probably didn't apply here. Besides, he'd be unpopular with the other residents.
She concentrated.
When they were halfway down she heard the clock stop ticking. The last tick was long-drawn-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 Ankh-Morpork. 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.
Yknow, 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.
But a voice inside her said, You want to, though don't you …?
Ten seconds later, there was only the snow.
The raven turned to the Death of Rats.
‘Any idea where I can get some string?’
SQUEAK.
She was watched.
One said, Who is she?
One said, Do we remember that Death adopted a daughter? The young woman is her daughter.
One said, She is human?
One said, Mostly.
One said, Can she be killed?
One said, Oh, yes.
One said, Well, that's all right, then.
One said, Er… we don't think we're going to get into trouble over this, do we? All this is not exactly… authorized. We don't want questions asked.
One said, We have a duty to rid the universe of sloppy thinking.
One said, Everyone will be grateful when they find out.
Binky touched down lightly on Death's lawn.
Susan didn't bother with the front door but went round the back, which was never locked.
There had been changes. One significant change, at least.
There was a cat-flap in the door.
She stared at it.
After a second or two a ginger cat came through the flap, gave her an I'm-not-hungry-and-you're-not- interesting look, and padded off into the gardens.
Susan pushed open the door into the kitchen.
Cats of every size and colour covered every surface. Hundreds of eyes swivelled to watch her.
It was Mrs Gammage all over again, she thought. The old woman was a regular in Biers for the company and was quite gaga, and one of the symptoms of those going completely yoyo was that they broke out in chronic cats. Usually cats who'd mastered every detail of feline existence except the whereabouts of the dirt box.
Several of them had their noses in a bowl of cream.
Susan had never been able to see the attraction in cats. They were owned by the kind of people who liked puddings. There were actual people in the world whose idea of heaven would be a chocolate cat.
‘Push off, the lot of you,’ she said. ‘I've never known him have pets.’
The cats gave her a look to indicate that they were intending to go somewhere else in any case and strolled off, licking their chops.
The bowl slowly filled up again.
They were obviously living cats. Only life had colour here. Everything else was created by Death. Colour, along with plumbing and music, were arts that escaped the grasp of his genius.
She left them in the kitchen and wandered along to the study.
