He pulled it out from under the carpet, turned up the lamp, and began to read.

He'd be the first to admit that he wasn't any good at mechanical things. He gave up quickly on the bits about pivots, octiron pendulums, and air being compressed in bellows.

He homed in again on the paragraph that said: 'If, then, disturbances in the fabric of reality cause ripples to spread out from the epicentre, then the pendulum will tilt, compress the air in the relevant bellows, and cause the ornamental elephant closest to the epicentre to release a small lead ball into a cup. And thus the direction of the disturbance?'

. . . whumm . . . whumm . . .

He could hear it even up here. They'd just heaped more sandbags around it. No-one dared move it now. The Bursar tried to concentrate on his reading.

'-can be estimated by the number and force?'

. . .whumm . . . whummWHUMMWHUMM.

The Bursar found himself holding his breath.

'-of the expelled pellets, which I estimate in serious disturbances?'

Plib.

'-may well exceed two pellets?'

Plib.

'-expelled several inches?'

Plib.

'-during the?'

Plib.

'-course?'

Plib.

'-of?'

Plib.

'-one?'

Plib.

'-month,

Plib.

Gaspode woke up and quickly hauled himself into what he hoped looked like an alert position.

Someone was shouting, but politely, as if they wanted to be helped but only if it wouldn't be too much trouble.

He trotted up the steps. The door was ajar. He pushed it open with his head.

Victor was lying on his back, tied to a chair. Gaspode sat down and watched him intently, in case he was about to do something interesting.

'All right, are we?' he said, after a while.

'Don't just sit there, idiot! Untie these knots,' said Victor.

'Idiot I may be, but tied up I ain't,' said Gaspode evenly. 'Got the jump on you, did she?'

'I must have nodded off for a moment,.' said Victor.

'Long enough for her to get up, rip up a sheet, and tie you to the chair,' said Gaspode.

'Yes, all right, all right. Can't you gnaw through it, or something?'

'With these teeth? I could fetch someone, though,' said Gaspode, and grinned.

'Er, I'm not sure that's a very good?'

'Don't worry. I'll be right back,' said Gaspode, and padded out.

'It might be a bit difficult to explain?' Victor called after him, but the dog was down the stairs and ambling along through the maze of backlots and alleys to the rear of Century of the Fruitbat.

He shuffled up to the high fence. There was the gentle clink of a chain.

'Laddie?' he whispered hoarsely.

There was a delighted bark.

'Good boy Laddie!'

'Yeah,' said Gaspode. 'Yeah.' He sighed. Had he ever been like that? If he had, thank goodness he hadn't known about it.

'Me good boy!'

'Sure, sure. Laddie be quiet,' muttered Gaspode, and squeezed his arthritic body under the fence. Laddie licked his face as he emerged.

'I'm too old for this sort of stuff,' he muttered, and peered at the kennel.

'A choke chain,' he said. 'A bloody choke chain. Stop pulling on it, you daft idiot. Back up. Back up. Right.'

Gaspode shoved a paw into the loop and eased it over Laddie's head.

'There,' he said. 'If we all knew how to do that, we'd be runnin' the world. Now stop kiddin' around. We need you.'

Laddie sprang to tongue-lolling attention. If dogs could salute, he would have done.

Gaspode wriggled under the fence again, and waited. He could hear Laddie's footsteps the other side, but the big dog seemed to be padding away from the fence.

'No!' hissed Gaspode. 'Follow me!'

There was a scurry of paws, a swishing noise, and Laddie cleared the high fence and did a four-point landing in front of him.

Gaspode unpeeled his tongue from the back of his throat.

'Good boy,' he muttered. 'Good boy.'

Victor sat up, rubbing his head.

'I caught myself aright crack when the chair fell backwards,' he said.

Laddie sat looking expectantly, with the remains of the sheet in his mouth.

'What's he waiting for?' said Victor.

'You've got to tell him he's a good boy,' sighed Gaspode.

'Doesn't he expect some meat or a sweet or something?'

Gaspode shook his head. 'Jus' tell him what a good boy he is. It's better'n hard currency, for dogs.'

'Oh? Well, then: good boy, Laddie.'

Laddie bounced up and down excitedly. Gaspode swore under his breath.

'Sorry about this,' he said. 'Pathetic, isn't it?'

'Good boy, find Ginger,' said Victor.

'Look, I can do that,' said Gaspode desperately, as Laddie started snuffling at the floor. 'We all know where she's headed. You don't have to go and?'

Laddie dashed out of the door, but gracefully. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and gave an eager, follow-me bark.

'Pathetic,' said Gaspode, miserably.

The stars always seemed to shine more brightly over Holy Wood. Of course, the air was clearer than Ankh, and there wasn't much smoke, but even so . . . they were somehow bigger, too, and closer, as if the sky was a vast lens.

Laddie streaked over the dunes; pausing occasionally for Victor to catch up. Gaspode followed on some way behind, rolling from side to side and wheezing.

The trail led to the hollow, which was empty.

The door was open about a foot. Scuffed sand around it indicated that, whatever may or may not have come out, Ginger had gone in.

Victor stared at it.

Laddie sat by the door, staring hopefully at Victor.

'He's waitin',' said Gaspode.

'What for?' said Victor apprehensively.

Gaspode groaned. 'What do you think?' he said.

'Oh. Yes. There's a good boy, Laddie.'

Laddie yapped and tried to turn a somersault.

'What do we do next?' said Victor. 'I suppose we go in, do we?'

'Could be,' said Gaspode.

'Er. Or we could wait till she comes out. The fact is, I've never been very happy about darkness,' said Victor.

'I mean, night-time is OK, but pitch darkness?'

'I bet Cohen the Barbarian isn't afraid of the dark,' said Gaspode.

'Well, yes?'

'And the Black Shadow of the Desert, he's not afraid of the dark either.'

'OK, but?'

'And Howondaland Smith, Balgrog Hunter, practic'ly eats the dark for his tea,' said Gaspode.

'Yes, but I'm not those people!' wailed Victor.