Hogfather tds-20

by Terry David John Pratchett

  ‘…Not a… The…’ it said.

  ‘What do you mean, the?’ said Susan.

  ‘The bogeyman,’ said the bogeyman. And she saw how rangy it was, how white and grey streaked its hair, how the skin was stretched over the bones…

  ‘The first bogeyman?’

  ‘I… there were… I do remember when the land was different. Ice. Many times of… ice. And the… what do you call them?’ The creature wheezed. '… The lands, the big lands… all different…’

  Susan sat down on the bed.

  ‘You mean continents?’

  ‘…all different.’ The black sunken eyes glinted at her and suddenly the thing reared up, bony arms waving. ‘I was the dark in the cave! I was the shadow in the trees! You've heard about… the primal scream? That was… at me! I was…’ It folded up and started coughing. ‘And then… that thing, you know, that thing… all light and bright… lightning you could carry, hot, little sunshine, and then there was no more dark, just shadows, and then you made axes, axes in the forest, and then… and then…’

  Susan sat down on the bed. ‘There's still plenty of bogeymen,’ she said.

  ‘Hiding under beds! Lurking in cupboards! But,’ it fought for breath, ‘if you had seen me… in the old days… when they came down into the deep caves to draw their hunting pictures… I could roar in their heads… so that their stomachs dropped out of their bottoms…’

  ‘All the old skills are dying out,’ said Susan gravely.

  ‘…Oh, others came later… They never knew that first fine terror. All they knew,’ even whispering, the bogeyman managed to get a sneer in its voice, ‘was dark corners. I had been the dark! I was the… first! And now I was no better than them… frightening maids, curdling cream… hiding in shadows at the stub of the year… and then one night, I thought… why?’

  Susan nodded. Bogeymen weren't bright. The moment of existential uncertainty probably took a lot longer in heads where the brain cells bounced so very slowly from one side of the skull to the other. But… Granddad had thought like that. You hung around with humans long enough and you stopped being what they imagined you to be and wanted to become something of your own. Umbrellas and silver hairbrushes…

  ‘You thought: what was the point of it all?’ she said.

  ‘…frightening children… lurking… and then I started to watch them. Didn't really used to be children back in the ice times… just big humans, little humans, not children… and… and there was a different world in their heads… In their heads, that's where the old days were now. The old days. When it was all young.’

  ‘You came out from under the bed…’

  ‘I watched over them… kept 'em safe…’

  Susan tried not to shudder.

  ‘And the teeth?’

  ‘I… oh, you can't leave teeth around, anyone might get them, do terrible things. I liked them, I didn't want anyone to hurt them…’ it bubbled. ‘I never wanted to hurt them, I just used to watch, I kept the teeth all safe… and, and, and sometimes I just sit here listening to them… ’

  It mumbled on. Susan listened in embarrassed amazement, not knowing whether to take pity on the thing or, and this was a developing option, to tread on it.

  ‘…and the teeth… they remember…’

  It started to shake.

  ‘The money?’ Susan prompted. ‘I don't see many rich bogeymen around.’

  ‘…money everywhere… buried in holes… old treasure… back of sofas… it adds up… investments… money for the tooth, very important, part of the magic, makes it safe, makes it proper, otherwise it's thieving… and I labelled 'em all, and kept 'em safe, and… and then I was old, but I found people…’ The Tooth Fairy sniggered, and for a moment Susan felt sorry for the men in the ancient caves. ‘They don't ask questions, do they?’ it bubbled. ‘… You give 'em money and they all do their jobs and they don't ask questions…’

  ‘It's more than their job's worth,’ said Susan.

  ‘I… and then they came… stealing…’

  Susan gave in. Old gods do new jobs.

  ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘… thank you very much…’

  ‘I mean ill.’

  ‘…very old… all those men, too much effort…’

  The bogeyman groaned.

  ‘…you… don't die here,’ it panted. ‘Just get old, listening to the laughter…’

  Susan nodded. It was in the air. She couldn't hear words, just a distant chatter, as if it was at the other end of a long corridor.

  ‘…and this place… it grew up round me…’

  ‘The trees,’ said Susan. ‘And the sky. Out of their heads…’

  ‘…dying… the little children… you've got to… I’

  The figure faded.

  Susan sat for a while, listening to the distant chatter.

  Worlds of belief, she thought. Just like oysters. A little piece of shit gets in and then a pearl grows up around it.

  She got up and went downstairs.

  Banjo had found a broom and mop somewhere. The circle was empty and, with surprising initiative, the man was carefully washing the chalk away.

  ‘Banjo?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘You like it here?’

  ‘There's trees, miss.’

  That probably counts as a ‘yes’, Susan decided. ‘The sky doesn't worry you?’

  He looked at her in puzzlement.

  ‘No, miss?’

  ‘Can you count, Banjo?’

  He looked smug.

  ‘Yes, miss. On m'fingers, miss.’

  ‘So you can count up to…?’ Susan prompted. ‘Thirteen, miss,’ said Banjo proudly.

  She looked at his big hands.

  ‘Good grief.’

  Well, she thought, and why not? He's big and trustworthy and what other kind of life has he got?

  ‘I think it would be a good idea if you did the Tooth Fairy's job, Banjo.’

  ‘Will that be all right, miss? Won't the Tooth Fairy mind?’

  ‘You… do it until she comes back.’

  ‘All right, miss.’

  ‘I'll… er… get people to keep an eye on you, until you get settled in. I think food comes in on the cart. You're not to let people cheat you.’ She looked at his hands and then up and up the lower slopes until she saw the peak of Mount Banjo, and added, ‘Not that I think they'll try, mind you.’

  ‘Yes, miss. I will keep things tidy, miss. Er.’

  The big pink face looked at her.

  ‘Yes, Banjo?’

  ‘Can I have a puppy, miss? I had a kitten once, miss, but our mam drownded it 'cos it was dirty.’

  Susan's memory threw up a name.

  ‘A puppy called Spot?’

  ‘Yes, miss. Spot, miss.’

  ‘I think it'll turn up quite soon, Banjo.’

  He seemed to take this entirely on trust.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  ‘And now I've got to go.’

  ‘Right, miss.’

  She looked back up the tower. Death's land might be dark, but when you were there you never thought anything bad was going to happen to you. You were beyond the places where it could. But here—

  When you were grown up you only feared, well, logical things. Poverty. Illness. Being found out. At least you weren't mad with terror because of something under the stairs. The world wasn't full of arbitrary light and shade. The wonderful world of childhood? Well, it wasn't a cut-down version of the adult one, that was certain. It was more like the adult one written in big heavy letters. Everything was… more. More everything.

  She left Banjo to his sweeping and stepped out into the perpetually sunlit world.

  Bilious and Violet hurried towards her. Bilious was waving a branch like a club.

  ‘You don't need that,’ said Susan. She wanted some sleep.

  ‘We talked about it and we thought we ought to come back and help,’ said Bilious.

  ‘Ah. Democratic courage,’ said Susan. ‘Wel
l, they're all gone. To wherever they go.’

  Bilious lowered the branch thankfully.

  ‘It wasn't that—’ he began.

  ‘Look, you two can make yourselves useful,’ said Susan. ‘There's a mess in there. Go and help Banjo.’

  ‘Banjo?’

  ‘He's… more or less running the place now.’

  Violet laughed.

  ‘But he's—’

  ‘He's in charge,’ said Susan wearily.

  ‘All right,’ said Bilious. ‘Anyway, I'm sure we can tell him what to do—’

  ‘No! Too many people have told him what to do. He knows what to do. Just help him get started, all right? But…’

  If the Hogfather comes back now, you'll vanish, won't you? She didn't know how to phrase the question.

  ‘I'm, er, giving up my old job,’ said Bilious. ‘Er… I'm going to go on working as a holiday relief for the other gods.’ He gave her a pleading look.

  ‘Really?’ Susan looked at Violet. Oh, well, maybe if she believes in him, at least… It might work. You never know.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Have fun. Now I'm going home. This is a hell of a way to spend Hogswatch.’

  She found Binky waiting by the stream.

  The Auditors fluttered anxiously. And, as always happens in their species when something goes radically wrong and needs fixing instantly, they settled down to try to work out who to blame.

  One said, It was…

  And then it stopped. The Auditors lived by consensus, which made picking scapegoats a little problematical. It brightened up. After all, if everyone was to blame, then it was no one's actual fault. That's what collective responsibility meant, after all. It was more like bad luck, or something.

  Another said, Unfortunately, people might get the wrong idea. We may be asked questions.

  One said, What about Death? He interfered, after all.

  One said, Er… not exactly.

  One said, Oh, come on. He got the girl involved.

  One said, Er… no. She got herself involved.

  One said, Yes, but he told her…

  One said, No. He didn't. In fact he specifically did not tell—

  It paused, and then said, Damn!

  One said, On the other hand…

  The robes turned towards it.

  Yes?

  One said, There's no actual evidence. Nothing written down. Some humans got excited and decided to attack the Tooth Fairy's country. This is unfortunate, but nothing to do with us. We are shocked, of course.

  One said, There's still the Hogfather. Things are going to be noticed. Questions may be asked.

  They hovered for a while, unspeaking.

  Eventually one said, We may have to take… It paused, loath even to think the word, but managed to continue… a risk.

  Bed, thought Susan, as the mists rolled past her. And in the morning, decent human things like coffee and porridge. And bed. Real things—

  Binky stopped. She stared at his ears for a moment, and then urged him forward. He whinnied, and didn't budge.

  A skeletal hand had grabbed his bridle. Death materialized.

  IT IS NOT OVER. MORE MUST BE DONE. THEY TORMENT HIM STILL.

  Susan sagged. ‘What is? Who are?’

  MOVE FORWARD. I WILL STEER. Death climbed into the saddle and reached around her for the reins.

  ‘Look, I went—’ Susan began.

  YES. I KNOW. THE CONTROL OF BELIEF, said Death, as the horse moved forward again. ONLY A VERY SIMPLE MIND COULD THINK OF THAT. MAGIC SO OLD IT'S HARDLY MAGIC. WHAT A SIMPLE WAY TO MAKE MILLIONS OF CHILDREN CEASE TO BELIEVE IN THE HOGFATHER.

  ‘And what were you doing?’ Susan demanded.

  I TOO HAVE DONE WHAT I SET OUT TO DO. I HAVE KEPT A SPACE. A MILLION CARPETS WITH SOOTY BOOTMARKS, MILLIONS OF FILLED STOCKINGS, ALL THOSE ROOFS WITH RUNNER MARKS ON THEM… DISBELIEF WILL FIND IT HARD GOING IN THE FACE OF THAT. ALBERT SAYS HE NEVER WANTS TO DRINK ANOTHER SHERRY FOR DAYS. THE HOGFATHER WILL HAVE SOMETHING TO COME BACK TO, AT LEAST.

  ‘What have I got to do now?’

  YOU MUST BRING THE HOGFATHER BACK.

  ‘Oh, must I? For peace and goodwill and the tinkling of fairy bells? Who cares. He's just some fat old clown who makes people feel smug at Hogswatch! I've been through all this for some old man who prowls around kids' bedrooms?’

  NO. SO THAT THE SUN WILL RISE.

  ‘What has astronomy got to do with the Hogfather?’

  OLD GODS DO NEW JOBS.

  The Senior Wrangler wasn't attending the Feast. He got one of the maids to bring a tray up to his rooms, where he was Entertaining and doing all those things a man does when he finds himself unexpectedly tête-à-tête with the opposite sex, like trying to shine his boots on his trousers and clean his fingernails with his other fingernails.

  ‘A little more wine, Gwendoline? It's hardly alcoholic,’ he said, leaning over her.

  ‘I don't mind if I do, Mr Wrangler.’

  ‘Oh, call me Horace, please. And perhaps a little something for your chicken?’

  ‘I'm afraid she seems to have wandered off somewhere,’ said the Cheerful Fairy. ‘I'm afraid I'm, I'm I'm rather dull company…’ She blew her nose noisily.

  ‘Oh, I certainly wouldn't say that,’ said the Senior Wrangler. He wished he'd had time to tidy up his rooms a bit, or at least get some of the more embarrassing bits of laundry off the stuffed rhinoceros.

  ‘Everyone's been so kind,’ said the Cheerful Fairy, dabbing at her streaming eyes. ‘Who was the skinny one that kept making the funny faces for me?’

  ‘That was the Bursar. Why don't you—’

  ‘He seemed very cheerful, anyway.’

  ‘It's the dried frog pills, he eats them by the handful,’ said the Senior Wrangler dismissively. ‘I say, why don't—’

  ‘Oh dear. I hope they're not addictive.’

  ‘I'm sure he wouldn't keep on eating them if they were addictive,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘Now, why don't you have another glass of wine, and then… and then…’ a happy thought struck him ‘… and then… and then perhaps I could show you Archchancellor Bowell's Remembrance? It's got a-a-a-a very interesting ceiling. My word, yes.’

  ‘That would be very nice,’ said the Cheerful Fairy. ‘Would it cheer me up, do you think?’

  ‘Oh, it would, it would,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘Definitely! Good! So I'll, er, I'll just go and… just go and… I'll…’ He pointed vaguely in the direction of his dressing room, while hopping from one foot to the other. ‘I'll just go and, er… go… just…’

  He fled into the dressing room and slammed the door behind him. His wild eyes scanned the shelves and hangers.

  ‘Clean robe,’ he mumbled. ‘Comb face, wash socks, fresh hair, where's that Insteadofshave lotion—’

  From the other side of the door came the adorable sound of the Cheerful Fairy blowing her nose. From this side came the sound of the Senior Wrangler's muffled scream as, made careless by haste and a very poor sense of smell, he mistakenly splashed his face with the turpentine he used for treating his feet.

  Somewhere overhead a very small plump child with a bow and arrow and ridiculously unaerodynamic wings buzzed ineffectually against a shut window on which the frost was tracing the outline of a rather handsome Auriental lady. The other window already had an icy picture of a vase of sunflowers.

  In the Great Hall one of the tables had already collapsed. It was one of the customs of the Feast that although there were many courses each wizard went at his own speed, a tradition instituted to prevent the slow ones holding everyone else up. And they could also have seconds if they wished, so that if a wizard was particularly attracted to soup he could go round and round for an hour before starting on the preliminary stages of the fish courses.

  ‘How're you feeling now, old chap?’ said the Dean, who was sitting next to the Bursar. ‘Back on the dried frog pills?’

  ‘I, er, I, er, no, I'm not too bad,’ said the Bursar. ‘It was, of course, rather a, ra
ther a shock when—’

  ‘That's a shame, because here's your Hogswatch present,’ said the Dean, passing over a small box. It rattled. ‘You can open it now if you like.’

  ‘Oh, well, how nice—’

  ‘It's from me,’ said the Dean.

  ‘What a lovely—’

  ‘I bought it with my own money, you know,’ said the Dean, waving a turkey leg airily.

  ‘The wrapping paper is a very nice—’

  ‘More than a dollar, I might add.’

  ‘My goodness—’

  The Bursar pulled off the last of the wrapping paper.

  ‘It's a box for keeping dried frog pills in. See? It's got “Dried Frog Pills” on it, see?’

  The Bursar shook it. ‘Oh, how nice,’ he said weakly. ‘It's got some pills in it already. How thoughtful. They will come in handy.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Dean. ‘I took them off your dressing table. After all, I was down a dollar as it was.’

  The Bursar nodded gratefully and put the little box neatly beside his plate. They'd actually allowed him knives this evening. They'd actually allowed him to eat other things than those things that could only be scraped up with a wooden spoon.

  He eyed the nearest roast pig with nervous anticipation, and tucked his napkin firmly under his chin.

  ‘Er, excuse me, Mr Stibbons,’ he quavered. ‘Would you be so good as to pass me the apple sauce tankard—’

  There was a sound like coarse fabric ripping, somewhere in the air in front of the Bursar, and a crash as something landed on top of the roast pig. Roast potatoes and gravy filled the air. The apple that had been in the pig's mouth was violently expelled and hit the Bursar on the forehead.

  He blinked, looked down, and found he was about to plunge his fork into a human head.

  ‘Ahaha,’ he murmured, as his eyes started to glaze.

  The wizards heaved aside the overturned dishes and smashed crockery.

  ‘He just fell out of the air!’

  ‘Is he an Assassin? Not one of their student pranks, is it?’

  ‘Why's he holding a sword without a sharp bit?’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I think so!’

  ‘I didn't even have any of that salmon mousse! Will you look at it? His foot's in it! It's all over the place! Do you want yours?’