Susan stood by the fireplace.

     It  wasn't  as  though  she  disliked Death. Death considered as an individual rather than  life's  final curtain was someone she  couldn't help liking, in a strange kind of way.

     Even so ...

     The idea of the Grim Reaper filling the

     Hogswatch stockings of the world didn't fit well in her head, no matter which  way she twisted it. It was like  trying to imagine Old Man Trouble as the Tooth Fairy. Oh, yes. Old Man Trouble ... now there was a nasty one  for you...

     But honestly, what  kind of sick person went round creeping into little children's bedrooms all night?

     Well, the Hogfather, of course, but...

     There was  a little tinkling sound from  somewhere near the base of the Hogswatch tree.

     The raven backed away from the shards of one of the glittering balls.

     'Sorry,' it mumbled. 'Bit of a species reaction there.  You  know ... round, glittering sometimes you just gotta peck ...'

     'That chocolate money belongs to the children!'

     SQUEAK? said the Death of Rats, backing away from the shiny coins.

     'Why's he doing this?'

SQUEAK.

     'You don't know either?'

SQUEAK.

     'Is there some  kind of  trouble?  Did he  do  something  to  the  real

Hogfather?'

SQUEAK.

     'Why won't he tell me?'

SQUEAK.

     'Thank you. You've been very helpful.'

     Something  ripped, behind her. She  turned and saw  the raven carefully removing a strip of red wrapping paper from a package.

     'Stop that this minute!'

     It looked up guiltily.

     'It's only a little bit,' it said. 'No one's going to miss it.'

     'What do you want it for, anyway?'

     'We're attracted to bright colours, right? Automatic reaction.'

     'That's jackdaws!'

     'Damn. Is it?'

     The Death of Rats nodded. SQUEAK.

     'Oh, so suddenly you're Mr Ornithologist, are you?' snapped the raven.

     Susan sat down and held out her hand.

     The  Death of Rats leapt onto it. She  could feel its claws,  like tiny pins.

     It was just  like those scenes where the sweet and pretty heroine sings a little duet with Mr Bluebird.

     Similar, anyway.

     In general outline, at least. But with more of a PG rating.

     'Has he gone funny in the head?'

     SQUEAK. The rat shrugged.

     'But it could happen, couldn't it? He's very old, and I suppose he sees a lot of terrible things.'

SQUEAK.

     'All the trouble in the world,' the raven translated.

     'I  understood,'  said  Susan.  That  was  a  talent, too.  She  didn't understand what the rat said. She just understood what it meant.

     'There's something wrong and he won't tell me?' said Susan.

     That made her even more angry.

     'But Albert is in on it too,' she added.

     She thought:  thousands, millions of years in the same job.  Not a nice one. It isn't always cheerful old men passing away at a great age. Sooner or later, it was bound to get anyone down.

     Someone had  to  do  something.  It  was  like that  time  when Twyla's grandmother had started telling  everyone that  she was the Empress of Krull and had stopped wearing clothes.

     And Susan was bright enough to know that the phrase  'Someone ought  to do something'  was not,  by itself,  a helpful one. People who used it never added the rider 'and that someone is me'. But someone ought to do something, and right now the whole pool of someones consisted of her, and no one else.      Twyla's grandmother had ended up  in a nursing home overlooking the sea at Quirm. That sort of option probably didn't apply  here. Besides, he'd  be unpopular with the other residents.

     She concentrated. This was the  simplest  talent of  them all. She  was amazed that other people couldn't do it. She shut her eyes, placed her hands palm down in front of her at shoulder height, spread her fingers and lowered her hands.

     When they were halfway down  she heard the clock stop ticking. The last tick was longdrawn-out, like a death rattle.

     Time stopped.

     But duration continued.

     She'd  always  wondered,  when  she  was   small,  why  visits  to  her grandfather could  go on  for days and yet, when they got back, the calendar was still plodding along as if they'd never been away.

     Now she  knew  the why,  although probably no human being would ever really understand the how. Sometimes, somewhere, somehow, the numbers on the clock did not count.

     Between every rational moment were a billion irrational ones. Somewhere behind  the  hours there was  a  place where  the  Hogfather rode, the tooth fairies  climbed their ladders, jack Frost drew his pictures, the  Soul Cake Duck  laid her  chocolate eggs. In  the  endless spaces between  the  clumsy seconds Death moved like  a  witch dancing  through raindrops, never getting wet.

     Humans could liv...  No, humans couldn't live here, no, because even when you  diluted a glass of wine with a  bathful of  water you  might  have more liquid but you still have the same amount of wine. A  rubber  band was still the same rubber band no matter how far it was stretched.

     Humans could exist here, though.

     It  was never too cold, although the air did prickle like winter air on a sunny day. But out of human habit Susan got her cloak out of the closet.

SQUEAK.

     'Haven't you got some mice and rats to see to, then?'

     'Nah, 's pretty quiet just before Hogswatch,' said  the raven, who  was trying  to fold the  red paper between his claws. 'You get a lot  of gerbils and hamsters and that in a few days, mind. When the kids forget to feed them or try to find out what makes them go.'

     Of course, she'd be leaving the children. But  it wasn't as if anything could happen to them. There wasn't any time for it to happen to them in.

     She hurried down the stairs and let herself out of the front door.

     Snow hung in  the air. It was not a poetic description. It hovered like the  stars.  When  flakes  touched Susan they  melted  with  little electric flashes.

     There was  a  lot of traffic  in the street, but  it was fossilized  in Time. She walked  carefully between it until she reached the entrance to the park.

     The snow had done what  even wizards and the Watch  couldn't do,  which was clean up AnkhMorpork. It hadn't  had time to get  dirty. In  the morning it'd probably look as  though the city had been covered in  coffee meringue, but for now it mounded the bushes and trees in pure white.

     There was no noise. The  curtains of  snow shut out the  city lights. A few yards into the park and she might as well be in the country.

     She stuck her fingers into her mouth and whistled.

     Y'know, that could've been done with a bit more ceremony,' said the raven, who'd perched on a snowencrusted twig.

     'Shut up.'

     ' 's good, though. Better than most women could do.'

     'Shut up.'

     They waited.

     'Why  have  you  stolen that  piece of red  paper from a  little girl's present?' said Susan.

     'I've got plans,' said the raven darkly.

     They waited again.

     She wondered what would  happen if it didn't work. She  wondered if the rat would snigger. It had the most annoying snigger in the world.

     Then  there  were hoofbeats and  the  floating snow burst open  and the horse was there.

     Binky trotted round in a circle, and then stood and steamed.

     He wasn't saddled. Death's horse didn't let you fall.

     If I get  on, Susan thought, it'll all start again.  I'll be out of the light and into the world beyond this one. I'll fall off the tightrope.