Abhorsen by Garth Nix

feel . . . feel sort of strange. I got kind of used to Mogget, and now he’s just . . . just gone? I mean, has she . . . has she killed him?”
    “No!” answered the Dog. She seemed surprised at the suggestion. “No.”
    “What then?” asked Sam.
    “It is not for us to know,” said the Disreputable Dog. “Our task lies ahead, and Mogget lies behind us now.”
    “You’re absolutely sure he won’t come after Mother or Lirael?” asked Sam. He knew Mogget’s recent history well and had been warned since he was a toddler of the danger of removing Mogget’s collar.
    “I am sure that your mother is safe from Mogget across the Wall,” replied the Dog, only half-answering Sam’s question.
    Sam did not look entirely convinced, but he slowly nodded in reluctant acceptance of the Dog’s assurance.
    “We haven’t got off to a good start,” muttered Sam. “I hope it gets better.”
    “There is sunlight ahead, and a way out,” said the Dog. “You will be happier under the sun.”
    “It should be dark by now,” said Sam. “How long have we been underground?”
    “Four or five hours, at least,” replied Lirael with a frown. “Maybe more, so that can’t be sunshine.”
    She led the way across the cavern, but as they drew closer to the entrance, it was clear that it was sunshine. Soon they could see a narrow cleft ahead, and through it a clear blue sky, misted with spray from the great waterfall.
    Once through the cleft, they found themselves several hundred yards to the west of the waterfall, at the base of the Long Cliffs. The sun was halfway up the sky to the west, the sunshine making rainbows in the huge cloud of spray that hung above the falls.
    “It’s afternoon,” said Sam, shielding his eyes to look near the sun. He looked along the line of the cliffs, then held up his hand to gauge how many fingers the sun was above the horizon. “Not past four o’clock.”
    “We’ve lost practically a whole day!” exclaimed Lirael. Every delay meant a greater chance of failure, and her heart sank at this further setback. How could they have spent almost twenty-four hours underground?
    “No,” said the Disreputable Dog, who was watching the sun and sniffing the air. “We have not lost a day.”
    “Not more?” whispered Lirael. Surely not. If they had somehow spent weeks or more underground, it would be too late to do anything. . . .
    “No,” continued the Dog. “It is the same day we left the House. Perhaps an hour since we climbed down the well. Maybe less.”
    “But—” Sam started to say something, then stopped. He shook his head and looked back at the cleft in the cliff.
    “Time and Death sleep side by side,” said the Dog. “Both are in Astarael’s domain. She has helped us, in her own way.”
    Lirael nodded, though she didn’t feel as if she’d been helped. She felt shocked and tired, and her legs hurt. She wanted to curl up in the sun and wake up in the Great Library of the Clayr with a sore neck from sleeping at her desk and a vague memory of disturbing nightmares.
    “I can’t sense any Dead down here,” she said, after dismissing her daydream. “Since we’ve been given the gift of an afternoon, I guess we’d better use it. How do we get back up the cliffs?”
    “There is a path about a league and a half to the west,” said Sam. “It’s narrow and mostly steps, so it’s not often used. The top of that should be well clear of the fog and Chlorr’s minions. Beyond that, the Western Cut is at least twelve or so leagues farther on. That’s where the road goes through.”
    “What is the stepped path called?” asked the Dog.
    “I don’t know. Mother just called it the Steps, I think. It’s quite strange really. The path is only wide enough for one, and the steps are low and deep.”
    “I know it,” said the Dog. “Three thousand steps, and all for the sweet water at the foot.”
    Sam nodded. “There is a spring there, and the water is good. You mean someone built