Hogfather

HE IS A LITTLE SCAMP, ISN’T HE?

Albert knew he couldn’t win. Death had the ultimate poker face.

I’M SURE SHE’LL ACT SENSIBLY.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Albert, as they walked back to the sleigh. ‘It runs in the family, acting sensibly.’

Like many barmen, Igor kept a club under the bar to deal with those little upsets that occurred around closing time, although in fact Biers never closed and no one could ever remember not seeing Igor behind the bar. Nevertheless, things sometimes got out of hand. Or paw. Or talon.

Igor’s weapon of choice was a little different. It was tipped with silver (for werewolves), hung with garlic (for vampires) and wrapped around with a strip of blanket (for bogeymen). For everyone else the fact that it was two feet of solid bog-oak usually sufficed.

He’d been watching the window. The frost was creeping across it. For some reason the creeping fingers were forming into a pattern of three little dogs looking out of a boot.

Then someone had tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, club already in his hand, and relaxed.

‘Oh … it’s you, miss. I didn’t hear the door.’

There hadn’t been the door. Susan was in a hurry.

‘Have you seen Violet lately, Igor?’

‘The tooth girl?’ Igor’s one eyebrow writhed in concentration. ‘Nah, haven’t seen her for a week or two.’

The eyebrow furrowed into a V of annoyance as he spotted the raven, which tried to shuffle behind a half-empty display card of beer nuts.

‘You can get that out of here, miss,’ he said. ‘You know the rule ’bout pets and familiars. If it can’t turn back into human on demand, it’s out.’

‘Yeah, well, some of us have more brain cells than fingers,’ muttered a voice from behind the beer nuts.

‘Where does she live?’

‘Now, miss, you know I never answers questions like that—’

‘WHERE DOES SHE LIVE, IGOR?’

‘Shamlegger Street, next to the picture framers,’ said Igor automatically. The eyebrow knotted in anger as he realized what he’d said.

‘Now, miss, you know the rules! I don’t get bitten, I don’t get me froat torn out and no one hides behind me door! And you don’t try your granddad’s voice on me! I could ban you for messin’ me about like that!’

‘Sorry, it’s important,’ said Susan. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that the raven had crept on to the shelves and was pecking the top off a jar.

‘Yeah, well, suppose one of the vampires decides it’s important he’s missed his tea?’ grumbled Igor, putting the club away.

There was a plink from the direction of the pickled egg jar. Susan tried hard not to look.

‘Can we go?’ said the oh god. ‘All this alcohol makes me nervous.’

Susan nodded and hurried out.

Igor grunted. Then he went back to watching the frost, because Igor never demanded much out of life. After a while he heard a muffled voice say: ‘I ’ot ’un! I ’ot ’un!’

It was indistinct because the raven had speared a pickled egg with its beak.

Igor sighed, and picked up his club. And it would have gone very hard for the raven if the Death of Rats hadn’t chosen that moment to bite Igor on the ear.

DOWN THERE, said Death.

The reins were hauled so sharply so quickly that the hogs ended up facing the other way.

Albert fought his way out of a drift of teddy bears, where he’d been dozing.

‘What’s up? What’s up? Did we hit something?’ he said.

Death pointed downwards. An endless white snowfield lay below, only the occasional glow of a window candle or a half-covered hut indicating the presence on this world of brief mortality.

Albert squinted, and then saw what Death had spotted.

‘’s some old bugger trudging through the snow,’ he said. ‘Been gathering wood, by the look of it. A bad night to be out,’ he said. ‘And I’m out in it too, come to that. Look, master, I’m sure you’ve done enough now to make sure—’

SOMETHING’S HAPPENING DOWN THERE. HO. HO. HO.

‘Look, he’s all right,’ said Albert, hanging on as the sleigh tumbled downwards. There was a brief wedge of light below as the wood-gatherer opened the door of a snowdrifted hovel. ‘See, over there, there’s a couple of blokes catching him up, look, they’re weighed down with parcels and stuff, see? He’s going to have a decent Hogswatch after all, no problem there. Now can we go—’

Death’s glowing eye sockets took in the scene in minute detail.

IT’S WRONG.

‘Oh, no … here we go again.’

The oh god hesitated.

‘What do you mean, you can’t walk through the door?’ said Susan. ‘You walked through the door in the bar.’

‘That was different. I have certain god-like powers in the presence of alcohol. Anyway, we’ve knocked and she hasn’t answered and whatever happened to Mr Manners?’

Susan shrugged, and walked through the cheap woodwork. She knew she probably shouldn’t. Every time she did something like this she used up a certain amount of, well, normal. And sooner or later she’d forget what doorknobs were for, just like Grandfather.

Come to think of it, he’d never found out what doorknobs were for.