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’
Yes
,
’
said
Mort
,
bitterly
.
’
At
least
I
did
that
.
’
Nearly
all
the
way
from
one
side
of
the
Disc
to
the
other
.
.
.
.
There
should
be
a
word
for
the
microscopic
spark
of
hope
that
you
dare
not
entertain
in
case
the
mere
act
of
acknowledging
it
will
cause
it
to
vanish
,
like
trying
to
look
at
a
photon
.
You
can
only
sidle
up
to
it
,
looking
past
it
,
walking
past
it
,
waiting
for
it
to
get
big
enough
to
face
the
world
.
He
raised
his
dripping
head
and
looked
towards
the
sunset
horizon
,
trying
to
remember
the
big
model
of
the
Disc
in
Death
’
s
study
without
actually
letting
the
universe
know
what
he
was
entertaining
.
At
times
like
this
it
can
seem
that
eventuality
is
so
finely
balanced
that
merely
thinking
too
loud
can
spoil
everything
.
He
orientated
himself
by
the
thin
streamers
of
Hublight
dancing
against
the
stars
,
and
made
an
inspired
guess
that
Sto
Lat
was
.
.
.
over
there
.
.
.
.
’
Midnight
,
’
he
said
aloud
.
’
Gone
midnight
now
,
’
said
Ysabell
.
Mort
stood
up
,
trying
not
to
let
the
delight
radiate
out
from
him
like
a
beacon
,
and
grabbed
Binky
’
s
harness
.
’
Come
on
,
’
he
said
.
’
We
haven
’
t
got
much
time
.
’
