Meg snorted into her wine.

'What's the matter?'

'Can anyone play?'

'I'll ignore that-and ninety-eight point eight kilometres per hour at six hundred kilometres per second relative to the cosmic background of this universe, as opposed to any others that may exist, which-'

'Are you being serious?'

'I am. I would argue it's more than likely-which appears to be expanding currently at eighty kilometres per second per Megapasec; a Megapasec, of course, being three point two six million light years.'

'Of course. How could I be so ignorant? It's common knowledge.' She kept her face straight. 'But which way is Up?'

'These figures are approximate, it goes without saying, and could change, and there are smaller perturbations and turbulations, which we needn't take into account, but they show that your pebble is not in stasis. I think I did that rather well.' Colin plumped down on a chair at the table. 'Don't you? And I'm not even dizzy.'

'I am. I need another drink,' said Meg. 'My brains hurt.'

'Montlouis or Chateau de Malle?'

'Whatever. Oh, Colin, you really are a tonic! You're too much! You're absurd!' She was spluttering. So was he.

'In short,' said Colin, as he poured, 'if something can happen, it will happen, somehow, somewhere, sometime; though "how", "where" and "when" are dubious words to use in this context, where even time can run backwards.'

'It can?'

'It does. All that's lacking is the clincher proof. But here, on the Edge, is as good a "where" as any. The theory's obvious. We may end at the start. But we may never find an answer, because our brains aren't up to it.'

'I'm not so sure mine is, at any rate,' said Meg.

'And why should it be?' said Colin. 'We're savannah apes. That's where our brains are at. Why should they need to be equipped to solve the most difficult problems the cosmos may throw at us? Isn't it likely that there are areas as far beyond our comprehension as the theory of relativity is beyond that of an amoeba?'

'Foolish me. Not to think of that.'

'Take tachyons-'

'Oh, I do. Every morning, as regular as clockwork. With my muesli.'

'But it's not so much deep s.p.a.ce that concerns me as deep place. Once place is lost, you fall into history.'

'And there's no way out?'

'There's no way out.'

'Mm.'

Colin grinned through the red daub on his face. 'I do hope I haven't ruined your evening. There can be few more dispiriting experiences than being the recipient of detailed but entirely superfluous explanation.'

'Colin, love, you've made my evening,' said Meg. 'And topped it. Strewth. Is it any wonder you're you?' Colin raised his gla.s.s. 'But I think I ought to be getting off home now. A girl must work, you know, and I don't want to overstay what's been a great night out. Thank you.'

'Don't mention it. But would you like some coffee or tea before you go?'

'Coffee would be perfect.'

Colin ground the coffee and they drank it by the fire. They said little, but they laughed.

'That's more like it,' said Meg. 'That's the first time I've seen you look even approaching happy.'

'I'm feeling very happy,' said Colin. 'And a bit frivolous.'

'Then that makes two of us. Now I really must be off.'

'Thank you for coming, Meg,' said Colin. He took her hand in both of his. 'I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed it all: your company, the talk, the friendship; the fellowship. They mean a lot to me.'

'And to me, Colin.'

'May I get you a taxi?'

'No need,' said Meg. 'Bert's outside.'

She would come. She would. She would come soon.

Colin washed up from the meal. Through the window the side of the quarry was green with morning drizzle. He whistled as he dried and polished the gla.s.ses.

'The wind, the wind, the wind blows high.

The rain comes pattering down the sky.

She is handsome, she is pretty-'

He put on his head torch, collected the bottles he had not opened, and took them to the adit. He unlocked the iron gate and stepped up into the tunnel. 'The wind, the wind, the wind blows high-' He laid each bottle back in its place. '-She has lovers, one, two, three. Pray can you tell me who is she? Who is she? Who is she?'

Dill doule.

He stopped.

Dill doule. Dill doule.

He looked towards the entrance. The silhouette of a woman was at the step. She was tall and slim, her hair straight to her shoulders. She seemed not to be wearing a coat, and her skirt was knee-length.

'h.e.l.lo there,' said Colin. 'It's only me. Come in. Come in. Don't stand out in the wet.'

She moved forward to the goblin gold.

'Can you see?'

She did not stop.

'Watch yourself on the wine racks. Wait a moment. I'm coming. I'll be right with you.'

She was beyond the goblin gold and her shape began to block the daylight.

'Wait. The floor's a bit uneven. I'm coming.'

The figure did not stop. There was no reply.

'You'll trip if you're not careful. Stay there.'

A flickering white shone from the quartz pebbles in the wall and roof and outlined her, but it did not show her face. The light stayed with her and died behind her, keeping only to her shape, and she made no noise.

'Who are you?' There was no depth in the figure. It had no features. His torch lit a solid shadow. Colin groped backwards. The figure came on. 'Stop.' He felt the end of the adit against his shoulder. 'Who are you?' She came on. But instead of being larger, the shadow shape was less with every step, shrinking yet keeping its limned form. 'No. Stop. Go away. Go away. I don't want you. Go. Away!-'

It was now the size of a girl, and near.

Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule.

She would reach him. She would touch him. Her small arms lifted.

'No!'

Colin pulled a full rack of wine across from the wall, and the bottles fell, smashing in rainbows, fragments lancing his mind. He roared. He screamed. The howl tore his chest, and he ran for the daylight down the adit, over the broken gla.s.s.

He slammed the hut door behind him and bolted it. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the telephone. 'Yes, Colin.' The connection was open.

'Help.'

'Stay where you are. I'll raise Bert. He'll be with you as soon as he can. Stay where you are.' The connection went dead.

Colin looked from the window. The quarry was empty. The adit was blank. He unfastened the door and made for the quarry entrance, walking quickly, watching behind him.

'h.e.l.lo, Col. You shouldn't have done that. You really shouldn't have done that. You know what happens when men look back. I told you. I did.'

The voice was all about him. He was between the dishes.

'You!' He ran to the focus. He whispered. 'Is it you?'

'Oh, Col. Who else were you expecting? I told you. I did tell you. Didn't I? I told you she'd get you. And this time I couldn't stop her. You say you don't want me now. You say go away. And you let her paint your face. Silly boy. Naughty. Need a smack. You've still got some of that red stuff in your beard. Never mind. Shall I sing you a song? I'll sing you a song.'

'Wait. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you.'

'Oh yes you did. Too late. Listen. Such a pretty song. Isn't it a pretty song?'

'Please.'

'Dill doule for Colin. Colin is dead and gone.'

'What?'

'Left his life all alone, all his work undone.'

'No.'

'Dill doule. Dill doule.'

'Please.'

'Where shall we bury him? Carry him to Ludchurch.

By his grandfathers' cave grows holly, grows the birch.

Dill doule. Dill doule.'

'Stop.'

'Make the cave wide and deep. Strew it with flowers.

Toll the bell, toll the bell, twenty-four hours.

Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule.'

'No.'

'Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule.'

He ran to the other dish and put his ear at the focus.

'Dill doule. Dill doule. Dill doule.'

He ran between.

'Dill doule. Dill doule.'

He ran out of the ambient line. Silence.

Colin faced the adit. The thick liquid had reached the step and was trickling from the opening into the quarry. The Edge was bleeding more than had been spilt. It welled over the lip and surged and slopped.

Colin ran. He ran out of the quarry onto the track and to the road. A car was turning in and he fell across the bonnet.

'Eh up, our Colin,' said Bert. 'Well I never. You're a sight for sore eyes. You are that. Let's be having you. Not much of a day, is it? I could make better weather meself.'

The wild weathers of the world pa.s.sed and the day lengthened in the bidding sun. But the woman did not come. Soon the clonter of the river would start and she could not cross. He hewed a holly branch to hold him and trimmed it and took the last of the food, and set out over the ice to fetch her.

He climbed towards the Tor of Ghosts from where he could see all the world that was.

He met spirits on the high fell; wolves, too, and bulls and bears and boars; but the way was longer than before and the land shifted under him, and the light around. He saw things that he could not tell: things that wound their tails round knolls, and the knars were big men that were not there. He dreamed horrors as he walked.

And the wind grew worse. Each hill had a hood, a huge hackle of mist, and the cold clear rain that shed from the clouds was ice when it hit. He should have been dead of the sleet; but Ludcruck held. The clamour of the cranes and the beasts reached out and kept him for this journey.

So. It was the morning when he woke and left the hole where he had slept and he followed a clough into a wood with banks on each side and the tangled trees were hung with skins of moss and on the twigs birds cried for pain of the cold. But it was shelter from the wind as he climbed, until he came out on a moor and the white snow lay beside. The sky was red, and the sun shone on the Tor of Ghosts above him.