" Could be. Could be."

" I'd better be going," said Susan. "Miss Butts always checks the dorms on the stroke of midnight."

" How many dormitories are there?" said the raven.

" About thirty, I think."

" You believe she checks them all at midnight and you don't believe in the Hogfather?"

" I'd better be going anyway," said Susan. "Um. Thank you."

" Lock up behind you and chuck the key through the window," said the raven.

The room was silent after she'd gone, except for the crackle as coals settled in the furnace.

Then the skull said: "Kids today, eh?"

" I blame education," said the raven.

" A lot of knowledge is a dangerous thing ' said the skull. "A lot more dangerous than just a little. I always used to say that, when I was alive."

" When was that, exactly?"

" Can't remember. I think I was pretty knowledgeable. Probably a teacher or philosopher, something of that kidney. And now I'm on a bench with a bird crapping on my head."

" Very allegorical," said the raven.

No‑one had taught Susan about the power of belief, or at least about the power of belief in a combination of high magical potential and low reality stability such as existed on the Discworld.

Belief makes a hollow place. Something has to roll in to fill it.

Which is not to say that belief denies logic. For example, it's fairly obvious that the Sandman needs only a small sack.

On the Discworld, he doesn't bother to take the sand out first.

It was almost midnight.

Susan crept into the stables. She was one of those people who will not leave a mystery unsolved.

The ponies were silent in the presence of Binky. The horse glowed in the darkness.

Susan heaved a saddle down from the rack, and then thought better of it. If she was going to fall off, a saddle wouldn't be any help. And reins would be about as much use as a rudder on a rock.

She opened the door to the loose‑box. Most horses won't walk backwards voluntarily, because what they can't see doesn't exist. But Binky shuffled out by himself and walked over to the mounting block, where he turned and watched her expectantly.

Susan climbed on to his back. It was like sitting on a table.

" All right," she whispered. "I don't have to believe any of this, mind you."

Binky lowered his head and whinnied. Then he trotted out into the yard and headed for the field. At the gate he broke into a canter, and turned towards the fence.

Susan shut her eyes.

She felt muscles bunch under the velvet skin and then the horse was rising, over the fence, over the field.

Behind it, in the turf, two fiery hoofprints burned for a second or two.

As she passed above the school she saw a light flicker in a window. Miss Butts was on her rounds.

There's going to be trouble over this, Susan told herself.

And then she thought: I'm on the back of a horse a hundred feet up in the air, being taken somewhere mysterious that's a bit like a magic land with goblins and talking animals. There's only so much more trouble I could get into...

Besides, is riding a flying horse against school rules? I bet it's not written down anywhere.

Quirm vanished behind her, and the world opened up in a pattern of darkness and moonlight silver. A chequer‑board pattern of fields strobed by in the moonlight, with the occasional light of an isolated farm. Ragged clouds whipped past and away.

Away on her left the Ramtop Mountains were a cold white wall. On her right, the Rim Ocean carried a pathway to the moon. There was no wind, or even a great sensation of speed ‑ just the land flashing by, and the long slow strides of Binky.

And then someone spilled gold on the night. Clouds parted in front of her and there, spread below, was Ankh‑Morpork ‑ a city containing more Peril than even Miss Butts could imagine.

Torchlight outlined a pattern of streets in which Quirm would have not only been lost, but mugged and pushed into the river as well.

Binky cantered easily over the rooftops. Susan could hear the sounds of the streets, even individual voices, but there was also the great roar of the city, like some kind of insect hive. Upper windows drifted by, each one a glow of candlelight.

The horse dropped through the smoky air and landed neatly and at the trot in an alley which was otherwise empty except for a closed door and a sign with a torch over it.

Susan read:

CURRY GARDENS

Kitchren Entlance ‑ Keep Out. Ris Means You.

Binky seemed to be waiting for something. Susan had expected a more exotic destination.

She knew about curry. They had curry at school, under the name of Bogey and Rice. It was yellow. There were soggy raisins and peas in it.

Binky whinnied, and stamped a hoof.

A hatch in the door flew open. Susan got a brief impression of a face against the fiery atmosphere of the kitchen.

" Ooorrh, nooorrrh! Binkorrr!"

The hatch slammed shut again.

Obviously something was meant to happen.

She stared at a menu nailed to the wall. It was misspelled, of course, because the menu of the folkier kind of restaurant always has to have misspellings in it, so that customers can be lured into a false sense of superiority. She couldn't recognize the names of most of the dishes, which included:

Curry with Vegetable 8p

Curry with Sweat, and Sore Balls of Pig 10p

Curry with Sweer and Sour, Ball of Fish 10p

Curry with Meat 10p

Curry with Named Meat 15p

Extra Curry 5p

Porn cracker 4p

Eat It Here Or,

Take It Away

The hatch snapped open again and a large brown bag of allegedly but not really waterproof paper was dumped on the little ledge in front of it. Then the hatch slammed shut again.

Susan reached out carefully. The smell rising from the bag had a sort of thermic lance quality that warned against metal cutlery. But tea had been a long time ago.

She realized she didn't have any money on her. On the other hand, no‑one had asked her for any. But the world would go to wrack and ruin if people didn't recognize their responsibilities.

She leaned forward and knocked on the door.

" Excuse me... don't you want anything‑?"

There was shouting and a crash from inside, as if half a dozen people were fighting to get under the same table.

" Oh. How nice. Thank you. Thank you very much," said Susan, politely.

Binky walked away, slowly. This time there was no bunched leap of muscle power ‑ he trotted into the air carefully, as if some time in the past he'd been scolded for spilling something.

Susan tried the curry several hundred feet above the speeding landscape, and then threw it away as politely as possible.

" It was very... unusual," she said. "And that's it? You carried me all the way up here for takeaway food?"

The ground skimmed past faster, and it crept over her that the horse was going a lot faster now, a full gallop instead of the easy canter. A bunching of muscle...

... and then the sky ahead of her erupted blue for a moment.

Behind her, unseen because light was standing around red with embarrassment asking itself what had happened, a pair of hoofprints burned in the air for a moment.

It was a landscape, hanging in space.

There was a squat little house, with a garden around it. There were fields, and distant mountains. Susan stared at it as Binky slowed.

There was no depth. As the horse swung around for a landing, the landscape was revealed as a mere surface, a thin‑shaped film of... existence... imposed on nothingness.

She expected it to tear when the horse landed, but there was only a faint crunch and a scatter of gravel.