'Yes!'
'On Hogswatchnight?'
'Yes!'
'In your shop?'
'Yes!'
'In front of all those kiddies?'
'Y--' Mr Crumley hesitated. To his horror, he realized that Corporal Nobbs, against all expectation, had a point. 'You think that will look bad?' he said. 'Hard to see how it could look good, sir.'
'Could you not do it surreptitiously?' he said. 'Ah, well, surreptition, yes, we could give that a try,' said Corporal Nobbs. The sentence hung in the air with its hand out. 'You won't find me ungrateful,' said Mr Crumley, at last. 'Just you leave it to us,' said Corporal Nobbs, magnanimous in victory. 'You just nip down to your office and treat yourself to a nice cup of tea and we'll sort this out in no time. You'll be ever so grateful.' Crumley gave him a look of a man in the grip of serious doubt, but staggered away nonetheless. Corporal Nobbs rubbed his hands together. 'You don't have Hogswatch back where you come from do you, Washpot?' he said, as they climbed the stairs to the first floor. 'Look at this carpet, you'd think a pig'd pissed on it . . .'
'We call it the Fast of St Ossory,' said Visit, who was from Omnia. 'But it is not an occasion for superstition and crass commercialism. We simply get together in family groups for a prayer meeting and a fast.'
me . . .' She managed to get one of his arms around her neck. 'Can you walk?'
'Oh, me ...’ 'It might help if you stopped saying that and tried walking.'
'I'm sorry, but I seem to have too many legs. Ow.' Susan did her best to prop him up as, swaying and slipping, they made their way back to the exit. 'My head,' said the boy. 'My head. My head. My head. Feels awful. My head. Feels like someone's hitting it. My head. With a hammer.' Someone was. There was a small green and purple imp sitting amid the damp curls and holding a very large mallet. It gave Susan a friendly nod and brought the hammer down again. 'Oh, me . . .’ 'That wasn't necessary!' said Susan.
'You telling me my job?' said the imp. 'I suppose you could do it better, could you?'
'I wouldn't do it at all!'
'Well, someone's got to do it,' said the imp. 'He's part. Of the. Arrangement,' said the boy. 'Yeah, see?' said the imp. 'Can you hold the hammer while I go and coat his tongue with yellow gunk?'
'Get down right now!' Susan made a grab for the creature. It leapt away, still clutching the hammer, and grabbed a pillar. 'I'm part of the arrangement, I am!' it yelled. The boy clutched his head. 'I feel awful,' he said. 'Have you got any ice?' Whereupon, because there are conventions stronger than mere physics, the building fell in. The collapse of the Castle of Bones was stately and impressive and seemed to go on for a long time. Pillars fell in, the slabs of the roof slid down, the ice crackled and splintered. The air above the tumbling wreckage filled with a haze of snow and ice crystals. Susan watched from the trees. The boy, who she'd leaned against a handy trunk, opened his eyes. 'That was amazing,' he managed. 'Why, you mean the way it's all turning bark into snow?'
'The way you just picked me up and ran. 'Oh, that.' The grinding of the ice continued. The fallen pillars didn't stop moving when they collapsed, but went on tearing themselves apart. When the fog of ice settled there was nothing but drifted snow. 'As though it was never there,' said Susan, aloud. She turned to the groaning figure. 'All right, what were you doing there?'
'I don't know. I just opened my. Eyes and there I was.'
'Who are you?'
'I ... think my name is Bilious. I'm the ... I'm the oh God of Hangovers.'
'There's a God of Hangovers?'
'An oh god,' he corrected. 'When people witness me, you see, they clutch their head and say, “Oh God . . .” How many of you are standing here?'
'What? There's just me!'
'Ah. Fine. Fine.'
'I've never heard of a God of Hangovers . . .'
'You've heard of Bibulous, the God of Wine? 'Oh. yes.'
'Big fat man, wears vine leaves round his head, always pictured with a glass in his hand ... Ow. Well, you know why he's so cheerful? Him and his big face? It's because he knows he's going to feel good in the morning! It's because it's me that---'
'-gets the hangovers?' said Susan. 'I don't even drink! Ow! But who is it who ends up head down in the privy every morning? Arrgh.' He stopped and clutched at his head. 'Should your skull feel like it's lined with dog hair?'
'I don't think so.'
'Ah.' Bilious swayed. 'You know when people say ''I had fifteen lagers last night and when I woke up my head was clear as a bell''?'