Hogfather

‘What's up with you?’ he said. ‘All of you you're acting like little kids!’

‘Would he deliver to apes earlier than humans?’

‘Interesting point, sir. Possibly you're referring to my theory that humans may have in fact descended from apes, of course,’ said Ponder. ‘A bold hypothesis which ought to sweep away the ignorance of centuries if the grants committee could just see their way clear to letting me hire a boat and sail around to the islands of — ’

‘I just thought he might deliver alphabetically,’ said Ridcully.

There was a patter of soot in the cold fireplace.

‘That's presumably him now, do you think?’ Ridcully went on. ‘Oh, well, I thought we should check—’

Something landed in the ashes. The two wizards stood quietly in the darkness while the figure picked itself up. There was a rustle of paper.

LET ME SEE NOW…

There was a click as Ridcully's pipe fell out of his mouth.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he said. ‘Mr Stibbons, light a candle!’

Death backed away.

I'M THE HOGFATHER, OF COURSE. ER. HO. HO. HO. WHO WOULD YOU EXPECT TO COME DOWN A CHIMNEY ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS, MAY I ASK?

‘No, you're not!’

I AM. LOOK, I'VE GOT THE BEARD AND THE PILLOW AND EVERYTHING!

‘You look extremely thin in the face!’

I'M… I… I'M NOT WELL. IT'S ALL… YES, IT'S ALL THIS SHERRY. AND RUSHING AROUND. I AM A BIT ILL.

‘Terminally, I should say.’ Ridcully grabbed the beard. There was a twang as the string gave way.

‘It's a false beard!’

NO IT'S NOT, said Death desperately.

‘Here's the hooks for the ears, which must have given you a bit of trouble, I must say!’

Ridcully flourished the incriminating evidence.

‘What were you doing coming down the chimney?’ he continued. ‘Not in marvellous taste, I think.’

Death waved a small grubby scrap of paper defensively.

OFFICIAL LETTER TO THE HOGFATHER. SAYS HERE… he began, and then looked at the paper again. WELL, QUITE A LOT, IN FACT. IT'S A LONG LIST. LIBRARY STAMPS, REFERENCE BOOKS, PENCILS, BANANAS…

‘The Librarian asked the Hogfather for those things?’ said Ridcully. ‘Why?’

I DON'T KNOW, said Death. This was a diplomatic answer. He kept his finger over a reference to the Archchancellor. The orang-utan for ‘duck's bottom’ was quite an interesting squiggle.

‘I've got plenty in my desk drawer,’ mused Ridcully. ‘I'm quite happy to give them out to any chap provided he can prove he's used up the old one.’

THEY MUST SHOW YOU AN ABSENCE OF PENCIL?

‘Of course. If he needed essential materials he need only have come to me. No man can tell you I'm an unreasonable chap.’

Death checked the list carefully.

THAT IS PRECISELY CORRECT, he confirmed, with anthropological exactitude.

‘Except for the bananas, of course. I wouldn't keep fish in my desk.’

Death looked down at the list and then back up at Ridcully.

GOOD? he said, in the hope that this was the right response.

Wizards know when they are going to die.[22] Ridcully had no such premonitions, and to Ponder's horror prodded Death in the cushion.

‘Why you?’ he said. ‘What's happened to the other fellow?’

I SUPPOSE I MUST TELL YOU.

In the house of Death, a whisper of shifting sand and the faintest chink of moving glass, somewhere in the darkness of the floor…

And, in the dry shadows, the sharp smell of snow and a thud of hooves.

Sideney almost swallowed his tongue when Teatime appeared beside him.

‘Are we making progress?’

‘Gnk—’

‘I'm sorry?’ said Teatime.

Sideney recovered himself. ‘Er… some,’ he said. ‘We think we've worked out… er… one lock.’

Light gleamed off Teatime's eye.

‘I believe there are seven of them?’ said the Assassin.

‘Yes, but… they're half magic and half real and half not there… I mean… there's parts of them that don't exist all the time—’

Mr Brown, who had been working at one of the locks, laid down his pick.

‘'t's no good, mister,’ he said. ‘Can't even get a purchase with a crowbar. Maybe if I went back to the city and got a couple of dragons we could do something. You can melt through steel with them if you twist their necks right and feed 'em carbon.’

‘I was told you were the best locksmith in the city,’ said Teatime.

Behind him, Banjo shifted position.

Mr Brown looked annoyed…

‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘But locks don't generally alter 'emselves while you're working on 'em, that's what I'm saying.’

‘And I thought you could open any lock anyone ever made,’ said Teatime.

‘Made by humans,’ said Mr Brown sharply. ‘And most dwarfs. I dunno what made these. You never said anything about magic.’

‘That's a shame,’ said Teatime. ‘Then really I have no more need of your services. You may as well go back home.’

‘I won't be sorry.’ Mr Brown started putting things back into his tool bag. ‘What about my money?’

‘Do I owe you any?’

‘I came along with you. I don't see it's my fault that this is all magic business. I should get something.’

‘Ah, yes, I see your point,’ said Teatime. ‘Of course, you should get what you deserve. Banjo?’

Banjo lumbered forward, and then stopped.

Mr Brown's hand had come out of the bag holding a crowbar.

‘You must think I was born yesterday, you slimy little bugger,’ he said. ‘I know your type. You think it's all some kind of game. You make little jokes to yourself and you think no one else notices and you think you're so smart. Well, Mr Teacup, I'm leaving, right? Right now. With what's coming to me. And you ain't stopping me. And Banjo certainly ain't. I knew old Ma Lilywhite back in the good old days. You think you're nasty? You think you're mean? Ma Lilywhite'd tear your ears off and spit 'em in your eye, you cocky little devil. And I worked with her, so you don't scare me and nor does little Banjo, poor sod that he is.’

Mr Brown glared at each of them in turn, flourishing the crowbar. Sideney cowered in front of the doors.

He saw Teatime nod gracefully, as if the man had made a small speech of thanks.

‘I appreciate your point of view,’ said Teatime. ‘And, I have to repeat, it's Teh-ah-tim-eh. Now, please, Banjo.’

Banjo loomed over Mr Brown, reached down and lifted him up by the crowbar so sharply that his feet came out of his boots.

‘Here, you know me, Banjo!’ the locksmith croaked, struggling in mid-air. ‘I remembers you when you was little, I used to sit you on my knees, I often used to work for your ma—’

‘D'you like apples?’ Banjo rumbled.

Brown struggled.