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too much into it. But consider the relationship between gods and men as roughly analogous to that between the man and his dog. The virtues the man ordains for his dog—unquestioning obedience, biting intruders, peeing outdoors, fetching sticks—aren’t the qualities that you look for in a good human; they’re dog virtues. The dog feels moral outrage because it brings back the stick, and then the man throws it away again; idiotic, irrational behaviour. but the man throws the stick to exercise the dog and keep it healthy; and the dog, of course, will never be able to understand all that, because it’s just a dog. The dog shouldn’t presume to pass judgement on the purpose or the merit of the simple tasks it’s trained to perform. from down there, they pass all understanding. from up here; well, it’s just a dog. it’s not like it’s a person.
    “F IRST ,” I SAID , “we’ll have to clear up this mess you’ve got yourself into.”
    I made it sound easy. Actually, it wasn’t as straightforward as all that. To put Lord Archias back in the fortunate circumstances he enjoyed before he committed the murder I could reverse time, but then I’d have to edit and redact three months of history, every connection, every consequence: I can do that, but it’s awkward, fiddly work, involving co-operation with other members of my family. I chose a simpler approach.
    The cell door blew open and crashed against the wall. a jailer ran up, sword drawn. “it’s all right,” I told him, and smiled. he backed away, looking foolish, and apologised. I led Archias down the long spiral staircase, with guards and warders skipping out of our way as we went. the porter on the main gate was delighted to shoot back the bolts and let us through. we walked briskly up horsefair to the council chamber, where the sentries let us pass without a murmur. as luck would have it the council was in session. we walked in; I cleared my throat. they all stopped talking. I explained that although Lord Archias was guilty as charged of the murder of Count Lysippus, it’d be nice if they pardoned him and restored all his properties, titles and privileges, effective immediately. they were only too happy to agree; carried unanimously.
    “Y OU CAN BUY me lunch,” I said. “As a thank-you.” I chose a wine-shop I like in the Arches. They do the most delicious sea bass.
    “Why use raw power,” I explained, “when you can get the job done so much more easily with charm? Like pigs. You can drag the pig into the cart with a rope round its neck, because you’re stronger. Or you can put a few cabbage-stalks on the tailgate, and he’ll happily go in of his own accord.”
    He looked at me over his wine-glass. “But you could drag him,” he said. “You just choose not to.”
    “For convenience,” I said. “To the gods all things are possible, but some things are easier than others. Did I mention, I’m the Goddess of Charm?”
    “Really.”
    “Among other things. It’s significant that charm has two meanings. It really is a kind of magic.”
    Archias nodded. “A man sits in the market square,” he said. “He’s got a sign up, Magic Performed Here . Someone stops and asks him, what kind of magic? Well, says the magician, pay me two gold coins, I’ll use a magic talisman to make a perfect stranger do exactly what I tell him to. So the magician leads his customer into a baker’s shop, and he hands the shopkeeper a penny and says, Give me a loaf of bread.” He shrugged. “That kind of magic.”
    “Yes.”
    “Ah. Are we going to charm the Queen of the Dead into letting Lysippus go?”
    “You can try.”
    “I don’t do charm.”
    Not strictly true, though I suspect he didn’t realise that was what he was doing. “You’ll think of something, I’m sure,” I said. “A resourceful man like you.”
    He sighed. “All right,” he said. “If the Kingdom of the Dead is an actual place, where is it?”
    “Beyond the Portals of the Sunset,” I