Hogfather

Outside was a small bald man in a long brown coat. He was holding a clipboard and blinked nervously at the sight of her.

‘Er …’ he began.

‘Can I help you?’ said Susan.

‘Er, I saw the light, see. I thought Violet was in,’ said the little man. He twiddled the pencil that was attached to his clipboard by a piece of string. ‘Only she’s a bit behind with the teeth and there’s a bit of money owing and Ernie’s cart ain’t come back and it’s got to go in my report and I come round in case … in case she was ill or something, it not being nice being alone and ill at Hogswatch—’

‘She’s not here,’ said Susan.

The man gave her a worried look and shook his head sadly.

‘There’s nearly thirteen dollars in pillow money, see. I’ll have to report it.’

‘Who to?’

‘It has to go higher up, see. I just hope it’s not going to be like that business in Quirm where the girl started robbing houses. We never heard the end of that one—’

‘Report to who?’

‘And there’s the ladder and the pliers,’ the man went on, in a litany against a world that had no understanding of what it meant to have to fill in an AF17 report in triplicate. ‘How can I keep track of stocktaking if people go around taking stock?’ He shook his head. ‘I dunno, they get the job, they think it’s all nice sunny nights, they get a bit of sharp weather and suddenly it’s goodbye Charlie I’m off to be a waitress in the warm. And then there’s Ernie. I know him. It’s a nip to keep out the cold, and then another one to keep it company, and then a third in case the other two get lost … It’s all going to have to go down in my report, you know, and who’s going to get the blame? I’ll tell you—’

‘It’s going to be you, isn’t it?’ said Susan. She was almost hypnotized. The man even had a fringe of worried hair and a small, worried moustache. And the voice suggested exactly that here was a man who, at the end of the world, would worry that it would be blamed on him.

‘That’s right,’ he said, but in a slightly grudging voice. He was not about to allow a bit of understanding to lighten his day. ‘And the girls all go on about the job but I tell them they’ve got it easy, it’s just basic’ly ladder work, they don’t have to spend their evenings knee-deep in paper and making shortfalls good out of their own money, I might add—’

‘You employ the tooth fairies?’ said Susan quickly. The oh god was still vertical but his eyes had glazed over.

The little man preened slightly. ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘Basic’ly I run Bulk Collection and Despatch—’

‘Where to?’

He stared at her. Sharp, direct questions weren’t his forte.

‘I just sees to it they gets on the cart,’ he mumbled. ‘When they’re on the cart and Ernie’s signed the GV19 for ’em, that’s it done and finished, only like I said he ain’t turned up this week and—’

‘A whole cart for a handful of teeth?’

‘Well, there’s the food for the guards, and — ’ere, who are you, anyway? What’re you doing here?’

Susan straightened up. ‘I don’t have to put up with this,’ she said sweetly, to no one in particular. She leaned forward again.

‘WHAT CART ARE WE TALKING ABOUT HERE, CHARLIE?’ The oh god jolted away. The man in the brown coat shot backwards and splayed against the corridor wall as Susan advanced.

‘Comes Tuesdays,’ he panted. ‘’ere, what—’

‘AND WHERE DOES IT GO?’

‘Dunno! Like I said, when he’s—’

‘Signed the GV19 for them it’s you done and finished,’ said Susan, in her normal voice. ‘Yes. You said. What’s Violet’s full name? She never mentioned it.’

The man hesitated.

‘I SAID—’

‘Violet Bottler!’

‘Thank you.’

‘An’ Ernie’s gorn too,’ said Charlie, continuing more or less on auto-pilot. ‘I call that suspicious. I mean, he’s got a wife and everything. Won’t be the first man to get his head turned by thirteen dollars and a pretty ankle and, o’ course, no one thinks about muggins who has to carry the can, I mean, supposing we was all to get it in our heads to run off with young wimmin?’

He gave Susan the stern look of one who, if it was not for the fact that the world needed him, would even now be tiring of painting naked young ladies on some tropical island somewhere.^{66}

‘What happens to the teeth?’ said Susan.

He blinked at her. A bully, thought Susan. A very small, weak, very dull bully, who doesn’t manage any real bullying because there’s hardly anyone smaller and weaker than him, so he just makes everyone’s lives just that little bit more difficult …

‘What sort of question is that?’ he managed, in the face of her stare.

‘You never wondered?’ said Susan, and added to herself, I didn’t. Did anyone?

‘Well, ’s not my job, I just—’

‘Oh, yes. You said,’ said Susan. ‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you very much.’

The man stared at her, and then turned and ran down the stairs.

‘Drat,’ said Susan.

‘That’s a very unusual swearword,’ said the oh god nervously.

‘It’s so easy,’ said Susan. ‘If I want to, I can find anybody. It’s a family trait.’

‘Oh. Good.’