Hogfather

extract for demon removal rather than, as he had assumed, a pleasant masculine Scent. 23 Then he stepped out into his study. 'Sorry for the delay, but-' he began. There was no one there. Only, very far off, the sound of someone blowing their nose mingling with the glingleglingleglingle of fading magic. The fight was already gilding the top of the Tower of Art when Binky trotted to a standstill on the air beside the nursery balcony. Susan climbed down onto the fresh snow and stood uncertainly for a moment. When someone has gone out of their way to drop you home it's only courteous to ask them in. On the other hand... WOULD YOU LIKE TO VISIT FOR HOGSWATCH DINNER? said Death. He sounded hopeful. ALBERT IS FRYING A PUDDING. 'Frying a pudding?' ALBERT UNDERSTANDS FRYING. AND I BELIEVE HE'S MAKING JAM. HE CERTAINLY KEPT TALKING ABOUT Fr. 'I... er... they're really expecting me here,' said Susan. 'The Gaiters do a lot of entertaining. His business friends. Probably the whole day will be... I'll more or less have to look after the children...' SOMEONE SHOULD. 'Er... would you like a drink before you go?' said Susan, giving in. A CUP OF COCOA WOULD BE APPROPRIATE IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES. 'Right. There's biscuits in the tin on the mantelpiece.' Susan headed with relief into the tiny kitchen. Death sat down in the creaking wicker chair, buried his feet in the rug and looked around with interest. He heard the clatter of cups, and then a sound like indrawn breath, and then silence. Death helped himself to a biscuit from the tin. There were two full stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. He prodded them with professional satisfaction, and then sat down again and observed the nursery wallpaper. It seemed to be pictures of rabbits in waistcoats, among other fauna. He was not surprised. Death occasionally turned up in person even for rabbits, simply to see that the whole process was working properly. He'd never seen one wearing a waistcoat. He wouldn't have expected waistcoats. At least, ould he wouldn't have expected waistcoats if he hadn't had some experience of the way humans portrayed the universe. As it was, it was only a blessing they hadn't been given gold watches and top hats as well. Humans liked dancing pigs, too. And lambs in hats. As far as Death was aware, the sole reason for any human association with pigs and lambs was as a prelude to chops and sausages. Quite why they should dress up for children's wallpaper as well was a mystery. Hello, little folk, this is what you're going to eat... He felt that if only he could find the key to it, he'd know a lot more about human beings. His gaze travelled to the door. Susan's governess coat and hat were hanging on it. The coat was grey, and so was the hat. Grey and round and dull. Death didn't know many things about the human psyche, but he did know protective coloration when he saw it. Dullness. Only humans could have invented it. What imaginations they had. The door opened. To his horror, Death saw a small child of unidentifiable sex come out of the bedroom, amble sleepily across the floor and unhook the stockings from the mantelpiece. It was halfway back before it noticed him and then it simply stopped and regarded him thoughtfully. 23 It was, in fact, a pleasant masculine scent. But only to female weasels.



He knew that young children could see him because they hadn't yet developed that convenient and selective blindness that comes with the intimation of personal mortality. He felt a little embarrassed. 'Susan's gotta poker, you know,' it said, as if anxious to be helpful. WELL, WELL. INDEED. MY GOODNESS ME. 'I fort - thought all of you knew that now. Larst - last week she picked a bogey up by its nose.' Death tried to imagine this. He felt sure he'd heard the sentence wrong but it didn't sound a whole lot better however he rearranged the words. 'I'll give Gawain his stocking and then I'll come an' watch,' said the child. It padded out. ER... SUSAN? Death said, calling in reinforcements. Susan backed out of the kitchen, a black kettle in her hand. There was a figure behind her. In the half-light the sword gleamed blue along its blade. Its glitter reflected off one glass eye. 'Well, well,' said Teatime, quietly, glancing at Death. 'Now this is unexpected. A family affair?' The sword hummed back and forth. 'I wonder,' said Teatime, 'is it possible to kill Death? This must be a very special sword and it certainly works here...' He raised a hand to his mouth for a moment and gave a little chuckle. 'And of course it might well not be regarded as murder. Possibly it is a civic act. It would be, as they say, The Big One. Stand up, sir. You may have some personal knowledge about your vulnerability but I'm pretty certain that Susan here would quite definitely die, so I'd rather you didn't try any last-minute stuff.' I AM LAST-MINUTE STUFF, said Death, standing up. Teatime circled around carefully, the sword's tip making little curves in the air. From the next room came the sound of someone trying to blow a whistle quietly. Susan glanced at her grandfather. 'I don't remember them asking for anything that made a noise,' she said. OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN THE STOCKING THAT MAKES A NOISE, said Death. OTHERWISE WHAT is 4.30 A.M. FOR? 'There are children?' said Teatime. 'Oh yes, of course. Call them.'



'Certainly not!'



'It will be instructive,' said Teatime. 'Educational. And when your adversary is Death, you cannot help but be the good guy.' He pointed the sword at Susan. 'I said call them.' Susan glanced hopefully at her grandfather. He nodded. For a moment she thought she saw the glow in one eye socket flicker off and on, Death's equivalent of a wink. He's got a plan. He can stop time. He can do anything. He's got a plan. 'Gawain? Twyla?' The muffled noises stopped in the next room. There was a padding of feet and two solemn faces appeared round the door. 'Ah, come in, come in, curly-haired tots,' said Teatime genially. Gawain gave him a steely stare. His next mistake, thought Susan. If he'd called them little bastards he'd have them bang on his side. But they know when you're sending them up. 'I've caught this bogeyman,' said Teatime. 'What shall we do with him, eh?' The two faces turned to Death. Twyla put her thumb in her mouth. 'It's only a skeleton,' said Gawain critically. Susan opened her mouth, and the sword swung towards her. She shut it again.



'Yes, a nasty, creepy, horrible skeleton,' said Teatime. 'Scary, eh?' There was a very faint 'pop' as Twyla took her thumb out of her mouth. 'He's eating a bittit,' she said. 'Biscuit,' Susan corrected automatically. She started to swing the kettle in an absent-minded way. 'A creepy bony man in a black robe!' said Teatime, aware that things weren't going in quite the right direction. He spun round to face Susan. 'You're fidgeting with that kettle,' he said. 'So I expect you're thinking of doing something creative. Put it down, please. Slowly.' Susan knelt down gently and put the kettle on the hearth. 'Huh, that's not very creepy, it's just bones,' said Gawain dismissively. 'And anyway Willie the groom down at the stables has promised me a real horse skull. And anyway I'm going to make a hat out of it like General Tacticus had when he wanted to frighten people. And anyway it's just standing there. It's not even making woo-woo noises. And anyway you're creepy. Your eye's weird.'



'Really? Then let's see how creepy I can be,' said Teatime. Blue fire crackled along the sword as he raised it. Susan closed her hand over the poker. Teatime saw her start to turn. He stepped behind Death, sword raised... Susan threw the poker overarm. It made a ripping noise as it shot through the air, and trailed sparks. It hit Death's robe and vanished. He blinked. Teatime smiled at Susan. He turned and peered dreamily at the sword in his hand. It fell out of his fingers. Death turned and caught it by the handle as it tumbled, and turned its fall into an upward curve. Teatime looked down at the poker in his chest as he folded up. 'Oh, no,' he said. 'It couldn't have gone through you. There are so many ribs and things!' There was another 'pop' as Twyla extracted her thumb and said, 'It only kills monsters.'



'Stop time now,' commanded Susan. Death snapped his fingers. The room took on the greyish purple of stationary time. The clock paused its ticking. 'You winked at me! I thought you had a plan!' INDEED. OH, YES. I PLANNED TO SEE WHAT YOU WOULD DO. 'Just that?' YOU ARE VERY RESOURCEFUL. AND OF COURSE YOU HAVE HAD AN EDUCATION. 'What?' I DID ADD THE SPARKLY STARS AND THE NOISE, THOUGH. I THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE APPROPRIATE. 'And if I hadn't done anything?' I DARESAY I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING. AT THE LAST MINUTE. 'That was the last minute!' THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR ANOTHER LAST MINUTE. 'The children had to watch that!' EDUCATIONAL. THE WORLD WILL TEACH THEM ABOUT MONSTERS SOON ENOUGH. LET THEM REMEMBER THERE's ALWAYS THE POKER. 'But they saw he's human--'



I THINK THEY HAD A VERY GOOD IDEA OF WHAT HE WAS. Death prodded the fallen Teatime with his foot. STOP PLAYING DEAD, MISTER TEH-AH-TIM-EH. The ghost of the Assassin sprang up like a jack-in-thebox, all slightly crazed smiles. 'You got it right!' OF COURSE. Teatime began to fade. I'LL TAKE THE BODY, said Death. THAT WILL PREVENT INCONVENIENT QUESTIONS. 'What did he do it all for?' said Susan. 'I mean, why? Money? Power?' SOME PEOPLE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR THE SHEER FASCINATION OF DOING IT, said Death. OR FOR FAME. OR BECAUSE THEY SHOULDN'T. Death picked up the corpse and slung it over his shoulder. There was a sound of something bouncing on the hearth. He turned, and hesitated. ER... YOU DID KNOW THE POKER WOULD GO THROUGH ME? Susan realized she was shaking. 'Of course. In this room it's pretty powerful.' YOU WERE NEVER IN ANY DOUBT? Susan hesitated, and then smiled. 'I was quite confident,' she said. All. Her grandfather stared at her for a moment and she thought she detected just the tiniest flicker of uncertainty. OF COURSE. OF COURSE. TELL ME, ARE YOU LIKELY TO TAKE UP TEACHING ON A LARGER SCALE? 'I hadn't planned to.' Death turned towards the balcony, and then seemed to remember something else. He fumbled inside his robe. I HAVE MADE THIS FOR YOU. She reached out and took a square of damp cardboard. Water dripped off the bottom. Somewhere in the middle, a few brown feathers seemed to have been glued on. 'Thank you. Er... what is it?' ALBERT SAID THERE OUGHT TO BE SNOW ON IT, BUT IT APPEARS TO HAVE MELTED, said Death. IT IS, OF COURSE, A HOGSWATCH CARD. 'Oh...' THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A ROBIN ON IT AS WELL, BUT I HAD CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY IN GETTING IT TO STAY ON. 'Ah... IT WAS NOT AT ALL CO-OPERATIVE. 'Really... ?' IT DID NOT SEEM TO GET INTO THE HOGSWATCH SPIRIT AT ALL. 'Oh. Er. Good. Granddad?' YES? 'Why? I mean, why did you do all this?' He stood quite still for a moment, as if he was trying out sentences in his mind.



I THINK IT'S SOMETHING TO DO WITH HARVESTS, he said at last. YES. THAT'S RIGHT. AND BECAUSE HUMANS ARE SO INTERESTING THAT THEY HAVE EVEN INVENTED DULLNESS. QUITE ASTONISHING. 'Oh.' WELL THEN... HAPPY HOGSWATCH. 'Yes. Happy Hogswatch.' Death paused again, at the window. AND GOOD NIGHT, CHILDREN... EVERYWHERE. The raven fluttered down onto a log covered in snow. Its prosthetic red breast had been torn and fluttered uselessly behind it. 'Not so much as a lift home,' it muttered. 'Look at this, willya? Snow and frozen wastes, everywhere. I couldn't fly another damn inch. I could starve to death here, you know? Hah! People're going on about recycling the whole time, but you just try a bit of practical ecology and they just... don't... want... to... know. Hah! I bet a robin'd have a lift home. Oh yes.' SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats sympathetically, and sniffed. The raven watched the small hooded figure scrabble at the snow. 'So I'll just freeze to death here, shall l?' it said gloomily. 'A pathetic bundle of feathers with my little feet curled up with the cold. It's not even as if I'm gonna make anyone a good meal, and let me tell you it's a disgrace to die thin in my spec-' It became aware that under the snow was a rather grubbier whiteness. Further scraping by the rat exposed something that could very possibly have been an ear. The raven stared. 'It's a sheep!' it said. The Death of Rats nodded. 'A whole sheep!' 24 SQUEAK. 'Oh, wow!' said the raven, hopping forward with its eyes spinning. 'Hey, it's barely cool!' The Death of Rats patted it happily on a wing. SQUEAK-EEK. EEK-SQUEAK... 'Why, thanks. And the same to you... ' Far, far away and a long, long time ago, a shop door opened. The little toymaker bustled in from the workshop in the rear, and then stopped, with amazing foresight, dead. YOU HAVE A BIG WOODEN ROCKING HORSE IN THE WINDOW, said the new customer. 'Ah, yes, yes, yes.' The shopkeeper fiddled nervously with his square-rimmed spectacles. He hadn't heard the bell, and this was worrying him. 'But I'm afraid that's just for show, that is a special order for Lord-' NO. I WILL BUY IT. 'No, because, you see---' THERE ARE OTHER TOYS? 'Yes, indeed, but-' THEN I WILL TAKE THE HORSE. HOW MUCH WOULD THIS LORDSHIP HAVE PAID YOU? 'Er, we'd agreed twelve dollars but--' I WILL GIVE YOU FIFTY, said the customer. 24 Which had died in its sleep. Of natural causes. At a great age. After a long and happy life, insofar as a sheep can be happy. And would probably be quite pleased to know that it could help somebody as it passed away...