Mort

'I fay!' shouted the knocker at his retreating back. 'I fay! Could you unftick me, boy?'

Mort tugged on Binky's reins so hard that the horse reared and danced crazily backwards across the cobbles, then reached out and grabbed the ring of the knocker. The gargoyle looked up into his face and suddenly felt like a very frightened doorknocker indeed. Mort's eyes glowed like crucibles, his expression was a furnace, his voice held enough heat to melt iron. It didn't know what he could do, but felt that it would prefer not to find out.

'What did you call me?' Mort hissed.

The doorknocker thought quickly. 'Fir?' it said.

'What did you ask me to do?'

'Unftick me?'

'I don't intend to.'

'Fine,' said the doorknocker, 'fine. That's okay by me. I'll just ftick around, then.'

It watched Mort canter off along the street and shuddered with relief, knocking itself gently in its nervousness.

'A naaaarrow sqeeeak,' said one of the hinges.

'Fut up!'

Mort passed night watchmen, whose job now appeared to consist of ringing bells and shouting the name of the Princess, but a little uncertainly, as if they had difficulty remembering it. He ignored them, because he was listening to voices inside his head which went:

She's only met you once, you fool. Why should she bother about you?

Yes, but I did save her life.

That means it belongs to her. Not to you. Besides, he's a wizard.

So what? Wizards aren't supposed to — to go out with girls, they're celebrate. . . .

Celebrate?

They're not supposed to, you know. . . .

What, never any you know at all? said the internal voice, and it sounded as if it was grinning.

It's supposed to be bad for the magic, thought Mort bitterly.

Funny place to keep magic.

Mort was shocked. Who are you? he demanded.

I'm you, Mort. Your inner self.

Well, I wish I'd get out of my head, it's quite crowded enough with me in here.

Fair enough, said the voice, I was only trying to help. But remember, if you ever need you, you're always around.

The voice faded away.

Well, thought Mort bitterly, that must have been me. I'm the only one that calls me Mort.

The shock of the realization quite obscured the fact that, while Mort had been locked into the monologue, he had ridden right through the gates of the palace. Of course, people rode through the gates of the palace every day, but most of them needed the things to be opened first.

The guards on the other side were rigid with fear, because they thought they had seen a