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
s better than nothing. It was nothing with snow on it. The boar reached the edge and hesitated. Susan put her head down and dug her heels in again. Snout down, legs moving like pistons, the beast plunged out onto the ridge. Snow sprayed up as its trotters sought for purchase. It made up for lack of grace by sheer manic effort, legs moving like a tap dancer climbing a moving staircase that was heading down. 'That's right, that's right, that's-' A trotter slipped. For a moment the boar seemed to stand on two, the others scrabbling at icy rock. Susan flung herself the other way, clinging to the neck, and felt the dragging abyss under her feet. There was nothing there. She told herself, He'll catch me if I fall he'll catch me if I fall, he'll catch me if I fall... Powdered ice made her eyes sting. A flailing trotter almost slammed against her head. An older voice said, No, he won't. If I fall now I don't deserve to be caught. The creature's eye was inches away. And then she knew... ... Out of the depths of eyes of all but the most unusual of animals comes an echo. Out of the dark eye in front of her, someone looked back... A foot caught the rock and she concentrated her whole being on it, kicking herself upward in one last effort. Pig and woman rocked for a moment and then a trotter caught a footing and the boar plunged forward along the ridge. Susan risked a look behind. The dogs still moved oddly. There was a slight jerkiness about their movements, as if they flowed from position to position rather than moved by ordinary muscles. Not dogs, she thought. Dog shapes. There was another shock underfoot. Snow flew up. The world tilted. She felt the shape of the boar change when its muscles bunched and sent it soaring as a slab of ice and rock came away and began the long slide into darkness. Susan was thrown off when the creature landed, and tumbled into deep snow. She flailed around madly, expecting at any minute to begin sliding. Instead her hand found a snow-encrusted branch. A few feet away the boar lay on its side, steaming and panting. She pulled herself upright. The spur here had widened out into a hill, with a few frosted trees on it. The dogs had reached the gap and were milling round, struggling to prevent themselves slipping. They could easily clear the distance, she could see. Even the boar had managed it with her on its back. She put both hands around the branch and heaved; it came away with a crack, like a broken icicle, and she waved it like a club. 'Come on,' she said. 'Jump! Just you try it! Come on!' One did. The branch caught it as it landed, and then Susan spun and brought the branch around on the upswing, lifted the dazed animal off its feet and out over the edge. For a moment the shape wavered and then, howling, it dropped out of sight. She danced a few steps of rage and triumph. 'Yes! Yes! Who wants some? Anyone else?' The other dogs looked her in the eye, decided that no one did, and that there wasn't. Finally, after one or two nervous attempts, they managed to turn, still sliding, and tried to make it back to the plateau. A figure barred their way.
It hadn't been there a moment ago but it looked permanent now. It seemed to have been made of snow, three balls of snow piled on one another. It had black dots for eyes. A semi-circle of more dots formed the semblance of a mouth. There was a carrot for the nose. And, for the arms, two twigs. At this distance, anyway. One of them was holding a curved stick. A raven wearing a damp piece of red paper landed on one arm. 'Bob bob bob?' it suggested. 'Merry Solstice? Tweetie tweet? What are you waiting for? Hogswatch?' The dogs backed away. The snow broke off the snowman in chunks, revealing a gaunt figure in a flapping black robe. Death spat out the carrot. HO. HO. HO. The grey bodies smeared and rippled as the hounds sought desperately to change their shape. YOU COULDN'T RESIST IT? IN THE END? A MISTAKE, I FANCY. He touched the scythe. There was a click as the blade flashed into life. IT GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN, LIFE, said Death, stepping forward. SPEAKING METAPHORICALLY, OF COURSE. IT'S A HABIT THAT'S HARD TO GIVE UP. ONE PUFF OF BREATH IS NEVER ENOUGH. YOU'LL FIND YOU WANT TO TAKE ANOTHER. A dog started to slip on the snow and scrabbled desperately to save itself from the long, cold drop. AND, YOU SEE, THE MORE YOU STRUGGLE FOR EVERY MOMENT, THE MORE ALIVE YOU STAY... WHICH IS WHERE I COME IN, AS A MATTER OF FACT. The leading dog managed, for a moment, to become a grey led figure before being dragged back into shape. FEAR, TOO, IS AN ANCHOR, said Death. ALL THOSE SENSES, WIDE OPEN TO EVERY FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD. THAT BEATING HEART. THAT RUSH OF BLOOD. CAN YOU NOT FEEL IT, DRAGGING YOU BACK? Once again the Auditor managed to retain a shape for a few seconds, and managed to say: you cannot do this, there are rules! YES. THERE ARE RULES. BUT YOU BROKE THEM. HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? The scythe blade was a thin blue outline in the grey light. Death raised a thin finger to where his lips might have been, and suddenly looked thoughtful. AND NOW THERE REMAINS ONLY ONE FINAL QUESTION, he said. He raised his hands, and seemed to grow. Light flared in his eye sockets. When he spoke next, avalanches fell in the mountains. HAVE YOU BEEN NAUGHTY... OR NICE? HO. HO. HO. Susan heard the wails die away. The boar lay in white snow that was now red with blood. She knelt down and tried to lift its head. It was dead. One eye stared at nothing. The tongue lolled. Sobs welled up inside her. The tiny part of Susan that watched, the inner baby-sitter, said it was just exhaustion and excitement and the backwash of adrenalin. She couldn't be crying over a dead pig. The rest of her drummed on its flank with both fists.
'No, you can't! We saved you! Dying isn't how it's supposed to go!' A breeze blew up. Something stirred in the landscape, something under the snow. The branches on the ancient trees shook gently, dislodging little needles of ice. The sun rose. The light streamed over Susan like a silent gale. It was dazzling. She crouched back, raising her forearm to cover her eyes. The great red ball turned frost to fire along the winter branches. Cold light slammed into the mountain peaks, making every one a blinding, silent volcano. It rolled onward, gushing into the valleys and thundering up the slopes, unstoppable... There was a groan. A man lay in the snow where the boar had been. He was naked except for an animal skin loincloth. His hair was long and had been woven into a thick plait down his back, so matted with blood and grease that it looked like felt. And he was bleeding everywhere the hounds had caught him. Susan watched for a moment, and then, thinking with something other than her head, methodically tore some strips from her petticoat to bandage the more unpleasant wounds. Capability, said the small part of her mind. A rational head in emergencies. Rational something, anyway. It's probably some kind of character flaw. The man was tattooed. Blue whorls and spirals haunted his skin, under the blood. He opened his eyes and stared at the sky. 'Can you get up?' His gaze flicked to her. He tried moving and then fell back. Eventually she managed to pull the man up into a sitting position. He swayed as she put one of his arms across her shoulders and then heaved him to his feet. She did her best to ignore the sting, which had an almost physical force. 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 fight 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 Fr. 'I... er... they'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, ould 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. 23 It was, in fact, a pleasant masculine scent. But only to female weasels.
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-thebox, 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. All. 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. 'Thank you. Er... what is it?' ALBERT SAID THERE OUGHT TO BE SNOW ON IT, BUT IT APPEARS TO HAVE MELTED, said Death. IT IS, OF COURSE, A HOGSWATCH CARD. 'Oh...' THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A ROBIN ON IT AS WELL, BUT I HAD CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY IN GETTING IT TO STAY ON. 'Ah... IT WAS NOT AT ALL CO-OPERATIVE. 'Really... ?' IT DID NOT SEEM TO GET INTO THE HOGSWATCH SPIRIT AT ALL. 'Oh. Er. Good. Granddad?' YES? 'Why? I mean, why did you do all this?' He stood quite still for a moment, as if he was trying out sentences in his mind.
I THINK IT'S SOMETHING TO DO WITH HARVESTS, he said at last. YES. THAT'S RIGHT. AND BECAUSE HUMANS ARE SO INTERESTING THAT THEY HAVE EVEN INVENTED DULLNESS. QUITE ASTONISHING. 'Oh.' WELL THEN... HAPPY HOGSWATCH. 'Yes. Happy Hogswatch.' Death paused again, at the window. AND GOOD NIGHT, CHILDREN... EVERYWHERE. The raven fluttered down onto a log covered in snow. Its prosthetic red breast had been torn and fluttered uselessly behind it. 'Not so much as a lift home,' it muttered. 'Look at this, willya? Snow and frozen wastes, everywhere. I couldn't fly another damn inch. I could starve to death here, you know? Hah! People're going on about recycling the whole time, but you just try a bit of practical ecology and they just... don't... want... to... know. Hah! I bet a robin'd have a lift home. Oh yes.' SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats sympathetically, and sniffed. The raven watched the small hooded figure scrabble at the snow. 'So I'll just freeze to death here, shall l?' it said gloomily. 'A pathetic bundle of feathers with my little feet curled up with the cold. It's not even as if I'm gonna make anyone a good meal, and let me tell you it's a disgrace to die thin in my spec-' It became aware that under the snow was a rather grubbier whiteness. Further scraping by the rat exposed something that could very possibly have been an ear. The raven stared. 'It's a sheep!' it said. The Death of Rats nodded. 'A whole sheep!' 24 SQUEAK. 'Oh, wow!' said the raven, hopping forward with its eyes spinning. 'Hey, it's barely cool!' The Death of Rats patted it happily on a wing. SQUEAK-EEK. EEK-SQUEAK... 'Why, thanks. And the same to you... ' Far, far away and a long, long time ago, a shop door opened. The little toymaker bustled in from the workshop in the rear, and then stopped, with amazing foresight, dead. YOU HAVE A BIG WOODEN ROCKING HORSE IN THE WINDOW, said the new customer. 'Ah, yes, yes, yes.' The shopkeeper fiddled nervously with his square-rimmed spectacles. He hadn't heard the bell, and this was worrying him. 'But I'm afraid that's just for show, that is a special order for Lord-' NO. I WILL BUY IT. 'No, because, you see---' THERE ARE OTHER TOYS? 'Yes, indeed, but-' THEN I WILL TAKE THE HORSE. HOW MUCH WOULD THIS LORDSHIP HAVE PAID YOU? 'Er, we'd agreed twelve dollars but--' I WILL GIVE YOU FIFTY, said the customer. 24 Which had died in its sleep. Of natural causes. At a great age. After a long and happy life, insofar as a sheep can be happy. And would probably be quite pleased to know that it could help somebody as it passed away...
ct 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 fight 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 Fr. 'I... er... they'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, ould 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. 23 It was, in fact, a pleasant masculine scent. But only to female weasels.
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-thebox, 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. All. 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. 'Thank you. Er... what is it?' ALBERT SAID THERE OUGHT TO BE SNOW ON IT, BUT IT APPEARS TO HAVE MELTED, said Death. IT IS, OF COURSE, A HOGSWATCH CARD. 'Oh...' THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A ROBIN ON IT AS WELL, BUT I HAD CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY IN GETTING IT TO STAY ON. 'Ah... IT WAS NOT AT ALL CO-OPERATIVE. 'Really... ?' IT DID NOT SEEM TO GET INTO THE HOGSWATCH SPIRIT AT ALL. 'Oh. Er. Good. Granddad?' YES? 'Why? I mean, why did you do all this?' He stood quite still for a moment, as if he was trying out sentences in his mind.
I THINK IT'S SOMETHING TO DO WITH HARVESTS, he said at last. YES. THAT'S RIGHT. AND BECAUSE HUMANS ARE SO INTERESTING THAT THEY HAVE EVEN INVENTED DULLNESS. QUITE ASTONISHING. 'Oh.' WELL THEN... HAPPY HOGSWATCH. 'Yes. Happy Hogswatch.' Death paused again, at the window. AND GOOD NIGHT, CHILDREN... EVERYWHERE. The raven fluttered down onto a log covered in snow. Its prosthetic red breast had been torn and fluttered uselessly behind it. 'Not so much as a lift home,' it muttered. 'Look at this, willya? Snow and frozen wastes, everywhere. I couldn't fly another damn inch. I could starve to death here, you know? Hah! People're going on about recycling the whole time, but you just try a bit of practical ecology and they just... don't... want... to... know. Hah! I bet a robin'd have a lift home. Oh yes.' SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats sympathetically, and sniffed. The raven watched the small hooded figure scrabble at the snow. 'So I'll just freeze to death here, shall l?' it said gloomily. 'A pathetic bundle of feathers with my little feet curled up with the cold. It's not even as if I'm gonna make anyone a good meal, and let me tell you it's a disgrace to die thin in my spec-' It became aware that under the snow was a rather grubbier whiteness. Further scraping by the rat exposed something that could very possibly have been an ear. The raven stared. 'It's a sheep!' it said. The Death of Rats nodded. 'A whole sheep!' 24 SQUEAK. 'Oh, wow!' said the raven, hopping forward with its eyes spinning. 'Hey, it's barely cool!' The Death of Rats patted it happily on a wing. SQUEAK-EEK. EEK-SQUEAK... 'Why, thanks. And the same to you... ' Far, far away and a long, long time ago, a shop door opened. The little toymaker bustled in from the workshop in the rear, and then stopped, with amazing foresight, dead. YOU HAVE A BIG WOODEN ROCKING HORSE IN THE WINDOW, said the new customer. 'Ah, yes, yes, yes.' The shopkeeper fiddled nervously with his square-rimmed spectacles. He hadn't heard the bell, and this was worrying him. 'But I'm afraid that's just for show, that is a special order for Lord-' NO. I WILL BUY IT. 'No, because, you see---' THERE ARE OTHER TOYS? 'Yes, indeed, but-' THEN I WILL TAKE THE HORSE. HOW MUCH WOULD THIS LORDSHIP HAVE PAID YOU? 'Er, we'd agreed twelve dollars but--' I WILL GIVE YOU FIFTY, said the customer. 24 Which had died in its sleep. Of natural causes. At a great age. After a long and happy life, insofar as a sheep can be happy. And would probably be quite pleased to know that it could help somebody as it passed away...
The little shopkeeper stopped in midremonstrate and started up in mid-greed. There were other toys, he told himself quickly. And this customer, he thought with considerable prescience, looked like someone who did not take no for an answer and seldom even bothered to ask the question. Lord Selachii would be angry, but Lord Selachii wasn't here. The stranger, on the other hand, was here. Incredibly here. 'Er... well, in the circumstances... er... shall I wrap it up for you?' NO. I WILL TAKE IT AS IT IS. THANK YOU. I WILL LEAVE VIA THE BACK WAY, IF IT'S ALL THE SAME TO YOU. 'Er... how did you get in?' said the shopkeeper, pulling the horse out of the window. THROUGH THE WALL. SO MUCH MORE CONVENIENT THAN CHIMNEYS, DON'T YOU THINK? The apparition dropped a small clinking bag on the counter and lifted the horse easily. The shopkeeper wasn't in a position to hold on to anything. Even yesterday's dinner was threatening to leave him. The figure looked at the other shelves. YOU MAKE GOOD TOYS. 'Er... thank you.' INCIDENTALLY, said the customer, as he left, THERE IS A SMALL BOY OUT THERE WITH HIS NOSE FROZEN TO THE WINDOW. SOME WARM WATER SHOULD DO THE TRICK. Death walked out to where Binky was waiting in the snow and tied the toy horse behind the saddle. ALBERT WILL BE VERY PLEASED. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HIS FACE. HO. HO. HO. As the light of Hogswatch slid down the towers of Unseen University, the Librarian slipped into the Great Hall with some sheet music clenched firmly in his feet. As the light of Hogswatch lit the towers of Unseen University, the Archchancellor sat down with a sigh in his study and pulled off his boots. It had been a damn long night, no doubt about it. Lots of strange things. First time he'd ever seen the Senior Wrangler burst into tears, for one thing. Ridcully glanced at the door to the new bathroom. Well, he'd sorted out the teething troubles, and a nice warm shower would be very refreshing. And then he could go along to the organ recital all nice and clean. He removed his hat, and someone fell out of it with a tinkling sound. A small gnome rolled across the floor. 'Oh, another one. I thought we'd got rid of you fellows,' said Ridcully. 'And what are you?' The gnome looked at him nervously. 'Er... you know whenever there was another magical appearance you heard the sound of, er, bells?' it said. Its expression suggested it was owning up to something it just knew was going to get it a smack. .'Yes?' The gnome held up some rather small handbells and waved them nervously. They went glingleglingleglingle, in a very sad way. 'Good, eh? That was me. Im the Glingleglingleglingle Fairy.' `Get out.'
'I also do sparkly fairy dust effects that go twing too, if you like... `Go away!'
'How about “The Bells of St Ungulant's”?' said the gnome desperately. 'Very seasonal. Very nice. Why not join in? It goes: ''The bells [clong] of St [clang]... " '
Ridcully scored a direct hit with the rubber duck, and the gnome escaped through the bath overflow. Cursing and spontaneous handbell ringing echoed away down the pipes. In perfect peace at last, the Archchancellor pulled off his robe. The organ's storage tanks were wheezing at the rivets by the time the Librarian had finished pumping. Satisfied, he knuckled his way up to the seat and paused to survey, with great satisfaction, the keyboards in front of him. Bloody Stupid Johnson's approach to music was similar to his approach in every field that was caressed by his genius in the same way that a potato field is touched by a late frost. Make it loud, he said. Make it wide. Make it allembracing. And thus the Great Organ of Unseen University was the only one in the world where you could play an entire symphony scored for thunderstorm and squashed toad noises. Warm water cascaded off Mustrum Ridcully's pointy bathing cap. Mr Johnson had, surely not on purpose, designed a perfect bathroom - at least, perfect for singing in. Echoes and resonating pipeways smoothed out all those little imperfections and gave even the weediest singer a rolling, dark brown voice. And so Ridcully sang. ' -as I walked out one dadadadada for to something or other and to take the dadada, I did espy a fair pretty may-ay-den I think it was, and I---' The organ pipes hummed with pent-up energy. The Librarian cracked his knuckles. This took some time. Then he pulled the pressure release valve. The hum became an urgent thrumming. Very carefully, he let in the clutch. Ridcully stopped singing as the tones of the organ came through the wall. Bathtime music, eh? he thought. Just the job. It was a shame it was muffled by all the bathroom fixtures, though. It was at this point he espied a small lever marked `Musical pipes. Ridcully, never being a man to wonder what any kind of switch did when it was so much easier and quicker to find out by pulling it, did so. But instead of the music he was expecting he was rewarded simply with several large panels sliding silently aside, revealing row upon row of brass nozzles. The Librarian was lost now, dreaming on the wings of music. His hands and feet danced over the keyboards, picking their way towards the crescendo which ended the first movement of Bubble's Catastrophe Suite. One foot kicked the 'Afterburner' lever and the other spun the valve of the nitrous oxide cylinder. Ridcully tapped the nozzles. Nothing happened. He looked at the controls again, and realized that he'd never pulled the little brass lever marked 'Organ Interlock`. He did so. This did not cause a torrent of pleasant bathtime accompaniment, however. There was merely a thud and a distant gurgling which grew in volume. He gave up, and went back to soaping his chest. '----running of the deer, the playing of... huh? What--' Later that day he had the bathroom nailed up again and a notice placed on the door, on which was written: 'Not to be used in any circumstances. This is IMPORTANT.' However, when Modo nailed the door up he didn't hammer the nails in all the way but left just a bit sticking up so that his pliers would grip later on, when he was told to remove them. He never presumed and he never complained, he just had a good working knowledge of the wizardly mind. They never did find the soap. Ponder and his fellow students watched Hex carefully. 'It can't just, you know, stop,' said Adrian 'Mad Drongo' Tumipseed.
'The ants are just standing still,' said Ponder. He sighed. 'All right, put the wretched thing back.' Adrian carefully replaced the small fluffy teddy bear above Hex's keyboard. Things immediately began to whirr. The ants started to trot again. The mouse squeaked. They'd tried this three times. Ponder looked again at the single sentence Hex had written. +++ Mine! Waaaah +++ 'I don't actually think,' he said, gloomily, 'that I want to tell the Archchancellor that this machine stops working if we take its fluffy teddy bear away. I just don't think I want to live in that kind of world.'
'Er,' said Mad Drongo, 'you could always, you know, sort of say it needs to work with the FTB enabled... 'You think that's better?' said Ponder, reluctantly. It wasn't as if it was even a very realistic interpretation of a bear. 'You mean, better than “fluffy teddy bear”?' Ponder nodded. 'It's better,' he said. Of all the presents he got from the Hogfather, Gawain told Susan, the best of all was the marble. And she'd said, what marble? And he'd said, the glass marble I found in the fireplace. It wins all the games. It seems to move in a different way. The beggars walked their erratic and occasionally backward walk along the city streets, while fresh morning snow began to fall. Occasionally one of them belched happily. They all wore paper hats, except for Foul Ole Ron, who'd eaten his. A tin can was passed from hand to hand. It contained a mixture of fine wines and spirits and something in a can that Arnold Sideways ha stolen from behind a paint factory in Phedre Road. 'The goose was good,' said the Duck Man, picking his teeth. 'I'm surprised you et it, what with that duck on your head,' said Coffin Henry, picking his nose. 'What duck?' said the Duck Man. 'What were that greasy stuff?' said Arnold Sideways. 'That, my dear fellow, was pâté de foie gras. All the way from Genua, I'll wager. And very good, too.'