Mort p183

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 oriented 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.”

“What are you talking about?”

Mort reached down to swing her up behind him. It was a nice idea, but merely meant that he nearly pulled himself out of the saddle. She pushed him back gently and climbed up by herself. Binky skittered sideways, sensing Mort’s feverish excitement, and snorted and pawed at the sand.

“I said, what are you talking about?”

Mort turned the horse to face the distant glow of the sunset.

“The speed of night,” he said.

***

Mort p183