Hogfather

‘Oh, it’s largely intuitive, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder. ‘Obviously you have to spend a lot of time learning it first, though. Now, then, Bursar,’ he added. ‘If you’d just like to say something …’

‘He says, SAY SOMETHING, BURSAAAR!’ yelled Ridcully helpfully, into the Bursar’s ear.

‘Corkscrew? It’s a tickler, that’s what Nanny says,’ said the Bursar.

Things started to spin inside Hex. At the back of the room a huge converted waterwheel covered with sheep skulls began to turn, ponderously.

And the quill pen in its network of springs and guiding arms started to write:

+++ Why Do You Think You Are A Tickler? +++^{39}

For a moment the Bursar hesitated. Then he said, ‘I’ve got a spoon of my own, you know.’

+++ Tell Me About Your Spoon +++

‘Er … it’s a little spoon …’

+++ Does Your Spoon Worry You? +++

The Bursar frowned. Then he seemed to rally. ‘Whoops, here comes Mr Jelly,’ he said, but he didn’t sound as though his heart was in it.

+++ How Long Have You Been Mr Jelly? +++

The Bursar glared. ‘Are you making fun of me?’ he said.

‘Amazin’!’ said Ridcully. ‘It’s got him stumped! ’s better than dried frog pills! How did you work it out?’

‘Er …’ said Ponder. ‘It sort of just happened …’

‘Amazin’,’ said Ridcully. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe on Hex’s ‘Anthill Inside’ sticker,^{40} causing Ponder to wince. ‘This thing’s a kind of big artificial brain, then?’

‘You could think of it like that,’ said Ponder, carefully. ‘Of course, Hex doesn’t actually think. Not as such. It just appears to be thinking.’

‘Ah. Like the Dean,’ said Ridcully. ‘Any chance of fitting a brain like this into the Dean’s head?’

‘It does weigh ten tons, Archchancellor.’

‘Ah. Really? Oh. Quite a large crowbar would be in order, then.’ He paused, and then reached into his pocket. ‘I knew I’d come here for something,’ he added. ‘This here chappie is the Verruca Gnome—’

‘Hello,’ said the Verruca Gnome shyly.

‘—who seems to have popped into existence to be with us here tonight. And, you know, I thought: this is a bit odd. Of course, there’s always something a bit unreal about Hogswatchnight,’ said Ridcully. ‘Last night of the year and so on. The Hogfather whizzin’ around and so forth. Time of the darkest shadows and so on. All the old year’s occult rubbish pilin’ up. Anythin’ could happen. I just thought you fellows might check up on this. Probably nothing to worry about.’

‘A Verruca Gnome?’ said Ponder.

The gnome clutched his sack protectively.

‘Makes about as much sense as a lot of things, I suppose,’ said Ridcully. ‘After all, there’s a Tooth Fairy, ain’ there? You might as well wonder why we have a God of Wine and not a God of Hangovers—’

He stopped.

‘Anyone else hear that noise just then?’ he said.

‘Sorry, Archchancellor?’

‘Sort of glingleglingleglingle? Like little tinkly bells?’

‘Didn’t hear anything like that, sir.’

‘Oh.’ Ridcully shrugged. ‘Anyway … what was I saying … yes … no one’s ever heard of a Verruca Gnome until tonight.’

‘That’s right,’ said the gnome. ‘Even I’ve never heard of me until tonight, and I’m me.’

‘We’ll see what we can find out, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder diplomatically.

‘Good man.’ Ridcully put the gnome back in his pocket and looked up at Hex.

‘Amazin’,’ he said again. ‘He just looks as though he’s thinking, right?’

‘Er … yes.’

‘But he’s not actually thinking?’

‘Er … no.’

‘So … he just gives the impression of thinking but really it’s just a show?’

‘Er … yes.’

‘Just like everyone else, then, really,’ said Ridcully.

***

The boy gave the Hogfather an appraising stare as he sat down on the official knee.

‘Let’s be absolutely clear. I know you’re just someone dressed up,’ he said. ‘The Hogfather is a biological and temporal impossibility. I hope we understand one another.’

AH. SO I DON’T EXIST?

‘Correct. This is just a bit of seasonal frippery and, I may say, rampantly commercial. My mother’s already bought my presents. I instructed her as to the right ones, of course. She often gets things wrong.’

The Hogfather glanced briefly at the smiling, worried image of maternal ineffectiveness hovering nearby.

HOW OLD ARE YOU, BOY?

The child rolled his eyes. ‘You’re not supposed to say that,’ he said. ‘I have done this before, you know. You have to start by asking me my name.’

AARON FIDGET, ‘THE PINES’, EDGEWAY ROAD, ANKH-MORPORK.

‘I expect someone told you,’ said Aaron. ‘I expect these people dressed up as pixies get the information from the mothers.’

AND YOU ARE EIGHT, GOING ON … OH, ABOUT FORTY-FIVE, said the Hogfather.

‘There’s forms to fill in when they pay, I expect,’ said Aaron.

AND YOU WANT WALNUT’S INOFFENSIVE REPTILES OF THE STO PLAINS, A DISPLAY CABINET, A COLLECTOR’S ALBUM, A KILLING JAR AND A LIZARD PRESS. WHAT IS A LIZARD PRESS?