"I don't know what the other future would have been like," said Ridcully, "but I for one would have liked to give it a try."

Granny paused. Her mind was crackling with relief. Should she tell him about the memories? She opened her mouth to do so, and then thought again. No. He'd get soppy.

"I'd have been crabby and bad-tempered," she said, instead.

"That goes without saying."

"Hah! And what about you? I'd have put up with all your womanizing and drunkenness, would I?"

Ridcully looked bewildered.

"What womanizing?"

"We're talking about what might have been."

"But I'm a wizard! We hardly ever womanize. There's laws about it. Well. . . rules. Guidelines, anyway."

"But you wouldn't have been a wizard then."

"And I'm hardly ever drunk."

"You would have been if you'd been wedded to me."

He caught up with her.

"Even young Ponder doesn't think like this," he said. "You've made up your mind that it would have been dreadful, have you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why'd you think?"

"I asked you!"

"I'm too busy for this," said Granny. "Like I said, personal ain't the same as important. Make yourself useful, Mr. Wizard. You know it's circle time, don't you?"

Ridcully's hand touched the brim of his hat.

"Oh, yes."

"And you know what that means?"

"They tell me it means that the walls between realities get weaker. The circles are . . . what's the word Stibbons uses? Isoresons. They connect levels of, oh, something daft . . . similar levels of reality. Which is bloody stupid. You'd be able to walk from one universe to another."

"Ever tried it?"

"No!"

"A circle is a door half open. It doesn't need much to open it up all the way. Even belief'll do it. That's why they put the Dancers up, years ago. We got the dwarfs to do it. Thunderbolt iron, those stones. There's something special about 'em. They've got the love of iron. Don't ask me how it works. Elves hate it even more than ordinary iron. It . . . upsets their senses, or something. But minds can get through. . ."

"Elves? Everyone knows elves don't exist anymore. Not proper elves. I mean, there's a few folk who say they're elves-"

"Oh, yeah. Elvish ancestry. Elves and humans breed all right, as if that's anything to be proud of. But you just get a race o'skinny types with pointy ears and a tendency to giggle and burn easily in sunshine. I ain't talking about them. There's no harm in them. I'm talking about real wild elves, what we ain't seen here for-"

The road from the bridge to the town curved between high banks, with the forest crowding in on either side and in places even meeting overhead. Thick ferns, already curling like green breakers, lined the clay banks.

They rustled.

The unicorn leapt on the road.

Thousands of universes, twisting together like a rope being plaited from threads . . .

There's bound to be leakages, a sort of mental equivalent of the channel breakthrough on a cheap hi-fi that gets you the news in Swedish during quiet bits in the music. Especially if you've spent your life using your mind as a receiver.

Picking up the thoughts of another human being is very hard, because no two minds are on the same, er, wavelength.

But somewhere out there, at the point where the parallel universes tangle, are a million minds just like yours. For a very obvious reason.

Granny Weatherwax smiled.

Millie Chillum and the king and one or two hangers-on were clustered around the door to Magrat's room when Nanny Ogg arrived.

"What's happening?"

"I know she's in there," said Verence, holding his crown in his hands in the famous At'-Senor-Mexican-Bandits-Have-Raided-Our-Village position. "Millie heard her shout go away and I think she threw something at the door."

Nanny Ogg nodded sagely.

"Wedding nerves," she said. "Bound to happen."

"But we're all going to attend the Entertainment," said Verence. "She really ought to attend the Entertainment."

"Well, I dunno," said Nanny. "Seeing our Jason and the rest of 'em prancing about in straw wigs . . . I mean, they mean well, but it's not something a young – a fairly young – girl has to see on the night before her nuptials. You asked her to unlock the door?"

"I did better than that," said Verence. "I instructed her to. That was right, wasn't it? If even Magrat won't obey me, I'm a poor lookout as king."

"Ah," said Nanny, after a moment's slow consideration. "You've not entirely spent a lot of time in female company, have you? In a generalized sort of way?"

"Well, I-"

The crown spun in Verence's nervous fingers. Not only had the bandits invaded the village, but the Magnificent Seven had decided to go bowling instead.

"Tell you what," said Nanny, patting him on the back,

"you go and preside over the Entertainment and hobnob with the other nobs. I'll see to Magrat, don't you worry. I've been a bride three times, and that's only the official score."

"Yes, but she should-"

"I think if we go easy on the 'shoulds,'" said Nanny, "we might all make it to the wedding. Now, off you all go."

"Someone ought to stay here," said Verence. "Shawn will be on guard, but-"

"No one's going to invade, are they?" said Nanny. "Let me sort this out."

"Well. . . if you're sure . . ."

"Go on!"

Nanny Ogg waited until she heard them go down the main staircase. After a while a rattle of coaches and general shouting suggested that the wedding party was leaving, minus the bride-to-be.

She counted to a hundred, under her breath.

Then:

"Magrat?"

"Go away!"

"I know how it is," said Nanny. "I was a bit worried on the night before my wedding." She refrained from adding:

because there was a reasonable chance Jason would turn up as an extra guest.

"I am not worried! I am angry!"

"Why?"

"You know!"

Nanny took off her hat and scratched her head.

"You've got me there," she said.

"And he knew. I know he knew, and I know who told him," said the muffled voice behind the door. "It was all arranged. You must all have been laughing!"

Nanny frowned at the impassive woodwork.

"Nope," she said. "Still all at sea this end."

"Well, I'm not saying anymore."

"Everyone's gone to the Entertainment," said Nanny Ogg.

No reply.

"And later they'll be back." A further absence of dialogue.

"Then there'll be carousing and jugglers and fellas that put weasels down their trousers," said Nanny. Silence.

"And then it'll be tomorrow, and then what're you going to do?"

Silence.

"You can always go back to your cottage. No one's moved in. Or you can stop along of me, if you like. But you'll have to decide, d'you see, because you can't stay locked in there."

Nanny leaned against the wall.

"I remember years ago my granny telling me about Queen Amonia, well, I say queen, but she never was queen except for about three hours because of what I'm about to unfold, on account of them playing hide-and-seek at the wedding party and her hiding in a big heavy old chest in some attic and the lid slamming shut and no one finding her for seven months, by which time you could definitely say the wedding cake was getting a bit stale."

Silence.

"Well, if you ain't telling me, I can't hang around all night," said Nanny. "It'll all be better in the morning, you'll see."

Silence.

"Why don't you have an early night?" said Nanny. "Our Shawn'll do you a hot drink if you ring down. It's a bit nippy out here, to tell you the truth. It's amazing how these old stone places hang on to the chill."