Hogfather

soul and the Hogfather, who filled the universe.

AND YOU WILL OF COURSE BE GOOD FOR ANOTHER YEAR?

The tiny remnant of basic Nobbyness wanted to say, ‘Er, how exactly do you define “good”, mister? Like, suppose there was just some stuff that no one'd miss, say? Or, f 'r instance, say a friend of mine was on patrol, sort of thing, and found a shopkeeper had left his door unlocked at night. I mean, anyone could walk in, right, but suppose this friend took one or two things, sort of like, you know, a gratuity, and then called the shopkeeper out and got him to lock up, that counts as “good”, does it?’

Good and bad were, to Nobby's way of thinking, entirely relative terms. Most of his relatives, for example, were criminals. But, again, this invitation to philosophical debate was ambushed somewhere in his head by sheer dread of the big beard in the sky.

‘'s,’ he squeaked.

NOW, I WONDER WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE?

Nobby gave up, and sat mute. Whatever was going to happen next was going to happen, and there was not a thing he could do about it… Right now, the light at the end of his mental tunnel showed only more tunnel.

AH, YES …

The Hogfather reached into his sack and pulled out an awkwardly shaped present wrapped in festive Hogswatch paper which, owing to some slight confusion on the current Hogfather's part, had merry ravens on it. Corporal Nobbs took it in nervous hands.

WHAT DO YOU SAY?

‘nk you.’

OFF YOU GO.

Corporal Nobbs slid down gratefully and barged his way through the crowds, stopping only when he was fielded by Constable Visit.

‘What happened? What happened? I couldn't see!’

‘I dunno,’ mumbled Nobby. ‘He gave me this.’

‘What is it.’

‘I dunno…’

He clawed at the raven-bedecked paper.

‘This is disgusting, this whole business,’ said Constable Visit. ‘It's the worship of idols—’

‘It's a genuine Burleigh and Stronginthearm doubleaction triple-cantilever crossbow with a polished walnut stock and engraved silver facings!’

‘—a crass commercialization of a date which is purely of astronomical significance,’ said Visit, who seldom paid attention when he was in mid-denounce. ‘If it is to be celebrated at all, then—’

‘I saw this in Bows and Ammo! It got Editor's Choice in the “What to Buy When Rich Uncle Sidney Dies” category! They had to break both the reviewer's arms to get him to let go of it!’

‘—ought to be commemorated in a small service of—’

‘It must cost more'n a year's salary! They only make 'em to order! You have to wait ages!’

‘—religious significance.’ It dawned on Constable Visit that something behind him was amiss.

‘Aren't we going to arrest this impostor, corporal?’ he said.

Corporal Nobbs looked blearily at him through the mists of possessive pride.

‘You're foreign, Washpot,’ he said. ‘I can't expect you to know the real meaning of Hogswatch.’

The oh god blinked.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That's better. Oh, yes. That's a lot better. Thank you.’

The wizards, who shared the raven's belief in the essential narrative conventions of life, watched him cautiously.

‘Any minute now,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes confidently, ‘it'll probably start with some kind of amusing yell—’

‘You know,’ said the oh god, ‘I think I could just possibly eat a soft-boiled egg.’

‘—or maybe the cars spinning round—’

‘And perhaps drink a glass of milk,’ said the oh god.

Ridcully looked nonplussed.

‘You really feel better?’ he said.

‘Oh, yes,’ said the oh god. ‘I really think I could risk a smile without the top of my head falling off.’

‘No, no, no,’ said the Dean. ‘This can't be right. Everyone knows that a good hangover cure has got to involve a lot of humorous shouting, ekcetra.’

‘I could possibly tell you a joke,’ said the oh god carefully.

‘You don't have this pressing urge to run outside and stick your head in a water butt?’ said Ridcully.

‘Er… not really,’ said the oh god. ‘But I'd like some toast, if that helps.’

The Dean took off his hat and pulled a thaumameter out of the point. ‘Something happened,’ he said. ‘There was a massive thaumic surge.’

‘Didn't it even taste a bit… well, spicy?’ said Ridcully.

‘It didn't taste of anything, really,’ said the oh god.

‘Oh, look, it's obvious,’ said Susan. ‘When the God of Wine drinks, Bilious here gets the aftereffects, so when the God of Hangovers drinks a hangover cure then the effects must jump back across the same link.’

‘That could be right,’ said the Dean. ‘He is, after all, basically a conduit.’

‘I've always thought of myself as more of a tube,’ said the oh god.

‘No, no, she's right,’ said Ridcully. ‘When he drinks, this lad here gets the nasty result. So, logically, when our friend here takes a hangover cure the side effects should head back the same way—’

‘Someone mentioned a crystal ball just now,’ said the oh god in a voice suddenly clanging with vengeance. ‘I want to see this—’

It was a big drink. A very big and a very long drink. It was one of those special cocktails where each very sticky, very strong ingredient is poured in very slowly, so that they layer on top of one another. Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or Rainbow's Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and Goodbye, Mr Brain Cell.

In addition, this drink had some lettuce floating in it. And a slice of lemon and a piece of pineapple hooked coquettishly on the side of the glass, which had sugar frosted round the rim. There were two paper umbrellas, one pink and one blue, and they each had a cherry on the end.

And someone had taken the trouble to freeze ice cubes in the shape of little elephants. After that, there's no hope. You might as well be drinking in a place called the Cococobana.

The God of Wine picked it up lovingly. It was his kind of drink.

There was a rumba going on in the background. There were also a couple of young ladies snuggling up to him. It was going to be a good night. It was always a good night.

‘Happy Hogswatch, everyone!’ he said, and raised the glass.

And then: ‘Can anyone hear something?’

Someone blew a paper squeaker at him.

‘No, seriously… like a sort of descending note.’

Since no one paid this any attention he shrugged, and nudged one of his fellow drinkers.

‘How about we have a couple more and go to this club I know?’ he said.

And then…

The wizards leaned back, and one or two of them grimaced.

Only the oh god stayed glued to the glass, face contorted in a vicious smile.

‘We have eructation!’ he shouted, and punched the air. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! The worm is on the other boot now, eh? Hah! How do you like them apples, huh?’

‘Well, mainly apples—’ said the Dean.