Hogfather

‘Figure of speech again, master. It doesn’t have to make sense.’

OH. I SEE. DO CARRY ON.

‘O’ course, I still hung up my stocking on Hogswatch Eve, and in the morning, you know, you know what? Our dad had put in this little horse he’d carved his very own self …’

AH, said Death, AND THAT WAS WORTH MORE THAN ALL THE EXPENSIVE TOY HORSES IN THE WORLD, EH?

Albert gave him a beady look. ‘No!’ he said. ‘It weren’t. All I could think of was it wasn’t the big horse in the window.’

Death looked shocked.

BUT HOW MUCH BETTER TO HAVE A TOY CARVED WITH—

‘No. Only grown-ups think like that,’ said Albert. ‘You’re a selfish little bugger when you’re seven. Anyway, Dad got ratted after lunch and trod on it.’

LUNCH?

‘All right, mebbe we had a bit of pork dripping for the bread …’

EVEN SO, THE SPIRIT OF HOGSWATCH—

Albert sighed. ‘If you like, master. If you like.’

Death looked perturbed.

BUT SUPPOSING THE HOGFATHER HAD BROUGHT YOU THE WONDERFUL HORSE—

‘Oh, Dad would’ve flogged it for a couple of bottles,’ said Albert.

BUT WE HAVE BEEN INTO HOUSES WHERE THE CHILDREN HAD MANY TOYS AND BROUGHT THEM EVEN MORE TOYS, AND IN HOUSES LIKE THIS THE CHILDREN GET PRACTICALLY NOTHING.

‘Huh, we’d have given anything to get practically nothing when I were a lad,’ said Albert.

BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU’VE GOT, IS THAT THE IDEA?

‘That’s about the size of it, master. A good god line, that. Don’t give ’em too much and tell ’em to be happy with it. Jam tomorrow, see.’

THIS IS WRONG. Death hesitated. I MEAN … IT’S RIGHT TO BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU’VE GOT. BUT YOU’VE GOT TO HAVE SOMETHING TO BE HAPPY ABOUT HAVING. THERE’S NO POINT IN BEING HAPPY ABOUT HAVING NOTHING.

Albert felt a bit out of his depth in this new tide of social philosophy.

‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘I suppose people’d say they’ve got the moon and the stars and suchlike.’

I’M SURE THEY WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO PRODUCE THE PAPERWORK.

‘All I know is, if Dad’d caught us with a big bag of pricey toys we’d just have got a ding round the earhole for nicking ’em.’

IT IS … UNFAIR.

‘That’s life, master.’

BUT I’M NOT.

‘I meant this is how it’s supposed to go, master,’ said Albert.

NO. YOU MEAN THIS IS HOW IT GOES.

Albert leaned against the stove and rolled himself one of his horrible thin cigarettes. It was best to let the master work his own way through these things. He got over them eventually. It was like that business with the violin. For three days there was nothing but twangs and broken strings, and then he’d never touched the thing again. That was the trouble, really. Everything the master did was a bit like that. When things got into his head you just had to wait until they leaked out again.

He’d thought that Hogswatch was all … plum pudding and brandy and ho ho ho and he didn’t have the kind of mind that could ignore all the other stuff. And so it hurt him.

IT IS HOGSWATCH, said Death, AND PEOPLE DIE ON THE STREETS. PEOPLE FEAST BEHIND LIGHTED WINDOWS AND OTHER PEOPLE HAVE NO HOMES. IS THIS FAIR?

‘Well, of course, that’s the big issue—’ Albert began.^{70}

THE PEASANT HAD A HANDFUL OF BEANS AND THE KING HAD SO MUCH HE WOULD NOT EVEN NOTICE THAT WHICH HE GAVE AWAY. IS THIS FAIR?

‘Yeah, but if you gave it all to the peasant then in a year or two he’d be just as snooty as the king—’ began Albert, jaundiced observer of human nature.

NAUGHTY AND NICE? said Death. BUT IT’S EASY TO BE NICE IF YOU’RE RICH. IS THIS FAIR?

Albert wanted to argue. He wanted to say, Really? In that case, how come so many of the rich buggers is bastards? And being poor don’t mean being naughty, neither. We was poor when I were a kid, but we was honest. Well, more stupid than honest, to tell the truth. But basically honest.

He didn’t argue, though. The master wasn’t in any mood for it. He always did what needed to be done.

‘You did say we just had to do this so’s people’d believe—’ he began, and then stopped and started again. ‘When it comes to fair, master, you yourself—’

I AM EVEN-HANDED TO RICH AND POOR ALIKE, snapped Death. BUT THIS SHOULD NOT BE A SAD TIME. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY. He wrapped his red robe around him. AND OTHER THINGS ENDING IN OLLY, he added.

‘There’s no blade,’ said the oh god. ‘It’s just a sword hilt.’

Susan stepped out of the light and her wrist moved. A sparkling blue line flashed in the air, for a moment outlining an edge too thin to be seen.

The oh god backed away.

‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, it cuts tiny bits of the air in half. It can cut the soul away from the body, so stand back, please.’

‘Oh, I will, I will.’

Susan fished the black scabbard out of the umbrella stand.

Umbrella stand! It never rained here, but Death had an umbrella stand. Practically no one else Susan knew had an umbrella stand. In any list of useful furniture, the one found at the bottom would be the umbrella stand.