadows.

They heard him groan.

"Oh, no..."

"What? What?" said Rincewind. Carrot's voice was muffled.

"I've found a... it looks like a... skin..."

"Ah, fascinating," said Leonard, sketching on his notepad. "Possibly, once aboard a hospitable vessel, such a creature would metamorphose into —"

Carrot emerged, a banana skin kebabed on the end of his sword.

Rincewind rolled his eyes. "I have a very definite feeling about this," he said.

"So have I," said Carrot.

It took them some time, but finally they pushed away a box of dishcloths and there were no more hiding places.

A worried face looked out of the nest it had made.

"Ook?" it said.

Leonard sighed, laid aside his pad and opened up the omniscope's box. He banged on it once or twice, and it flickered and showed the outline of a head.

Leonard took a deep breath.

"Ankh-Morpork, we have an orangutan..."

Cohen sheathed his sword.

"Wouldn't have expected much to be living up here," he said, surveying the carnage.

"There's even less now," said Caleb.

The latest fight had been over in the twinkling of an eye and the cleaving of a backbone. Any... creatures that ambushed the Horde did so at the end of their lives.

"The raw magic here must be huge," said Boy Willie. "I suppose creatures like this get used to living off it. Sooner or later something will learn to live anywhere."

"It's certainly doing Mad Hamish good," said Cohen. "I'll swear he's not as deaf as he was."

"Whut?"

"I SAID YOU'RE NOT AS DEAF AS YOU WERE, HAMISH!"

"There's no need to shout, mon!"

"Can we cook 'em, do you think?" said Boy Willie.

"They'll probably taste a bit like chicken," said Caleb. "Everything does, if you're hungry enough."

"Leave it to me," said Mrs McGarry. "You get a fire going, and I'll make this taste more like chicken than... chicken."

Cohen wandered off to where the minstrel was sitting by himself, working on the remains of his lute. The lad had brightened up considerably as the climb progressed, Cohen thought. He had completely stopped whimpering.

Cohen sat down next to him.

"What're you doing, lad?" he said. "I see you found a skull."

"It's going to be the sound box," said the minstrel. He looked worried for a moment. "That is all right, isn't it?"

"Sure. Good fate for a hero, having his bones made into a harp or something. It should sing out wonderful."

"This will be a kind of lyre," said the minstrel. "It's going to be a bit primitive, I'm afraid."

"Even better. Good for the old songs," said Cohen.

"I have been thinking about the... the saga," the minstrel admitted.

"Good lad, good lad. Plenty of spakes?"

"Um, yes. But I thought I'd start off with the legend of how Mazda stole fire for mankind in the first place."

"Nice," said Cohen,

"And then a few verses about what the gods did to him," the minstrel went on, tightening a string.

"Did to him? Did to him?" said Cohen. "They made him immortal!"

"Er... yes. In a way, I suppose."

"What do you mean, 'in a way'?"

"It's classical mythology, Cohen," said the minstrel. "I thought everyone knew. He was chained to a rock for eternity and every day an eagle comes and pecks out his liver."

"Is that true?"

"It's mentioned in many of the classic texts."

"I'm not much of a reader," said Cohen. "Chained to a rock? For a first offence? He's still there?"

"Eternity isn't finished yet, Cohen."

"He must've had a big liver!"

"It grows again every night, according to the legend," said the minstrel.

"I wish my kidneys did," said Cohen. He stared at the distant clouds that hid the snowy top of the mountain. "He brought fire to everyone, and the gods did that to him, eh? Well... we'll have to see about that."

The omniscope showed a snowstorm.

"Bad weather down there, then," said Ridcully.

"No, it's thaumic interference," said Ponder. "They're passing under the elephants. We'll get a lot more of it, I'm afraid."

"Did they really say "Ankh-Morpork, we have an orangutan"?" said the Dean.

"The Librarian must have got on board somehow," said Ponder. "You know what he's like for finding odd corners to sleep in. And that, I'm afraid, explains about the weight and the air. Er... I have to tell you that I'm not sure that they have enough time or power to get back on to the Disc now."

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" said Lord Vetinari.

"Er... I mean I am sure but, er, no one likes bad news all at once, sir."

Lord Vetinari looked at the big spell that dominated the cabin. It floated in the air: the whole world, sketched in glowing lines and, dropping from one glittering edge, a small curving line. As he watched it lengthened slightly.

"They can't just turn around and come back?" he said.

"No, sir. It doesn't work like that."

"Can they throw the Librarian out?"

The wizards looked shocked.

"No, sir," said Ponder. "That would be murder, sir."

"Yes, but they may save the world. One ape dies, one world lives. You do not need to be a rocket wizard to work that out, surely?"

"You can't ask them to make a decision like that, sir!"

"Really? I make decisions like that every day," said Lord Vetinari. "Oh, very well. What are they short of?"

"Air and dragon power, sir."

"If they chop up the orangutan and feed him to the dragons, won't that kill two birds with one stone?"

The sudden iciness told Lord Vetinari that once again he hadn't taken his audience with him. He sighed.

"They need dragon flame to... ?" he said.

"To bring their ringpath over the Disc, sir. They have to fire the dragons at the right time."

Vetinari looked at the magical orrery again. "And now... ?"

"I'm not quite sure, sir. They may crash into the Disc, or they may shoot straight out into endless space."

"And they need air..."

"Yes, sir."

Vetinari's arm moved through the outline of the world and a long forefinger pointed.

"Is there any air here?" he said.

"That meal," said Cohen, "was heroic. No other word for it."

"That's right, Mrs McGarry," said Evil Harry. "Even rat doesn't taste this much like chicken."

"Yes, the tentacles hardly spoiled it at all!" said Caleb enthusiastically.

They sat and watched the view. What had once been the world below was now a world in front, rising like an endless wall.

"What're they, right up there?" said Cohen, pointing.

"Thanks, friend," said Evil Harry, looking away. "I'd like the... chicken to stay down, if it's all the same to you."

"They're the Virgin Islands," said the minstrel. "So called because there's so many of them."

"Or maybe they're hard to find," said Truckle the Uncivil, burping. "Hur, hur, hur."

"Ye can see the stars from up here," said Mad Hamish, "e'en though 'tis day."

Cohen grinned at him. It wasn't often Mad Hamish volunteered anything.

"They say every one of 'em's a world," said Evil Harry.

"Yeah," said Cohen. "How many, bard?"

"I don't know. Thousands. Millions," said the minstrel.

"Millions of worlds, and we get... what? How old are you, Hamish?"

"Whut? I were born the day the old thane died," said Hamish.

"When was that? Which old thane?" said Cohen patiently.

"Whut? I ain't a scholar! I canna remember that kinda stuff!"

"A hundred years, maybe," said Cohen. "One hundred years. And there's millions o' worlds." He took a pull of his cigarette and rubbed his forehead with the back of his thumb. "It's a bugger."

He nodded at the minstrel. "What did your mate Carelinus do after he'd blown his nose?"

"Look, you really shouldn't think of him like that," said the minstrel hotly. "He built a huge empire... too big, really. And in many ways he was a lot like you. Haven't you heard of the Tsortean Knot?"

"Sounds dirty," said Truckle. "Hur, hur, hur... sorry."

The minstrel sighed. "It was a huge, complicated knot that tied two beams together in the Temple of Offler in Tsort, and it was said that whoever untied it would reign over the whole of the continent," he said.

"They can be very tricky, knots," said Mrs McGarry.

"Carelinus sliced right through it with his sword!" said the minstrel. The revelation of this dramatic gesture did not get the applause he expected.

"So he was a cheat as well as a cry-baby?" said Boy Willie.

"No! It was a dramatic, nay, portentous gesture!" snapped the minstrel.

"Yeah, okay, but it's not exactly untying it, is it? I mean, if the rules said 'untying', I don't see why he should —"

"Nah, nah, the lad's got a point," said Cohen, who seemed to have been turning this one over in his mind. "It wasn't cheating, because it was a good story. Yeah. I can understand that." He chuckled. "I can just imagine it, too. A load of whey-faced priests and suchlike standin' around and thinkin', 'that's cheating, but he's got a really big sword so I won't be the first to point this out, plus this damn great army is just outside'. Hah. Yeah. Hmm. What did he do next?"

"Conquered most of the known world."

"Good lad. And after that?"

"He... er... went home, reigned for a few years, then he died and his sons squabbled and there were a few wars... and that was the end of the empire."

"Children can be a problem," said Vena, without looking up from carefully embroidering forget-me-nots around BURN THIS HOUSE.

"Some people say you achieve immortality through your children," said the minstrel.

"Yeah?" said Cohen. "Name one of your great-granddads, then."

"Well... er..."

"See? Now, I got lots of kids," said Cohen. "Haven't seen most of 'em... you know how it is. But they had fine strong mothers and I hope like hell they're all living for themselves, not for me. Fat lot of good they did your Carelinus, losin' his empire for him."

"But there's lots more a proper historian could tell you —" said the minstrel.

"Hah!" said Cohen. "It's what ordin'ry people remember that matters. It's songs and sayin's. It doesn't matter how you live and die, it's how the bards wrote it down."

The minstrel felt their joint gaze fix on him.

"Um... I'm making lots of notes," he said.

"Ook," said the Librarian, by way of explanation.

"And then he says something fell on his head," Rincewind translated. "It must have been when we dived."

"Can we throw some of this stuff out of the ship to lighten it?" said Carrot. "We don't need most of it."

"Alas, no," said Leonard. "We will lose all our air if we open the door."

"But we've got these breathing helmets," Rincewind pointed out.

"Three helmets," said Leonard.

The omniscope crackled. They ignored it. The Kite was still passing under the elephants, and the thing showed mostly a kind of magical snow.

But Rincewind did glance up, and saw that someone in the storm was holding a card on which had been scrawled, in large letters: STAND BY.

Ponder shook his head.

"Thank you, Archchancellor, but I'm far too busy for you to help me," he said.

"But will it work?"

"It has to, sir. It's a million-to-one chance."

"Oh, then we don't have to worry. Everyone knows million-to-one chances always work."

"Yes, sir. So all I have to do is work out if there's still enough air outside the ship for Leonard to steer it, or how many dragons he will need to fire for how long, and if there will be enough power left to get them off again. I think he's travelling at nearly the right speed, but I'm not sure how much flame the dragons will have left, and I don't know what kind of surface he'll land on or anything they'll find there. I can adapt a few spells, but they were never devised for this sort of thing."

"Good man," said Ridcully.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" said the Dean.

Ponder gave the other wizards a desperate look. How would Lord Vetinari have handled this?

"Why, yes," he said brightly. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to find a cabin somewhere and come up with a list of all the various ways I could solve this? And I will just sit here and toy with a few ideas?"

"That's what I like to see," said the Dean. "A lad with enough sense to make use of the wisdom of his elders."

Lord Vetinari gave Ponder a faint smile as they left the cabin.

In the sudden silence Ponder... pondered. He stared at the orrery, walked around it, enlarged sections of it, peered at them, pored over the notes he had made about the power of dragon flight, stared at a model of the Kite, and spent a lot of time looking at the ceiling.

This wasn't the normal way of working for a wizard. A wizard evolved the wish, and then devised the command. He didn't bother much with observing the universe; rocks and trees and clouds could not have anything very intelligent to impart. They didn't even have writing on them, after all.

Ponder looked at the numbers he had scribbled. As a calculation, it was like balancing a feather on a soap bubble which wasn't there.

So he guessed.

On the Kite, the situation was being 'workshopped'. This is the means by which people who don't know anything get together to pool their ignorance.

"Could we all hold our breath for a quarter of the time?" said Carrot.

"No. Breath doesn't work like that, alas," said Leonard.

"Perhaps we should all stop talking?" said Rincewind.

"Ook," said the Librarian, pointing to the fuzzy screen of the omniscope.

Someone was holding up another placard. The huge words could just be made out:

THIS IS WHAT YOU DO.

Leonard snatched a pencil and began to scribble in the corner of a drawing of a machine for undermining city walls.

Five minutes later he put it down again.

"Remarkable," he said. "He wants us to point the Kite in a different direction and go faster."

"Where to?"

"He doesn't say. But... ah, yes. He wants us to fly directly towards the sun."

Leonard gave them one of his bright smiles. It faced three blank stares.

"It will mean allowing one or two individual dragons to flare for a few seconds, to bring us around, and then —"

"The sun," said Rincewind.

"It's hot," said Carrot.

"Yes, and I am sure we're all very glad of that," said Leonard, unrolling a plan of the Kite.

"Ook!"

"I'm sorry?"

"He said, "And this boat is made of wood!"" said Rincewind.

"All that in one syllable?"

"He's a very concise thinker! Look, Stibbons must have made a mistake. I wouldn't trust a wizard to give me directions to the other side of a very small room!"

"He does seem to be a bright young man, though," said Carrot.

"You'll be bright, too, if you're in this thing when it hits the sun," said Rincewind. "Incandescent, I expect."

"We can point the Kite if we're very careful how we operate the port and starboard mirrors," said Leonard thoughtfully. "There may be a little trial and error..."

"Ah, we seem to have the hang of it," said Leonard. He turned over a small eggtimer. "And now, all dragons for two minutes..."

"I ssuppose he'll ttell uss ssoon wwhat happens nnext?" shouted Carrot, while behind them things tinkled and creaked.

"Mmr Sstibbonss hhas ttwo ththousand yyears of uuniversity eexpertise bbehind hhim!" yelled Leonard, above the din.

"Hhow mmuch of ththat hhas iinvolved ssteering fflying sships wwith ddragons?" screamed Rincewind.

Leonard leaned against the tug of home-made gravity and looked at the eggtimer.

"Aabout wwwwwone hhundred sseconds!"

"Ah! Iiit'ss ppractically aaa ttradition, tthenn!"

Erratically, the dragons stopped flaming. Once again, things filled the air.

And there was the sun. But no longer circular. Something had clipped its edge.

"Ah," said Leonard. "How clever. Gentlemen, behold the moon!"

"We're going to hit the moon instead?" said Carrot. "Is that better?"

"My feelings exactly," said Rincewind.

"Ook!"

"I don't think we're going so very fast," said Leonard. "We're only just catching it up. I think Mr Stibbons intends that we land on it."

He flexed his fingers.

"There's some air there, I'm sure of it," he went on. "Which means there is probably something we can feed to the dragons. And then, and this is very clever thinking, we ride on the moon until it rises over the Disc, and all we need to do is drop down lightly."

He kicked the release on the wing levers. The cabin rattled to the spinning of the flywheels. On either side, the Kite spread its wings.

"Any questions?" he said.

"I'm trying to think of all the things that could go wrong," said Carrot.

"I've got to nine so far," said Rincewind. "And I haven't started on the fine detail."

The moon was getting bigger, a dark sphere eclipsing the light of the distant sun.

"As I understand it," said Leonard, as it began to loom in the windows, "the moon, being much smaller and lighter than the Disc, can only hold on to light things, like air. Heavier things, like the Kite, should hardly be able to stay on the ground."

"And that means... ?" said Carrot.

"Er... we should just float down," said Leonard. "But holding on to something might be a good idea..."

They landed. It's a short sentence, but contains a lot of incident.

There was silence on the boat, apart from the sound of the sea and Ponder Stibbons's urgent muttering as he tried to adjust the omniscope.

"The screams..." murmured Mustrum Ridcully, after a while.

"But then they screamed a second time, a few seconds later," said Lord Vetinari.

"And a few seconds after that," said the Dean.

"I thought the omniscope could see anywhere," said the Patrician, watching the sweat pour off Ponder.

"The shards, er, don't seem stable when they're too far apart, sir," said Ponder. "Uh... and there's still a couple of thousand miles of world and elephant between them... ah..."

The omniscope flickered, and then went blank again.

"A good wizard, Rincewind," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "Not particularly bright, but, frankly, I've never been quite happy with intelligence. An overrated talent, in my humble opinion."

Ponder's ears went red.

"Perhaps we should put a small plaque up somewhere in the University," said Ridcully. "Nothing garish, of course."

"Gentlemen, are you forgetting?" said Lord Vetinari. "Soon there will be no University."

"Ah. Well, a small saving there, then."

'Hello? Hello? Is there anyone there?'

And there was, fuzzy but recognisable, a face peering out of the omniscope.

"Captain Carrot?" Ridcully roared. "How did you get that damn thing to work?"

'I just stopped sitting on it, sir.'

"Are you all right? We heard screams!" said Ponder.

'That was when we hit the ground, sir.'

"But then we heard screams again?

'That was probably when we hit the ground for the second time, sir.'

"And the third time?"

'Ground again, sir. You could say the landing was a bit... tentative... for a while there.'

Lord Vetinari leaned forward. "Where are you?"

'Here, sir. On the moon. Mr Stibbons was right. There is air here. It's a bit thin, but it's fine if your plans for the day include breathing.'

"Mr Stibbons was right, was he?" said Ridcully, staring at Ponder. "How did you work that out so exactly, Mr Stibbons?"

"I, er..." Ponder felt the eyes of the wizards on him. "I —" He stopped. "It was a lucky guess, sir."

The wizards relaxed. They were extremely uneasy with cleverness, but lucky guessing was what being a wizard was all about.

"Well done, that man," said Ridcully, nodding. "Wipe your forehead, Mr Stibbons, you've got away with it again."

'I've taken the liberty of asking Rincewind to take a picture of me planting the flag of Ankh-Morpork and claiming the moon on behalf of all the nations of the Disc, your lordship,' Carrot went on.

"Very... patriotic," said Lord Vetinari. "I may even tell them."

'However, I can't show you this on the omniscope because, shortly afterwards, something ate the flag. Things here... aren't entirely what you'd expect, sir.'

They were definitely dragons. Rincewind could see that. But they resembled swamp dragons in the same way that greyhounds resembled those odd yappy little dogs with lots of Zs and Xs in their name.

They were all nose and sleek body, with longer arms and legs than the swamp variety, and they were so silvery that they looked like moonlight hammered into shape.

And... they flamed. But it was not from the end that Rincewind had, hitherto, associated with dragons.

The strange thing was, as Leonard said, that once you stopped sniggering about the whole idea it made a lot of sense. It was so stupid for a flying creature to have a weapon which stopped it dead in midair, for example.

Dragons of all sizes surrounded the Kite, watching it with deer-like curiosity. Occasionally one or two would leap into the air and roar away, but others would land to join the throng. They stared at the crew of the Kite as if they were expecting them to do tricks, or make an important announcement.

There was greenery, too, except that it was silvery. Lunar vegetation covered most of the surface. The Kite's third bounce and long slide had left a trail through it. The leaves were —

"Hold still, will you?" Rincewind's attention was drawn to his patient as the Librarian struggled; the problem with bandaging an orangutan's head is knowing when to stop. "It's your own fault," he said. "I told you. Small steps, I said. Not giant leaps."

Carrot and Leonard bounced around the side of the Kite.

"Hardly any damage at all," said the inventor as he drifted down. "The whole thing took the shock remarkably well. And we're pointing slightly upwards. In this... general lightness, that should be quite sufficient to allow us to take off again, although there is one minor problem — Shoo, will you?"

He waved away a small silver dragon that was sniffing at the Kite, and it took off vertically on a needle of blue flame.

"We're out of food for our dragons," said Rincewind. "I've looked. The fuel bunker broke open when we landed for the first time."

"But we can feed them some of the silver plants, can't we?" said Carrot. "The ones here seem to do very well on them."

"Aren't they magnificent creatures?" said Leonard as a squadron of the creatures sailed overhead.

They turned to watch the flight, and then stared beyond it. There was possibly no limit to how often the view could amaze you.

The moon was rising over the world, and elephant's head filled half the sky.

It was... simply big. Too big to describe.

Wordlessly, all four voyagers climbed a small mound to get a clear view, and they stood in silence for some time. Dark eyes the size of oceans stared at them. Great crescents of ivory obscured the stars.

There was no sound but the occasional click and swish as the iconograph imp painted picture after picture.

Space wasn't big. It wasn't there. It was just nothing and therefore, in Rincewind's view, nothing to get humble about. But the world was big, and the elephant was huge.

"Which one is it?" said Leonard, after a while.

"I don't know," said Carrot. "You know, I'm not sure I ever really believed it before. You know... about the turtle and the elephants and everything. Seeing it all like this makes me feel very... very..."

"Scared?" suggested Rincewind.

"No."

"Upset?"

"No."

"Easily intimidated?"

"No."

Beyond the Rimfall, the continents of the world were coming into view under swirls of white cloud.

"You know... from up here... you can't see the boundaries between nations," said Carrot, almost wistfully.

"Is that a problem?" said Leonard. "Possibly something could be done."

"Maybe huge, really huge buildings in lines, along the frontiers," said Rincewind. "Or... or very wide roads. You could paint them different colours to save confusion."

"Should aerial travel become widespread," said Leonard, "it would be a useful idea to grow forests in the shape of the name of the country, or of other areas of note. I will bear this in mind."

"I wasn't actually sugges—" Carrot began. And then he stopped, and just sighed.

They went on watching, unable to tear themselves away from the view. Tiny sparkles in the sky showed where more flocks of dragons were sweeping between the world and the moon.

"We never see them back home," said Rincewind.

"I suspect the swamp dragons are their descendants, poor little things," said Leonard. "Adapted for heavy air."

"I wonder what else lives down here that we don't know about?" said Carrot.

"Well, there's always the invisible squid-like creature that sucks all the air out of —" Rincewind began, but sarcasm did not carry very well out here. The universe diluted it. The huge, black, solemn eyes in the sky withered it.

Besides, there was just... too much. Too much of everything. He wasn't used to seeing this much universe all in one go. The blue disc of the world, unrolling slowly as the moon rose, looked outnumbered.

"It's all too big," said Rincewind.

"Yes."

"Ook."

There was nothing to do but wait for full moonrise. Or Discsink.

Carrot carefully lifted a small dragon out of a coffee cup. "The little ones get everywhere," he said. "Just like kittens. But the adults just keep their distance and stare at us."

"Like cats, then," said Rincewind. He lifted up his hat and untangled a small silvery dragon from his hair.

"I wonder if we ought to take a few back?"

"We'll be taking them all back if we're not careful!"

"They look a bit like Errol," said Carrot. "You know, the little dragon that was our Watch mascot? He saved the city by working out how to, er, flame backwards. We all thought he was some new kind of dragon," Carrot added, "but now it looks as though he was a throwback. Is Leonard still out there?"

They looked out at Leonard, who had taken half an hour off to do some painting. A small dragon had perched on his shoulder.

"He says he's never seen light like it," said Rincewind. "He says he must have a picture. He's doing very well, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Considering that two of the tubes he was using contain tomato puree and cream cheese."

"Did you tell him?"

"I didn't like to. He was so enthusiastic."

"We'd better start feeding the dragons," said Carrot, putting his cup down.

"All right. Can you unstick this frying pan from my head, please?"

Half an hour later the flicker of the omniscope screen illuminated Ponder's cabin.

'We've fed the dragons,' said Carrot. 'The plants here are... odd. They seem to be made of a sort of glassy metal. Leonard has a rather impressive theory that they absorb sunlight during the day and then shine at night, thus creating "moonlight". The dragons seem to find it very tasty. Anyway, we shall be leaving shortly. I am just collecting some rocks.'

"I'm sure they will come in useful," said Lord Vetinari.

"Actually, sir, they will be very valuable," whispered Ponder Stibbons.

"Really?" said the Patrician.

"Oh, yes! They may well be completely different from rocks on the Disc!"

"And if they are exactly the same?"

"Oh, that would be even more interesting, sir!"

Lord Vetinari looked at Ponder without speaking. He could deal with most types of mind, but the one apparently operating Ponder Stibbons was of a sort he had yet to find the handles on. It was best to nod and smile and give it the bits of machinery it seemed to think were so important, lest it run amok.

"Well done," he said. "Ah, yes, of course... and the rocks may contain valuable ores, or possibly even diamonds?"

Ponder shrugged. "I wouldn't know about that, sir. But they may tell us more about the history of the moon."

Vetinari's brow wrinkled. "History?" he said. "But no one lives th— I mean, yes, well done. Tell me, do you have all the machinery you need?"

The swamp dragons chewed at the moon leaves. They were metallic, with a glassy surface, and little blue and green sparks sizzled over the dragons" teeth when they bit into them. The voyagers piled them up high in front of the cages.

Unfortunately, the only explorer who would have noticed that the moon dragons ate only the occasional leaf was Leonard, and he had been too busy painting.

Swamp dragons, on the other hand, were used to eating a lot of things in the energy-poor environment of their world.

Stomachs used to transmuting the equivalent of stale cakes into usable flame took delivery of dialectric surfaces chock-full of almost pure energy. It was the food of the gods.

It was only going to be a matter of time before one of them burped.

The whole of the Disc was... well, there was the problem, from Rincewind's point of view. It was below them now. It looked below, even if it was really just over there. He couldn't get over the dreadful feeling that once the Kite was airborne it would simply drop down to those distant, fleecy clouds.

The Librarian helped him winch in the wing on his side, as Leonard made ready to depart.

"Well, I mean, I know we've got wings and everything," Rincewind said. "It's just that I'm not at home in an environment where every direction is down."

"Ook."

"I don't know what I'll say to him. "Don't blow the world up" sounds a pretty persuasive argument to me. I'd listen to it. And I don't like the idea of going anywhere near the gods. We're like toys to them, you know." And they don't realise how easily the arms and legs come off, he added to himself.

"Ook?"

"Pardon? Do you really say that?"

"Ook."

"There is a... monkey god?"

"Ook?"

"No, no, that's fine, fine. Not one of our locals ones, is he?"

"Eek."

"Oh, the Counterweight Continent. Well, they'll believe just about anything over..." He glanced out of the window and shuddered, "Down there."

There was a thud as the ratchet clicked into place.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said Leonard. "Now if you'll just take your seats we —"

The thump of an explosion rocked the Kite and knocked Rincewind off his feet.

"How curious, one of the dragons appears to have fired a little earl—"

"Behold!" said Cohen, striking a pose.

The Silver Horde looked around.

"What?" said Evil Harry.

"Behold, the citadels of the gods!" said Cohen, striking the pose again.

"Yes, well, we can see it," said Caleb. "Is there something wrong with your back?"

"Write down that I spake "Behold!"," said Cohen to the minstrel. "You don't have to write down any of this other stuff."

"You wouldn't mind saying —"

"— spaking —"

"— sorry, spoking, 'Behold the temples of the gods', would you?" said the minstrel. "It's got a better rhythm."

"Hah, this takes me back," said Truckle. "Remember, Hamish? You and me signed on with Duke Leofric the Legitimate when he invaded Nothingfjord?"

"Aye, I mind it."

"Five damn days, that battle took," said Truckle, "'cos the Duchess was doing a tapestry to commemorate it, right? We had to keep doing the fights over and over again, and there was the devil to pay when she was changing needles. There's no place for the media on the field of battle, I've always said."

"Aye, and I mind you makin' a rude sign to the ladies!" Hamish cackled. "I saw that ol' tapestry in the castle of Rosante years later and I could tell it wuz you!"

"Could we just get on with it?" said Vena.

"Y'see, there's the problem," said Cohen. "It's no good just doin' it. You got to remember your posterity."

"Hur, hur, hur," said Truckle.

"Laugh away," said Cohen. "But what about all those heroes that aren't remembered in songs and sagas, eh? You tell me about them."

"Eh? What heroes that aren't remembered in songs and sagas?"

'Exactly!'

"What's the plan?" said Evil Harry, who had been watching the shimmering light over the city of the gods.

"Plan?" said Cohen. "I thought you knew. We're going to sneak in, smash the igniter, and run like hell."

"Yes, but how do you plan to do this?" said Evil Harry. He sighed when he saw their faces. "You haven't got one, have you?" he said wearily. "You were just going to rush in, weren't you? Heroes never have a plan. It's always left up to us Dark Lords to have the plans. This is the home of the gods, lads! You think they won't notice a bunch of humans wandering around?"

"We are intendin' to have a magnificent death," said Cohen.

"Right, right. Afterwards. Oh, deary me. Look, I'd be thrown out of the secret society of evil madmen if I let you go at it mob-handed." Evil Harry shook his head. "There's hundreds of gods, right? Everyone knows that. And new gods turning up all the time, right? Well? Doesn't a plan suggest itself? Anyone?"

Truckle raised a hand. "We rush in?" he said.

"Yes, we're all real heroes here, aren't we?" said Evil Harry. "No. That wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Lads, it's lucky for you that you've got me..."

It was the Chair of Indefinite Studies who saw the light on the moon. He was leaning on the ship's rail at the time, having a quiet afternoon smoke.

He was not an ambitious wizard, and generally just concentrated on keeping out of trouble and not doing anything very much. The nice thing about Indefinite Studies was that no one could describe exactly what they were. This gave him quite a lot of free time.

He watched the moon's pale ghost for a while, and then went and found the Archchancellor, who was fishing.

"Mustrum, should the moon be doing that?" he said. Ridcully looked up. "Good grief! Stibbons! Where's the man got to?"

Ponder was located in the bunk where he had flopped asleep fully dressed. He was hustled up the ladder half-asleep, but he awoke quickly when he saw the sky.

"Should it be doing that?" Ridcully demanded, pointing at the moon.

"No, sir! It certainly shouldn't!"

"It's a definite problem, is it?" said the Chair, hopefully.

"It certainly is! Where's the omniscope? Has anyone tried to talk to them?"

"Ah, well, not my field then," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, backing away. "Sorry. Would help if I could. Can see you're busy. Sorry."

All the dragons must have fired by now. Rincewind felt his eyeballs being pressed into the back of his head.

Leonard was unconscious in the next seat. Carrot was presumably lying in the debris that had been rammed to the other end of the cabin.

By the ominous creaking, and the smell, an orangutan was hanging on to the back of Rincewind's seat.

Oh, and when he managed to turn his head to see out of the window, one of the dragon pods was on fire. It was no wonder — the flame coming from the dragons was almost pure white.

Leonard had mentioned one of these levers... Rincewind stared at them through a red mist. "If we have to drop all the dragons," Leonard had said, "we —" What? Which lever?

Actually, at a time like this the choice was plain.

Rincewind, his vision blurred, his ears insulted by the sound of a ship in pain, pulled the only one he could reach.

I can't put this in a saga, the minstrel thought. No one will ever believe it. I mean, they just won't ever believe it...

"Trust me, right?" said Evil Harry, inspecting the Horde. "I mean, yes, obviously I am untrustworthy, point taken, but it's a matter of pride here, you understand? Trust me. This will work. I bet even the gods don't know all the gods, right?"

"I feel a right twerp with these wings," Caleb complained.

"Mrs McGarry did a very good job on'em, so don't complain," snapped Evil Harry. "You make a very good God of Love. What kind of love, I wouldn't like to say. And you are... ?"

"God of Fish, Harry," said Cohen, who had stuck scales on his skin and made himself a sort of fish-head helmet from one of their late adversaries.

Evil Harry tried to breathe. "Good, good, a very old fish god, yes. And you, Truckle, are... ?"

"The God of bloody Swearing," said Truckle the Uncivil firmly.

"Er, that could actually work," said the minstrel, as Evil Harry frowned. "After all, there are Muses of dance and song, and there's even a Muse of erotic poetry —"

"Oh, I can do that," said Truckle dismissively. "'There was a young lady from Quirm, Whose grip was — '"

"All right, all right. And you, Hamish?"

"God o' Stuff," said Hamish.

"What stuff?"

Hamish shrugged. He hadn't survived all this time by being unnecessarily imaginative.

"Just... things, y'ken," he said. "Lost things, mebbe. Things lyin' aroound?"

The Silver Horde turned to the minstrel, who nodded after some thought.

"Could work," he said, at last.

Evil Harry moved on to Boy Willie.

"Willie, why have you got a tomato on your head and a carrot in your ear?"

Boy Willie grinned proudly. "You'll love this one," he said. "God of Bein' Sick."

"It's been done," said the minstrel, before Evil Harry could reply. "Vometia. Goddess in Ankh-Morpork, thousands of years ago. 'To give an offering to Vometia' meant to —"

"So you'd better think of something else," growled Cohen.

"Oh? And what are you going to be, Harry?" said Willie.

"Me? Er... I'm going to be a Dark God," said Evil Harry. "There's a lot of them around —"

"Here, you never said we could be demonic," said Caleb. "If we can be demonic, I'm blowed if I'm gonna be a stupid cupid."

"But if I'd said we could be demons you'd all have wanted to be demons," Harry pointed out. "An' we'd have been arguing for hours. Besides, the other gods're goin" to smell a rat if a whole bunch of dark gods turn up all at once."

"Mrs McGarry hasn't done a thing," said Truckle.

"Well, I thought if I could borrow Evil Harry's helmet I could slip in as a Valkyrie maiden," said Vena.

"Good sensible thinkin'," said Evil Harry. "There's bound to be a few of them around."

"And Harry won't need it because in a minute he's going to make an excuse about his leg or his back or something and how he can't come in with us," said Cohen, in a conversational voice. "On account of him havin' betrayed us. Right, Harry?"

The game was getting more exciting. Most of the gods were watching now. Gods enjoy a good laugh, although it has to be said that their sense of humour is not subtle.

Blind Io, the elderly chief of the gods, said, "I suppose there is no harm they can do us?"

"No," said Fate, passing the dice box. "If they were very intelligent, they would not be heroes."

There was the rattle of a die, and one flew across the board and then began to spin in the air, tumbling faster and faster. Finally it vanished in a puff of ivory.

"Someone has thrown uncertainty," said Fate. He looked along the table. "Ah... my Lady..."

"My lord," said the Lady. Her name was never spoken, although everyone knew what it was; speaking her name aloud would mean that she would instantly depart. Despite the fact that she had very few actual worshippers, she was nevertheless one of the most powerful of the deities on the Disc, since in their hearts nearly everyone hoped and believed that she existed.

"And what is your move, my dear?" said Io.

"I have already made it," said the Lady. "But I've thrown the dice where you can't see them."

"Good, I like a challenge," said Io. "In that case —"

"If I may suggest a diversion, sir?" said Fate smoothly.

"And that is?"

"Well, they do want to be treated like gods," said Fate. "So I suggest we do so..."

"Are you thaying we thould take them theriouthly?" said Offler.

"Up to a point. Up to a point."

"Up to which point?" said the Lady.

"Up to the point, madam, where it ceases to amuse."

On the veldt of Howondaland live the N'tuitif people, the only tribe in the world to have no imagination whatsoever. For example, their story about the thunder runs something like this: "Thunder is a loud noise in the sky, resulting from the disturbance of the air masses by the passage of lightning." And their legend "How the Giraffe Got His Long Neck" runs: "In the old days the ancestors of Old Man Giraffe had slightly longer necks than other grassland creatures, and the access to the high leaves was so advantageous that it was mostly long-necked giraffes that survived, passing on the long neck in their blood just as a man might inherit his grandfather's spear. Some say, however, that it is all a lot more complicated and this explanation only applies to the shorter neck of the okapi. And so it is."

The N'tuitif are a peaceful people, and have been hunted almost to extinction by neighbouring tribes, who have lots of imagination, and therefore plenty of gods, superstitions and ideas about how much better life would be if they had a bigger hunting ground.

Of the events on the moon that day, the N'tuitif said: "The moon was brightly lit and from it rose another light which then split into three lights and faded. We do not know why this happened. It was just a thing."

They were then wiped out by a nearby tribe who knew that the lights had been a signal from the god Ukli to expand the hunting ground a bit more. However, they were soon defeated entirely by a tribe who knew that the lights were their ancestors, who lived in the moon, and who were urging them to kill all non-believers in the goddess Glipzo. Three years later they in turn were killed by a rock falling from the sky, as a result of a star exploding a billion years ago.

What goes around, comes around. If not examined too closely, it passes for justice.

In the shaking, rattling Kite, Rincewind watched the last two dragon pods drop from the wings. They tumbled alongside for a moment, broke up, and fell away.

He stared at the levers again. Someone, he thought muzzily, really should be doing something with them, shouldn't they?

Dragons contrailed across the sky. Now they were free of the pods, they were in a hurry to get home.

The wizards had created Thurlow's Interesting Lens just above the deck. The display was quite impressive.

"Better than fireworks," observed the Dean.

Ponder banged on the omniscope. "Ah, it's working now," he said, "but all I can see is this huge —"

More of Rincewind's face than a giant nose became visible as he drew back.

"What levers do I pull? What levers do I pull?" he screamed.

"What's happened?"

"Leonard's still out cold and the Librarian is pulling Carrot out of all the junk and this is definitely a bumpy ride! We've got no dragons left! What are all these dials for? I think we're falling! What shall I do?"

"Didn't you watch how Leonard did it?"

"He had his feet on two pedals and was pulling all the levers all the time!"

"All right, all right, I'll see if I can work out what to do from his plans and we can talk you down!"

"Don't! Talk me Up! Up is where we want to stay! Not down!"

"Are any of the levers marked?" said Ponder, scrabbling through Leonard's sketches.

"Yes, but I don't understand them! Here's one marked 'Troba'!"

Ponder scanned the pages, covered in Leonard's backwards writing. "Er... er..." he muttered.

"Do not pull the lever marked 'Troba'!" snapped Lord Vetinari, leaning forward.

"My lord!" said Ponder, and went red as Lord Vetinari's gaze fell upon him. "I'm sorry, my lord, but this is rather technical, it is about machinery, and it would perhaps be better if those whose education had been more in the field of the arts did not..."

His voice faded under the Patrician's stare.

"This one's got a normal label! It's called 'Prince Haran's Tiller'!" said a desperate voice from the omniscope.

Lord Vetinari patted Ponder Stibbons on the shoulder.

"I quite understand," he said. "The last thing a trained machinery person wants at a time like this is well-meant advice from ignorant people. I do apologise. And what is it that you intend to do?"

"Well, I, er, I..."

"As the Kite and all our hopes plunge towards the ground, I mean," Lord Vetinari went on.

"I, er, I, let's see, we've tried..."

Ponder stared at the omniscope, and at his notes. His mind had become a huge, white, sticky field of hot fluff.

"I imagine we have at least a minute left," said Lord Vetinari. "No rush."

"I, er, perhaps we, er..."

The Patrician leaned down towards the omniscope. "Rincewind, pull Prince Haran's Tiller," he said.

"We don't know what it does —" Ponder began.

"Do tell me if you have a better idea," said Lord Vetinari. "In the meantime, I suggest that the lever is pulled."

On the Kite, Rincewind decided to respond to the voice of authority.

"Er... there's a lot of clicking and whirring..." he reported. "And... some of the levers are moving by themselves... now the wings are unfolding... we're sort of flying in a straight line, at least... quite gently, really..."

"Good. I suggest you apply yourself to waking up Leonard," said the Patrician. He turned and nodded at Ponder. "You yourself have not studied the classics, young man? I know Leonard has."

"Well... no, sir."

"Prince Haran was a legendary Klatchian hero who sailed around the world on a ship with a magical tiller," said Lord Vetinari. "It steered the ship while he slept. If I can be of any further help, don't hesitate to ask."

Evil Harry stood frozen with terror as Cohen advanced across the snow, hand raised.

"You tipped off the gods, Harry," said Cohen.

"We all heard yez," said Mad Hamish.

"But it's okay," Cohen added. "Makes it more interestin'." His hand came down and slapped the small man on the back.

"We thought: That Evil Harry, he may be dumber'n a thick brick, but betrayin' us at a time like this... well, that's what we call nerve," said Cohen. "I've known a few Evil Dark Lords in my time, Harry, but I'd def'nit'ly give you three great big goblins' heads for style. You might have never made it into the, you know, big Dark Lord league, but you've got... well, Harry, you've definitely got the Wrong Stuff."

"We likes a man who sticks to his siege catapults," said Boy Willie.

Evil Harry looked down and shuffled his feet, his face a battle between pride and relief.

"Good of you to say that, lads," he mumbled. "I mean, you know, if it was up to me I wouldn't do this to yer, but I got a reputation to —"

"I said we understand," said Cohen. "It's just like with us. You see a big hairy thing galloping towards you, you don't stop to think: Is this a rare species on the point of extinction? No, you hack its head off. 'Cos that's heroing, am I right? An' you see someone, you betray 'em, quick as wink, 'cos that's villaining."

There was a murmur of approval from the rest of the Horde. In a strange way, this too was part of the Code.

"You're letting him go?" said the minstrel.

"Of course. You haven't been paying attention, lad. The Dark Lord always gets away. But you'd better put in the song that he betrayed us. That'll look good."

"And... er... you wouldn't mind saying I fiendishly tried to cut your throats?" said Harry.

"All right," said Cohen loftily. "Put in that he fought like a black-hearted tiger."

Harry wiped a tear from his eye. "Thanks, lads," he said. "I don't know what to say. I won't forget this. This could turn things right round for me."

"But do us a favour and see the bard gets back all right, though, will you?" said Cohen.

"Sure," said Evil Harry.

"Um... I'm not going back," said the minstrel.

This surprised everyone. It certain surprised him. But life had suddenly opened two roads in front of him. One of them led back to a life singing songs about love and flowers. The other could lead anywhere. There was something about these old men that made the first choice completely impossible. He couldn't explain it. That was just how it was.

"You've got to go back —" said Cohen.

"No, I've got to see how it ends," said the minstrel. "I must be mad, but that's what I want to do."

"You can make that bit up," said Vena.

"No, ma'am," said the minstrel. "I don't think I can. I don't think this is going to end in any way that I could make up. Not when I look at Mr Cohen there in his fish hat and Mr Willie as the God of Being Sick Again. No, I want to come along. Mr Dread can wait for me here. And I'll be perfectly safe, sir. No matter what. Because I'm absolutely certain that when the gods find they're under attack by a man with a tomato on his head and another one disguised as the Muse of Swearing they're really, really going to want the whole world to know what happened next."

Leonard was still out cold. Rincewind tried mopping his brow with a wet sponge.

"Of course I watched him," said Carrot, glancing back at the gently moving levers. "But he built it, so it was easy for him. Um... I shouldn't touch that, sir..."

The Librarian had swung himself into the driver's seat and was sniffing the levers. Somewhere underneath them, the automatic tiller clicked and purred.

"We're going to have to come up with some ideas soon," Rincewind said. "It won't fly itself for ever."

"Perhaps if we gently... I shouldn't do that, sir —"

The Librarian gave the pedals a cursory glance. Then he pushed Carrot away with one hand while the other unhooked Leonard's flying goggles from their hook. His feet curled around the pedals. He pushed the handle that operated Prince Haran's Tiller and, far under his feet, something went thud.

Then, as the ship shook, he cracked his knuckles, reached out, waggled his fingers for a moment, and grabbed the steering column.

Carrot and Rincewind dived for their seats.

The gates of Dunmanifestin swung open, apparently by themselves. The Silver Horde walked inside, keeping together, peering around suspiciously.

"You better mark our cards for us, lad," whispered Cohen, looking around the busy streets. "I wasn't expecting this."

"Sir?" said the minstrel.

"We expected a lot of carousing in a big 'all," said Boy Willie. "Not... shops. And everyone's different sizes!"

"Gods can be any size, I reckon," said Cohen, as gods hurried towards them.

"Maybe we could... come back another time?" said Caleb.

The doors slammed behind them.

"No," said Cohen.

And suddenly there was a crowd around them.

"You must be the new gods," said a voice from the sky. "Welcome to Dunmanifestin! You'd better come along with us!"

"Ah, the God of Fish," said a god to Cohen, falling in beside him. "And how are the fish, your mightiness?"

"Er... what?" said Cohen. "Oh... er... wet. Still very wet. Very wet things."

"And things?" a goddess asked Hamish. "How are things?"

"Still lyin' aroond!"

"And are you omnipotent?"

"Aye, lass, but there's pills I'm takin' f'r it!"

"And you're the Muse of Swearing?" said a god to Truckle.

"Bloody right!" said Truckle desperately.

Cohen looked up and saw Offler the Crocodile God. He wasn't a god who was hard to recognise, but in any case Cohen had seen him many times before. His statue in temples throughout the world was a pretty good likeness, and now was the time for a man to reflect on the fact that so many of those temples had been left a good deal poorer as a result of Cohen's activities. He didn't, however, because it was not the kind of thing he ever did. But it did seem to him that the Horde was being hustled along. "Where're we off to, friend?" he said.

To watch the Gameth, your fithneth," said Offler.

"Oh, yeah. That's where yo— we play around with u— mortals, right?" said Cohen.

"Yes, indeed," said a god on the other side of Cohen. "And currently we've found some mortals actually attempting to enter Dunmanifestin."

"The devils, eh?" said Cohen pleasantly. "Give 'em a taste of hot thunderbolt, that's my advice. It's the only language they understand."

"Mostly because it's the only language you use," mumbled the minstrel, eyeing the surrounded gods.

"Yes, we thought something like that would be a good idea," said the god. "I'm Fate, by the way."

"Oh, you're Fate?" said Cohen, as they reached the gaming table. "Always wanted to meet you. I thought you were supposed to be blind?"

"No."

"How about if someone stuck two fingers in yer eyes?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Just my little joke."

"Ha. Ha," said Fate. "I wonder, O God of Fish, how good a player you are?"

"Never been much of a gambler," said Cohen, as a solitary die appeared between Fate's fingers. "A mug's game."

"Perhaps you would care for a little... venture?"

The crowd went silent. The minstrel looked into Fate's bottomless eyes, and knew that if you played dice with Fate the roll was always fixed.

You could have heard a sparrow fall.

"Yeah," said Cohen, at last. "Why not?"

Fate tossed the die on to the board. "Six," he said, without breaking eye contact.

"Right," said Cohen. "So I've got to a get a six too, yeah?"

Fate smiled. "Oh, no. You are, after all, a god. And gods play to win. You, O mighty one, must throw a seven."

'Seven?' said the minstrel.

"I fail to see why this should present a difficulty," said Fate, "to one entitled to be here."

Cohen turned the die over and over. It had the regulation six sides.

"I could see that could present a difficulty," he said, "but only for mortals, o' course." He tossed the die up in the air once or twice. "Seven?" he said.

"Seven," said Fate.

"Could be a knotty one," said Cohen.

The minstrel stared at him, and felt a shiver run down his spine.

"You'll remember I said that, lad?" Cohen added.

The Kite banked through high cloud.

"Ook!" said the Librarian happily.

"He flies it better than Leonard did!" said Rincewind.

"It must come more... easily," whispered Carrot. "You know... what with him being naturally atavistic."

"Really? I've always thought of him as quite good-natured. Except when he's called a monkey, of course."

The Kite turned again, curving through the sky like a pendulum.

"Ook!"

"'If you look out of the left window you can see practically everywhere'," Rincewind translated.

"Ook!"

"'And if you look out of the right window, you can see—' Good grief!"

There was the Mountain. And there, glittering in the sunlight, was the home of the gods. Above it, just visible even in the brilliant air, was the shimmering misty funnel of the world's magical field earthing itself at the centre of the world.

"Are you, er, are you much of a religious man yourself?" said Rincewind as clouds whipped by the window.

"I believe all religions do reflect some aspect of an eternal truth, yes," said Carrot.

"Good wheeze," said Rincewind. "You might just get away with it."

"And you?" said Carrot.

"We-ll... you know that religion that thinks that whirling round in circles is a form of prayer?"

"Oh, yes. The Hurtling Whirlers of Klatch."

"Mine is like that, only we go more in... straight lines. Yes. That's it. Speed is a sacrament."

"You believe it gives you some sort of eternal life?"

"Not eternal, as such. More... well, just more, really. More life. That is," Rincewind added, "more life than you would have if you did not go very fast in a straight line. Although curving lines are acceptable in broken country."

Carrot sighed. "You're just a coward really, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I've never understood what's wrong with the idea. It takes guts to run away, you know. Lots of people would be as cowardly as me if they were brave enough."

They looked out of the window again. The mountain was nearer.

"According to the mission notes," said Carrot, thumbing through the sheaf of hastily written research notes that Ponder had thrust into his hand just before departure, "a number of humans have entered Dunmanifestin in the past and returned alive."

"Returned alive per se is not hugely comforting," said Rincewind. "With their arms and legs? Sanity? All minor extremities?"

"Mostly they were mythical characters," said Carrot, uncertainly.

"Before or after?"

"The gods traditionally look favourably on boldness, daring and audacity," Carrot went on.

"Good. You can go in first."

"Ook," said the Librarian.

"He says we'll have to land soon," said Carrot. "Was there some position we're supposed to get into?"

"Ook!" said the Librarian. He seemed to be fighting the levers.

"What do you mean, 'lie on your back with your arms folded across your chest'?"

"Eek!"

"Didn't you watch what Leonard did when he landed us on the moon?"

"Ook!"

"And that was a good landing," said Rincewind. "Oh well, shame about the end of the world, but these things happen, eh?"

Would you like a peanut? I am afraid it is a little hard to get the packet open.

A ghostly chair hung in the air next to Rincewind. A violet flaring round the edge of his vision told him that he was suddenly in a little private time and space of his own.

"So we are going to crash?" he said.

Possibly. I'm afraid the uncertainty principle is making my job very difficult. How about a magazine?

The Kite curved around and began to glide gently towards the clouds around Cori Celesti. The Librarian glared at the levers, bit one or two of them, tugged the handle of Prince Haran's Tiller and then swung himself back along the cabin and hid under a blanket.

"We're going to land in that snowfield," said Carrot, slipping into the pilot's seat. "Leonard designed the ship to land in snow, didn't he? After all —"

The Kite did not so much land as kiss the snow. It bounced up into the air, glided a little further, and touched down again. There were a few more skips, and then the keel was running crisply and smoothly over the snowfield.

"Outstanding!" said Carrot. "It's just a walk in the park!"

"You mean people are going to mug us and steal all our money and kick us viciously in the ribs?" said Rincewind. "Could be. We're heading directly towards the city. Have you noticed?"

They stared ahead. The gates of Dunmanifestin were getting closer very quickly. The Kite breasted a snowdrift and sailed on.

"This is not the time to panic," said Rincewind.

The Kite hit the snow, rebounded into the air and flew through the gateway of the gods.

Halfway through the gateway of the gods.

"So... seven and I win," said Cohen. "It comes down showin' seven and I win, right?"

"Yes. Of course," said Fate.

"Sounds like a million-to-one chance to me," said Cohen.

He tossed the die high in the air, and it slowed as it rose, tumbling glacially with a noise like the swish of windmill blades.

It reached the top of its arc and began to fall.

Cohen was staring fixedly at it, absolutely still. Then his sword was out of its scabbard and it whirled around in a complex curve. There was a snick and a green flash in the middle of the air and...

... two halves of an ivory cube bounced across the table.

One landed showing the six. The other landed showing the one.

One or two of the gods, to the minstrel's amazement, began to applaud.

"I think we had a deal?" said Cohen, still holding his sword.

"Really? And have you heard the saying 'You cannot cheat Fate'?" said Fate.

Mad Hamish rose in his wheelchair. "Ha' ye heard the sayin' 'Can yer mither stitch, pal'?" he yelled.

As one man, or god, the Silver Horde closed up and drew its weaponry.

"No fighting!" shouted Blind Io. "That is the rule here! We've got the world to fight in!"

"That wasn't cheating!" Cohen growled. "Leavin' scrolls around to lure heroes to their death, that's cheatin'!"

"But where would heroes be without magic maps?" said Blind Io.

"Many of 'em 'd still be alive!" snapped Cohen. "Not pieces in some damn game!"

"You cut the thing in half," said Fate.

"Show me where it says that in the rules! Yeah, why not show me the rules, eh?" said Cohen, dancing with rage. "Show me all the rules! What's up, Mr Fate? You want another go, is it? Double or quits? Double stakes?"

"You mutht admit it wath a good thtroke," said Offler. Several of the lesser gods nodded.

"What? Are you prepared to let them stand here and defy us?" said Fate.

"Defy you, my lord," said a new voice. "I suggest they have won. He did cheat Fate. If you do cheat Fate, I do not believe it says anywhere that Fate's subsequent opinion matters."

The Lady stepped daintily through the crowd. The gods parted to let her pass. They recognised a legend in the making when they saw it.

"And who are you?" snapped Cohen, still red with rage.

"I?" The Lady unfolded her hands. A die lay on each palm, the solitary single dot facing up. But at a flick of her wrist the two flew together, lengthened, entwined, became a hissing snake writhing in the air — and vanished.

"I... am the million-to-one-chance," she said.

"Yeah?" said Cohen, less impressed than the minstrel thought he ought to be. "And who are all the other chances?"

"I am those, also."

Cohen sniffed. "Then you ain't no lady."

"Er, that's not really —" the minstrel began.

"Oh, that wasn't what I was supposed to say, was it?" said Cohen. "I was supposed to say. 'Ooh, ta, missus, much obliged'? Well, I ain't. They say fortune favours the brave, but I say I've seen too many brave men walkin' into battles they never walked out of. The hell with all of it — What's up with you?"

The minstrel was staring at a god on the edge of the crowd.

"It's you, isn't it?" he growled. "You're Nuggan, aren't you?"

The little god took a step backward, but made the mistake of trying dignity. "Be silent, mortal!"

"You utter, utter... fifteen years! Fifteen damn years before I ever tasted garlic! And the priests used to get up early in the countryside round us to jump on all the mushrooms! And do you know how much a small slab of chocolate cost in our town, and what they did to people who were caught with one?" The minstrel shouldered the Horde aside and advanced on the retreating god, his lyre raised like a club.

"I shall smite you with lightning!" squeaked Nuggan, raising his hands to protect himself.

"You can't! Not here! You can only do that stuff back in the world! All you can do here is bluff and illusion! And bullying. That's what prayers are... it's frightened people trying to make friends with the bully! All those temples were built and... and you're nothing but a little —"

Cohen laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Well said, lad. Well said. But it's time you were goin'."

'Broccoli,' murmured Offler to Sweevo, God of Cut Timber. 'You can't go wrong with broccoli.'

'I prohibit the practice of panupunitoplasty,' said Sweevo.

'What'th that?

'Search me, but it's got them worried.'

"Just let me give him one wallop —" shouted the minstrel.

"Listen, son, listen," said Cohen, struggling to hold him. "You got better things to do with that lyre than smash it over someone's head, right? A few little verses — it's 'mazin' how they stick in the mind. Listen to me, listen, do you hear what I'm tellin' you? ... I've got a sword and it's a good one, but all the bleedin" thing can do is keep someone alive, listen. A song can keep someone immortal. Good or bad!"

The minstrel relaxed a little, but only a little. Nuggan had taken refuge behind a group of other gods.

"He'll wait until I'm out of the gates —" groaned the minstrel.

"He'll be busy! Truckle, press that plunger!"

"Ah, your famous firework," said Blind Io. "But, my dear mortal, fire cannot harm the gods..."

"Well now," said Cohen, "that depends, right? 'Cos in a minute or so, the top of this mountain is gonna look like a volcano. Everyone in the world will see it. I wonder if they'll believe in the gods any more?"

"Hah!" sneered Fate, but a few of the brighter gods looked suddenly thoughtful.

"Anyway," Cohen went on, "it dunt matter if someone kills the gods. It does matter that someone tried. Next time, someone'll try harder."

"All that will happen is that you will be killed," said Fate, but the more thoughtful gods were edging away.

"What have we got to lose?" said Boy Willie. "We're going to die anyway. We're ready to die."

"We've always been ready to die," said Caleb the Ripper.

"That's why we've lived such a long time," said Boy Willie.

"But... why be so upset?" said Blind Io. "You've had long eventful lives, and the great cycle of nature —"

"Ach, the great cycle o' nature can eat ma loin-cloth!" said Mad Hamish.

"And there's not many as would want to do that," said Cohen. "And I ain't much good with words, but... I reckon we're doing this 'cos we are goin' to die, d'yer see? And 'cos some bloke got to the edge of the world somewhere and saw all them other worlds out there and burst into tears 'cos there was only one lifetime. So much universe, and so little time. And that's not right..."

But the gods were looking around.

The wings had shattered and broken off. The fuselage smashed down on to the cobbles, and slid on.

"Now is the time to panic," said Rincewind. The stricken Kite continued to scrape across the flagstones in a growing smell of scorched wood.

A pale hand reached past Rincewind.

"It would be advisable," said Leonard, "to hold on to something."

He pulled a small handle labelled 'Sekarb'.

Now the Kite stopped. In a very dynamic sort of way.

The gods looked down.

A hatch opened in the strange wooden bird. It fell off and rolled a little way.

The gods saw a figure get out. He appeared, in many ways, to be a hero, except that he was far too clean.

He looked around, removed his helmet and saluted.

"Good afternoon, O mighty ones," he said. "I do apologise, but this should not take long. And may I take this opportunity to say on behalf of the people of the Disc that you are doing a wonderful job here."

He marched towards the Horde, past the astonished gods, and stopped in front of Cohen.

"Cohen the Barbarian?"

"What's it to you?" said Cohen, mystified.

"I am Captain Carrot of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, and I hereby arrest you on a charge of conspiracy to end the world. You need not say anything —"

"I don't intend to say anything," said Cohen, raising his sword. "I'm just gonna cut your —ing head off."

"Hold it, hold it," said Boy Willie urgently. "Do you know who we all are?"

"Yessir. I believe so. You are Boy Willie, aka Mad Bill, Wilhelm the Chopper, the Great —"

"And you are going to arrest us? You say you are some kind of a watchman?"

"That is correct, sir."

"We must've killed hundreds of watchmen in our time, lad!"

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"'Ow much do they pay you, boy?" said Caleb.

"Forty-three dollars a month, Mr Ripper. With allowances."

The Horde burst out laughing. Then Carrot drew his sword.

"I must insist, sir. What you are planning to do will destroy the world."

"Only this bit, lad," said Cohen. "Now you could go off home and —"

"I'm being patient, sir, out of respect for your grey hairs."

There was a further burst of laughing and Mad Hamish had to be slapped on the back.

"Just a moment, boys," said Mrs McGarry quietly. "Are we thinking this one through? Look around you."

They looked around.

"Well?" Cohen demanded.

"There's me, and you," said Vena, "and Truckle and Boy Willie and Hamish and Caleb and the minstrel,"

"So? So?"

"That's seven," said Vena, "Seven of us, against one of him. Seven against one. And he thinks he's going to save the world. And he knows who we are and he's still going to fight us..."

"You think he's a hero?" cackled Mad Hamish. "Hah! Wha' kind o' hero works for forty-three dollars a month? Plus allowances!"

But the cackle was all alone in the sudden quietness. The Horde could calculate the peculiar mathematics of heroism quite quickly.

There was, there always was, at the start and finish... the Code. They lived by the Code. You followed the Code, and you became part of the Code for those who followed you. The Code was it. Without the Code, you weren't a hero. You were just a thug in a loincloth.

The Code was quite clear. One brave man against seven... won. They knew it was true. In the past, they'd all relied on it. The higher the odds, the greater the victory. That was the Code.

Forget the Code, dismiss the Code, deny the Code... and the Code would take you.

They looked down at Captain Carrot's sword. It was short, sharp and plain. It was a working sword. It had no runes on it. No mystic gleam twinkled on its edge.

If you believed in the Code, that was worrying. One simple sword in the hands of a truly brave man would cut through a magical sword like suet.

It wasn't a frightening thought, but it was a thought.

"Funny thing," said Cohen, "but I heard tell once that down in Ankh-Morpork there's some watchman who's really heir to the throne but keeps very quiet about it because he likes being a watchman..."

Oh dear, thought the Horde. Kings in disguise... that was Code material, right there.

Carrot met Cohen's gaze.

"Never heard of him," he said.

"To die for forty-three dollars a month," said Cohen, holding the gaze, "a man's got to be very, very stupid or very, very brave..."

"What's the difference?" said Rincewind, stepping forward. "Look, I don't want to break up a moment of drama or anything, but he's not joking. If that... keg explodes here, it will destroy the world. It'll... open a sort of hole and all the magic will drain away."

"Rincewind?" said Cohen. "What're you doing here, you old rat?"

"Trying to save the world," said Rincewind. He rolled his eyes. 'Again.'

Cohen looked uncertain, but heroes don't back down easily, even in the face of the Code.

"It'll really all blow up?"

"Yes!"

"'S not much of a world," Cohen muttered. "Not any more..."

"What about all the dear little kittens —" Rincewind began.

"Puppies," hissed Carrot, not taking his eyes off Cohen.

"Puppies, I mean. Eh? Think of them."

"Well. What about them?"

"Oh... nothing."

"But everyone will die," said Carrot.

Cohen shrugged his skinny shoulders. "Everyone dies, sooner or later. So we're told."

"There will be no one left to remember," said the minstrel, as if he was talking to himself. "If there's no one left alive, no one will remember."

The Horde looked at him.

"No one will remember who you were or what you did," he went on. "There will be nothing. No more songs. No one will remember."

Cohen sighed, "All right, then let's say supposing I don't —"

"Cohen?" said Truckle, in an unusually worried voice. "You know a few minutes ago, where you said 'press the plunger'?"

"Yes?"

"You meant I shouldn't've?"

The keg was sizzling.

"You pressed it?" said Cohen.

"Well, yes! You said."

"Can we stop it?"

"No," said Rincewind.

"Can we outrun it?"

"Only if you can think of a way to run ten miles really, really fast," said Rincewind.

"Gather round, lads! Not you, minstrel boy, this is sword stuff..." Cohen beckoned the other heroes, and they went into a hurried huddle. It didn't seem to take long.

"Right," said Cohen, as they straightened up. "You got all our names down right, Mr Bard?"

"Of course —"

"Then let's go, lads!"

They heaved the keg back on to Hamish's wheelchair. Truckle half turned as they started to push it.

"Here, bard! You sure you made a note of that bit where I— ?"

"We are leaving!" shouted Cohen, grabbing him. "See you later, Mrs McGarry"

She nodded, and stood back. "You know how it is," she said sadly. "Great-grandchildren on the way and everything..."

The wheelchair was already moving fast. "Get 'em to name one after me!" yelled Cohen as he leapt aboard.

"What're they doing?" said Rincewind as the chair rolled down the street towards the far gates.

"They'll never get it down from the mountain quickly enough!" said Carrot, starting to run.

The chair passed through the arch at the end of the street and rattled over the icy rocks.

As they hurried after it, Rincewind saw it bounce out and into ten miles of empty air. He thought he heard the last words, as the downward plunge began: "Aren't we supposed to shout somethinggggg..."

Then chair and figures and barrel became smaller and smaller and merged into the hazy landscape of snow and sharp hungry rocks.

Carrot and Rincewind watched.

After a while the wizard noticed Leonard, out of the corner of his eye. The man had his fingers on his own pulse and was counting under his breath.

"Ten miles... hmm... allow for air resistance... call it three minutes plus... yes... yes, indeed... we should be averting our eyes around... yes... now. Yes, I think that would be a good i—"

Even through closed lids, the world went red.

When Rincewind crawled to the edge, he saw a small distant circle of evil black and crimson.

Several seconds later thunder boomed up the flanks of Cori Celesti, causing avalanches. And that, too, died away.

"Do you think they've survived?" said Carrot, peering down into the fog of dislodged snow.

"Huh?" said Rincewind.

"It wouldn't be the proper story if they didn't survive."

"Captain, they fell about ten miles into an explosion which has just reduced a mountain to a valley," said Rincewind.

"They could have landed in really deep snow on some ledge," said Carrot.

"Or there may have been a passing flock of really large soft birds?" said Rincewind.

Carrot bit his lip. "On the other hand... giving up their lives to save everyone in the world... that's a good ending, too."

"But it was them who were going to blow it up!"

"Still very brave of them, though."

"In a way, I suppose."

Carrot shook his head sadly. "Perhaps we could get down and check."

"It's a great bubbling crater of boiling rock!" Rincewind burst out. "It'd take a miracle!"

"There's always hope."

"So? There's always taxes, too. It doesn't make any difference."

Carrot sighed and straightened up. "I wish you weren't right."

"You wish I wasn't right? Come on, let's get back. We're not exactly out of trouble ourselves, are we?"

Behind them, Vena blew her nose and then tucked her handkerchief back into her armoured corset. It was time, she thought, to follow the smell of horses.

The remains of the Kite were the subject of keen but uncomprehending interest among the deitic classes. They weren't certain what it was, but they definitely disapproved of it.

"I feel," said Blind Io, "that if we had wanted people to fly, we would have given them wings."

"We allow broomthtickth and magic carpeth," said Offler.

"Ah, but they're magical. Magic... religion... there is a certain association. This is an attempt to subvert the natural order. Just anyone could float around the place in one of these things." He shuddered. "Men could look down upon their gods!"

He looked down upon Leonard of Quirm.

"Why did you do it?" he said.

"You gave me wings when you showed me birds," said Leonard of Quirm. "I just made what I saw."

The rest of the gods said nothing. Like many professionally religious people — and they were pretty professional, being gods — they tended towards unease in the presence of the unashamedly spiritual.

"None of us recognise you as a worshipper," said Io. "Are you an atheist?"

"I think I can say that I definitely believe in the gods," said Leonard, looking around. This seemed to satisfy everyone except Fate.

"And is that all?" he said. Leonard thought for a while.

"I think I believe in the secret geometries, and the colours on the edge of light, and the marvellous in everything," he said.

"So you're not a religious man, then?" said Blind Io.

"I am a painter."

"That's a "no", then, is it? I want to be clear on this."

"Er... I don't understand the question," said Leonard. "As you ask it."

"I don't think we understand the answers," said Fate. "As you give them."

"But I suppose we owe you something," said Blind Io. "Never let it be said the gods are unjust."

"We don't let it be said the gods are unjust," said Fate. "If I may suggest —"

"Will you be silent!" Blind Io thundered. "We'll do it the old way, thank you!"

He turned to the explorers and pointed a finger at Leonard.

"Your penalty," said Blind Io, "is this: you will paint the ceiling of the Temple of Small Gods in Ankh-Morpork. All of it. The decoration is in a terrible state."

"But that's not fair," said Carrot. "He's not a young man, and it took the great Angelino Tweebsly twenty years to paint that ceiling!"

"Then it will keep his mind occupied," said Fate. "And prevent him thinking the wrong sort of thoughts. That is the correct punishment for those who usurp the powers of the gods! We will find work for idle hands to do."

"Hmm," said Leonard. "A considerable amount of scaffolding..."

"Vatht amounth," said Offler, with satisfaction.

"And the nature of the painting?" said Leonard. "I would like to paint..."

"The entire world." said Fate. "Nothing less."

"Really? I was thinking of perhaps just a nice duck-egg blue with a few stars," said Blind Io.

"The entire world," said Leonard, staring off into some private vision. "With elephants, and dragons, and the swirl of clouds, and mighty forests, and the currents of the sea, and birds, and the great yellow veldts, and the pattern of storms, and the crests of mountains?"

"Er, yes," said Blind Io.

"Without assistance," said Fate.

"Even with the thcaffolding," said Offler.

"This is monstrous," said Carrot.

Blind Io said: "And if it is not completed in twenty years —"

"— ten years," said Fate.

"— ten years, the city of Ankh-Morpork will be razed with heavenly fire!"

"Hmm, yes, good idea," said Leonard, still staring at nothing. "Some of the birds will have to be quite small..."

"He's in shock," said Rincewind.

Captain Carrot had gone quiet with anger, as the sky does just before a thunderstorm.

"Tell me," said Blind Io. "Is there a god of policemen?"

"No, sir," said Carrot. "Coppers would be far too suspicious of anyone calling themselves a god of policemen to believe in one."

"But you are a gods-fearing man?"

"What I've seen of them certainly frightens the life out of me, sir. And my commander always says, when we go about our business in the city, that when you look at the state of mankind you are forced to accept the reality of the gods."

The gods smiled their approval of this, which was indeed an accurate quotation. Gods have little use for irony.

"Very good," said Blind Io. "And you have a request?"

"Sir?"

"Everyone wants something from the gods."

"No, sir. I offer you an opportunity."

"You will give something to us?"

"Yes, sir. A wonderful opportunity to show justice and mercy. I ask you, sir, to grant me a boon."

There was silence. Then Blind Io said, "Is that one of those... wooden objects, wasn't it? ... with a handle, and... mmm... beads on one side, and a sort of... thing, with hooks on..." He paused. "Did you mean one of those rubber things?"

"No, sir. That would be a balloon, sir. A boon is a request."

"Is that all? Oh. Well?"

"Allow the Kite to be repaired so that we can go home —"

"Impossible!" said Fate.

"It sounds reasonable to me," said Blind Io, glaring at Fate. "It must be its last flight."

"It will be the last flight of the Kite, won't it?" said Carrot to Leonard.

"Hmm? What? Oh, yes. Oh, certainly. I can see I designed a lot of it wrong. The next one — mmph..."

"What happened there?" said Fate suspiciously.

"Where?" said Rincewind.

"Where you clamped your hand over his mouth?"

"Did I?"

"You're still doing it!"

"Nerves," said Rincewind, releasing his grip on Leonard. "I've been a bit shaken up."

"And do you want a boon too?" said Leonard.

"What? Oh. Er... I'd prefer a balloon, as a matter of fact. A blue balloon." Rincewind gave Carrot a defiant look. "It's all to do with when I was six, all right? There was this big unpleasant girl... and a pin. I don't want to talk about it." He looked up at the watching gods. "I don't know what everyone's staring at, I'm sure."

"Ook," said the Librarian.

"Does your pet want a balloon as well?" said Blind Io. "We do have a monkey god if he wants some mangoes and so on..."

In the sudden chill, Rincewind said. "In fact he said he wants three thousand file cards, a new stamp and five gallons of ink."

"Eek!" said the Librarian, urgently.

"Oh, all right. And a red balloon too, please, if they're free."

The repairing of the Kite was simple enough. Although gods, on the whole, do not feel at home around mechanical things, every pantheon everywhere in the universe finds it necessary to have some minor deity — Vulcan, Wayland, Dennis, Hephaistos — who knows how bits fit together and that sort of thing.

Most large organisations, to their regret and expense, have to have someone like that.

Evil Harry surfaced from the snowdrift, and gasped for breath. Then he was plunged back down again by a firm hand.

"So it's a deal, then, is it?" said the minstrel, who was kneeling on his back and holding on to his hair.

Evil Harry rose again. "Deal!" he roared, spitting snow.

"And if you tell me later that I shouldn't have listened to you because everyone knows Dark Lords can't be trusted, I'll garotte you with a lyre string!"

"You got no respect!"

"Well? You are an evil treacherous Dark Lord, right?" said the minstrel, pushing the spluttering head back into the snow.

"Well, yeah, of course... obviously. But respect costs nothi nnnn n n nn'."

"You help me get down and I'll write you into the saga as the most wicked, iniquitous and depraved evil warlord there has even been, understand?"

The head came up again, wheezing.

"All right, all right. But you gotta promise..."

"And if you betray me, remember that I don't know the Code! I don't have to let Dark Lords get away!"

They descended in silence and, in Harry's case, mostly with his eyes shut.

Off to one side and a long way down, a foothill that was now a valley still fumed and bubbled.

"We'd never even find the bodies," said the minstrel, as they sought for a path.

"Ah, and that'd be 'cos they didn't die, see?" said Harry. "They'd have come up with some plan at the last minute, you can bet on it."

"Harry —"

"You can call me Evil, lad."

"Evil, they spent the last minute falling down a mountain!"

"Ah, but maybe they kind of glided through the air, see? And there's all those lakes down there. Or maybe they spotted where the snow was really deep."

The minstrel stared. "You really think they could have survived?" he said.

There was a slight touch of desperation in Harry's raddled face.

"Sure. O' course. All that talk from Cohen... that was just talk. He's not the sort to go around dyin" all the time. No old Cohen! I mean... not him. 'E's one of a kind."

The minstrel surveyed the Hublands ahead of him. There were lakes and there was deep snow. But the Horde was not in favour of cunning. If they needed cunning, they hired it. Otherwise, they simply attacked. And you couldn't attack the ground.

It's all mixed up, he thought. Just like that captain said. Gods and heroes and wild adventure... but when the last hero goes, it all goes.

He'd never been keen on heroes. But he realised that he needed them to be there, like forests and mountains... he might never see them, but they filled some sort of hole in his mind. Some sort of hole in everyone's mind.

"Bound to be fine," said Evil Harry, behind him. "They'll probably be waitin' for us when we get down there."

"What's that, hanging on that rock?" said the minstrel.

It turned out, when they'd scrambled up to it over slippery rocks, to be part of a shattered wheel from Mad Hamish's wheelchair.

"Doesn't mean nothing," said Evil Harry, tossing it aside. "Come on, let's get a move on. This is not a mountain you want to be on at night."

"No. You're right. It doesn't," said the minstrel. He unslung his lyre and began to tune it. "It doesn't mean anything."

Before he turned to leave, he reached into a ragged pocket and pulled out a small leather bag. It was full of rubies.

He tipped them out on to the snow, where they glowed. And then he walked on.

There was a field of deep snow. Here and there a hollow suggested that the snow had been thrust aside with great force by a falling body, but the edges had been softened by the wind drift.

The seven horsewomen landed gently, and the thing about the snow was this: there were hoofprints in it, but they did not appear exactly where the horses trod or exactly when they did. They seemed superimposed on the world, as if they had been drawn first and the artist did not have much time to paint the reality behind them.

They waited for a while.

"Well, this is jolly unsatisfactory," said Hilda (soprano). "They ought to be here. They do know they're dead, don't they?"

"We haven't come to the wrong place, have we?" said Gertrude (mezzo-soprano).

"Ladies? If you would be so kind as to dismount?"

They turned. The seventh Valkyrie had drawn her sword and was smiling at them.

"What cheek. Here, you're not Grimhilda!"

"No, but I think I could probably beat all six of you," said Vena, tossing aside the helmet. "I shoved her in the privy with one hand. It would be... better if you simply dismounted."

"Better? Better than what?" said Hilda.

Mrs McGarry sighed. "This," she said.

The snow erupted old men.

"Evening, miss!" said Cohen, grabbing Hilda's bridle. "Now, are you goin' to do like she says, or shall I get my friend Truckle here to ask you? Only he's a bit... uncivil."

"Hur, hur, hur!"

"How dare you —"

"I'll dare anything, miss. Now get off or I'll push yer off!"

"Well, really!"

"Excuse me? I say? Excuse me?" said Gertrude. "Are you dead?"

"Are we dead, Willie?" said Cohen.

"We ought to be dead. But I don't feel dead."

"I ain't dead!" roared Mad Hamish. "I'll knock any man doon as tells me a'm dead!"

"There's an offer you can't refuse," said Cohen, swinging himself on to Hilda's horse. "Saddle up, boys."

"But... excuse me?" said Gertrude, who was one of those people afflicted with terminal politeness. "We were supposed to take you to the great Halls of the Slain. There's mead and roast pork and fighting in between courses! Just for you! That's what you wanted! They laid it on just for you!"

"Yeah? Thanks all the same, but we ain't goin'," said Cohen.

"But that's where dead heroes have got to go!"

"I don't remember signin' anythin'," said Cohen. He looked up at the sky. The sun had set, and the first stars were coming out. Every one was a world, eh? "You still not joining us, Mrs McGarry?" he said.

"Not yet, boys." Vena smiled. "Not quite ready, I think. There'll come a time."

"Fair enough. Fair enough. We'll be going, then. Got a lot to do..."

"But —" Mrs McGarry looked across the snowfield. The wind had blown the snow over... shapes. Here a sword hilt projected from a drift, there a sandal was just visible. "Are you dead or not?" she said.

Cohen scanned the snow. "Well, the way I see it, we don't think we are; so why should we care what anyone else thinks? We never have. Ready, Hamish? Then follow me, boys!"

Vena watched as the Valkyries, squabbling among themselves, made their way back to the mountain. Then she waited. She had a feeling that there would be something to wait for.

After a while, she heard another horse whinny.

"Are you collecting?" she said, and turned to look at the mounted figure.

That is something about which I do not propose to enlighten you, said Death.

"But you are here," said Vena, although now she felt a lot more like Mrs McGarry again. Vena would probably have killed a few of the horsewomen just to make sure the others paid attention, but they'd all looked so young.

I am, of course, everywhere.

Mrs McGarry looked up at the stars.

"In the olden days," she said, "when a hero had been really heroic, the gods would put them up in the stars."

The heavens change, said Death. What today looks like a mighty hunter may look like a teacup in a hundred years" time.

"That doesn't seem fair."

No one ever said it had to be. But there are other stars.

At the base of the mountain, at Vena's camp, Harry got the fire going again while the minstrel sat and picked out notes.

"I want you listen to this," he said, after a while, and played something.

It went on, it seemed to Evil Harry, for a lifetime.

He wiped away a tear as the last notes died away.

"I've got to do some more work on it," said the minstrel, in a faraway voice. "But will it do?"

"You asking me will it do?" said Evil Harry. "You're telling me you think you could make it even better?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not like... a real saga," said Evil Harry hoarsely. "It's got a tune. You could whistle it, even. Well, hum it. I mean, it even sounds like them. Like they'd sound if they was music..."

"Good."

"It's... wonderful..."

"Thank you. It will get better as more people hear it. It's music for people to listen to."

"And... it's not like we found any bodies, is it?" said the very small Dark Lord. "So they could be alive somewhere."

The minstrel picked a few notes on the lyre. The strings shimmered. "Somewhere," he agreed.

"Y'know, kid," said Harry, "I don't even know your name."

The minstrel's brow wrinkled. He wasn't certain himself, any more. And he didn't know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do, but he suspected that life might be a lot more interesting from now on.

"I'm just the singer," he said.

"Play it again," said Evil Harry.

Rincewind blinked, stared, and then looked away from the window.

"We've just been overtaken by some men on horseback." he said.

"Ook," said the Librarian, which probably meant. "Some of us have got some flying to do."

"I just thought I'd mention it."

Spiralling through the air like a drunken clown, the Kite climbed the column of hot air from the distant crater. It was the only instruction Leonard had given before going and sitting so quietly at the back of the cabin that Carrot was getting seriously worried.

"He just sits there whispering things like "ten years!" and "the whole world!"," he reported. "It's come as a terrible shock. What a penance!"

"But he looks cheerful," said Rincewind. "And he keeps drawing sketches. And he's leafing through all those pictures you took on the moon."

"Poor chap. It's affecting his mind." Carrot leaned forward. "We ought to get him home as soon as possible. What's the usual direction? "Second star to the left and straight on 'til morning"?"

"I think that may very probably be the stupidest piece of astronavigation ever suggested," said Rincewind. "We're just going to head for the lights. Oh, and we'd better be careful not to look down on the gods."

Carrot nodded. "That's quite hard."

"Practically impossible," said Rincewind.

And in a place on no map the immortal Mazda, bringer of fire, lay on his eternal rock.

Memory can play tricks after the first ten thousand years, and he wasn't quite sure what had happened. There had been some old men on horseback, who'd swooped out of the sky. They'd cut his chains, and given him a drink, and had taken it in turns to shake his withered hand.

Then they'd ridden away, into the stars, as quickly as they'd come.

Mazda lay back into the shape his body had worn into the stone over the centuries. He wasn't quite sure about the men, or why they'd come, or why they'd been so happy. He was only sure, in fact, about two things.

He was sure it was nearly dawn.

He was sure that he held, in his right hand, the very sharp sword the old men had given him.

And he could hear, coming closer with the dawn, the beat of an eagle's wings.

He was going to enjoy this.

It is in the nature of things that those who save the world from certain destruction often don't get hugely rewarded because, since the certain destruction does not take place, people are uncertain how certain it may have been and are, therefore, somewhat tight when it comes to handing out anything more substantial than praise.

The Kite was landed rather roughly on the corrugated surface of the river Ankh and, as happens to public things lying around which don't appear to belong to anyone, quickly became the private property of many, many people.

And Leonard began the penance for his hubris. This was much approved of by the Ankh-Morpork priesthood. It was definitely the sort of thing to encourage piety.

Lord Vetinari was therefore surprised when he received an urgent message three weeks after the events recounted, and forced his way through the mob to the Temple of Small Gods.

"What's going on?" he demanded of the priests peering around the door.

"This is... blasphemy!" said Hughnon Ridcully.

"Why? What has he painted?"

"It's not what he's painted, my lord. What he's painted is... is amazing. And he's finished it!"

Up on the mountain, as the blizzards closed in, there was a red glow in the snow. It was there all winter, and when the spring gales blew, the rubies glittered in the sunshine.

No one remembers the singer. The song remains.

THE END