“What are sardines?” asked Mogget suspiciously. “And why is there a key? Is this some sort of Abhorsen joke?”

In answer Sam tore the key off and slowly unwound the top of the tin. The rich smell of sardines spilled out. Mogget watched the procedure avidly, his eyes never leaving the tin. When Sam put it down, narrowly avoiding cutting himself as the truck went over a series of bumps, Mogget sniffed the sardines cautiously.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“You like fish,” said Sam. “Besides, I said I would.”

Mogget tore his gaze away from the sardines and looked at Sam. His eyes narrowed, but he saw no sign of guile in Sam’s face. The little cat shook his head and then ate the sardines in a flash, leaving the tin spotless and empty.

Lirael and the Dog glanced at this exhibition of gluttony, but both were more interested in what was going on outside and behind them. Lirael pushed aside the canvas flap and they looked past the three following trucks. Lirael could sense the second, much larger group of Dead and Shadow Hands that was advancing along the road. The Shadow Hands, which were both more powerful than the Dead Hands and unconstrained by flesh, were moving very swiftly, some of them leaping and gliding like enormous bats ahead of the main body of their shambling, corpse-dwelling brethren. They would undoubtedly wreak great trouble somewhere, but she could not spare them any further thought. The greater danger lay to the west, and already a little south, where lightning played on the horizon. Lirael noticed that the other, artificial thunder from the Ancelstierran artillery had ceased some time before, but she had been too busy to hear it stop.

“Dog,” whispered Lirael. She drew the Dog closer and hugged her about the neck. “Dog. What if we’re too late to destroy the Lightning Farm? What if the hemispheres join?”

The Dog didn’t say anything. She snuffled at Lirael’s ear instead and thumped her tail on the truck floor.

“I have to go into Death, don’t I?” whispered Lirael. “To use the Dark Mirror and find out how It was bound in the Beginning.”

Still the Dog didn’t speak.

“Will you come with me?” asked Lirael, her whisper so low no human could have heard it.

“Yes,” said the Dog. “Wherever you walk, I will be there.”

“When should we go?” asked Lirael.

“Not yet,” muttered the Dog. “Not until there is no other choice. Perhaps we will still reach the Lightning Farm before Hedge.”

“I hope so,” said Lirael. She hugged the Dog again, then let her go and settled back on to her own pack. Sam was already asleep on the opposite side of the truck, with Mogget curled up against him, the empty sardine tin sliding about on the wooden floor of the truck. Lirael picked it up, wrinkled her nose and wedged it into a corner where it wouldn’t rattle.

“I will keep watch,” said the Disreputable Dog. “You should sleep, Mistress. There are still several hours before the dawn and you will need all your strength.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” said Lirael quietly. But she leant back on her pack and closed her eyes. Her whole body felt edgy, and if she had been able to, she would have got up and practised with her sword, or done something to try to drain the feeling off with exercise. But there was nothing she could do in the back of a moving vehicle. Except lie there and worry about what lay ahead. So she did that, and surprisingly soon crossed the line between wakeful worrying and troubled sleep.

The Dog lay with her head on her paws and watched Lirael toss and turn, and mumble in her sleep. Beneath them, the truck rattled and vibrated, the roar of the engine going up and down as the vehicle negotiated bends and rises and falls in the road.

After an hour or so, Mogget opened one eye. He saw the Dog watching and quickly shut it again. The Dog quietly got up and stalked over, pushing her snout down right against Mogget’s little pink nose.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t take you by the scruff of your neck and throw you off right now,” whispered the Dog.

Mogget opened one untroubled eye again.

“I’d only run behind,” he whispered back. “Besides, she gave me the benefit of the doubt. Can you do anything less?”

“I am not so charitable,” said the Dog, showing her teeth. “Let me remind you that should you turn, I will make it my business to see that you are ended for it.”

“Will you?” purred Mogget, opening his other eye. “What if you can’t?”

The Dog growled, low and menacing. It was enough to wake Sam, who blinked and reached for his sword.

“What is it?” he asked sleepily.

“Nothing,” said the Dog. She turned back to Lirael and plonked herself down with a frustrated sigh. “Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.”

Mogget smiled and shook his head, the miniature Ranna tinkling. Sam yawned mightily at the sound and slipped back against his pack, asleep again in an instant.

Nicholas Sayre swam into wakefulness like a fish rising to a fly. A slow ascent that left him gasping and confused, flopping about like that same fish fresh caught on the shores of a loch – which was where he was. He sat up and looked around. Some part of his mind was comforted by the fact that he was in a twilight world made by the storm clouds above him and that lightning was crackling down less than fifty yards away. He was less interested in the pallid half sun in the east, just rising above the ridge.

Nicholas was lying on a pile of straw next to a hut, off to one side of what had once been an active wharf. Twenty yards away Hedge’s men swore and cursed as they wrestled with sheerlegs, ropes and pulleys to swing one of the silver hemispheres ashore from a small coastal trader. Another coaster stood off the wharf, several hundred yards into the loch, carefully positioned not to get close enough for the hemispheres to work their violent repulsion on each other.

Nicholas smiled. They were at Forwin Mill. He couldn’t remember how they had done it, but they had got the hemispheres across the Wall. The Lightning Farm was ready, and all they had to do was join the hemispheres and everything would fall into place.

Thunder cracked and someone screamed. A man fell away from the boat, his skin blackened and hair on fire. He lay on the dock, writhing and groaning till one of the other men stepped down and quickly cut his throat. Nick watched it all happen quite calmly. It was just the price of dealing with the hemispheres, and they were all that mattered.

Slowly, Nick got up, first to all fours and then fully upright. It was hard work and he had to clutch at the broken drainpipe of the hut for a while, till the dizziness passed. But slowly he grew steadier. Another man died as he stood there, but Nick didn’t even notice. He had eyes only for the sheen of the hemispheres and the progression of the work. Soon the first hemisphere would be ready to be shifted into the ruined shell of the timber mill. It would be loaded into a special cradle mounted on a waiting railway wagon, one of two on the same short stretch of track.

At least that was what Nicholas had ordered. It occurred to him that he hadn’t actually inspected the Lightning Farm. He had drawn the plans and paid for its construction before leaving for the Old Kingdom. That seemed like a very long time ago. He had never seen the Lightning Farm in actuality. Only in paper plans and in his troubled dreams.

He was still weak from the illness he’d picked up across the Wall, too weak to easily walk around. He needed a stick or a crutch. There was a stretcher nearby, a simple thing of canvas and wood. Perhaps he could pull out one of the poles and use that as a staff, Nick thought. Very slowly and with infinite care, he walked over to the stretcher, cursing his weakness as he nearly fell. He knelt down and removed the pole, dragging it out of the canvas loops. It was easily eight feet long, and a bit heavy, but it would be better than nothing.