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Still, it had to be done right. Otherwise it wouldnt work. The pigs pulled up alongside another chimney. Here we are, here we are, said Albert. James Riddle, aged eight. HAH, YES. HE ACTUALLY SAYS IN HIS LETTER, I BET YOU DONT EXIST COS EVERYONE KNOWS ITS YORE PARENTS. OH YES, said Death, with what almost sounded like sarcasm, IM SURE HIS PARENTS ARE JUST IMPATIENT TO BANG THEIR ELBOWS IN TWELVE FEET OF NARROW UNSWEPT CHIMNEY, I DONT THINK. I SHALL TREAD EXTRA SOOT INTO HIS CARPET. Right, sir. Good thinking. Speaking of which - down you go, sir. HOW ABOUT IF I DONT GIVE HIM ANYTHING AS A PUNISHMENT FOR NOT BELIEVING? Yeah, but whats that going to prove? Death sighed. I SUPPOSE YOURE RIGHT. Did you check the list? YES. TWICE. ARE YOU SURE THATS ENOUGH? Definitely. COULDNT REALLY MAKE HEAD OR TAIL OF IT, TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH. HOW CAN I TELL IF HES BEEN NAUGHTY OR NICE, FOR EXAMPLE? Oh, well . . . I dont know . . . Has he hung his clothes up, that sort of thing. AND IF HE HAS BEEN GOOD I MAY GIVE HIM THIS KLATCHIAN WAR CHARIOT WITH REAL SPINNING SWORD BLADES? Thats right. AND IF HES BEEN BAD? Albert scratched his head. When I was a lad, you got a bag of bones. smazing how kids got better behaved towards the end of the year. OH DEAR. AND NOW? Albert held a package up to his ear and rustled it. Sounds like socks. SOCKS. Could be a woolly vest. SERVE HIM RIGHT, IF I MAY VENTURE TO EXPRESS AN OPINION. . . Albert: looked across the snowy rooftops and sighed. This wasnt right. He was helping because, well, Death was his master and thats all there was to it, and if the master had a heart it would be in the right place. But. . . Are you sure we ought to be doing this, master? Death stopped, halfway out of the chimney. CAN YOU THINK OF A BETTER ALTERNATIVE, ALBERT? And that was it. Albert couldnt. Someone had to do it. There were bears on the street again. Susan ignored them and didnt even make a point of not treading on the cracks. They just stood around, looking a bit puzzled and slightly transparent, visible only to children and Susan. News like Susan gets around. The bears had heard about the poker. Nuts and berries, their expressions seemed to say. Thats what were here for. Big sharp teeth? What big shar--- Oh, these big sharp teeth? Theyre just for, er, cracking nuts. And some of these berries can be really vicious. The citys clocks were striking six when she got back to the house. She was allowed her own key. It wasnt as if she was a servant, exactly.
You couldnt be a duchess and a servant. But it was all right to be a governess. It was understood that it wasnt exactly what you were, it was merely a way of passing the time until you did what every girl, or gel, was supposed to do in life, i. e. , marry some man. It was understood that you were playing. The parents were in awe of her. She was the daughter of a duke whereas Mr Gaiter was a man to be reckoned with in the wholesale boots and shoes business. Mrs Gaiter was bucking for a transfer into the Upper Classes, which she currently hoped to achieve by reading books on etiquette. She treated Susan with the kind of worried deference she thought was due to anyone whod known the difference between a serviette and a napkin from birth. Susan had never before come across the idea that you could rise in Society by, as it were, gaining marks, especially since such noblemen as shed met in her fathers house had used neither serviette nor napkin but a state of mind, which was Drop it on the floor, the dogsll eat it. When Mrs Gaiter had tremulously asked her how one addressed the second cousin of a queen, Susan had replied without thinking, We called him Jamie, usually, and Mrs Gaiter had had to go and have a headache in her room. Mr Gaiter just nodded when he met her in a passage and never said very much to her. He was pretty sure he knew where he stood in boots and shoes and that was that. Gawain and Twyla, whod been named by people who apparently loved them, had been put to bed by the time Susan got in, at their own insistence. Its a widely held belief at a certain age that going to bed early makes tomorrow come faster. She went to tidy up the schoolroom and get things ready for the morning, and began to pick up the things the children had left lying around. Then something tapped at a window pane. She peered out at the darkness, and then opened the window. A drift of snow fell down outside. In the summer the window opened into the branches of a cherry tree. In the winter dark, they were little grey fines where the snow had settled on them. Whos that? said Susan. Something hopped through the frozen branches. Tweet tweet tweet, would you believe? said the raven. Not you again?
You wanted maybe some dear little robin? Listen, your grand-
Go away! Susan slammed the window and pulled the curtains across. She put her back to them, to make sure, and tried to concentrate on the room. It helped to think about . . . normal things. There was the Hogswatch tree, a rather smaller version of the grand one in the hall. Shed helped the children to make paper decorations for it. Yes. Think about that. There were the paperchains. There were the bits of holly, thrown out from the main rooms for not having enough berries on them, and now given fake modelling clay berries and stuck in anyhow on shelves and behind pictures. There were two stockings hanging from the mantelpiece of the small schoolroom grate. There were Twylas paintings, all blobby blue skies and violently green grass and red houses with four square windows. There were . . . Normal things . . . She straightened up and stared at them, her fingernails beating a thoughtful tattoo on a wooden pencil case. The door was pushed open. It revealed the tousled shape of Twyla, hanging onto the doorknob with one hand. Susan, theres a monster under my bed again . . . The click of Susans fingernails stopped.
. . . I can hear it moving about . . . Susan sighed and turned towards the child. All right, Twyla. Ill be along directly. The girl nodded and went back to her room, leaping into bed from a distance as a precaution against claws. There was a metallic tzing as Susan withdrew the poker from the little brass stand it shared with the tongs and the coal shovel. She sighed. Normality was what you made it. She went into the childrens bedroom and leaned over as if to tuck Twyla up. Then her hand darted down and under the bed. She grabbed a handful of hair. She pulled. The bogeyman came out like a cork but before it could get its balance it found itself spreadeagled against the wall with one arm behind its back. But it did manage to turn its head, to see Susans face glaring at it from a few inches away. Gawain bounced up and down on his bed. Do the Voice on it! Do the Voice on it! he shouted. Dont do the Voice, dont do the Voice! pleaded the bogeyman urgently. Hit it on the head with the poker!
Not the poker! Not the poker!
Its you, isnt it, said Susan. From this afternoon . . .
Arent you going to poke it with the poker? said Gawain. Not the poker! whined the bogeyman. New in town? whispered Susan. Yes! The bogeymans forehead wrinkled with puzzlement. Here, how come you can see me?
Then this is a friendly warning, understand? Because its Hogswatch. The bogeyman tried to move. You call this friendly?
Ah, you want to try for unfriendly? said Susan, adjusting her grip. No, no, no, I like friendly!
This house is out of bounds, right?
You a witch or something? moaned the bogeyman. Im just . . . something. Now . . . you wont be around here again, will you? Otherwise itll be the blanket next time.
No!
I mean it. Well put your head under the blanket.
No!
Its got fluffy bunnies on it.
No!
Off you go, then. The bogeyman half fell, half ran towards the door. is not right, it mumbled. Youre not sposed to see us if you aint dead or magic. s not fair. . .
Try number nineteen, said Susan, relenting a little. The governess there doesnt believe in bogeymen.
Right? said the monster hopefully. She believes in algebra, though.
Ah. Nice. The bogeyman grinned hugely. It was amazing the sort of mischief that could becaused in a house where no one in authority thought you existed. Ill be off, then, it said. Er. Happy Hogswatch.
Possibly, said Susan, as it slunk away.
That wasnt as much fun as the one last month, said Gawain, getting between the sheets again. You know, when you kicked him in the trousers-
Just you two get to sleep now, said Susan. Verity said the sooner we got to sleep the sooner the Hog
father would come, said Twyla conversationally. Yes, said Susan. Unfortunately, that might be the case. The remark passed right over their heads. She wasnt sure why it had gone through hers, but she knew enough to trust her senses. She hated that kind of sense. It ruined your life. But it was the sense she had been born with. The children were tucked in, and she closed the door quietly and went back to the schoolroom. Something had changed. She glared at the stockings, but they were unfulfilled. A paperchain rustled. She stared at the tree. Tinsel had been twined around it, badly pasted-together decorations had been hung on it. And on top was the fairy made of She crossed her arms, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed theatrically. Its you, isnt it? she said. SQUEAK? Yes, it is. Youre sticking out your arms like a scarecrow and youve stuck a little star on your scythe, havent you. . . ? The Death of Rats hung his head guiltily. SQUEAK. Youre not fooling anyone. SQUEAK. Get down from there this minute! SQUEAK. And what did you do with the fairy?
Its shoved under a cushion on the chair, said a voice from the shelves on the other side of the room. There was a clicking noise and the ravens voice added, These damn eyeballs are hard, arent they? Susan raced across the room and snatched the bowl away so fast that the raven somersaulted and landed on its back. Theyre walnuts! she shouted, as they bounced around her. Not eyeballs! This is a schoolroom! And the difference between a school and a-a-a raven delicatessen is that they hardly ever have eyeballs lying around in bowls in case a raven drops in for a quick snack! Understand? No eyeballs! The world is full of small round things that arent eyeballs! OK? The ravens own eyes revolved.
n I suppose a bit of warm livers out of the question---’ Shut up! I want both of you out of here right now! I dont know how you got in here-’ Theres a law against coming down the chimney on Hogswatchnight?
-but I dont want you back in my life, understand?
The rat said you ought to be warned even if you were crazy, said the raven sulkily. I didnt want to come, theres a donkey dropped dead just outside the city gates, Ill be lucky now if I get a hoof-- -’ Warned? said Susan. There it was again. The change in the weather of the mind, a sensation of tangible time . . . The Death of Rats nodded. There was a scrabbling sound far overhead. A few flakes of soot dropped down the chimney. SQUEAK, said the rat, but very quietly.
Susan was aware of a new sensation, as a fish might be aware of a new tide, a spring of fresh water flowing into the sea. Time was pouring into the world. She glanced up at the clock. It was just on half past six. The raven scratched its beak. The rat says . . . The rat says: youd better watch out . . . There were others at work on this shining Hogswatch Eve. The Sandman was out and about, dragging his sack from bed to bed. Jack Frost wandered from window pane to window pane, making icy patterns. And one tiny hunched shape slid and slithered along the gutter, squelching its feet in slush and swearing under its breath. It wore a stained black suit and, on its head, the type of hat known in various parts of the multiverse as bowler, derby or the one that makes you look a bit of a tit. The hat had been pressed down very firmly and, since the creature had long pointy ears, these had been forced out sideways and gave it the look of a small malignant wing-nut. The thing was a gnome by shape but a fairy by profession. Fairies arent necessarily little twinkly creatures. Its purely a job description, and the commonest ones arent even visible. 9 A fairy is simply any creature currently employed under supernatural laws to take things away or, as in the case of the small creature presently climbing up the inside of a drainpipe and swearing, to bring things. Oh, yes. He does. Someone has to do it, and he looks the right gnome for the job. Oh, yes. Sideney was worried. He didnt like violence, and there had been a lot of it in the last few days, if days passed in this place. The men . . . well, they only seemed to find life interesting when they were doing something sharp to someone else and, while they didnt bother him much in the same way that lions dont trouble themselves with ants, they certainly worried him. But not as much as Teatime did. Even the brute called Chickenwire treated Teatime with caution, if not respect, and the monster called Banjo just followed him around like a puppy. The enormous man was watching him now. He reminded Sideney too much of Ronnie Jenks, the bully whod made his life miserable at Cammer Wimblestones dame school. Ronnie hadnt been a pupil. He was the old womans grandson or nephew or something, which gave him a licence to hang around the place and beat up any kid smaller or weaker or brighter than he was, which more or less meant he had the whole world to choose from. In those circumstances, it was particularly unfair that he always chose Sideney. Sideney hadnt hated Ronnie. Hed been too frightened. Hed wanted to be his friend. Oh, so much. Because that way, just possibly, he wouldnt have his head trodden on such a lot and would actually get to eat his lunch instead of having it thrown in the privy. And it had been a good day when it had been his lunch. And then, despite all Ronnies best efforts, Sideney had grown up and gone to university. Occasionally his mother told him how Ronnie was getting on (she assumed, in the way of mothers, that because they had been small boys at school together they had been friends). Apparently he ran a fruit stall and was married to a girl called Angie. 10 This was not enough punishment, Sideney considered. 9 Such as the Electric Drill Chuck Key Fairy. 10 Who was (according to Sideneys mother) a bit of a catch since her father owned a half-share in an eel pie shop in Gleam Street, you must know her, got all her own teeth and a wooden leg youd hardlynotice, got a sister called Continence, lovely girl, why didnt she invite her along for tea next time he was over, not that she hardly saw her son the big wizard at all these days, but you never knew and if the magic thing didnt work out then a quarter-share in a thriving eel pie business was not to be sneezed at . . .
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