Hogfather Part 24

OH.

There was a moment of horrible silence as they both stared at the lifetimer.

"You're for life, not just for Hogswatch," prompted Albert. "Life goes on, master. In a manner of speaking."

BUT THIS IS H HOGSWATCHNIGHT.

"Very traditional time for this sort of thing, I understand," said Albert.

I THOUGHT IT WAS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY THOUGHT IT WAS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY, said Death.

"Ah, well, yes, you see, one of the things that makes folks even more jolly is knowing there're people who ain't," said Albert, in a matter-of-fact voice. "That's how it goes, master. Master?"

No. Death stood up. THIS IS HOW IT SHOULDN'T GO.

The University's Great Hall had been set for the Hogswatchnight Feast. The tables were already groaning under the weight of the cutlery, and it would be hours before any real food was put on them. It was hard to see where there would be s.p.a.ce for any among the drifts of ornamental fruit bowls and forests of wine gla.s.ses.

The oh G.o.d picked up a menu and turned to the fourth page.

"Course four: mollusks and crustaceans. A medley of lobster, crab, king crab, prawn, shrimp, oyster, clam, giant mussel, green-lipped mussel, thin-lipped mussel and Fighting Tiger Limpet. With a herb and b.u.t.ter dipping sauce. Wine: 'Three Wizards' Chardonnay, Year of the Talking Frog. Beer: Winkles' Old Peculiar." He put it down. "That's one one course?" he said. course?" he said.

"They're big men in the food department," said Susan.

He turned the menu over. On the cover was the University's coat of arms and, over it, three large letters in ancient script: ? ?.

"Is this some sort of magic word?"

"No." Susan sighed. "They put it on all their menus. You might call it the unofficial motto of the University."

"What's it mean?"

"Eta Beta Pi."

Bilious gave her an expectant look.

"Yes...?"

"Er...like, Eat a Better Pie?" said Susan.

"That's what you just said, yes," said the oh G.o.d.

"Um. No. You see, the letters are Ephebian characters which just sound sound a bit like 'eat a better pie.'" a bit like 'eat a better pie.'"

"Ah." Bilious nodded wisely. "I can see that might cause confusion."

Susan felt a bit helpless in the face of the look of helpful puzzlement. "No," she said, "in fact they are supposed supposed to cause a little bit of confusion, and then you laugh. It's called a pune or play on words. Eta Beta Pi." She eyed him carefully. "You laugh," she said. "With your mouth. Only, in to cause a little bit of confusion, and then you laugh. It's called a pune or play on words. Eta Beta Pi." She eyed him carefully. "You laugh," she said. "With your mouth. Only, in fact fact, you don't laugh, because you're not supposed to laugh at things like this."

"Perhaps I could find that gla.s.s of milk," said the oh G.o.d helplessly, peering at the huge array of jugs and bottles. He'd clearly given up on sense of humor.

"I gather the Archchancellor won't have milk in the University," said Susan. "He says he knows where it comes from and it's unhygienic. And that's a man who eats three eggs for breakfast every day, mark you. How do you know about milk, by the way?"

"I've got...memories," said the oh G.o.d. "Not exactly of anything, er, specific. Just, you know, memories. Like, I know trees usually grow green-end up...that sort of thing. I suppose G.o.ds just know things."

"Any special G.o.d-like powers?"

"I might be able to turn water into an enervescent drink." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is that any help? And it's just possible I can give people a blinding headache."

"I need to find out why my grandfather is...acting strange."

"Can't you ask him?"

"He won't tell me!"

"Does he throw up a lot?"

"I shouldn't think so. He doesn't often eat. The occasional curry, once or twice a month."

"He must be pretty thin."

"You've no idea."

"Well, then...Does he often stare at himself in the mirror and say 'Arrgh'? Or stick out his tongue and wonder why it's gone yellow? You see, it's possible I might have some measure of influence over people who are hung over. If he's been drinking a lot, I might be able to find him."

"I can't see him doing any of those things. I think I'd better tell you...My grandfather is Death."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"I said Death Death."

"Sorry?"

"Death. You know...Death?"

"You mean the robes, the-"

"-scythe, white horse, bones...yes. Death."

"I just want to make sure I've got this clear," said the oh G.o.d in a reasonable tone of voice. "You think your grandfather is Death and you think he's he's acting strange?" acting strange?"

The Eater of Socks looked up at the wizards, cautiously. Then its jaws started to work again.

...grnf, grnf...

"Here, that's one of mine!" said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, making a grab. The Eater of Socks backed away hurriedly.

It looked like a very small elephant with a very wide, flared trunk, up which one of the Chair's socks was disappearing.

"Funny lookin' little thing, ain't it?" said Ridcully, leaning his staff against the wall.

"Let go, you wretched creature!" said the Chair, making a grab for the sock. "Shoo!"

The sock eater tried to get away while remaining where it was. This should be impossible, but it is in fact a move attempted by many small animals when they are caught eating something forbidden. The legs scrabble hurriedly but the neck and feverishly working jaws merely stretch and pivot around the food. Finally the last of the sock disappeared up the snout with a faint sucking noise and the creature lumbered off behind one of the boilers. After a while it poked one suspicious eye around the corner to watch them.

"They're expensive, you know, with the flax-reinforced heel," muttered the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

Ridcully pulled open a drawer in his hat and extracted his pipe and a pouch of herbal tobacco. He struck a match on the side of the was.h.i.+ng engine. This was turning out to be a far more interesting evening than he had antic.i.p.ated.

"We've got to get this sorted out," he said, as the first few puffs filled the was.h.i.+ng hall with the scent of autumn bonfires. "Can't have creatures just popping into existence because someone's thought about them. It's unhygienic."

The sleigh slewed around at the end of Money Trap Lane.

COME ON, ALBERT.

"You know you're not supposed to do this sort of thing, master. You know what happened last time."

THE H HOGFATHER CAN DO IT, THOUGH.

"But...little match girls dying in the snow is part of what the Hogswatch spirit is all about about, master," said Albert desperately. "I mean, people hear about it and say, 'We may be poorer than a disabled banana and only have mud and old boots to eat, but at least we're better off than the poor little match girl,' master. It makes them feel happy and grateful for what they've got, see."

I KNOW KNOW WHAT THE SPIRIT OF WHAT THE SPIRIT OF H HOGSWATCH IS, ALBERT.

"Sorry, master. But, look, it's all right, anyway, because she wakes up and it's all bright and s.h.i.+ning and tinkling music and there's angels, master."

Death stopped.

AH. THEY TURN UP AT THE LAST MINUTE WITH WARM CLOTHES AND A HOT DRINK?.

Oh dear, thought Albert. The master's really in one of his funny moods now.

"Er. No. Not exactly at the last last minute, master. Not as such." minute, master. Not as such."

WELL?.

"More sort of just after after the last minute." Albert coughed nervously. the last minute." Albert coughed nervously.

YOU MEAN AFTER AFTER SHE'S SHE'S- "Yes. That's how the story goes, master, 's not my fault."

WHY NOT TURN UP BEFORE? AN ANGEL HAS QUITE A LARGE CARRYING CAPACITY.

"Couldn't say, master. I suppose people think it's more...satisfying the other way...Albert hesitated, and then frowned. "You know, now that I come to tell someone..."

Death looked down at the shape under the falling snow. Then he set the lifetimer on the air and touched it with a finger. A spark flashed across.

"You ain't really allowed to do that," said Albert, feeling wretched.

THE H HOGFATHER CAN. THE H HOGFATHER GIVES PRESENTS. THERE'S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE.

"Yeah, but-"

ALBERT.

"All right, master."

Death scooped up the girl and strode to the end of the alley.

The snowflakes fell like angel's feathers. Death stepped out into the street and accosted two figures who were tramping through the drifts.

TAKE HER SOMEWHERE WARM AND GIVE HER A GOOD DINNER, he commanded, pus.h.i.+ng the bundle into the arms of one of them. AND I I MAY WELL BE CHECKING UP LATER MAY WELL BE CHECKING UP LATER.

Then he turned and disappeared into the swirling snow.

Constable Visit looked down at the little girl in his arms, and then at Corporal n.o.bbs.

"What's all this about, corporal?"

n.o.bby pulled aside the blanket.

"Search me," he said. "Looks like we've been chosen to do a bit of charity."

"I don't call it very charitable, just dumping someone on people like this." don't call it very charitable, just dumping someone on people like this."

"Come on, there'll still be some grub left in the Watch-house," said n.o.bby. He'd got a very deep and certain feeling that this was expected of him. He remembered a big man in a grotto, although he couldn't quite remember the face. And he couldn't quite remember the face of the person who had handed over the girl, so that meant it must be the same one.

Shortly afterward there was some tinkling music and a very bright light and two rather affronted angels appeared at the other end of the alley, but Albert threw s...o...b..a.l.l.s at them until they went away.

Hex worried Ponder Stibbons. He didn't know how it worked, but everyone else a.s.sumed that he did. Oh, he had a good idea about some some parts, and he was pretty certain that Hex thought about things by turning them all into numbers and crunching them (a clothes wringer from the laundry, or CWL, had been plumbed in for this very purpose), but why did it need a lot of small religious pictures? And there was the mouse. It didn't seem to do much, but whenever they forgot to give it its cheese Hex stopped working. There were all those ram skulls. The ants wandered over to them occasionally but they didn't seem to parts, and he was pretty certain that Hex thought about things by turning them all into numbers and crunching them (a clothes wringer from the laundry, or CWL, had been plumbed in for this very purpose), but why did it need a lot of small religious pictures? And there was the mouse. It didn't seem to do much, but whenever they forgot to give it its cheese Hex stopped working. There were all those ram skulls. The ants wandered over to them occasionally but they didn't seem to do do anything. anything.

What Ponder was worried about was the fear that he was simply engaged in a cargo cult. He'd read about them. Ignorant* and credulous and credulous people, whose island might once have been visited by some itinerant merchant vessel that traded pearls and coconuts for such fruits of civilization as gla.s.s beads, mirrors, axes and s.e.xual diseases, would later make big model s.h.i.+ps out of bamboo in the hope of once again attracting this magical cargo. Of course, they were far too ignorant and credulous to know that just because you built the shape you didn't get the substance... people, whose island might once have been visited by some itinerant merchant vessel that traded pearls and coconuts for such fruits of civilization as gla.s.s beads, mirrors, axes and s.e.xual diseases, would later make big model s.h.i.+ps out of bamboo in the hope of once again attracting this magical cargo. Of course, they were far too ignorant and credulous to know that just because you built the shape you didn't get the substance...

He'd built the shape of Hex and, it occurred to him, he'd built it in a magical university where the border between the real and "not real" was stretched so thin you could almost see through it. He got the horrible suspicion that, somehow, they were merely making solid a sketch that was hidden somewhere in the air.

Hex knew what it ought to be.