Alice had had a frustrating morning. Early enthusiasm had been replaced with a feeling of will this dratted thin drizzle never stop? At least the mist was clearing and she could see in front of her: she'd had to abandon the idea of going up to the Dancers straight away because of the weather, and instead had settled on a fall-back plan, to investigate what Birdwhistle described as a singular monolith, standing where three paths cross. Then there had been some self-evident folklore about it seeking to evade any attempt to look directly on it, which was contrary to what everyone knew about stone: once you'd put it somewhere, it tended not to move around very much. A ten-foot monolith should advertise its presence, just by being there and ten foot-tall, for goodness sake!

She'd also had the uneasy feeling that she was being followed: her surface senses were telling her that she was as alone as she possibly could be, but the deep-down senses that had often saved her life as a solo adventurer in lonely places were working overtime and practically screaming at her.

Yet the only things she'd positively seen were that wretched grey tomcat which was for some reason stalking her, over in the long grass to the left, and occasionally meeting her eyes with more intelligence than she felt was right for a tomcat. She'd also glimpsed various creatures of forest and moor, never more than one at a time, that also seemed to be taking an interest. And just once, something above that in the mist had taken on the aspect of a large black bird… Alice had reflexively unslung her bow and nocked an arrow, thinking back to what she'd learnt in Überwald about wild banshees. The thing had pulled up and veered off sharply, with what seemed like a very un-Banshee like mutter of Oh shit, she's armed!

She kept the bow and a ready arrow in her left hand, just in case, although she hadn't seen it since. Focusing on the job in hand, she frowned. Where in the seven Hells was that dratted monolith?

She'd glimpsed it coming up the track, a tall pillar of rough-hewn bluestone, looking like Presley stone from out of Llamedos which she knew was not native here. She'd looked away to check the mounting suspicion she wasn't alone… and then it had gone! A faint shuffling nose behind her. She had whirled, nocking arrow to bow, but there was nothing there, save the sort of dragged-down sweeping wide curve in the grass that suggested something large and heavy had been dragged - or dragged itself – through the undergrowth. The trail had not been there seconds ago.

She heard a gloop-gloop sound over in the marsh, and carefully went to check it. A trail of bubbles was rising from the muddily opaque waters, just where the trail of trampled-down vegetation led to the marsh edge. The last few feet into the water was just a vegetation-free mudslide. Alice took a deep breath, This was going to be a long morning.

"What's she doing now, Granny?"

Granny Weatherwax shook herself properly Back and placed the "I aten't Dead!" sign to one side.

"Tryin' to count the Stone" she said. "Should keep the girl busy all mornin'" she added, with a hint of malicious satisfaction. "Got that cup of tea ready, Magrat? That bloody animal of Gytha's had to stop off to kill somethin'. Couldn't hop over to that badger fast enough! Need to get the taste of fieldmouse out of my mouth".

"Did you see Nanny?"

"She's doin' aerial surveillance. Can't Borrow as well as I can, y'see. Damn girl scared her when she brought her bow out! Never seen Gytha move so quick on a broomstick!"

Magrat smiled and poured the tea. .The witches waited.

Exasperated, Alice reshouldered her pack and replaced her bow in the quick-release waterproof cover. Trying not to curse the waste of time, she re-checked her map co-ordinates and set off in the direction of the stone circle. At least Birdwhistle says these things stay put. she thought. He's quite emphatic about it, in fact. But who on Disc are the Gentry?

Nanny Ogg landed with a clatter and an "Oh, bugger!" She left the broomstick in neutral and ran to Granny's back door.

"Esme! That bloody girl's heading off down the Dancers!"

"Stay here, girl" Granny said, firmly. "Get the fishin'float down and tune in. Get some scryin' experience. If you sees any sort of trouble happenin', and you will know when it does, get on your broomstick and put the alarm out to every witch you can find. Just tell 'em "breakthrough at the Dancers" and they'll know to get here as soon as."

Magrat heaved a deep sigh, and went to get the green glass fishing float Granny used in lieu of a proper crystal ball. Outside, two broomsticks rose, one with more reluctance than the other…

Alice regarded the Dancers. The stone circle stood out in a flat area of moorland, even above the generally waist-level vegetation. She noticed that the area immediately around the Stones had been flattened, cut, and levelled down in a wide band for about five yards, and she wondered what the purpose of this was. It indicated that people came up here regularly, though.

She unshucked her pack and left it, alongside her pick and shovel, some fifteen yards from the nearest stone. She placed everything on the ground with exaggerated slow caution, as if reassuring some unseen observer that she wasn't a threat. Finally, she took several items from her bag and approached, assembling something made up largely of tubes as she walked.

Reaching the stone, she inserted the earpieces of the stethoscope and, seemingly at random, applied the sound receiver to a spot on the exterior of the stone. As she listened, she consulted a stopwatch. She repeated this in several places until she was satisfied. Finally she switched the thaumometer on and took a reading. Just normal residual background magic. Good.. 1

"What's she doin', Esme?"

"She's not entirely stupid, then. Some hope for the girl!"

Alice again had the nagging feeling she wasn't alone, but ignored it. Well, at least she'd done the standard checks and she was ninety-five per cent certain it was only rock.. This was important. It was true to say that sleeping trolls should be left alone, as one thing they really hated was a prospecting Dwarf coming along and interrupting a deep inner dialogue on beauty and aesthetic by plunging a pickaxe into their earhole. For broadly similar reasons, sleeping trolls didn't think too kindly of any archaeologists in the vicinity, either. So it was vitally important to make sure that the apparently inert lump of stone in front of you was, in fact, inert stone and nothing else. It was one of the very first things taught at archaeology college, in fact. Look for vital signs, like breathing or heartbeat, however slow, and check for magic: it should be higher around a sleeping troll. If there's nothing there, you may go ahead with the pickaxe. If only the Dwarfs used stethoscopes, she thought: it would have saved an awful lot of bother down the years.

She retrieved her spade, and returned to the stone. To her consternation, what felt like an invisible hand threw her over to her right, nearer the stone. It appeared to be pulling at her spade. Surprised, she dug her heels in and resisted, but the inexorable force, whatever the damned hells it was, tugged harder, wrenching the spade out of her hands and slamming it blade-first against the face of the stone. The pressure lessened, and Alice sucked her stinging fingers, glad they hadn't been mashed between the handle and the stone.

She stepped back, aware the tug was still there, pulling at her upper arms and at her boot-tops: her mind raced quickly. Whatever it is, is acting on metal. The larger the metal, the stronger the pull. The throwing knives I'm carrying aren't all that large or heavy. And they're not all made of steel. Is this to do with what Birdwhistle called the Gentry ?It'd be interesting to get a clue as to who or what they are. He wasn't specific at all! She quickly removed the throwing-knife tucked discreetly into the top of each boot. Removing the ones on her arms would involve partially undressing, and this brought the possibility of hidden observers back to mind.

"How many weapons is that bloody girl carrying!" exploded Gytha Ogg.

"They're just decoration" said Granny Weatherwax, dismissively. "The most dangerous one is the one keeping her ears apart".

There was a pause.

"And she'll be less dangerous when she's learnt how to use it properly! Didn't you hear, Gytha? She invoked THEM! HERE!"

Alice now knew for sure she wasn't alone at the stones. Seemingly casually, she undid her cuffs and rolled her shirt-sleeves up She flexed the muscles of her upper arm and shoulder in a special sequence. The short stabbing knife dropped out of its sheath and landed, hilt-first, in her hand. She held it reversed, the metal of the blade concealed by her fore-arm.

There was a mist forming inside the circle and she tasted snow on the breeze. In July? She half-glimpsed three figures in the mist, and fought a desire to run forward and meet them. One, smaller and slighter, stepped forwards.

We've been watching you. The words seemed to arrive straight inside Alice's head. Alice Geraldine Band.

Despite herself, Alice looked. She blinked: quite possibly the most attractive woman she had ever seen was standing there. And dressed all in red leather. A second, shriller, voice arrived in Alice's head, sounding by comparison like the cackling of a raven: Beware, girl! She gets into your head and takes the form that's most attractive to you!

The leather angel wavered and disappeared.

Did you like what you see? I can make it real for you. You have a mind we can use in the world, Alice Band. We can make it worth your while.

"No". Alice said, firmly. "I don't trust you".

I see into your mind, Alice Band. Daughter of a priest. Youngest of five children. You always thought your brothers were allowed to lead more…interesting lives. You look at your older sister and you shudder. You resent the way that you were valued for nothing more than your worth as marriage fodder. Your own wishes and…inclinations… were swept aside. Remember….

When she was sixteen, her father had started inviting promising young curates around to tea. High-flyers from the seminary, destined for great things. Bishop Band had dropped unsubtle hints about daughters of marriageable age. Alice had seen the trap and escaped.Her sister Sarah had given in. No wonder, she thought, remembering those stuffy suffocating Sunday teas after Evensong, her father had been so angry back at the Quirm School, when…

"Your Grace, I'm so sorry!" Miss Delcross had wailed. A fourteen-year old Alice had hung her head under her father's contemptuously angry glare.

"Is the girl to be expelled?"

"We do not believe her to be the instigator, Your Grace". Miss Butts had stated. "We have of course expelled the other girl…." Alice had burst into inconsolable tears. "as she was a year older and it may well have been the case that she coerced Alice into…the acts."

"I didn't need coercing, you pompous old trout!" Alice had screamed, through her tears.

"Be SILENT, girl! Isn't it enough that you may have polluted yourself too badly for marriage?"

"Please, your Grace. Although we are always vigilant and we seek to prevent it, and we act swiftly when it is found, this is an institutional hazard in a girls' school. The gels form attachments and crushes, and while most of the time this is harmless , every so often it crosses the line into dangerously un-natural physical acts."

"You women need a chaplain. Someone to put the fear of the Gods into these girls."

"Perhaps so, Your Grace. You would be the best person for now, yourself and Lady Band, to take Alice in hand and look after her spiritual and moral welfare. But please don't be too hard on her. And we'll see her back at school at the start of next term?"

Having been found guilty of It, caught in flagrante delicto, in fact, in a mutually satisfying act of It with Caroline Bradwell, Alice had then endured a purgatory of sermons, cold baths, Temple attendance, and her father alternating freezing cold and scarifying anger at her.

Didn't we raise you to be better than this! I'll tell you what your future is, my girl. I will in time choose you a good husband who one day might have potential to become a bishop himself, or higher, and you become his dutiful wife! The expensive education we are paying for you to have is to prepare you for life as a clergy wife, so that you do not disgrace your husband. It's not for you to enjoy, nor is it to give you big ideas as to what else you might want to do. And any more of this un-Godly and self-polluting profanity with other girls, as if they could ever substitute for what a man can bring to the marriage bed, and I'll have it whipped out of you! Do you UNDERSTAND me?

In the present, at the Lancre Dancers, Alice has slumped to her knees with the bitter memory.

The beautiful woman looking back at her from the other side of the Stones has put on an expression of concern and empathy. Alice realizes that this is not even skin-deep, and anger wells from the agonizing memory. How dare she use my most private memories like this!

I can make it easier for you. The siren-voice says, soothingly. You live in a world where women who think like you do are considered perverts, freaks, monsters. You believe you walk alone and no-one understands you. You promised you would never cry again, not after Caroline was taken from you and your stern unyielding father tried to force you into a mould you are not meant to fit. You have unique strength. That called me. I can make things so much better for you, Alice Band. All you need to do in return is a little service for me.

Alice hears the other distant voices in her head shrilling No! It's a trap! Get away from this place NOW, girl!

The leather angel shrugs.

Crabbed and bitter old women who think they defend this place. Ignore them. Who knows, the bitch might have wondered, like you, when she was younger. But then old age took away the possibility, and she will die doubly virgin…

That don't account for me, you creature! A third voice exploded. To Alice, it sounded oddly like the old woman in the pub. You may be sure I lived my life, and while I never took the hard road young Alice is walking, don't think I didn't wonder about it a time or two!

Alice wondered just how many people were jostling for space in her head. It felt like she was the battleground in a far older war.

She stood up, free to choose, Alice Band again.

"I'm sorry" she said, replacing knives into her boot-tops.

"As far as I'm concerned you're all figments of my imagination, so kindly get out of my head NOW and leave me be. I'll just get my spade…"

A few seconds' exertion of force dragged the spade right over, so that the only part of the metal in contact with the strange stone was the narrow edge of the blade. She braced a foot on the stone, forced power into her thigh muscles, braced and pulled. The spade came free, tipping her on her back. She leapt to her feet again, hearing the malicious laughter of the woman in the ring.

Your spade is what we need you for. All you need do is upset one of these stones, pull it out of place. Give us a Doorway, Alice Band… we will reward you.

Alice knew, with sudden certainty, that this would be absolutely unwise.

"No." she said. She sensed two exhalations of relief from somewhere nearby.

Or we can force you. You killed your parents, Alice Band, as surely as any Assassin.

"No!"

Your father died an Archbishop. He thought that was what he wanted. What he'd geared his entire life towards achieving. But when the final illness hit him, he realized how hollow it was. He repented over the way he'd treated you. He wanted to see you one last time, a daughter he realized he loved, to apologise. When it was clear you weren't coming, he died of a broken heart. And where were you on the night he died? Who were you with?

"Nooo!" she screamed.

And your mother, that timid downtrodden little mouse, didn't outlast him by very long. She blamed you for his death. For not accepting the station in life that was yours. For lacking humility."

Alice felt tears running down her face. She screamed. " How dare you! How dare you use my parents, who I loved, as weapons against me!

If you live, Alice, you will become a fully-fledged Assassin. The Guild will invite you to be one of its own. A fitting vocation for one who killed her parents and leaves Death wherever she goes.

Alice could see them clearly now, one either side of the…. Queen?...., lean sinewy warriors garbed in beads, feathers, and crude ornamentation, nocking stone-headed arrows of the sort she knew from a hundred digs as elf-shot.

This will not kill you, It will show We are serious and bind you to Our will. It will, of course, hurt.

Thwock! Thwock! Expressions of wide-eyed surprise leapt to the faces of the two bow-weilding Elves, who toppled forward and dropped their bows. One had a throwing-knife embedded to the hilt into his left eye, the other through the centre of his forehead.

How did you get iron past the stones? The Elf-queen demanded, retreating into the ring.

Alice laughed. "Not iron, you foul thing. Do you think that's the only metal the Dwarfs mine? That was wolfram.2. And I've got more of it here!"

The Queen receded still further "We may meet again, Alice Band".

And she disappeared, with a mocking salute.

"Esme, did you see that? She took out two of the buggers, one with each hand!"

"I seen it, Gytha. The danger that girl faces is that she could get to love killin' too much for its own sake".

"And them pictures we saw in her mind, the ones She was usin'! Can't blame that poor girl for bein' a wee bit mixed-up if that's the life she led."

"It's almost always the way, Gytha. There's as much to be pitied as scolded. And now we know more about our archaeology girl. Now what's she doin'…"

Alice methodically tidied up the site, as a good archaeologist should. One of the dead Elves had fallen partway into the Lancre side of the circle. She took the opportunity to reclaim her knife, and taking care not to step inside, threw the dead Elf back behind one of the Stones where it was less likely to be seen from the Lancre side. Using her bow and a length of rope attached to an arrow, she dragged the other dead Elf out into Lancre, retrieved her knife, and set about taking iconographs from all angles. When she was finished, she took some of its body ornaments, wrapped them carefully in cloth, and put them in her pouch. Trying not to gag at the rank feral smell, this elf joined its fellow on its own side of the Stones. Alice took his bow and several arrows, again making sure these were wrapped and labeled.

Then she set off back for Lancre town, without a backward look.

Ye Gods, I really, really, need a bath" she thought. But that will more than do for today.

Unheeded, the two witches followed.

1 Although if Alice had stepped inside the Dancers and took a reading from the other side, she would have been surprised by several things, not the least of which would have been the thaumometer exploding.

2 Tungsten. One of the hardest metals known to Dwarf and Man. It is absolutely unmagnetic. Tungsten compounds are often used as "ceramic blades" for various purposes.