“A rift?” I asked.
“A permanent tear in reality.”
“What would happen then?”
“There would be no choice, the whole area would have to be cauterised.”
“You mean burned?” Dad was shocked.
“Fire, maybe, as a last resort. Fire's messy, though. Unpredictable. More likely an earthquake or landslide. I'd have to check the geography. Where's the body?”
“What body?” I asked.
“Your wife's body,” he replied.
“We told you, she's in the Weave!”
“The Weave's not a place, lad, it's a state of mind. Her body's still here, somewhere.”
“Upstairs,” Mum told him. “Upstairs in the wardrobe.”
