Hogfather tds-20

by Terry David John Pratchett

  Downhill seemed the best option. Even if his brain wasn't working yet, his feet seemed to get the idea.

  They lurched down through the freezing woods, the snow glowing orange in the risen sun. Cold blue gloom lurked in hollows like little cups of winter.

  Beside her, the tattooed man made a gurgling sound. He slipped out of her grasp and landed on his knees in the snow, clutching at his throat and choking. His breath sounded like a saw.

  ‘What now? What's the matter? What's the matter?’

  He rolled his eyes at her and pawed at his throat again.

  ‘Something stuck?’ She slapped him as hard as she could on the back, but now he was on his hands and knees, fighting for breath.

  She put her hands under his shoulders and pulled him upright, and put her arms around his waist. Oh, gods, how was it supposed to go, she'd gone to classes about it, now, didn't you have to bunch up one fist and then put the other hand around it and then pull up and in like this—

  The man coughed and something bounced off a tree and landed in the snow.

  She knelt down to have a look.

  It was a small black bean.

  A bird trilled, high on a branch. She looked up. A wren bobbed at her and fluttered to another twig.

  When she looked back, the man was different. He had clothes now, heavy furs, with a fur hood and fur boots. He was supporting himself on a stone-tipped spear, and looked a lot stronger.

  Something hurried through the wood, barely visible except by its shadow. For a moment she glimpsed a white hare before it sprang away on a new path.

  She looked back. Now the furs had gone and the man looked older, although he had the same eyes. He was wearing thick white robes, and looked very much like a priest.

  When a bird called again she didn't look away. And she realized that she'd been mistaken in thinking that the man changed like the turning of pages. All the images were there at once, and many others too. What you saw depended on how you looked.

  Yes. It's a good job I'm cool and totally used to this sort of thing, she thought. Otherwise I'd be rather worried…

  Now they were at the edge of the forest.

  A little way off, four huge boars stood and steamed, in front of a sledge that looked as if it had been put together out of crudely trimmed trees. There were faces in the blackened wood, possibly carved by stone, possibly carved by rain and wind.

  The Hogfather climbed aboard and sat down. He'd put on weight in the last few yards and now it was almost impossible to see anything other than the huge, redrobed man, ice crystals settling here and there on the cloth. Only in the occasional sparkle of frost was there a hint of hair or tusk.

  He shifted on the seat and then reached down to extricate a false beard, which he held up questioningly.

  SORRY, said a voice behind Susan. THAT WAS MINE.

  The Hogfather nodded at Death, as one craftsman to another, and then at Susan. She wasn't sure if she was being thanked — it was more a gesture of recognition, of acknowledgement that something that needed doing had indeed been done. But it wasn't thanks.

  Then he shook the reins and clicked his teeth and the sledge slid away.

  They watched it go.

  ‘I remember hearing,’ said Susan distantly, ‘that the idea of the Hogfather wearing a red and white outfit was invented quite recently.’

  NO. IT WAS REMEMBERED.

  Now the Hogfather was a red dot on the other side of the valley.

  ‘Well, that about wraps it up for this dress,’ said Susan. ‘I'd just like to ask, just out of academic interest… you were sure I was going to survive, were you?’

  I WAS QUITE CONFIDENT.

  ‘Oh, good.’

  I WILL GIVE YOU A LIFT BACK, said Death, after a while.

  ‘Thank you. Now… tell me…’

  WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN'T SAVED HIM?

  ‘Yes! The sun would have risen just the same, yes?’

  NO.

  ‘Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that. It's an astronomical fact.’

  THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN.

  She turned on him.

  ‘It's been a long night, Grandfather! I'm tired and I need a bath! I don't need silliness!’

  THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN.

  ‘Really? Then what would have happened, pray?’

  A MERE BALL OF FLAMING GAS WOULD HAVE ILLUMINATED THE WORLD.

  They walked in silence for a moment.

  ‘Ah,’ said Susan dully. ‘Trickery with words. I would have thought you'd have been more literal-minded than that.’

  I AM NOTHING IF NOT LITERAL-MINDED. TRICKERY WITH WORDS IS WHERE HUMANS LIVE.

  ‘All right,’ said Susan. ‘I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need… fantasies to make life bearable.’

  REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

  ‘Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—’

  YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.

  ‘So we can believe the big ones?’

  YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.

  ‘They're not the same at all!’

  YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET— Death waved a hand. AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME… SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

  ‘Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—’

  MY POINT EXACTLY.

  She tried to assemble her thoughts.

  THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

  ‘Yes, but people don't think about that,’ said Susan. Somewhere there was a bed…

  CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE, WORLDS COLLIDE, THERE'S HARDLY ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR FRIED, AND YET YOU BELIEVE THAT A… A BED IS A NORMAL THING. IT IS THE MOST AMAZING TALENT.

  ‘Talent?’

  OH, YES. A VERY SPECIAL KIND OF STUPIDITY. YOU THINK THE WHOLE UNIVERSE IS INSIDE YOUR HEADS.

  ‘You make us sound mad,’ said Susan. A nice warm bed…

  NO. YOU NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME? said Death, helping her up on to Binky.

  ‘These mountains,’ said Susan, as the horse rose. ‘Are they real mountains, or some sort of shadows?’

  YES.

  Susan knew that was all she was going to get.

  ‘Er… I lost the sword. It's somewhere in the Tooth Fairy's country.’

  Death shrugged. I CAN MAKE ANOTHER.

  ‘Can you?’

  OH, YES. IT WILL GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.

  The Senior Wrangler hummed cheerfully to himself as he ran a comb through his beard for the second time and liberally sprinkled it with what would turn out to be a preparation of weasel extract for demon removal rather than, as he had assumed, a pleasant masculine Scent.[23] Then he stepped out into his study.

  ‘Sorry for the delay, but—’ he began.

  There was no one there. Only, very far off, the sound of someone blowing their nose mingling with the glingleglingleglingle of fading magic.

  The light was already gilding the top of the Tower of Art when Binky trotted to a standstill on the air beside the nursery balcony. Susan climbed down onto the fresh snow and stood uncertainly for a moment. When someone has gone out of their way to drop you home it's only courteous to ask them in. On the other hand…

  WOULD YOU LIKE TO VISIT FOR HOGSWATCH DINNER? said Death. He sounded hopeful. ALBERT IS FRYING A PUDDING.

  ‘Frying a pudding?’

  ALBERT UNDERSTANDS FRYING. AND I BELIEVE HE'S MAKING JAM. HE CERTAINLY KEPT TALKING ABOUT IT.

  ‘I… er… the
y're really expecting me here,’ said Susan. ‘The Gaiters do a lot of entertaining. His business friends. Probably the whole day will be… I'll more or less have to look after the children…’

  SOMEONE SHOULD.

  ‘Er… would you like a drink before you go?’ said Susan, giving in.

  A CUP OF COCOA WOULD BE APPROPRIATE IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES.

  ‘Right. There's biscuits in the tin on the mantelpiece.’

  Susan headed with relief into the tiny kitchen.

  Death sat down in the creaking wicker chair, buried his feet in the rug and looked around with interest. He heard the clatter of cups, and then a sound like indrawn breath, and then silence.

  Death helped himself to a biscuit from the tin. There were two full stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. He prodded them with professional satisfaction, and then sat down again and observed the nursery wallpaper. It seemed to be pictures of rabbits in waistcoats, among other fauna. He was not surprised. Death occasionally turned up in person even for rabbits, simply to see that the whole process was working properly. He'd never seen one wearing a waistcoat. He wouldn't have expected waistcoats. At least, he wouldn't have expected waistcoats if he hadn't had some experience of the way humans portrayed the universe. As it was, it was only a blessing they hadn't been given gold watches and top hats as well.

  Humans liked dancing pigs, too. And lambs in hats. As far as Death was aware, the sole reason for any human association with pigs and lambs was as a prelude to chops and sausages. Quite why they should dress up for children's wallpaper as well was a mystery. Hello, little folk, this is what you're going to eat… He felt that if only he could find the key to it, he'd know a lot more about human beings.

  His gaze travelled to the door. Susan's governess coat and hat were hanging on it. The coat was grey, and so was the hat. Grey and round and dull. Death didn't know many things about the human psyche, but he did know protective coloration when he saw it.

  Dullness. Only humans could have invented it. What imaginations they had.

  The door opened.

  To his horror, Death saw a small child of unidentifiable sex come out of the bedroom, amble sleepily across the floor and unhook the stockings from the mantelpiece. It was halfway back before it noticed him and then it simply stopped and regarded him thoughtfully.

  He knew that young children could see him because they hadn't yet developed that convenient and selective blindness that comes with the intimation of personal mortality. He felt a little embarrassed.

  ‘Susan's gotta poker, you know,’ it said, as if anxious to be helpful.

  WELL, WELL. INDEED. MY GOODNESS ME.

  ‘I fort — thought all of you knew that now. Larst — last week she picked a bogey up by its nose.’

  Death tried to imagine this. He felt sure he'd heard the sentence wrong but it didn't sound a whole lot better however he rearranged the words.

  ‘I'll give Gawain his stocking and then I'll come an' watch,’ said the child. It padded out.

  ER… SUSAN? Death said, calling in reinforcements.

  Susan backed out of the kitchen, a black kettle in her hand.

  There was a figure behind her. In the half-light the sword gleamed blue along its blade. Its glitter reflected off one glass eye.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Teatime, quietly, glancing at Death. ‘Now this is unexpected. A family affair?’

  The sword hummed back and forth.

  ‘I wonder,’ said Teatime, ‘is it possible to kill Death? This must be a very special sword and it certainly works here…’ He raised a hand to his mouth for a moment and gave a little chuckle. ‘And of course it might well not be regarded as murder. Possibly it is a civic act. It would be, as they say, The Big One. Stand up, sir. You may have some personal knowledge about your vulnerability but I'm pretty certain that Susan here would quite definitely die, so I'd rather you didn't try any last-minute stuff.’

  I AM LAST-MINUTE STUFF, said Death, standing up.

  Teatime circled around carefully, the sword's tip making little curves in the air.

  From the next room came the sound of someone trying to blow a whistle quietly.

  Susan glanced at her grandfather.

  ‘I don't remember them asking for anything that made a noise,’ she said.

  OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN THE STOCKING THAT MAKES A NOISE, said Death. OTHERWISE WHAT IS 4.30 A.M. FOR?

  ‘There are children?’ said Teatime. ‘Oh yes, of course. Call them.’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘It will be instructive,’ said Teatime. ‘Educational. And when your adversary is Death, you cannot help but be the good guy.’

  He pointed the sword at Susan.

  ‘I said call them.’

  Susan glanced hopefully at her grandfather. He nodded. For a moment she thought she saw the glow in one eye socket flicker off and on, Death's equivalent of a wink. He's got a plan. He can stop time. He can do anything. He's got a plan.

  ‘Gawain? Twyla?’

  The muffled noises stopped in the next room. There was a padding of feet and two solemn faces appeared round the door.

  ‘Ah, come in, come in, curly-haired tots,’ said Teatime genially.

  Gawain gave him a steely stare.

  His next mistake, thought Susan. If he'd called them little bastards he'd have them bang on his side. But they know when you're sending them up.

  ‘I've caught this bogeyman,’ said Teatime. ‘What shall we do with him, eh?’

  The two faces turned to Death. Twyla put her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘It's only a skeleton,’ said Gawain critically.

  Susan opened her mouth, and the sword swung towards her. She shut it again.

  ‘Yes, a nasty, creepy, horrible skeleton,’ said Teatime. ‘Scary, eh?’

  There was a very faint ‘pop’ as Twyla took her thumb out of her mouth.

  ‘He's eating a bittit,’ she said.

  ‘Biscuit,’ Susan corrected automatically. She started to swing the kettle in an absent-minded way.

  ‘A creepy bony man in a black robe!’ said Teatime, aware that things weren't going in quite the right direction.

  He spun round to face Susan. ‘You're fidgeting with that kettle,’ he said. ‘So I expect you're thinking of doing something creative. Put it down, please. Slowly.’

  Susan knelt down gently and put the kettle on the hearth.

  ‘Huh, that's not very creepy, it's just bones,’ said Gawain dismissively. ‘And anyway Willie the groom down at the stables has promised me a real horse skull. And anyway I'm going to make a hat out of it like General Tacticus had when he wanted to frighten people. And anyway it's just standing there. It's not even making woo-woo noises. And anyway you're creepy. Your eye's weird.’

  ‘Really? Then let's see how creepy I can be,’ said Teatime. Blue fire crackled along the sword as he raised it.

  Susan closed her hand over the poker.

  Teatime saw her start to turn. He stepped behind Death, sword raised…

  Susan threw the poker overarm. It made a ripping noise as it shot through the air, and trailed sparks.

  It hit Death's robe and vanished.

  He blinked.

  Teatime smiled at Susan.

  He turned and peered dreamily at the sword in his hand.

  It fell out of his fingers.

  Death turned and caught it by the handle as it tumbled, and turned its fall into an upward curve.

  Teatime looked down at the poker in his chest as he folded up.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘It couldn't have gone through you. There are so many ribs and things!’

  There was another ‘pop’ as Twyla extracted her thumb and said, ‘It only kills monsters.’

  ‘Stop time now,’ commanded Susan.

  Death snapped his fingers. The room took on the greyish purple of stationary time. The clock paused its ticking.

  ‘You winked at me! I thought you had a plan!’

  INDEED. OH, YES. I PLANNED TO
SEE WHAT YOU WOULD DO.

  ‘Just that?’

  YOU ARE VERY RESOURCEFUL. AND OF COURSE YOU HAVE HAD AN EDUCATION.

  ‘What?’

  I DID ADD THE SPARKLY STARS AND THE NOISE, THOUGH. I THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE APPROPRIATE.

  ‘And if I hadn't done anything?’

  I DARESAY I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING. AT THE LAST MINUTE.

  ‘That was the last minute!’

  THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR ANOTHER LAST MINUTE.

  ‘The children had to watch that!’

  EDUCATIONAL. THE WORLD WILL TEACH THEM ABOUT MONSTERS SOON ENOUGH. LET THEM REMEMBER THERE'S ALWAYS THE POKER.

  ‘But they saw he's human—’

  I THINK THEY HAD A VERY GOOD IDEA OF WHAT HE WAS.

  Death prodded the fallen Teatime with his foot.

  STOP PLAYING DEAD, MISTER TEH-AH-TIM-EH.

  The ghost of the Assassin sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, all slightly crazed smiles.

  ‘You got it right!’

  OF COURSE.

  Teatime began to fade.

  I'LL TAKE THE BODY, said Death. THAT WILL PREVENT INCONVENIENT QUESTIONS.

  ‘What did he do it all for?’ said Susan. ‘I mean, why? Money? Power?’

  SOME PEOPLE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR THE SHEER FASCINATION OF DOING IT, said Death. OR FOR FAME. OR BECAUSE THEY SHOULDN'T.

  Death picked up the corpse and slung it over his shoulder. There was a sound of something bouncing on the hearth. He turned, and hesitated.

  ER… YOU DID KNOW THE POKER WOULD GO THROUGH ME?

  Susan realized she was shaking.

  ‘Of course. In this room it's pretty powerful.’

  YOU WERE NEVER IN ANY DOUBT?

  Susan hesitated, and then smiled.

  ‘I was quite confident,’ she said.

  AH. Her grandfather stared at her for a moment and she thought she detected just the tiniest flicker of uncertainty. OF COURSE. OF COURSE. TELL ME, ARE YOU LIKELY TO TAKE UP TEACHING ON A LARGER SCALE?

  ‘I hadn't planned to.’

  Death turned towards the balcony, and then seemed to remember something else. He fumbled inside his robe.

  I HAVE MADE THIS FOR YOU.

  She reached out and took a square of damp cardboard. Water dripped off the bottom. Somewhere in the middle, a few brown feathers seemed to have been glued on.