Hogfather

sort of way, except that those mismatched eyes staring out of it suggested that it had been stolen from someone else.

She started to move her hand but the boy was there first, dragging the sword scabbard out of her belt.

‘Ah, ah!’ he chided, turning and fending her off as she tried to grab it. ‘Well, well, well. My word. White bone handle, rather tasteless skull and bone decoration… Death himself's second favourite weapon, am I right? Oh, my! This must be Hogswatch! And this must mean that you are Susan Sto-Helit. Nobility. I'd bow,’ he added, dancing back, ‘but I'm afraid you'd do something dreadful—’

There was a click, and a little gasp of excitement from the wizard working on the door.

‘Yes! Yes! Left-handed using a wooden pick! That's simple!’

He saw that even Susan was looking at him, and coughed nervously.

‘Er, I've got the fifth lock open, Mister Teatime! Not a problem! They're just based on Woddeley's Occult Sequence! Any fool could do it if they knew that!’

‘I know it,’ said Teatime, without taking his eyes off Susan.

‘Ah… ’

It was not technically audible, but nevertheless Susan could almost hear the wizard's mind back-pedalling. Up ahead was the conclusion that Teatime had no time for people he didn't need.

‘…with… inter… est… ing subtleties,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes. Very tricky. I'll, er, just have a look at number six…’

‘How do you know who I am?’ said Susan.

‘Oh, easy,’ said Teatime. ‘Twurp's Peerage. Family motto Non temetis messor. We have to read it, you know, in class. Hah, old Mericet calls it the Guide to the Turf. No one laughs except him, of course. Oh yes, I know about you. Quite a lot. Your father was well known. Went a long way very fast. As for your grandfather… honestly, that motto. Is that good taste? Of course, you don't need to fear him, do you? Or do you?’

Susan tried to fade. It didn't work. She could feel herself staying embarrassingly solid.

‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ she said. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

‘I beg your pardon. My name is Teatime, Jonathan Teatime. At your service.’

Susan lined up the syllables in her head.

‘You mean… like around four o'clock in the afternoon?’ she said.

‘No. I did say Teh-ah-tim-eh,’ said Teatime. ‘I spoke very clearly. Please don't try to break my concentration by annoying me. I only get annoyed at important things. How are you getting on, Mr Sideney? If it's just according to Woddeley's sequence, number six should be copper and blue-green light. Unless, of course, there are any subtleties…’

‘Er, doing it right now, Mister Teatime—’

‘Do you think your grandfather will try to rescue you? Do you think he will? But now I have his sword, you see. I wonder—’

There was another click.

‘Sixth lock, Mister Teatime!’

‘Really.’

‘Er… don't you want me to start on the seventh?’

‘Oh, well, if you like. Pure white light will be the key,’ said Teatime, still not looking away from Susan. ‘But it may not be all important now. Thank you, anyway. You've been most helpful.’

‘Er—’

‘Yes, you may go.’

Susan noticed that Sideney didn't even bother to pick up his books and tools, but hurried down the stairs as if he expected to be called back and was trying to run faster than the sound.

‘Is that all you're here for?’ she said. ‘A robbery?’ He was dressed like an Assassin, after all, and there was always one way to annoy an Assassin. ‘Like a thief?’

Teatime danced excitedly. ‘A thief? Me? I'm not a thief, madam. But if I were, I would be the kind that steals fire from the gods.’

‘We've already got fire.’

‘There must be an upgrade by now. No, these gentlemen are thieves. Common robbers. Decent types, although you wouldn't necessarily want to watch them eat, for example. That's Medium Dave and exhibit B is Banjo. He can talk.’

Medium Dave nodded at Susan. She saw the look in his eyes. Maybe there was something she could use…

She'd need something. Even her hair was a mess. She couldn't step behind time, she couldn't fade into the background, and now even her hair had let her down.

She was normal. Here, she was what she'd always wanted to be.

Bloody, bloody damn.

Sideney prayed as he ran down the stairs. He didn't believe in any gods, since most wizards seldom like to encourage them, but he prayed anyway the fervent prayers of an atheist who hopes to be wrong.

But no one called him back. And no one ran after him.

So, being of a serious turn of mind under his normal state of sub-critical fear, he slowed down in case he lost his footing.

It was then that he noticed that the steps underfoot weren't the smooth whiteness they had been everywhere else but were very large, pitted flagstones. And the light had changed, and then they weren't stairs any more and he staggered as he encountered flat ground where steps should have been.

His outstretched hand brushed against a crumbling brick.

And the ghosts of the past poured in, and he knew where he was. He was in the yard of Gammer Wimblestone's dame school. His mother wanted him to learn his letters and be a wizard, but she also thought that long curls on a five-year-old boy looked very smart.

This was the hunting ground of Ronnie Jenks.

Adult memory and understanding said that Ronnie was just an unintelligent bullet-headed seven-year-old bully with muscles where his brain should have been. The eye of childhood, rather more accurately, dreaded him as a force like a personalized earthquake with one nostril bunged up with bogies, both knees scabbed, both fists balled and all five brain cells concentrated in a kind of cerebral grunt.

Oh, gods. There was the tree Ronnie used to hide behind. It looked as big and menacing as he remembered it.

But… if somehow he'd ended up back there, gods knew how, well, he might be a bit on the skinny side but he was a damn sight bigger than Ronnie Jenks now. Gods, yes, he'd kick those evil little trousers all the—

And then, as a shadow blotted out the sun, he realized he was wearing curls.

Teatime looked thoughtfully at the door.

‘I suppose I should open it,’ he said, ‘after coming all this way…’

‘You're controlling children by their teeth,’ said Susan.

‘It does sound odd, doesn't it, when you put it like that,’ said Teatime. ‘But that's sympathetic magic for you. Is your grandfather going to try to rescue you, do you think? But no… I don't think he can. Not here, I think. I don't think that he can come here. So he sent you, did he?’

‘Certainly not! He—’ Susan stopped. Oh, he had, she told herself, feeling even more of a fool. He certainly had. He was learning about humans, all right. For a walking skeleton, he could be quite clever…

But… how clever was Teatime? Just a bit too excited at his cleverness to realize that if Death… She tried to stamp on the thought, just in case Teatime could read it in her eyes.

‘I don't think he'll try,’ she said. ‘He's not as clever as you, Mister Teatime.’

‘Teh-ah-tim-eh,’ said Teatime, automatically. ‘That's a shame.’

‘Do you think you're going to get away with this?’