‘It, uh… lacked elegance,’ said Downey.
‘Ah. Thank you, sir. I am always happy to be corrected. I shall remember that next time.’
Downey took a deep breath.
‘It's about that I wish to talk,’ he said. He held up the picture of… what had the thing called him?… the Fat Man?
‘As a matter of interest,’ he said, ‘how would you go about inhuming this… gentleman?’
Anyone else, he was sure, would have burst out laughing. They would have said things like “Is this a joke, sir?” Teatime merely leaned forward, with a curious intent expression.
‘Difficult, sir.’
‘Certainly,’ Downey agreed.
‘I would need some time to prepare a plan, sir,’ Teatime went on.
‘Of course, and—’
There was a knock at the door and Carter came in with another cup and saucer. He nodded respectfully to Lord Downey and crept out again.
‘Right, sir,’ said Teatime.
‘I'm sorry?’ said Downey, momentarily distracted.
‘I have now thought of a plan, sir,’ said Teatime, patiently.
‘You have?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘As quickly as that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Ye gods!’
‘Well, sir, you know we are encouraged to consider hypothetical problems.’
‘Oh, yes. A very valuable exercise—’ Downey stopped, and then looked shocked.
‘You mean you have actually devoted time to considering how to inhume the Hogfather?’ he said weakly. ‘You've actually sat down and thought out how to do it? You've actually devoted your spare time to the problem?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. And the Soul Cake Duck. And the Sandman. And Death.’
Downey blinked again. ‘You've actually sat down and considered how to—’
‘Yes, sir. I've amassed quite an interesting file. In my own time, of course.’
‘I want to be quite certain about this, Mister Teatime. You… have… applied… yourself to a study of ways of killing
‘Only as a hobby, sir.’
‘Well,
‘Actually, sir, the basic methodology is exactly the same as it would be for a human. Opportunity, geography, technique… You just have to work with the known facts about the individual concerned. Of course, with this one such a lot is known.’
‘And You've worked it all out, have you?’ said Downey, almost fascinated.
‘Oh, a long time ago, sir.’
‘When, may I ask?’
‘I think it was when I was lying in bed one Hogswatchnight, sir.’
My gods, thought Downey, and to think that I just used to listen for sleigh bells.
‘My word,’ he said aloud.
‘I may have to check some details, sir. I'd appreciate access to some of the books in the Dark Library. But, yes, I think I can see the basic shape.’
‘And yet… this person… some people might say that he is technically immortal.’
‘Everyone has their weak point, sir.’
‘Even Death?’
‘Oh, yes. Absolutely. Very much so.’
‘Really?’
Downey drummed his fingers on the desk again. The boy couldn't possibly have a real plan, he told himself. He certainly had a skewed mind — skewed? It was a positive helix — but the Fat Man wasn't just another target in some mansion somewhere. It was reasonable to assume that people had tried to trap him before.
He felt happy about this. Teatime would fail, and possibly even fail fatally if his plan was stupid enough. And maybe the Guild would lose the gold, but maybe not.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I don't need to know what your plan is.’
‘That's just as well, sir.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Because I don't propose to tell you, sir. You'd be obliged to disapprove of it.’
‘I am amazed that you are so confident that it can work, Teatime.’
‘I just think logically about the problem, sir,’ said the boy. He sounded reproachful.
‘Logically?’ said Downey.
‘I suppose I just see things differently from other people,’ said Teatime.
It was a quiet day for Susan, although on the way to the park Gawain trod on a crack in the pavement. On purpose.
One of the many terrors conjured up by the previous governess's happy way with children had been the bears that waited around in the street to eat you if you stood on the cracks.
Susan had taken to carrying the poker under her respectable coat. One wallop generally did the trick. They were amazed that anyone else saw them.
‘Gawain?’ she said, eyeing a nervous bear who had suddenly spotted her and was now trying to edge away nonchalantly.
‘Yes?’
‘You meant to tread on that crack so that I'd have to thump some poor creature whose only fault is wanting to tear you limb from limb.’
‘I was just skipping—’
‘Quite. Real children don't go hoppity-skip unless they are on drugs.’
He grinned at her.
‘If I catch you being twee again I will knot your arms behind your head,’ said Susan levelly.
He nodded, and went to push Twyla off the swings.
Susan relaxed, satisfied. It was her personal discovery. Ridiculous threats didn't worry them at all, but they were obeyed. Especially the ones in graphic detail.
The previous governess had used various monsters and bogeymen as a form of discipline. There was always something waiting to eat or carry off bad boys and girls for crimes like stuttering or defiantly and aggravatingly persisting in writing with their left hand. There was always a Scissor Man waiting for a little girl who sucked her thumb, always a bogeyman in the cellar. Of such bricks is the innocence of childhood constructed.
Susan's attempts at getting them to disbelieve in the things only caused the problems to get worse.
Twyla had started to wet the bed. This may have been a crude form of defence against the terrible clawed creature that she was certain lived under it.
Susan had found out about this one the first night, when the child had woken up crying because of a bogeyman in the closet.
She'd sighed and gone to have a look. She'd been so angry that she'd pulled it out, hit it over the head with the nursery poker, dislocated its shoulder as a means of emphasis and kicked it out of the back door.
The children refused to disbelieve in the monsters because, frankly, they knew damn well the things were there.
But she'd found that they could, very firmly, also believe in the poker.
Now she sat down on a bench and read a book. She made a point of taking the children, every day, somewhere where they could meet others of the same age. If they got the hang of the playground, she thought,
