The Fourth Gate was another waterfall, but it was not cloaked in mist. At first sight it looked like an easy drop of only two or three feet, and the river appeared to keep on flowing after it.

Lirael knew better, from The Book of the Dead. She stopped a good ten feet back and spoke the spell that would let her pass. Slowly, a dark ribbon began to roll out from the edge of the waterfall, floating in the air above the water below. Only three feet wide, it seemed to be made of night – a night without stars. It stretched out horizontally from the top of the waterfall into a distance Lirael couldn’t make out.

She stepped on to the path, moved her feet a little to get a better balance, and began to walk. This narrow way was not only the path through the Fourth Gate, it was also the sole means of crossing the Fifth Precinct. The river was deep here, too deep to wade, and the water had a strong metamorphic effect. A necromancer who spent any time in its waters would find both spirit and body altered, and not for the better. Any Dead spirit who managed to wade back this way would not resemble its once living form.

Even crossing the precinct by means of the dark path was dangerous. Besides being narrow, it was also the favoured means for the Greater Dead or Free Magic beings to cross the Fifth Precinct themselves – going the other way, towards Life. They would wait for a necromancer to create the path, then rush down it, hoping to overcome the pathmaker with a sudden, vicious attack.

Lirael knew that, but even so, it was only the Dog’s quick bark that warned her as something came ravening down the path ahead, seemingly out of nowhere. Once human, its long sojourn in Death had transformed it into something hideous and frightening. It scuttled forward on its arms as well as legs, moving all too like a spider. Its body was fat and bulbous, and its neck jointed so it could look straight ahead even when on all fours.

Lirael only had an instant to thrust her sword forward as it attacked, the point piercing one blobby cheek, bursting out the back of its neck. But it still pushed on, despite the blaze of white sparks that fountained everywhere as Charter Magic ate into its spirit flesh. It thrust itself almost up to the hilt, red fire eyes focused on Lirael, its too-wide mouth drooling spit and hissing.

Lirael kicked at it to try to get it off her sword and rang Saraneth at the same time. But she was unbalanced and the bell didn’t ring true. A discordant note echoed out into Death, and instead of feeling her will concentrated on the Dead thing and the beginnings of domination, Lirael felt distracted. Her mind wandered and for an instant she forgot what she was doing.

A second or a minute later she realised it and a shock ran through her, fear electrifying every nerve in her body. She looked and the Dead creature was almost off her sword, ready to attack again.

“Still the bell!” barked the Dog, as she made herself smaller and tried to get between Lirael’s legs to attack the creature. “Still the bell!”

“What?” exclaimed Lirael; then the shock and the fear ran through her again as she felt her hand still ringing Saraneth, without her being aware of it. Panicked, she forced it to be still. The bell sounded once more and then was silent as she fumbled it back into its pouch.

But once again she was distracted – and in that moment the creature attacked. This time it leapt at her, planning to crush her completely beneath its ghastly, pallid bulk. But the Dog saw the monster tense and guessed its intention. Instead of slipping between Lirael’s legs, she threw herself forward and planted two heavy forepaws on Lirael’s back.

The next thing Lirael knew, she was on her knees and the creature was flying over her. One barbed finger grasped a lock of her hair as it passed, tearing it out by the roots. Lirael hardly noticed, as she frantically turned herself around on the narrow path and stood up. All her confidence was gone and she didn’t trust her balance, so it wasn’t a fast manoeuvre.

But when she turned, the creature was gone. Only the Dog remained. A huge Dog, the hair on her back up like a boar-bristle hairbrush, red fire dripping from teeth the size of Lirael’s fingers. There was a madness in her eyes as she looked back at her mistress.

“Dog?” whispered Lirael. She’d never feared her friend before, but then she’d never walked this far into Death, either. Anything could happen here, she felt. Anyone and... anything could change.

The Dog shook herself and grew smaller, and the madness in her eyes subsided. Her tail began to wag, and she worried the base of it for a second before walking up to lick Lirael’s open hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “I got angry.”

“Where did it go?” asked Lirael, looking around. There was nothing on the path as far as she could see, and nothing in the river below them. She didn’t think she’d heard a splash. Had she? Her mind was addled, still resonating with the discord of Saraneth.

“Down,” replied the Dog, gesturing with her head. “We’d best hurry. You should draw a bell, too. Perhaps Ranna. She is more forgiving here.”

Lirael knelt and touched noses with the Dog.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” she said, kissing her on the snout.

“I know, I know,” replied the Dog distractedly, her ears twitching around in a semicircular motion. “Can you hear something?”

“No,” replied Lirael. She stood up to listen and her hand automatically freed Ranna from the bandoleer. “Can you?”

“I thought someone... something was following before,” said the Dog. “Now I’m certain. Something is coming up behind us. Something powerful, moving fast.”

“Hedge!” exclaimed Lirael, forgetting about the crisis of confidence in her balance as she turned and hurried along the path. “Or could it be Mogget again?”

“I do not think it is Mogget,” said the Dog with a frown. She stopped to look back for a moment, her ears pricked forward. Then she shook her head. “Whoever it is... or whatever... we should try to leave it behind.”

Lirael nodded as she walked and took a firmer grip on both bell and sword. Whatever they met next, from in front or behind, she was determined not to be surprised.

chapter twenty - two

junction boxes and

southerlings

The fog had hidden the quay and was drifting inexorably up the slope. Nick watched it roll and watched the lightning that shot through it. Unpleasantly, it made him think of luminous veins in partly transparent flesh. Not that there was anything living that had flesh like that...

There was something he had to do, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He knew the hemispheres were not far away, through the fog. Part of him wanted to go over to them and oversee the final joining. But there was another, rebellious self that wanted exactly the opposite, to stop the hemispheres from joining by whatever means possible. They were like two whispering voices inside his head, both so strident that they mixed and became unintelligible.

“Nick! What have they done to you?”

For a moment Nick thought this was a third voice, also inside his head. But as it repeated the same words, he realised it wasn’t.

Laboriously, Nick staggered around. At first he couldn’t see anything through the fog. Then he spotted a face peering out from behind the corner of the nearest shed. It took a few seconds for him to work out who it was. His friend from the University of Corvere. Timothy Wallach, the slightly older student who he’d hired to oversee the construction of the Lightning Farm. Usually Tim was a debonair and somewhat languid individual, who was always impeccably dressed.

Tim didn’t look like that now. His face was pale and dirty, his shirt had lost its collar, and there was mud all over his shoes and trousers. Crouched down behind the hut, he constantly shook, as if he had a fever or was scared out of his mind.