Hogfather

And someone landed abruptly in a snowdrift and said, ‘Bugger!’, which is a terrible thing to say as your first word ever.

Overhead, heedless of the new and somewhat angry life that was even now dusting itself off, the sledge soared onwards through time and space.

I’M FINDING THE BEARD A BIT OF A TRIAL, said Death.

‘Why’ve you got to have the beard?’ said the voice from among the sacks. ‘I thought you said people see what they expect to see.’

CHILDREN DON’T. TOO OFTEN THEY SEE WHAT’S THERE.

‘Well, at least it’s keeping you in the right frame of mind, master. In character, sort of thing.’

BUT GOING DOWN THE CHIMNEY? WHERE’S THE SENSE IN THAT? I CAN JUST WALK THROUGH THE WALLS.

‘Walking through the walls is not right, neither,’ said the voice from the sacks.

IT WORKS FOR ME.

‘It’s got to be chimneys. Same as the beard, really.’

A head thrust itself out from the pile. It appeared to belong to the oldest, most unpleasant pixie in the universe. The fact that it was underneath a jolly little green hat with a bell on it did not do anything to improve matters.

It waved a crabbed hand containing a thick wad of letters, many of them on pastel-coloured paper, often with bunnies and teddy bears on them, and written mostly in crayon.

‘You reckon these little buggers’d be writing to someone who walked through walls?’ it said. ‘And the “Ho, ho, ho” could use some more work, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

HO. HO. HO.

‘No, no, no!’ said Albert. ‘You got to put a bit of life in it, sir, no offence intended. It’s got to be a big fat laugh. You got to … you got to sound like you’re pissing brandy and crapping plum pudding, sir, excuse my Klatchian.’

REALLY? HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THIS?

‘I was young once, sir. Hung up my stocking like a good boy every year. For to get it filled with toys, just like you’re doing. Mind you, in those days basically it was sausages and black puddings if you were lucky. But you always got a pink sugar piglet in the toe. It wasn’t a good Hogswatch unless you’d eaten so much you were sick as a pig, master.’

Death looked at the sacks.

It was a strange but demonstrable fact that the sacks of toys carried by the Hogfather, no matter what they really contained, always appeared to have sticking out of the top a teddy bear, a toy soldier in the kind of colourful uniform that would stand out in a disco, a drum and a red-and-white candy cane. The actual contents always turned out to be something a bit garish and costing $5.99.

Death had investigated one or two. There had been a Real Agatean Ninja, for example, with Fearsome Death Grip, and a Captain Carrot One-Man Night Watch with a complete wardrobe of toy weapons, each of which cost as much as the original wooden doll in the first place.

Mind you, the stuff for the girls was just as depressing. It seemed to be nearly all horses. Most of them were grinning. Horses, Death felt, shouldn’t grin. Any horse that was grinning was planning something.

He sighed again.

Then there was this business of deciding who’d been naughty or nice. He’d never had to think about that sort of thing before. Naughty or nice, it was ultimately all the same.

Still, it had to be done right. Otherwise it wouldn’t work.

The pigs pulled up alongside another chimney.

‘Here we are, here we are,’ said Albert. ‘James Riddle, aged eight.’^{21}

HAH, YES. HE ACTUALLY SAYS IN HIS LETTER, ‘I BET YOU DON’T EXIST ’COS EVERYONE KNOWS ITS YORE PARENTS.’ OH YES, said Death, with what almost sounded like sarcasm, I’M SURE HIS PARENTS ARE JUST IMPATIENT TO BANG THEIR ELBOWS IN TWELVE FEET OF NARROW UNSWEPT CHIMNEY, I DON’T THINK. I SHALL TREAD EXTRA SOOT INTO HIS CARPET.

‘Right, sir. Good thinking. Speaking of which — down you go, sir.’

HOW ABOUT IF I DON’T GIVE HIM ANYTHING AS A PUNISHMENT FOR NOT BELIEVING?

‘Yeah, but what’s that going to prove?’

Death sighed. I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT.

‘Did you check the list?’

YES. TWICE. ARE YOU SURE THAT’S ENOUGH?^{22}

‘Definitely.’

COULDN’T REALLY MAKE HEAD OR TAIL OF IT, TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH. HOW CAN I TELL IF HE’S BEEN NAUGHTY OR NICE, FOR EXAMPLE?

‘Oh, well … I don’t 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?

‘That’s right.’

AND IF HE’S BEEN BAD?

Albert scratched his head. ‘When I was a lad, you got a bag of bones. ’s’mazing 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 wasn’t right. He was helping because, well, Death was his master and that’s 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 couldn’t.