The Discworld Series (№20) - Hogfather

D-R-Y-D-F-R-O-R-G-?-P-I-L-L-S

Hex's pipes jangled.

'That can't possibly work sir,' said Ponder.

'It ought to,' said Ridcully. 'If he can get the idea of being ill, he can get the idea of being cured.'

He typed: L-O-T-S-O-F-D-R-Y-D-F-R-O-R-C-P— ?-L-L-S

'Seems to me' ' he said, `that this thing believes what it's told, right?'

'Well, it's true that Hex has, if you want to put it that way, no idea of an untruth.'

`Right. Well, I've just told the thing it's had a lot of dried frog pills. It's not going to call me a liar, is it?'

There was some clickings and whirrings within the structure of Hex.

Then it wrote: +++ Good Evening, Archchancellor. I Am Fully Recovered And Enthusiastic About My Tasks +++

'Not mad, then?'

+++ I Assure You I Am As Sane As The Next Man +++

'Bursar, just move away from the machine, will you?' said Ridcully. 'Oh well, I expect it's the best we're going to get. Right, let's get all this sorted out. We want to find out what's going on.'

'Anywhere specific or just everywhere?' said Ponder, a shade sarcastically.

There was a scratching noise from Hex's pen. Ridcully glanced down at the paper.

'Says here "Implied Creation Of Anthropomorphic Personification",' he said. 'What's that mean?'

'Er ... I think Hex has tried to work out the answer,' said Ponder.

'Has it, bigods? I hadn't even worked out what the question was yet ...'

'It heard you talking, sir.'

Ridcully raised his eyebrows. Then he leaned down towards the speaking tube.

'CAN YOU HEAR ME IN THERE?'

The pen scratched.

+++ Yes +++

'LOOKIN' AFTER YOU ALL RIGHT, ARE THEY?'

'You don't have to shout, Archchancellor,' said Ponder.

'What's this Implied Creation, then?' said Ridcully.

'Er, I think I've heard of it, Archchancellor,' said Ponder. 'It means the existence of some things automatically brings into existence other things. If some things exist, certain other things have to exist as well.'

'Like... crime and punishment, say?' said Ridcully. 'Drinking and hangovers ... of course. .

'Something like that, sir, yes.'

'So ... if there's a Tooth Fairy there has to be a Verruca Gnome?' Ridcully stroked his beard. 'Makes a sort of sense, I suppose. But why not a Wisdom Tooth Goblin? You know, bringing them extra ones? Some little devil with a bag of big teeth?'

There was silence. But in the depths of the silence there was a little tingly fairy bell sound.

'Er ... do you think I might have—' Ridcully began.

'Sounds logical to me,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'I remember the agony I had when my wisdom teeth came through.'

'Last week?' said the Dean, and smirked.

'Ah,' said Ridcully. He didn't look embarrassed because people like Ridcully are never, ever embarrassed about anything, although often people are embarrassed on their behalf. He bent down to the ear Hex again.

'YOU STILL IN THERE?'

Ponder Stibbons rolled his eyes.

'MIND TELLING US WHAT THE REALITY IS LW ROUND HERE?'

The pen wrote: +++ On A Scale Of One To Ten Query +++

FINE,' Ridcully shouted.

++ Divide By Cucumber Error. Please Reinstall Universe And Reboot +++

'Interestin',' said Ridcully. 'Anyone know what that means?'

'Damn,' said Ponder. 'It's crashed again.'

Ridcully looked mystified. 'Has it? I never even saw it take off.'

'I mean its ... its sort of gone a little bit mad,' said Ponder.

'Ah,' said Ridcully. 'Well, we're experts at that around here.'

He thumped on the drum again.

'WANT SOME MORE DRIED FROG PILLS, OLD CHAP?' he shouted.

'Er, I should let us sort it out, Archchancellor,' said Ponder, trying to steer him away.

'What does "divide by cucumber" mean?' said Ridcully.

'Oh, Hex just says that if it comes up with an answer that it knows can't possibly be real,' said Ponder.

'And this "rebooting" business? Give it a good kicking, do you?'

'Oh, no, of course, we ... that is ... well, yes, in fact,' said Ponder. 'Adrian goes round the back and ... er ... prods it with his foot. But in a technical way,' he added.

'Ah. I think I'm getting the hang of this thinkin' engine business,' said Ridcully cheerfully. 'So it reckons the universe needs a kicking, does it?'

Hex's pen was scratching across the paper. Ponder glanced at the figures.

'It must do. These figures can't be right!'

Ridcully grinned again. 'You mean either the whole world has gone wrong or your machine is wrong?'

'Yes!'

'Then I'd imagine the answer's pretty easy, wouldn't you?' said Ridcully.

'Yes. It certainly is. Hex gets thoroughly tested every day,' said Ponder Stibbons.

'Good point, that man,' said Ridcully. He banged on Hex's listening tube once more.

'YOU DOWN THERE...'

'You really don't need to shout, Archchancellor,' said Ponder.

...what's this Anthropomorphic Personification, then?'

+++ Humans Have Always Ascribed Random, Seasonal, Natural Or Inexplicable Actions To HumanShaped Entities. Such Examples Are jack Frost, The Hogfather, The Tooth Fairy And Death +++

'Oh, them. Yes, but they exist,' said Ridcully. 'Met a couple of 'em myself.'

+++ Humans Are Not Always Wrong +++

'All right, but I'm damn sure there's never been an Eater of Socks or God of Hangovers.'

+++ But There Is No Reason Why There Should Not Be +++

'The thing's right, you know,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'A little man who carries verrucas around is no more ridiculous than someone who takes away children's teeth for money, when you come to think about it.'

'Yes, but what about the Eater of Socks?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Bursar just said he always thought something was eating his socks and, bingo, there it was.'

'But we all believed him, didn't we? I know I did. Seems like the best possible explanation for all the socks I've lost over the years. I mean, if they'd just fallen down the back of the drawer or something there'd be a mountain of the things by now.'

'I know what you mean,' said Ponder. 'It's like pencils. I must have bought hundreds of pencils over the years, but how many have I ever actually worn down to the stub? Even I've caught myself thinking that something's creeping up and eating them ...'

There was a faint glingleglingle noise. He froze. 'What was that?' he said. 'Should I look round? Will I see something horrible?'

'Looks like a very puzzled bird,' said Ridcully.

'With a very odd-shaped beak,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'I wish I knew who's making that bloody tinkling noise,' said the Archchancellor.

The oh god listened attentively. Susan was amazed. He didn't seem to disbelieve anything. She'd never been able to talk like this before, and said so.

'I think that's because I haven't got any preconceived ideas,' said the oh god. 'It comes of not having been conceived, probably.'

'Well, that's how it is, anyway,' said Susan. 'Obviously I haven't inherited . . . physical characteristics. I suppose I just look at the world in a certain way.'

'What way?'

'It ... doesn't always present barriers. Like this, for example.'

She dosed her eyes. She felt better if she didn't see what she was doing. Part of her would keep on insisting it was impossible.

All she felt was a faintly cold, prickling sensation.

'What did I just do?' she said, her eyes still shut.

'Er . . . you waved your hand through the table,' said the oh god.

'You see?'

'Um ... I assume that most humans can't do that?'

'No!"

'You don't have to shout. I'm not very experienced about humans, am I? Apart from around the point the sun shines through the gap in the curtains. And then they're mainly wishing that the ground would open up and swallow them. I mean the humans, not the curtains.'

Susan leaned back in her chair — and knew that a tiny part of her brain was saying, yes, there is a chair here, it's a real thing, you can sit on it.

'There's other things,' she said. 'I can remember things. Things that haven't happened yet.'

'Isn't that useful?'

'No! Because I never know what they — look, it's like looking at the future through a keyhole. You see bits of things but you never really know what they mean until you arrive where they are and see where the bit fits in.'

'That could be a problem,' said the oh god politely.

'Believe me. Its the waiting that's the worst part. You keep watching out for one of the bits to go past. I mean I don't usually remember anything useful about the future, just twisted little dues that don't make sense until it's too late. Are you sure you don't know why you turned up at the Hogfather's castle?'

'No. I just remember being a ... well, can you understand what I mean by a disembodied mind?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Good. Now can you understand what I mean by a disembodied headache? And then, next moment, I was lying on a back I didn't used to have in a lot of cold white stuff I'd never seen before. But I suppose if you're going to pop into existence, you've got to do it somewhere.'

'Somewhere where someone else, who should have existed, didn't,' said Susan, half to herself.

'Pardon?'

'The Hogfather wasn't there.' said Susan. 'He shouldn't have been there anyway, not tonight, but this time he wasn't there not because he was somewhere else but because he wasn't anywhere any more. Even his castle was vanishing.'

'I expect I shall get the hang of this incarnation business as I go along,' said the oh god.

'Most people ...' Susan began. A shudder ran through her body. 'Oh, no. What's he doing? WHAT'S HE DOING?'

A JOB WELL DONE, I FANCY.

The sleigh thundered across the night. Frozen fields passed underneath.

'Hmph,' said Albert. He sniffed.

WHAT DO YOU CALL THAT WARM FEELING YOU GET INSIDE;

'Heartburn!' Albert snapped.

DO I DETECT A NOTE OF UNSEASONAL

GRUMPINESS? said Death. NO SUGAR PIGGYWIGGY FOR YOU, ALBERT.

'I don't want any present, master.' Albert sighed. 'Except maybe to wake up and find it's all back to normal. Look, you know it always goes, wrong when you start changing things...'

BUT THE HOGFATHER CAN CHANGE THINGS. LITTLE MIRACLES ALL OVER THE PLACE, WITH MANY A MERRY HO, HO, HO. TEACHING PEOPLE THE REAL MEANING OF HOGSWATCH, ALBERT.

'What, you mean that the pigs and cattle have all been slaughtered and with any luck everyone's got enough food for the winter?'

WELL, WHEN I SAY THE REAL MEANING

'Some wretched devil's had his head chopped off in a wood somewhere 'cos he found a bean in his dinner and now the summer's going to come back?'

NOT EXACTLY THAT, BUT ...

'Oh, you mean that they've chased down some poor beast and shot arrows up into their apple trees and now the shadows are going to go away?'

THAT IS DEFINITELY A MEANING, BUT I ...

'Ah, then you're talking about the one where they light a bloody big bonfire to give the sun a hint and tell it to stop lurking under the horizon and do a proper day's work?'

Death paused, while the hogs hurtled over a range of hills.

YOU'RE NOT HELPING, ALBERT.

'Well, they're all the real meanings that I know.'

I THINK YOU COULD WORK WITH ME ON THIS.

'It's all about the sun, master. White snow and red blood and the sun. Always has been.'

VERY WELL, THEN. THE HOGFATHER CAN TEACH PEOPLE THE UNREAL MEANING OF HOGSWATCH.

Albert spat over the side of the sleigh. 'Hah! "Wouldn't It Be Nice If Everyone Was Nice", eh?

THERE ARE WORSE BATTLE CRIES.

'Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear ...

EXCUSE ME ...

Death reached into his robe and pulled out an hourglass.

TURN THE SLEIGH AROUND, ALBERT. DUTY CALLS.

'Which one?'

A MORE POSITIVE ATTITUDE WOULD ASSIST AT THIS POINT, THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH.

'Fascinatin'. Anyone got another pencil?' said Ridcully.

'It's had four already,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'Right down to the stub, Archchancellor. And you know we buy our own these days.'

It was a sore point. Like most people with no grasp whatsoever of real economics, Mustrum Ridcully equated 'proper financial control' with the counting of paperclips. Even senior wizards had to produce a pencil stub to him before they were allowed a new one out of the locked cupboard below his desk. Since of course hardly anyone retained a half-used pencil, the wizards had been reduced to sneaking out and buying new ones with their own money.

The reason for the dearth of short pencils was perched in front of them, whirring away as it chewed an HB down to the eraser on the end, which it spat at the Bursar.

Ponder Stibbons had been making notes.

'I think it works like this,' he said. 'What we're getting is the personification of forces, just like Hex said. But it only works if the thing is ... well, logical.' He swallowed. Ponder was a great believer in logic, in the face of all the local evidence, and he hated having to use the word in this way. 'I don't mean it's logical that there's a creature that eats socks, but it ... a ... it makes a sort of sense . . . I mean it's a working hypothesis.'

'Bit like the Hogfather,' said Ridcully. 'When you're a kiddie, he's as good an explanation as any, right?'

'What's not logical about there being a goblin that brings me huge bags of money?' said the Dean sulkily. Ridcully fed the Stealer of Pencils another pencil.

'Welt sir ... firstly, you've never mysteriously received huge bags of money and needed to find a hypothesis to explain them, and secondly, no one else would think it at all likely.'

'Huh!'

'Why's it happening now?' said Ridcully. 'Look its hopped onto my finger! Anyone got another pencil?'

'Well, these ... forces have always been here,' said Ponder. 'I mean, socks and pencils have always inexplicably gone missing, haven't they? But why they're suddenly getting personified like this ... I'm afraid I don't know.'

'Well, we'd better find out, hadn't we?' said Ridcully. 'Can't have this sort of thing going on. Daft anti-gods and miscellaneous whatnots being created just because people've thought about 'em? We could have anything turn up, anyway. Supposing some idiot says there must be a god of indigestion, eh?'

Glingleglingleglingle.

'Er . . . I think someone just did, sir,' said Ponder.

'What's the matter? What's the matter?' said the oh god. He took Susan by the shoulders.

They felt bony under his hands.

'DAMN,' said Susan. She pushed him away and steadied herself on the table, taking care that he didn't see her face.

Finally, with a measure of the self-control she'd taught herself over the last few years, she managed to get her own voice back.

'He's slipping out of character,' she muttered, to the hall in general. 'I can feel him doing it. And that drags me in. What's he doing it all for?'

'Search me,' said the oh god, who'd backed away hurriedly. 'Er ... just then ... before you turned your face away ... it looked as though you were wearing very dark eye shadow ... only you weren't ...'

'Look, it's very simple,' said Susan, spinning round. She could feel her hair restyling itself, which it always did when it was anxious. 'You know how stuff runs in families? Blue eyes, buck teeth, that sort of thing? Well, Death runs in my family.'

'Er ... in everybody's family, doesn't it?' said the oh god.

'Just shut up, please, don't gabble,' said Susan. ,I didn't mean death, I meant Death with a capital D. I remember things that haven't happened yet and I Can TALK THAT TALK and stalk that stalk and ... if he gets sidetracked, then I'll have to do it. And he does get sidetracked. I don't know what's really happened to the real Hogfather or why Grandfather's doing his job, but I know a bit about how he thinks and he's got no ... no mental shields like we have. He doesn't know how to forget things or ignore things. He takes everything literally and logically and doesn't understand why that doesn't always work ...'

She saw his bemused expression.

'Look ... how would you make sure everyone in the world was well fed?' she demanded.

'Me? Oh, well, I...' The oh god spluttered for a moment. 'I suppose you'd have to think about the prevalent political systems, and the proper division and cultivation of arable land, and ...'

'Yes, yes. But he'd just give everyone a good meat' said Susan.

'Oh, I see. Very impractical. Hah, it's as silly as saying you could clothe the naked by, well, giving them some clothes.'

'Yes! I mean, no. Of course not! I mean, obviously you'd give... oh, you know what I mean!'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'But he wouldn't.'

There was a crash beside them.

A burning wheel always rolls out of flaming wreckage. Two men carrying a large sheet of glass always cross the road in front of any comedy actor involved in a crazy car chase. Some narrative conventions are so strong that equivalents happen even on planets where the rocks boil at noon. And when a fully laden table collapses, one miraculously unbroken plate always rolls across the floor and spins to a halt.

Susan and the oh god watched it, and then turned their attention to the huge figure now lying in what remained of an enormous centrepiece made of fruit.

'He just ... came right out of the air,' whispered the oh god.

'Really? Don't just stand there. Give me a hand to help him up, will you?' said Susan, pulling at a large melon.

'Er, that's a bunch of grapes behind his ear ...'

'Well?'

'I don't like even to think about grapes ...'

'Oh, come on.'

Together they managed to get the newcomer on to his feet.

'Toga, sandals ... he looks a bit like you,' said Susan, as the fruit victim swayed heavily.

'Was I that green colour?'

'Close.'

'Is ... is there a privy nearby?' mumbled their burden, through clammy lips.

'I believe it's through that arch over there,' said Susan. 'I've heard it's not very pleasant, though.'

'That's not a rumour, that's a forecast,' said the fat figure, and lurched off. 'And then can I please have a glass of water and one charcoal biscuit. . .'

They watched him go.

'Friend of yours?' said Susan.

'God of Indigestion, I think. Look ... I ... er ... I think I do remember something,' said the oh god— 'Just before I, um, incarnated. But it sounds stupid. .

'Well?'

'Teeth,' said the oh god.

Susan hesitated.

'You don't mean something attacking you, do you?' she said flatly.

'No. Just ... a sensation of toothiness. Probably doesn't mean much. As God of Hangovers I see a lot worse, I can tell you.'

`Just teeth. Lots of teeth. But not horrible teeth. just lots and lots of little teeth. Almost ... sad?'

'Yes! How did you know?'

'Oh, I ... maybe I remember you telling me before you told me. I don't know. How about a big shiny red globe?'

The oh god looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, 'No, can't help you there, I'm afraid. It's just teeth. Rows and rows of teeth.'

'I don't remember rows,' said Susan. 'I just felt ... teeth were important.'

'Nah, it's amazing what you can do with a beak,' said the raven, who'd been investigating the laden table and had succeeded in levering a lid off a jar.

'What have you got there?' said Susan wearily.

'Eyeballs,' said the raven. 'Hah, wizards know how to live all right," eh? They don't want for nothing around here, I can tell you.'

'They're olives,' said Susan.

'Tough luck,' said the raven. 'They're mine now.'

'They're a kind of fruit! Or a vegetable or something!'

'You sure?' The raven swivelled one doubtful eye on the jar and the other on her.

'Yes!'

The eyes swivelled again.

'So you're an eyeball expert all of a sudden?'

'Look they're green, you stupid bird!'

'They could be very old eyeballs,' said the raven defiantly. 'Sometimes they go like that ...'

SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats, who was halfway through a cheese.

'...And not so much of the stupid,' said the raven. 'Corvids are exceptionally bright with reasoning and, in the case of some forest species, tool-using abilities!'

'Oh, so you are an expert on ravens, are you?' said Susan.

'Madam, I happen to be a ...'

SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats again.

They both turned. It was pointing at its grey teeth.

'The Tooth Fairy?' said Susan. 'What about her?'

SQUEAK.

`Rows of teeth,' said the oh god again. 'Like ... rows, you know? What's the Tooth Fairy?'

'Oh, you see her around a lot these days,' said Susan. 'Or them, rather. Its a sort of franchise operation. You get the ladder, the moneybelt and the pliers and you're set up.'

'Pliers?'

'If she can't make change she has to take an extra tooth on account. But, look, the tooth fairies are harmless enough. I've met one or two of them. They're just working girls. They don't menace anyone.'

SQUEAK.

'I just hope Grandfather doesn't take it into his head to do their job as well. Good grief, the thought of it ...'

'They collect teeth?'

'Yes. Obviously.'

'Why?'

'Why? It's their job.'

'I meant why, where do they take the teeth after they collect them?'

'I don't know! They just ... well, they just take the teeth and leave the money,' said Susan. 'What sort of question is that — 'Where do they take the teeth?'?'

'I just wondered, that's all. Probably all humans know, I'm probably very silly for asking, it's probably a wellknown fact.'

Susan looked thoughtfully at the Death of Rats.

'Actually ... where do they take the teeth?'

SQUEAK?

'He says search him,' said the raven. 'Maybe they sell 'em?' It pecked at another jar. 'How about these, these look nice and wrinkl...'

'Pickled walnuts,' said Susan absently. 'What do they do with the teeth? What use is there for a lot of teeth? But ... what harm can a tooth fairy do?'

'Have we got time to find one and ask her?' said the oh god.

'Time isn't the problem,' said Susan.

There are those who believe knowledge is something that is acquired — a precious ore hacked, as it were, from the grey strata of ignorance.

There are those who believe that knowledge can only be recalled, that there was some Golden Age in the distant past when everything was known and the stones fitted together so you could hardly put a knife between them, you know, and it's obvious they had flying machines, right, because of the way the earthworks can only be seen from above, yeah? and there's this museum I read about where they found a pocket calculator under the altar of this ancient temple, you know what I'm saying? but the government hushed it up ... [18]

Mustrum Ridcully believed that knowledge could be acquired by shouting at people, and was endeavouring to do so. The wizards were sitting around the Uncommon Room table, which was piled high with books.

'It is Hogswatch, Archchancellor,' said the Dean reproachfully, thumbing through an ancient volume.

'Not until midnight,' said Ridcully. 'Sortin' this out will give you fellows an appetite for your dinner.'

'I think I might have something, Archchancellor,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'This is Woddeley's Basic Gods. There's some stuff here about lares and penates that seems to it the bill.'

'Lares and penates? What were they when they were at home?' said Ridcully.

'Hahaha,' said the Chair.

'What?' said Ridcully.

'I thought you were making a rather good joke, Archchancellor,' said the Chair.

'Was I? I didn't mean to,' said Ridcully.

'Nothing new there,' said the Dean, under his breath.

'What was that, Dean?'

'Nothing, Archchancellor.'

'I thought you made the reference "at home" because they are, in fact, household gods. Or were, rather. They seemed to have faded away long ago. They were ... little spirits of the house, like, for example ...'

Three of the other wizards, thinking quite fast for wizards, clapped their hands over his mouth.

'Careful!' said Ridcully. 'Careless talk creates lives! That's why we've got a big fat God of Indigestion being ill in the privy. By the way, where's the Bursar?'

'He was in the privy, Archchancellor,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'What, when the ...?'

'Yes, Archchancellor.'

'Oh, well, Im sure he'll be all right,' said Ridcully, in the matter-of-fact voice of someone contemplating something nasty that was happening to someone else out of earshot. 'But we don't want any more of these ... what're they, Chair?'

'Lares and penates, Archchancellor, but I wasn't suggesting ...'

'Seems dear to me. Something's gone wrong and these little devils are coming back. All we have to do is find out what's gone wrong and put it right.'

'Oh, well, I'm glad that's all sorted out,' said the Dean.

'Household gods,' said Ridcully. 'That's what they are, Chair?' He opened the drawer in his hat and took out his pipe.

'Yes, Archchancellor. It says here they used to be the ... local spirits, I suppose. They saw to it that the bread rose and the butter churned properly.'

'Did they eat pencils? What was their attitude in the socks department?'

'This was back in the time of the First Empire,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Sandals and togas and so on.'

'Ah. Not noticeably socked?'

'Not excessively so, no. And it was nine hundred years before Osric Pencillium first discovered, in the graphiterich sands of the remote island of Sumtri, the small bush which, by dint of careful cultivation, he induced to produce the long...'

'Yes, we can all see you've got the encyclopaedia open under the table, Chair,' said Ridcully. 'But I daresay things have changed a bit. Moved with the times. Bound to have been a few developments. Once they looked after the bread rising, now we have things that eat pencils and socks and see to it that you can never find a dean towel when you want one...'

There was a distant tinkling.

He stopped.

'I just said that, didn't P' he said.

The wizards nodded glumly.

'And this is the first time anyone's mentioned it?'

The wizards nodded again.

'Well, dammit, it's amazing, you can never find a dean towel when—'

There was a rising wheeee noise. A towel went by at shoulder height. There was a suggestion of many small wings.

'That was mine,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes reproachfully. The towel disappeared in the direction of the Great Hall.

'Towel Wasps,' said the Dean. 'Well done, Archchancellor.'

'Well, I mean, dammit, it's human nature, isn't it?' said Ridcully hotly. 'Things go wrong, things get lost, it's natural to invent little creatures that — all right, all right, I'll be careful. I'm just saying man is naturally a mythopoeic creature.'

'What's that mean?' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Means we make things up as we go along,' said the Dean, not looking up.

'Um ... excuse me, gentlemen,' said Ponder Stibbons, who had been scribbling thoughtfully at the end of the table. 'Are we suggesting that things are coming back? Do we think that's a viable hypothesis?'

The wizards looked at one another around the table.

'Definitely viable.'

`Viable, right enough.' — 'Yes, that's the stuff to give the troops.'

'What is? Whats the stuff to give the troops?'

'Well ... tinned rations? Decent weapons, good boots ... that sort of thing.'

'What's that got to do with anything?'

'Don't ask me. He was the one who started talking about giving stuff to the troops.'

'Will you lot shut up? No one's giving anything to the troops!'

'Oh, shouldn't they have something? It's Hogswatch, after all.'

'Look it was just a figure of speech, all right? I just meant I was. fully in agreement. It's just colourful language. Good grief, you surely can't think I'm actually suggesting giving stuff to the troops, at Hogswatch or any other time!'

'You weren't?'

'No!"

'That's a bit mean, isn't it?'

Ponder just let it happen. It's because their minds are so often involved with deep and problematic matters, he told himself, that their mouths are allowed to wander around making a nuisance of themselves.

'I don't hold with using that thinking machine,' said the Dean. 'I've said this before. It's meddling with the Cult. The occult has always been good enough for me, thank you very much.'

'On the other hand it's the only person round here who can think straight and it does what it's told,' said Ridcully.

The sleigh roared through the snow, leaving rolling trails in the sky.

'Oh, what fun,' muttered Albert, hanging on tightly.

The runners hit a roof near the University and the pigs trotted to a halt.

Death looked at the hourglass again.

ODD, he said.

'It's a scythe job, then?' said Albert. 'You won't be wanting the false beard and the jolly laugh?' He looked around, and puzzlement replaced sarcasm. 'Hey ... how could anyone be dead up here?

Someone was. A corpse lay in the snow.

It was dear that the man had only just died. Albert squinted up at the sky.