Hogfather

‘I said Death.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Death. You know … Death?’

‘You mean the robes, the—’

‘—scythe, white horse, bones … yes. Death.’

‘I just want to make sure I’ve got this clear,’ said the oh god in a reasonable tone of voice. ‘You think your grandfather is Death and you think he’s acting strange?’

The Eater of Socks looked up at the wizards, cautiously. Then its jaws started to work again.

… grnf, grnf …

‘Here, that’s one of mine!’ said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, making a grab. The Eater of Socks backed away hurriedly.

It looked like a very small elephant with a very wide, flared trunk, up which one of the Chair’s socks was disappearing.

‘Funny lookin’ little thing, ain’t it?’ said Ridcully, leaning his staff against the wall.

‘Let go, you wretched creature!’ said the Chair, making a grab for the sock. ‘Shoo!’

The sock eater tried to get away while remaining where it was. This should be impossible, but it is in fact a move attempted by many small animals when they are caught eating something forbidden. The legs scrabble hurriedly but the neck and feverishly working jaws merely stretch and pivot around the food. Finally the last of the sock disappeared up the snout with a faint sucking noise and the creature lumbered off behind one of the boilers. After a while it poked one suspicious eye around the corner to watch them.

‘They’re expensive, you know, with the flax-reinforced heel,’ muttered the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

Ridcully pulled open a drawer in his hat and extracted his pipe and a pouch of herbal tobacco. He struck a match on the side of the washing engine. This was turning out to be a far more interesting evening than he had anticipated.

‘We’ve got to get this sorted out,’ he said, as the first few puffs filled the washing hall with the scent of autumn bonfires. ‘Can’t have creatures just popping into existence because someone’s thought about them. It’s unhygienic.’

The sleigh slewed around at the end of Money Trap Lane.

COME ON, ALBERT.

‘You know you’re not supposed to do this sort of thing, master. You know what happened last time.’

THE HOGFATHER CAN DO IT, THOUGH.

‘But … little match girls dying in the snow is part of what the Hogswatch spirit is all about, master,’ said Albert desperately. ‘I mean, people hear about it and say, “We may be poorer than a disabled banana and only have mud and old boots to eat, but at least we’re better off than the poor little match girl,” master. It makes them feel happy and grateful for what they’ve got, see.’

I KNOW WHAT THE SPIRIT OF HOGSWATCH IS, ALBERT.

‘Sorry, master. But, look, it’s all right, anyway, because she wakes up and it’s all bright and shining and tinkling music and there’s angels, master.’

Death stopped.

AH. THEY TURN UP AT THE LAST MINUTE WITH WARM CLOTHES AND A HOT DRINK?

Oh dear, thought Albert. The master’s really in one of his funny moods now.

‘Er. No. Not exactly at the last minute, master. Not as such.’

WELL?

‘More sort of just after the last minute.’ Albert coughed nervously.

YOU MEAN AFTER SHE’S—

‘Yes. That’s how the story goes, master, ’s not my fault.’

WHY NOT TURN UP BEFORE? AN ANGEL HAS QUITE A LARGE CARRYING CAPACITY.

‘Couldn’t say, master. I suppose people think it’s more … satisfying the other way …’ Albert hesitated, and then frowned. ‘You know, now that I come to tell someone …’

Death looked down at the shape under the falling snow. Then he set the lifetimer on the air and touched it with a finger. A spark flashed across.

‘You ain’t really allowed to do that,’ said Albert, feeling wretched.

THE HOGFATHER CAN. THE HOGFATHER GIVES PRESENTS. THERE’S NO BETTER PRESENT THAN A FUTURE.

‘Yeah, but—’

ALBERT.

‘All right, master.’

Death scooped up the girl and strode to the end of the alley.

The snowflakes fell like angel’s feathers. Death stepped out into the street and accosted two figures who were tramping through the drifts.

TAKE HER SOMEWHERE WARM AND GIVE HER A GOOD DINNER, he commanded, pushing the bundle into the arms of one of them, AND I MAY WELL BE CHECKING UP LATER.

Then he turned and disappeared into the swirling snow.

Constable Visit looked down at the little girl in his arms, and then at Corporal Nobbs.

‘What’s all this about, corporal?’

Nobby pulled aside the blanket.

‘Search me,’ he said. ‘Looks like we’ve been chosen to do a bit of charity.’

‘I don’t call it very charitable, just dumping someone on people like this.’

‘Come on, there’ll still be some grub left in the Watchhouse,’ said Nobby. He’d got a very deep and certain feeling that this was expected of him. He remembered a big man in a grotto, although he couldn’t quite remember the face. And he couldn’t quite remember the face of the person who had handed over the girl, so that meant it must be the same one.

Shortly afterwards there was some tinkling music and a very bright light and two rather affronted angels appeared at the other end of the alley, but Albert threw snowballs at them until they went away.