That probably counts as a 'yes', Susan decided. 'The sky doesn't worry you?'

He looked at her in puzzlement.

'No, miss?'

'Can you count, Banjo?'

He looked smug.

'Yes, miss. On m'fingers, miss.'

'So you can count up to... ?' Susan prompted. 'Thirteen, miss,' said Banjo proudly.

She looked at his big hands.

'Good grief.'

Well, she thought, and why not? He's big and trustworthy and what other kind of life has he got?

'I think it would be a good idea if you did the Tooth Fairy's job, Banjo.'

'Will that be all right, miss? Won't the Tooth Fairy mind?'

'You... do it until she comes back.'

'All right, miss.'

'I'll... er... get people to keep an eye on you, until you get settled in. I think food comes in on the cart. You're not to let people cheat you.' She looked at his hands and then up and up the lower slopes until she saw the peak of Mount Banjo, and added, 'Not that I think they'll try, mind you.'

'Yes, miss. I will keep things tidy, miss. Er.

The big pink face looked at her.

'Yes, Banjo?'

'Can I have a puppy, miss? I had a kitten once, miss, but our mam drownded it 'cos it was dirty.'

Susan's memory threw up a name.

'A puppy called Spot?'

'Yes, miss. Spot, miss.'

'I think it'll turn up quite soon, Banjo.'

He seemed to take this entirely on trust.

'Thank you, miss.'

'And now I've got to go.'

'Right, miss.'

She looked back up the tower. Death's land might be dark, but when you were there you never thought anything bad was going to happen to you. You were beyond the places where it could. But here--

When you were grown up you only feared, well, logical things. Poverty. Illness. Being found out. At least you weren't mad with terror because of something under the stairs. The world wasn't full of arbitrary light and shade. The wonderful world of childhood? Well, it wasn't a cut-down version of the adult one, that was certain. It was more like the adult one written in big heavy letters. Everything was... more. More everything.

She left Banjo to his sweeping and stepped out into the perpetually sunlit world.

Bilious and Violet hurried towards her. Bilious was waving a branch like a club.

'You don't need that,' said Susan. She wanted some sleep.

'We talked about it and we thought we ought to come back and help,' said Bilious.

'Ah. Democratic courage,' said Susan. 'Well, they're all gone. To wherever they go.'

Bilious lowered the branch thankfully.

'It wasn't that-' he began.

'Look, you two can make yourselves useful,' said Susan. 'There's a mess in there. Go and help Banjo.'

'Banjo?'

'He's... more or less running the place now.'

Violet laughed.

'But he's-'

'He's in charge,' said Susan wearily.

'All right,' said Bilious. 'Anyway, I'm sure we can tell him what to do-'

'No! Too many people have told him what to do. He knows what to do. Just help him get started, all right? But...'

If the Hogfather comes back now, you'll vanish, won't you? She didn't know how to phrase the question.

'I'm, er, giving up my old job,' said Bilious. 'Er... I'm going to go on working as a holiday relief for the other gods.' He gave her a pleading look.

'Really?' Susan looked at Violet. Oh, well, maybe if she believes in him, at least... It might work. You never know.

'Good,' she said. 'Have fun. Now I'm going home. This is a hell of a way to spend Hogswatch.'

She found Binky waiting by the stream.

The Auditors fluttered anxiously. And, as always happens in their species when something goes

radically wrong and needs fixing instantly, they settled down to try to work out who to blame.

One said, It was...

And then it stopped. The Auditors lived by consensus, which made picking scapegoats a little problematical. It brightened up. After all, if everyone was to blame, then it was no one's actual fault. That's what collective responsibility meant, after all. It was more like bad luck, or something.

Another said, Unfortunately, people might get the wrong idea. We may be asked questions.

One said, What about Death? He interfered, after all.

One said, Er... not exactly.

One said, Oh, come on. He got the girl involved.

One said, Er... no. She got herself involved.

One said, Yes, but he told her...

One said, No. He didn't. In fact he specifically did not tell--

It paused, and then said, Damn!

One said, On the other hand...

The robes turned towards it.

Yes?

One said, There's no actual evidence. Nothing written down. Some humans got excited and decided to attack the Tooth Fairy's country. This is unfortunate, but nothing to do with us. We are shocked, of course.

One said, There's still the Hogfather. Things are going to be noticed. Questions may be asked.

They hovered for a while, unspeaking.

Eventually one said, We may have to take... It paused, loath even to think the word, but managed to continue... a risk.

Bed, thought Susan, as the mists rolled past her. And in the morning, decent human things like coffee and porridge. And bed. Real things-

Binky stopped. She stared at his ears for a moment, and then urged him forward. He whinnied, and didn't budge.

A skeletal hand had grabbed his bridle. Death materialized.

IT IS NOT OVER. MORE MUST BE DONE. THEY TORMENT HIM STILL.

Susan sagged. 'What is? Who are?'

MOVE FORWARD. I WILL STEER. Death climbed into the saddle and reached around her for the reins.

'Look, I went-' Susan began.

YES. I KNOW. THE CONTROL OF BELIEF, said Death, as the horse moved forward again. ONLY A VERY SIMPLE MIND COULD THINK OF THAT. MAGIC SO OLD IT'S HARDLY MAGIC. WHAT A SIMPLE WAY TO MAKE MILLIONS OF CHILDREN CEASE TO BELIEVE IN THE HOGFATHER.

'And what were you doing?' Susan demanded.

I TOO HAVE DONE WHAT I SET OUT TO DO. I HAVE KEPT A SPACE. A MILLION CARPETS WITH SOOTY BOOTMARKS, MILLIONS OF FILLED STOCKINGS, ALL THOSE ROOFS WITH RUNNER MARKS ON THEM... DISBELIEF WILL FIND IT HARD GOING IN THE FACE

OF THAT. ALBERT SAYS HE NEVER WANTS TO DRINK ANOTHER SHERRY FOR DAYS. THE HOGFATHER WILL HAVE SOMETHING TO COME BACK TO, AT LEAST.

'What have I got to do now?'

YOU MUST BRING THE HOGFATHER BACK.

'Oh, must I? For peace and goodwill and the tinkling of fairy bells? Who cares. He's just some fat old clown who makes people feel smug at Hogswatch! I've been through all this for some old man who prowls around kids' bedrooms?'

NO. SO THAT THE SUN WILL RISE.

'What has astronomy got to do with the Hogfather?'

OLD GODS DO NEW JOBS.

The Senior Wrangler wasn't attending the Feast. He got one of the maids to bring a tray up to his rooms, where he was Entertaining and doing all those things a man does when he finds himself unexpectedly tête-à-tête with the opposite sex, like trying to shine his boots on his trousers and clean his fingernails with his other fingernails.

'A little more wine, Gwendoline? It's hardly alcoholic,' he said, leaning over her.

'I don't mind if I do, Mr Wrangler.'

'Oh, call me Horace, please. And perhaps a little something for your chic-ken?'

'I'm afraid she seems to have wandered off somewhere,' said the Cheerful Fairy. 'I'm afraid I'm, I'm I'm rather dull company...' She blew her nose noisily.

'Oh, I certainly wouldn't say that,' said the Senior Wrangler. He wished he'd had time to tidy up his rooms a bit, or at least get some of the more embarrassing bits of laundry off the stuffed rhinoceros.

'Everyone's been so kind,' said the Cheerful Fairy, dabbing at her streaming eyes. 'Who was the skinny one that kept making the funny faces for me?'

'That was the Bursar. Why don't you-'

'He seemed very cheerful, anyway.'

'It's the dried frog pills, he eats them by the handful,' said the Senior Wrangler dismissively. 'I say, why don't--'

'Oh dear. I hope they're not addictive.'

'I'm sure he wouldn't keep on eating them if they were addictive,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Now, why don't you have another glass of wine, and then... and then...' a happy thought struck him '... and then... and then perhaps I could show you Archchancellor Bowell's Remembrance? It's got a-a-a-a very interesting ceiling. My word, yes.'

'That would be very nice,' said the Cheerful Fairy. 'Would it cheer me up, do you think?'

'Oh, it would, it would,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'Definitely! Good! So I'll, er, I'll just go and... just go and... I'll... ' He pointed vaguely in the direction of his dressing room, while hopping from one foot to the other. 'I'll just go and, er... go... just...'

He fled into the dressing room and slammed

the door behind him. His wild eyes scanned the shelves and hangers.

'Clean robe,' he mumbled. 'Comb face, wash socks, fresh hair, where's that Insteadofshave lotion---'

From the other side of the door came the adorable sound of the Cheerful Fairy blowing her nose. From this side came the sound of the Senior Wrangler's muffled scream as, made careless by haste and a very poor sense of smell, he mistakenly splashed his face with the turpentine he used for treating his feet.

Somewhere overhead a very small plump child with a bow and arrow and ridiculously unaerodynamic wings buzzed ineffectually against a shut window on which the frost was tracing the outline of a rather handsome Auriental lady. The other window already had an icy picture of a vase of sunflowers.

In the Great Hall one of the tables had already collapsed. It was one of the customs of the Feast that although there were many courses each wizard went at his own speed, a tradition instituted to prevent the slow ones holding everyone else up. And they could also have seconds if they wished, so that if a wizard was particularly attracted to soup he could go round and round for an hour before starting on the preliminary stages of the fish courses.

'How're you feeling now, old chap?' said the

Dean, who was sitting next to the Bursar. 'Back on the dried frog pills?'

'I, er, I, er, no, Im not too bad,' said the Bursar. 'It was, of course, rather a, rather a shock when-'

'That's a shame, because here's your Hogswatch present,' said the Dean, passing over a small box. It rattled. 'You can open it now if you like.'

'Oh, well, how nice---'

'It's from me,' said the Dean.

'What a lovely--'

'I bought it with my own money, you know,' said the Dean, waving a turkey leg airily.

'The wrapping paper is a very nice---'

'More than a dollar, I might add.'

'My goodness-'

The Bursar pulled off the last of the wrapping paper.

'It's a box for keeping dried frog pills in. See? It's got "Dried Frog Pills" on it, see?'

The Bursar shook it. 'Oh, how nice,' he said weakly. 'It's got some pills in it already. How thoughtful. They will come in handy.'

'Yes,' said the Dean. 'I took them off your dressing table. After all, I was down a dollar as it was.'

The Bursar nodded gratefully and put the little box neatly beside his plate. They'd actually allowed him knives this evening. They'd actually allowed him to eat other things than those things that could only be scraped up with a wooden spoon.

He eyed the nearest roast pig with nervous

anticipation, and tucked his napkin firmly under his chin.

'Er, excuse me, Mr Stibbons,' he quavered. 'Would you be so good as to pass me the apple sauce tankard-'

There was a sound like coarse fabric ripping, somewhere in the air in front of the Bursar, and a crash as something landed on top of the roast pig. Roast potatoes and gravy filled the air. The apple that had been in the pig's mouth was violently expelled and hit the Bursar on the forehead.

He blinked, looked down, and found he was about to plunge his fork into a human head.

'Ahaha,' he murmured, as his eyes started to glaze.

The wizards heaved aside the overturned dishes and smashed crockery.

'He just fell out of the air!'

'Is he an Assassin? Not one of their student pranks, is it?'

'Why's he holding a sword without a sharp bit?'

'Is he dead?'

'I think so!'

'I didn't even have any of that salmon mousse! Will you look at it? His foot's in it! It's all over the place! Do you want yours?'

Ponder Stibbons fought his way through the throng. He knew his more senior fellows when they were feeling helpful. They were like a glass of water to a drowning man.

'Give him air!' he protested.

'How do we know if he needs any?' said the Dean.

Ponder put his ear to the fallen youth's chest.

'He's not breathing!'

'Breathing spell, breathing spell,' muttered the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Er... SpoIt's Forthright Respirator, perhaps? I think I've got it written down somewhere-'

Ridcully reached through the wizards and pulled out the black-clad man by a leg. He held him upside down in his big hand and thumped him heavily on the back.

He met their astonished gaze. 'Used to do this on the farm,' he said. 'Works a treat on baby goats.'

'Oh, now, really,' said the Dean, 'I don't-'

The corpse made a noise somewhere between a choke and a cough.

'Make some space, you fellows!' the Archchancellor bellowed, clearing an area of table with one sweep of his spare arm.

'Hey, I hadn't had any of that Prawn Escoffe!' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'I didn't even know we had any,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Someone, and I name no names, Dean, shoved it behind the soft-shelled crabs so they could keep it for themselves. I call that cheap.'

Teatime opened his eyes. It said a lot for his constitution that it survived a very close-up view of Ridcully's nose, which filled the immediate universe like a big pink planet.

'Excuse me, excuse me,' said Ponder, leaning over with his notebook open, 'but this is vitally important for the advancement of natural philosophy. Did you see any bright lights? Was there a shining tunnel? Did any deceased relatives attempt to speak to you? What word most describes the-'

Ridcully pulled him away.

'What's all this, Mr Stibbons?'

'I really should talk to him, sir. He's had a near-death experience!'

'We all have. It's called "living",' said the Archchancellor shortly. 'Pour the poor lad a glass of spirits and put that damn pencil away.

'Uh... This must be Unseen University?' said Teatime. 'And you are all wizards?'

'Now, just you lie still,' said Ridcully. But Teatime had already risen on his elbows.

'There was a sword,' he muttered.

'Oh, it's fallen on the floor,' said the Dean, reaching down. 'But it looks as though it's- Did I do that?'

The wizards looked at the large curved slice of table falling away. Something had cut through everything wood, cloth, plates, cutlery, food. The Dean swore that a candle flame that had been in the path of the unseen blade was only half a flame for a moment, until the wick realized that this was no way to behave.

The Dean raised his hand. The other wizards scattered.

'Looks like a thin blue line in the air,' he said, wonderingly.

'Excuse me, sir,' said Teatime, taking it from him. 'I really must be off.'

He ran from the hall.

'He won't get far,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'The main doors are locked in accordance with Archchancellor Spode's Rules.'

'Won't get far while holding a sword that appears to be able to cut through anything,' said Ridcully, to the sound of falling wood.

'I wonder what all that was about?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, and then turned his attention to the remains of the Feast. 'Anyway, at least this joint's been nicely carved

'Bu-bu-bu---'

They all turned. The Bursar was holding his hand in front of him. The cut surface of a fork gleamed at the wizards.

'Nice to know his new present will come in handy,' said the Dean. 'It's the thought that counts.'

Under the table the Blue Hen of Happiness relieved itself on the Bursar's foot.

THERE ARE... ENEMIES, said Death, as Binky galloped through icy mountains.

'They're all dead-'

OTHER ENEMIES. YOU MAY AS WELL KNOW THIS. DOWN IN THE DEEPEST KINGDOMS OF THE SEA, WHERE THERE IS NO LIGHT, THERE LIVES A TYPE OF CREATURE WITH NO BRAIN AND NO EYES AND NO MOUTH. IT DOES NOTHING BUT LIVE AND PUT FORTH PETALS OF PERFECT CRIMSON WHERE NONE ARE THERE TO SEE. IT IS NOTHING EXCEPT A TINY YES IN THE NIGHT. AND YET... AND YET... IT HAS ENEMIES THAT BEAR ON IT A VICIOUS, UNBENDING MALICE, WHO WISH NOT ONLY FOR ITS TINY LIFE TO BE OVER BUT ALSO THAT IT HAD NEVER EXISTED. ARE YOU WITH ME SO FAR?

'Well, yes, but-'

GOOD. NOW, IMAGINE WHAT THEY THINK OF HUMANITY.

Susan was shocked. She had never heard her grandfather speak in anything other than calm tones. Now there was a cutting edge in his words.

'What are they?' she said.

WE MUST HURRY. THERE IS NOT MUCH TIME.

'I thought you always had time. I mean... whatever it is you want to stop, you can go back in time and-'

AND MEDDLE?

'You've done it before . .

THIS TIME IT IS OTHERS WHO ARE DOING IT. AND THEY HAVE NO RIGHT.

'What others?'

THEY HAVE NO NAME. CALL THEM THE AUDITORS. THEY RUN THE UNIVERSE. THEY SEE TO IT THAT GRAVITY WORKS AND THE ATOMS SPIN, OR WHATEVER IT IS ATOMS DO. AND THEY HATE LIFE.

'Why?'

IT IS... IRREGULAR. IT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. THEY LIKE STONES, MOVING IN CURVES. AND THEY HATE HUMANS MOST OF ALL. Death sighed. IN MANY WAYS, THEY LACK A SENSE

OF HUMOUR.

'Why the Hog-'

IT IS THE THINGS YOU BELIEVE WHICH MAKE YOU HUMAN. GOOD THINGS AND BAD THINGS, IT'S ALL THE SAME.

The mists parted. Sharp peaks were around them, lit by the glow off the snow.

'These look like the mountains where the Castle of Bones was,' she said.

THEY ARE, said Death. IN A SENSE. HE HAS GONE

BACK TO A PLACE HE KNOWS. AN EARLY PLACE...

Binky cantered low over the snow.

'And what are we looking for?' said Susan.

YOU WILL KNOW WHEN YOU SEE IT.

'Snow? Trees? I mean, could I have a clue? What are we here for?'

I TOLD YOU. TO ENSURE THAT THE SUN COMES UP.

'Of course the sun will come up!'

NO.

'There's no magic that'll stop the sun coming up!'

I WISH I WAS AS CLEVER AS YOU.

Susan stared down out of sheer annoyance, and saw something below.

Small dark shapes moved across the whiteness, running as if they were in pursuit of something.

'There's... some sort of chase...' she conceded. 'I can see some sort of animals but I can't see what they're after-'

Then she saw movement in the snow, a blurred, dark shape dodging and skidding and never clear. Binky dropped until his hooves grazed the tops of the pine trees, which bent in his wake. A rumble followed him across the forest, dragging broken branches and a smoke of snow behind it.

Now they were lower she could see the hunters clearly. They were large dogs. Their quarry was indistinct, dodging among snowdrifts, keeping to the cover of snow-laden bushes

A drift exploded. Something big and long and blue-black rose through the flying snow like a sounding whale.

'It's a pig!'

A BOAR. THEY DRIVE IT TOWARDS THE CLIFF. THEY'RE DESPERATE NOW.

She could hear the panting of the creature. The dogs made no sound at all.

Blood streamed onto the snow from the wounds they had already managed to inflict.

'This... boar,' said Susan. It's . .

YES.

'They want to kill the Hogf---'

NOT KILL. HE KNOWS HOW TO DIE. OH, YES... IN THIS SHAPE, HE KNOWS HOW TO DIE. HE'S HAD A LOT OF EXPERIENCE. NO, THEY WANT TO TAKE AWAY HIS REAL LIFE, TAKE AWAY HIS SOUL, TAKE AWAY EVERYTHING. THEY MUST NOT BE ALLOWED TO BRING HIM DOWN.

'Well, stop them!'

YOU MUST. THIS IS A HUMAN THING.

The dogs moved oddly. They weren't running but flowing, crossing the snow faster than the mere movement of their legs would suggest.

'They don't look like real dogs . .

NO.

'What can I do?'

Death nodded his head towards the boar. Binky was keeping level with it now, barely a few feet away.

Realization dawned.

'I can't ride that!' said Susan.

WHY NOT? YOU HAVE HAD AN EDUCATION.

'Enough to know that pigs don't let people ride them!'

MERE ACCUMULATION OF OBSERVATIONAL EVIDENCE IS NOT PROOF.

Susan glanced ahead. The snowfield had a cut-off look.

YOU MUST, said her grandfather's voice in her head. WHEN HE REACHES THE EDGE THERE HE WILL STAND AT BAY. HE MUST NOT. UNDERSTAND? THESE ARE NOT REAL DOGS. IF THEY CATCH HIM HE WON'T JUST DIE, HE WILL... NEVER BE...

Susan leapt. For a moment she floated through the air, dress streaming behind her, arms outstretched...

Landing on the animal's back was like hitting a very, very firm chair. It stumbled for a moment and then righted itself.

Susan's arms clung to its neck and her face was buried in its sharp bristles. She could feel the heat under her. It was like riding a furnace.

And it stank of sweat, and blood, and pig. A lot of pig.

There was a lack of landscape in front of her.

The boar ploughed into the snow on the edge of the drop, almost flinging her off, and turned to face the hounds.

There were a lot of them. Susan was familiar with dogs. They'd had them at home like other houses had rugs. And these weren't that big floppy sort.

She rammed her heels in and grabbed a pig's ear in each hand. It was like holding a pair of hairy shovels.

'Turn left!' she screamed, and hauled.

She put everything into the command. It promised tears before bedtime if disobeyed.

To her amazement the boar grunted, pranced on the lip of the precipice and scrambled away, the hounds floundering as they turned to follow.

This was a plateau. From here it seemed to be all edge, with no way down except the very simple and terminal one.

The dogs were flying at the boar's heels again.

Susan looked around in the grey, Sightless air. There had to be somewhere, some way...

There was.

It was a shoulder of rock, a giant knife-edge connecting this plain to the hills beyond. It was sharp and narrow, a thin line of snow with chilly depths on either side.

It was better than nothing. It was nothing with snow on it.

The boar reached the edge and hesitated. Susan put her head down and dug her heels in again.

Snout down, legs moving like pistons, the beast plunged out onto the ridge. Snow sprayed up as its trotters sought for purchase. It made up for lack of grace by sheer manic effort, legs moving like a tap dancer climbing a moving staircase that was heading down.

'That's right, that's right, that's-'

A trotter slipped. For a moment the boar seemed to stand on two, the others scrabbling at icy rock. Susan flung herself the other way, clinging to the neck, and felt the dragging abyss under her feet.

There was nothing there.

She told herself, He'll catch me if I fall he'll catch me if I fall, he'll catch me if I fall...

Powdered ice made her eyes sting. A flailing trotter almost slammed against her head.

An older voice said, No, he won't. If I fall now I don't deserve to be caught.

The creature's eye was inches away. And then she knew...

... Out of the depths of eyes of all but the most unusual of animals comes an echo. Out of the dark eye in front of her, someone looked back...

A foot caught the rock and she concentrated her whole being on it, kicking herself upward in one last effort. Pig and woman rocked for a moment and then a trotter caught a footing and the boar plunged forward along the ridge.

Susan risked a look behind.

The dogs still moved oddly. There was a slight jerkiness about their movements, as if they flowed from position to position rather than moved by ordinary muscles.

Not dogs, she thought. Dog shapes.

There was another shock underfoot. Snow flew up. The world tilted. She felt the shape of the boar change when its muscles bunched and sent it soaring as a slab of ice and rock came away and began the long slide into darkness.

Susan was thrown off when the creature landed, and tumbled into deep snow. She flailed around madly, expecting at any minute to begin sliding.

Instead her hand found a snow-encrusted branch. A few feet away the boar lay on its side, steaming and panting.

She pulled herself upright. The spur here had widened out into a hill, with a few frosted trees on it.

The dogs had reached the gap and were milling round, struggling to prevent themselves slipping.

They could easily clear the distance, she could see. Even the boar had managed it with her on its back. She put both hands around the branch and heaved; it came away with a crack, like a broken icicle, and she waved it like a club.

'Come on,' she said. 'Jump! Just you try it! Come on!'

One did. The branch caught it as it landed, and then Susan spun and brought the branch around on the upswing, lifted the dazed animal off its feet and out over the edge.

For a moment the shape wavered and then, howling, it dropped out of sight.

She danced a few steps of rage and triumph.

'Yes! Yes! Who wants some? Anyone else?'

The other dogs looked her in the eye, decided that no one did, and that there wasn't. Finally, after one or two nervous attempts, they managed to turn, still sliding, and tried to make it back to the plateau.

A figure barred their way.

It hadn't been there a moment ago but it looked permanent now. It seemed to have been made of snow, three balls of snow piled on one another. It had black dots for eyes. A semi-circle of more dots formed the semblance of a mouth. There was a carrot for the nose.

And, for the arms, two twigs.

At this distance, anyway.

One of them was holding a curved stick.

A raven wearing a damp piece of red paper landed on one arm.

'Bob bob bob?' it suggested. 'Merry Solstice? Tweetie tweet? What are you waiting for? Hogswatch?'

The dogs backed away.

The snow broke off the snowman in chunks, revealing a gaunt figure in a flapping black robe.

Death spat out the carrot.

HO. HO. HO.

The grey bodies smeared and rippled as the hounds sought desperately to change their shape.

YOU COULDN'T RESIST IT? IN THE END? A MISTAKE, I FANCY.

He touched the scythe. There was a click as the blade flashed into life.

IT GETS UNDER YOUR SKIN, LIFE, said Death, stepping forward. SPEAKING METAPHORICALLY, OF COURSE. IT'S A HABIT THAT'S HARD TO GIVE UP. ONE PUFF OF BREATH IS NEVER ENOUGH. YOU'LL FIND YOU WANT TO TAKE ANOTHER.

A dog started to slip on the snow and scrabbled desperately to save itself from the long, cold drop.

AND, YOU SEE, THE MORE YOU STRUGGLE FOR EVERY MOMENT, THE MORE ALIVE YOU STAY... WHICH IS WHERE I COME IN, AS A MATTER OF FACT.

The leading dog managed, for a moment, to become a grey led figure before being dragged back into shape.

FEAR, TOO, IS AN ANCHOR, said Death. ALL THOSE SENSES, WIDE OPEN TO EVERY FRAGMENT OF THE WORLD. THAT BEATING HEART. THAT RUSH OF BLOOD. CAN YOU NOT FEEL IT, DRAGGING YOU BACK?

Once again the Auditor managed to retain a shape for a few seconds, and managed to say: you cannot do this, there are rules!

YES. THERE ARE RULES. BUT YOU BROKE THEM. HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU?

The scythe blade was a thin blue outline in the grey light.

Death raised a thin finger to where his lips might have been, and suddenly looked thoughtful.

AND NOW THERE REMAINS ONLY ONE FINAL QUESTION, he said.

He raised his hands, and seemed to grow. Light flared in his eye sockets. When he spoke next, avalanches fell in the mountains.

HAVE YOU BEEN NAUGHTY... OR NICE?

HO. HO. HO.

Susan heard the wails die away.

The boar lay in white snow that was now red with blood. She knelt down and tried to lift its head.

It was dead. One eye stared at nothing. The tongue lolled.

Sobs welled up inside her. The tiny part of Susan that watched, the inner baby-sitter, said it was just exhaustion and excitement and the backwash of adrenalin. She couldn't be crying over a dead pig.

The rest of her drummed on its flank with both fists.

'No, you can't! We saved you! Dying isn't how it's supposed to go!'

A breeze blew up.

Something stirred in the landscape, something under the snow. The branches on the ancient trees shook gently, dislodging little needles of ice.

The sun rose.

The light streamed over Susan like a silent gale. It was dazzling. She crouched back, raising her forearm to cover her eyes. The great red ball turned frost to fire along the winter branches.

Cold light slammed into the mountain peaks,

making every one a blinding, silent volcano. It rolled onward, gushing into the valleys and thundering up the slopes, unstoppable...

There was a groan.

A man lay in the snow where the boar had been.

He was naked except for an animal skin loincloth. His hair was long and had been woven into a thick plait down his back, so matted with blood and grease that it looked like felt. And he was bleeding everywhere the hounds had caught him.

Susan watched for a moment, and then, thinking with something other than her head, methodically tore some strips from her petticoat to bandage the more unpleasant wounds.

Capability, said the small part of her mind. A rational head in emergencies.

Rational something, anyway.

It's probably some kind of character flaw.

The man was tattooed. Blue whorls and spirals haunted his skin, under the blood.

He opened his eyes and stared at the sky.

'Can you get up?'

His gaze flicked to her. He tried moving and then fell back.

Eventually she managed to pull the man up into a sitting position. He swayed as she put one of his arms across her shoulders and then heaved him to his feet. She did her best to ignore the sting, which had an almost physical force.

Downhill seemed the best option. Even if his brain wasn't working yet, his feet seemed to get the idea.

They lurched down through the freezing woods, the snow glowing orange in the risen sun. Cold blue gloom lurked in hollows like little cups of winter.

Beside her, the tattooed man made a gurgling sound. He slipped out of her grasp and landed on his knees in the snow, clutching at his throat and choking. His breath sounded like a saw.

'What now? What's the matter? What's the matter?'

He rolled his eyes at her and pawed at his throat again.

'Something stuck?' She slapped him as hard as she could on the back, but now he was on his hands and knees, fighting for breath.

She put her hands under his shoulders and pulled him upright, and put her arms around his waist. Oh, gods, how was it supposed to go, she'd gone to classes about it, now, didn't you have to bunch up one fist and then put the other hand around it and then pull up and in like this--

The man coughed and something bounced off a tree and landed in the snow.

She knelt down to have a look.

It was a small black bean.

A bird trilled, high on a branch. She looked up. A wren bobbed at her and fluttered to another twig.

When she looked back, the man was different. He had clothes now, heavy furs, with a fur hood and fur boots. He was supporting himself on a stone-tipped spear, and looked a lot stronger.

Something hurried through the wood, barely visible except by its shadow. For a moment she glimpsed a white hare before it sprang away on a new path.

She looked back. Now the furs had gone and the man looked older, although he had the same eyes. He was wearing thick white robes, and looked very much like a priest.

When a bird called again she didn't look away. And she realized that she'd been mistaken in thinking that the man changed like the turning of pages. All the images were there at once, and many others too. What you saw depended on how you looked.

Yes. It's a good job I'm cool and totally used to this sort of thing, she thought. Otherwise I'd be rather worried...

Now they were at the edge of the forest.

A little way off, four huge boars stood and steamed, in front of a sledge that looked as if it had been put together out of crudely trimmed trees. There were faces in the blackened wood, possibly carved by stone, possibly carved by rain and wind.

The Hogfather climbed aboard and sat down. He'd put on weight in the last few yards and now it was almost impossible to see anything other than the huge, redrobed man, ice crystals settling here and there on the cloth. Only in the occasional sparkle of frost was there a hint of hair or tusk.

He shifted on the seat and then reached down

to extricate a false beard, which he held up questioningly.

SORRY, said a voice behind Susan. THAT WAS MINE.

The Hogfather nodded at Death, as one craftsman to another, and then at Susan. She wasn't sure if she was being thanked - it was more a gesture of recognition, of acknowledgement that something that needed doing had indeed been done. But it wasn't thanks.

Then he shook the reins and clicked his teeth and the sledge slid away.

They watched it go.

'I remember hearing,' said Susan distantly, 'that the idea of the Hogfather wearing a red and white outfit was invented quite recently.'

NO. IT WAS REMEMBERED.

Now the Hogfather was a red dot on the other side of the valley.

'Well, that about wraps it up for this dress,' said Susan. 'I'd just like to ask, just out of academic interest... you were sure I was going to survive, were you?'

I WAS QUITE CONFIDENT.

'Oh, good.'

I WILL GIVE YOU A LIFT BACK, said Death, after a while.

'Thank you. Now... tell me . .

WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN'T SAVED HIM?

'Yes! The sun would have risen just the same, yes?'

NO.

'Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that. It's an astronomical fact.'

THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN.

She turned on him.

'It's been a long night, Grandfather! I'm tired and I need a bath! I don't need silliness!'

THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN.

'Really? Then what would have happened, pray?'

A MERE BALL OF FLAMING GAS WOULD HAVE ILLUMINATED THE WORLD.

They walked in silence for a moment.

'Ah,' said Susan dully. 'Trickery with words. I would have thought you'd have been more literal-minded than that.'

I AM NOTHING IF NOT LITERAL-MINDED. TRICKERY WITH WORDS IS WHERE HUMANS LIVE.

'All right,' said Susan. 'I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need... fantasies to make life bearable.'

REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

'Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little-'

YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.

'So we can believe the big ones?'

YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.

'They're not the same at all!'

YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET-- Death waved a hand. AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME... SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

'Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point---'

MY POINT EXACTLY.

She tried to assemble her thoughts.

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME

THAT'S RIGHT.

'Yes, but people don't think about that,' said Susan. Somewhere there was a bed...

CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE, WORLDS COLLIDE, THERE's HARDLY ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR FRIED, AND YET YOU BELIEVE THAT A... A BED IS A NORMAL THING. IT IS THE MOST AMAZING TALENT.

'Talent?'

OH, YES. A VERY SPECIAL KIND OF STUPIDITY. YOU THINK THE WHOLE UNIVERSE IS INSIDE YOUR HEADS.

'You make us sound mad,' said Susan. A nice warm bed...

NO. YOU NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME? said Death, helping her up on to Binky.

'These mountains,' said Susan, as the horse rose. 'Are they real mountains, or some sort of shadows?'

YES.

Susan knew that was all she was going to get.

'Er... I lost the sword. It's somewhere in the Tooth Fairy's country.'

Death shrugged. I CAN MAKE ANOTHER.

'Can you?'

OH, YES. IT WILL GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.

The Senior Wrangler hummed cheerfully to himself as he ran a comb through his beard for the second time and liberally sprinkled it with what would turn out to be a preparation of weasel extract for demon removal rather than, as he had assumed, a pleasant masculine Scent.[23] Then he stepped out into his study.

'Sorry for the delay, but-' he began.

There was no one there. Only, very far off, the sound of someone blowing their nose mingling with the glingleglingleglingle of fading magic.

The fight was already gilding the top of the Tower of Art when Binky trotted to a standstill on the air beside the nursery balcony. Susan climbed down onto the fresh snow and stood uncertainly for a moment. When someone has gone out of their way to drop you home it's only courteous to ask them in. On the other hand...

WOULD YOU LIKE TO VISIT FOR HOGSWATCH DINNER? said Death. He sounded hopeful. ALBERT IS FRYING A PUDDING.

'Frying a pudding?'

ALBERT UNDERSTANDS FRYING. AND I BELIEVE HE'S MAKING JAM. HE CERTAINLY KEPT TALKING ABOUT Fr.

'I... er... they're really expecting me here,' said Susan. 'The Gaiters do a lot of entertaining. His business friends. Probably the whole day will be... I'll more or less have to look after the children...'

SOMEONE SHOULD.

'Er... would you like a drink before you go?' said Susan, giving in.

A CUP OF COCOA WOULD BE APPROPRIATE IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES.

'Right. There's biscuits in the tin on the mantelpiece.'

Susan headed with relief into the tiny kitchen.

Death sat down in the creaking wicker chair, buried his feet in the rug and looked around with interest. He heard the clatter of cups, and then a sound like indrawn breath, and then silence.

Death helped himself to a biscuit from the tin. There were two full stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. He prodded them with professional satisfaction, and then sat down again and

observed the nursery wallpaper. It seemed to be pictures of rabbits in waistcoats, among other fauna. He was not surprised. Death occasionally turned up in person even for rabbits, simply to see that the whole process was working properly. He'd never seen one wearing a waistcoat. He

wouldn't have expected waistcoats. At least,

ould

he wouldn't have expected waistcoats if he hadn't had some experience of the way humans portrayed the universe. As it was, it was only a blessing they hadn't been given gold watches and top hats as well.

Humans liked dancing pigs, too. And lambs in hats. As far as Death was aware, the sole reason for any human association with pigs and lambs was as a prelude to chops and sausages. Quite why they should dress up for children's wallpaper as well was a mystery. Hello, little folk, this is what you're going to eat... He felt that if only he could find the key to it, he'd know a lot more about human beings.

His gaze travelled to the door. Susan's governess coat and hat were hanging on it. The coat was grey, and so was the hat. Grey and round and dull. Death didn't know many things about the human psyche, but he did know protective coloration when he saw it.

Dullness. Only humans could have invented it. What imaginations they had.

The door opened.

To his horror, Death saw a small child of unidentifiable sex come out of the bedroom,

amble sleepily across the floor and unhook the stockings from the mantelpiece. It was halfway back before it noticed him and then it simply stopped and regarded him thoughtfully.

He knew that young children could see him because they hadn't yet developed that convenient and selective blindness that comes with the intimation of personal mortality. He felt a little embarrassed.

'Susan's gotta poker, you know,' it said, as if anxious to be helpful.

WELL, WELL. INDEED. MY GOODNESS ME.

'I fort - thought all of you knew that now. Larst - last week she picked a bogey up by its nose.'

Death tried to imagine this. He felt sure he'd heard the sentence wrong but it didn't sound a whole lot better however he rearranged the words.

'I'll give Gawain his stocking and then I'll come an' watch,' said the child. It padded out.

ER... SUSAN? Death said, calling in reinforcements.

Susan backed out of the kitchen, a black kettle in her hand.

There was a figure behind her. In the half-light the sword gleamed blue along its blade. Its glitter reflected off one glass eye.

'Well, well,' said Teatime, quietly, glancing at Death. 'Now this is unexpected. A family affair?'

The sword hummed back and forth.

'I wonder,' said Teatime, 'is it possible to kill Death? This must be a very special sword and it certainly works here...' He raised a hand to his

mouth for a moment and gave a little chuckle. 'And of course it might well not be regarded as murder. Possibly it is a civic act. It would be, as they say, The Big One. Stand up, sir. You may have some personal knowledge about your vulnerability but I'm pretty certain that Susan here would quite definitely die, so I'd rather you didn't try any last-minute stuff.'

I AM LAST-MINUTE STUFF, said Death, standing up.

Teatime circled around carefully, the sword's tip making little curves in the air.

From the next room came the sound of someone trying to blow a whistle quietly.

Susan glanced at her grandfather.

'I don't remember them asking for anything that made a noise,' she said.

OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN THE STOCKING THAT MAKES A NOISE, said Death. OTHERWISE WHAT is 4.30 A.M. FOR?

'There are children?' said Teatime. 'Oh yes, of course. Call them.'

'Certainly not!'

'It will be instructive,' said Teatime. 'Educational. And when your adversary is Death, you cannot help but be the good guy.'

He pointed the sword at Susan.

'I said call them.'

Susan glanced hopefully at her grandfather. He nodded. For a moment she thought she saw the glow in one eye socket flicker off and on, Death's equivalent of a wink. He's got a plan. He can stop time. He can do anything. He's got a plan.

'Gawain? Twyla?'

The muffled noises stopped in the next room. There was a padding of feet and two solemn faces appeared round the door.

'Ah, come in, come in, curly-haired tots,' said Teatime genially.

Gawain gave him a steely stare.

His next mistake, thought Susan. If he'd called them little bastards he'd have them bang on his side. But they know when you're sending them up.

'I've caught this bogeyman,' said Teatime. 'What shall we do with him, eh?'

The two faces turned to Death. Twyla put her thumb in her mouth.

'It's only a skeleton,' said Gawain critically.

Susan opened her mouth, and the sword swung towards her. She shut it again.

'Yes, a nasty, creepy, horrible skeleton,' said Teatime. 'Scary, eh?'

There was a very faint 'pop' as Twyla took her thumb out of her mouth.

'He's eating a bittit,' she said.

'Biscuit,' Susan corrected automatically. She started to swing the kettle in an absent-minded way.

'A creepy bony man in a black robe!' said Teatime, aware that things weren't going in quite the right direction.

He spun round to face Susan. 'You're fidgeting with that kettle,' he said. 'So I expect you're thinking of doing something creative. Put it down, please. Slowly.'

Susan knelt down gently and put the kettle on the hearth.

'Huh, that's not very creepy, it's just bones,' said Gawain dismissively. 'And anyway Willie the groom down at the stables has promised me a real horse skull. And anyway I'm going to make a hat out of it like General Tacticus had when he wanted to frighten people. And anyway it's just standing there. It's not even making woo-woo noises. And anyway you're creepy. Your eye's weird.'

'Really? Then let's see how creepy I can be,' said Teatime. Blue fire crackled along the sword as he raised it.

Susan closed her hand over the poker.

Teatime saw her start to turn. He stepped behind Death, sword raised...

Susan threw the poker overarm. It made a ripping noise as it shot through the air, and trailed sparks.

It hit Death's robe and vanished.

He blinked.

Teatime smiled at Susan.

He turned and peered dreamily at the sword in his hand.

It fell out of his fingers.

Death turned and caught it by the handle as it tumbled, and turned its fall into an upward curve.

Teatime looked down at the poker in his chest as he folded up.

'Oh, no,' he said. 'It couldn't have gone

through you. There are so many ribs and things!'

There was another 'pop' as Twyla extracted her thumb and said, 'It only kills monsters.'

'Stop time now,' commanded Susan.

Death snapped his fingers. The room took on the greyish purple of stationary time. The clock paused its ticking.

'You winked at me! I thought you had a plan!'

INDEED. OH, YES. I PLANNED TO SEE WHAT YOU WOULD DO.

'Just that?'

YOU ARE VERY RESOURCEFUL. AND OF COURSE YOU HAVE HAD AN EDUCATION.

'What?'

I DID ADD THE SPARKLY STARS AND THE NOISE, THOUGH. I THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE APPROPRIATE.

'And if I hadn't done anything?'

I DARESAY I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING. AT THE LAST MINUTE.

'That was the last minute!'

THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR ANOTHER LAST MINUTE.

'The children had to watch that!'

EDUCATIONAL. THE WORLD WILL TEACH THEM ABOUT MONSTERS SOON ENOUGH. LET THEM REMEMBER THERE's ALWAYS THE POKER.

'But they saw he's human--'

I THINK THEY HAD A VERY GOOD IDEA OF WHAT HE WAS.

Death prodded the fallen Teatime with his foot.

STOP PLAYING DEAD, MISTER TEH-AH-TIM-EH.

The ghost of the Assassin sprang up like a jack-in-thebox, all slightly crazed smiles.

'You got it right!'

OF COURSE.

Teatime began to fade.

I'LL TAKE THE BODY, said Death. THAT WILL PREVENT INCONVENIENT QUESTIONS.

'What did he do it all for?' said Susan. 'I mean, why? Money? Power?'

SOME PEOPLE WILL DO ANYTHING FOR THE SHEER FASCINATION OF DOING IT, said Death. OR FOR

FAME. OR BECAUSE THEY SHOULDN'T.

Death picked up the corpse and slung it over his shoulder. There was a sound of something bouncing on the hearth. He turned, and hesitated.

ER... YOU DID KNOW THE POKER WOULD GO THROUGH ME?

Susan realized she was shaking.

'Of course. In this room it's pretty powerful.'

YOU WERE NEVER IN ANY DOUBT?

Susan hesitated, and then smiled.

'I was quite confident,' she said.

All. Her grandfather stared at her for a moment and she thought she detected just the tiniest flicker of uncertainty. OF COURSE. OF COURSE. TELL ME, ARE YOU LIKELY TO TAKE UP TEACHING ON A LARGER SCALE?

'I hadn't planned to.'

Death turned towards the balcony, and then seemed to remember something else. He fumbled inside his robe.

I HAVE MADE THIS FOR YOU.

She reached out and took a square of damp cardboard. Water dripped off the bottom. Somewhere in the middle, a few brown feathers seemed to have been glued on.

'Thank you. Er... what is it?'

ALBERT SAID THERE OUGHT TO BE SNOW ON IT, BUT IT APPEARS TO HAVE MELTED, said Death. IT

IS, OF COURSE, A HOGSWATCH CARD.

'Oh...'

THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A ROBIN ON IT AS WELL, BUT I HAD CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY IN GETTING IT TO STAY ON.

'Ah...

IT WAS NOT AT ALL CO-OPERATIVE.

'Really... ?'

IT DID NOT SEEM TO GET INTO THE HOGSWATCH

SPIRIT AT ALL.

'Oh. Er. Good. Granddad?'

YES?

'Why? I mean, why did you do all this?'

He stood quite still for a moment, as if he was trying out sentences in his mind.

I THINK IT'S SOMETHING TO DO WITH HARVESTS, he said at last. YES. THAT'S RIGHT. AND BECAUSE HUMANS ARE SO INTERESTING THAT THEY HAVE EVEN INVENTED DULLNESS. QUITE ASTONISHING.

'Oh.'

WELL THEN... HAPPY HOGSWATCH.

'Yes. Happy Hogswatch.'

Death paused again, at the window.

AND GOOD NIGHT, CHILDREN... EVERYWHERE.

The raven fluttered down onto a log covered in snow. Its prosthetic red breast had been torn and fluttered uselessly behind it.

'Not so much as a lift home,' it muttered. 'Look at this, willya? Snow and frozen wastes, everywhere. I couldn't fly another damn inch. I could starve to death here, you know? Hah! People're going on about recycling the whole time, but you just try a bit of practical ecology and they just... don't... want... to... know. Hah! I bet a robin'd have a lift home. Oh yes.'

SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats sympathetically, and sniffed.

The raven watched the small hooded figure scrabble at the snow.

'So I'll just freeze to death here, shall l?' it said gloomily. 'A pathetic bundle of feathers with my little feet curled up with the cold. It's not even as if I'm gonna make anyone a good meal, and let me tell you it's a disgrace to die thin in my spec-'

It became aware that under the snow was a rather grubbier whiteness. Further scraping by the rat exposed something that could very possibly have been an ear.

The raven stared. 'It's a sheep!' it said.

The Death of Rats nodded.

'A whole sheep!'[24]

SQUEAK.

'Oh, wow!' said the raven, hopping forward with its eyes spinning. 'Hey, it's barely cool!'

The Death of Rats patted it happily on a wing.

SQUEAK-EEK. EEK-SQUEAK...

'Why, thanks. And the same to you... '

Far, far away and a long, long time ago, a shop door opened. The little toymaker bustled in from the workshop in the rear, and then stopped, with amazing foresight, dead.

YOU HAVE A BIG WOODEN ROCKING HORSE IN THE WINDOW, said the new customer.

'Ah, yes, yes, yes.' The shopkeeper fiddled nervously with his square-rimmed spectacles. He hadn't heard the bell, and this was worrying him. 'But I'm afraid that's just for show, that is a special order for Lord-'

NO. I WILL BUY IT.

'No, because, you see---'

THERE ARE OTHER TOYS?

'Yes, indeed, but-'

THEN I WILL TAKE THE HORSE. HOW MUCH WOULD THIS LORDSHIP HAVE PAID YOU?

'Er, we'd agreed twelve dollars but--'

I WILL GIVE YOU FIFTY, said the customer.

The little shopkeeper stopped in midremonstrate and started up in mid-greed. There were other toys, he told himself quickly. And this customer, he thought with considerable prescience, looked like someone who did not take no for an answer and seldom even bothered to

ask the question. Lord Selachii would be angry, but Lord Selachii wasn't here. The stranger, on the other hand, was here. Incredibly here.

'Er... well, in the circumstances... er... shall I wrap it up for you?'

NO. I WILL TAKE IT AS IT IS. THANK YOU. I WILL LEAVE VIA THE BACK WAY, IF IT'S ALL THE SAME TO YOU.

'Er... how did you get in?' said the shopkeeper, pulling the horse out of the window.

THROUGH THE WALL. SO MUCH MORE CONVENIENT THAN CHIMNEYS, DON'T YOU THINK?

The apparition dropped a small clinking bag on the counter and lifted the horse easily. The shopkeeper wasn't in a position to hold on to anything. Even yesterday's dinner was threatening to leave him.

The figure looked at the other shelves.

YOU MAKE GOOD TOYS.

'Er... thank you.'

INCIDENTALLY, said the customer, as he left, THERE IS A SMALL BOY OUT THERE WITH HIS NOSE FROZEN TO THE WINDOW. SOME WARM WATER SHOULD DO THE TRICK.

Death walked out to where Binky was waiting in the snow and tied the toy horse behind the saddle.

ALBERT WILL BE VERY PLEASED. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HIS FACE. HO. HO. HO.

As the light of Hogswatch slid down the towers of Unseen University, the Librarian slipped into the Great Hall with some sheet music clenched firmly in his feet.

As the light of Hogswatch lit the towers of Unseen University, the Archchancellor sat down with a sigh in his study and pulled off his boots.

It had been a damn long night, no doubt about it. Lots of strange things. First time he'd ever seen the Senior Wrangler burst into tears, for one thing.

Ridcully glanced at the door to the new bathroom. Well, he'd sorted out the teething troubles, and a nice warm shower would be very refreshing. And then he could go along to the organ recital all nice and clean.

He removed his hat, and someone fell out of it with a tinkling sound. A small gnome rolled across the floor.

'Oh, another one. I thought we'd got rid of you fellows,' said Ridcully. 'And what are you?'

The gnome looked at him nervously.

'Er... you know whenever there was another magical appearance you heard the sound of, er, bells?' it said. Its expression suggested it was owning up to something it just knew was going to get it a smack.

.'Yes?'

The gnome held up some rather small handbells and waved them nervously. They went glingleglingleglingle, in a very sad way.

'Good, eh? That was me. Im the Glingleglingleglingle Fairy.'

`Get out.'

'I also do sparkly fairy dust effects that go twing too, if you like...

`Go away!'

'How about "The Bells of St Ungulant's"?' said the gnome desperately. 'Very seasonal. Very nice. Why not join in? It goes: ''The bells [clong] of St [clang]... " '

Ridcully scored a direct hit with the rubber duck, and the gnome escaped through the bath overflow. Cursing and spontaneous handbell ringing echoed away down the pipes.

In perfect peace at last, the Archchancellor pulled off his robe.

The organ's storage tanks were wheezing at the rivets by the time the Librarian had finished pumping. Satisfied, he knuckled his way up to the seat and paused to survey, with great satisfaction, the keyboards in front of him.

Bloody Stupid Johnson's approach to music was similar to his approach in every field that was caressed by his genius in the same way that a potato field is touched by a late frost. Make it loud, he said. Make it wide. Make it allembracing. And thus the Great Organ of Unseen University was the only one in the world where you could play an entire symphony scored for thunderstorm and squashed toad noises.

Warm water cascaded off Mustrum Ridcully's pointy bathing cap.

Mr Johnson had, surely not on purpose, designed a perfect bathroom - at least, perfect for singing in. Echoes and resonating pipeways smoothed out all those little imperfections and gave even the weediest singer a rolling, dark brown voice.

And so Ridcully sang.

' -as I walked out one dadadadada for to something or other and to take the dadada, I did espy a fair pretty may-ay-den I think it was, and I---'

The organ pipes hummed with pent-up energy. The Librarian cracked his knuckles. This took some time. Then he pulled the pressure release valve.

The hum became an urgent thrumming.

Very carefully, he let in the clutch.

Ridcully stopped singing as the tones of the organ came through the wall.

Bathtime music, eh? he thought. Just the job.

It was a shame it was muffled by all the bathroom fixtures, though.

It was at this point he espied a small lever marked `Musical pipes.

Ridcully, never being a man to wonder what any kind of switch did when it was so much easier and quicker to find out by pulling it, did so. But instead of the music he was expecting he was rewarded simply with several large panels sliding silently aside, revealing row upon row of brass nozzles.

The Librarian was lost now, dreaming on the

wings of music. His hands and feet danced over the keyboards, picking their way towards the crescendo which ended the first movement of Bubble's Catastrophe Suite.

One foot kicked the 'Afterburner' lever and the other spun the valve of the nitrous oxide cylinder.

Ridcully tapped the nozzles.

Nothing happened. He looked at the controls again, and realized that he'd never pulled the little brass lever marked 'Organ Interlock`.

He did so. This did not cause a torrent of pleasant bathtime accompaniment, however. There was merely a thud and a distant gurgling which grew in volume.

He gave up, and went back to soaping his chest.

'----running of the deer, the playing of... huh? What--'

Later that day he had the bathroom nailed up again and a notice placed on the door, on which was written:

'Not to be used in any circumstances. This is IMPORTANT.'

However, when Modo nailed the door up he didn't hammer the nails in all the way but left just a bit sticking up so that his pliers would grip later on, when he was told to remove them. He never presumed and he never complained, he just had a good working knowledge of the wizardly mind.

They never did find the soap.

Ponder and his fellow students watched Hex carefully.

'It can't just, you know, stop,' said Adrian 'Mad Drongo' Tumipseed.

'The ants are just standing still,' said Ponder. He sighed. 'All right, put the wretched thing back.'

Adrian carefully replaced the small fluffy teddy bear above Hex's keyboard. Things immediately began to whirr. The ants started to trot again. The mouse squeaked.

They'd tried this three times.

Ponder looked again at the single sentence Hex had written.

+++ Mine! Waaaah +++

'I don't actually think,' he said, gloomily, 'that I want to tell the Archchancellor that this machine stops working if we take its fluffy teddy bear away. I just don't think I want to live in that kind of world.'

'Er,' said Mad Drongo, 'you could always, you know, sort of say it needs to work with the FTB enabled...

'You think that's better?' said Ponder, reluctantly. It wasn't as if it was even a very realistic interpretation of a bear.

'You mean, better than "fluffy teddy bear"?'

Ponder nodded. 'It's better,' he said.

Of all the presents he got from the Hogfather, Gawain told Susan, the best of all was the marble.

And she'd said, what marble?

And he'd said, the glass marble I found in the fireplace. It wins all the games. It seems to move in a different way.

The beggars walked their erratic and occasionally backward walk along the city streets, while fresh morning snow began to fall.

Occasionally one of them belched happily. They all wore paper hats, except for Foul Ole Ron, who'd eaten his.

A tin can was passed from hand to hand. It contained a mixture of fine wines and spirits and something in a can that Arnold Sideways ha

stolen from behind a paint factory in Phedre Road.

'The goose was good,' said the Duck Man, picking his teeth.

'I'm surprised you et it, what with that duck on your head,' said Coffin Henry, picking his nose.

'What duck?' said the Duck Man.

'What were that greasy stuff?' said Arnold Sideways.

'That, my dear fellow, was pâté de foie gras. All the way from Genua, I'll wager. And very good, too.'

'Dun' arf make you fart, don't it?'

'Ah, the world of haute cuisine,' said the Duck Man happily.

They reached, by fits and starts, the back door

of their favourite restaurant. The Duck Man looked at it dreamily, eyes filmy with recollection.

'I used to dine here almost every night,' he said.

'Why'd you stop?' said Coffin Henry.

'I... I don't really know,' said the Duck Man. 'It's... rather a blur, I'm afraid. Back in the days when I... think I was someone else. But still,' he said, patting Arnold's head, 'as they say, "Better a meal of old boots where friendship is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." Forward, please, Ron.'

They positioned Foul Ole Ron in front of the back door and then knocked on it. When a waiter opened it Foul Ole Ron grinned at him, exposing what remained of his teeth and his famous halitosis, which was still all there.

'Millennium hand and shrimp!' he said, touching his forelock.

' "Compliments of the season",' the Duck Man translated.

The man went to shut the door but Arnold Sideways was ready for him and had wedged his boot in the crack.[25]

'We thought you might like us to come round at lunchtime and sing a merry Hogswatch glee for your customers,' said the Duck Man. Beside him, Coffin Henry began one of his volcanic bouts of coughing, which even sounded green. ' No charge, of course.'

'It being Hogswatch,' said Arnold.

The beggars, despite being too disreputable even to belong to the Beggars' Guild, lived quite well by their own low standards. This was generally by careful application of the Certainty Principle. People would give them all sorts of things if they were certain to go away.

A few minutes later they wandered off again, pushing a happy Arnold who was surrounded by hastily wrapped packages.

'People can be so kind,' said the Duck Man.

'Millennium hand and shrimp.'

Arnold started to investigate the charitable donations as they manoeuvred his trolley through the slush and drifts.

'Tastes... sort of familiar,' he said.

'Familiar like what?'

'Like mud and old boots.'

'Cam! That's posh grub, that is.'

'Yeah, yeah... ' Arnold chewed for a while. 'You don't think we've become posh all of a sudden?'

'Dunno. You posh, Ron?'

'Buggrit.'

'Yep. Sounds posh to me.'

The snow began to settle gently on the River Ankh.

'Still... Happy New Year, Arnold.'

'Happy New Year, Duck Man. And your duck.'

'What duck?'

'Happy New Year, Henry.'

'Happy New Year, Ron.'

'Buggrem!'

'And god bless us, every one,' said Arnold Sideways.

The curtain of snow hid them from view.

'Which god?'

'Dunno. What've you got?'

'Duck Man?'

'Yes, Henry?'

'You know that stalled ox you mentioned?'

'Yes, Henry?'

'How come it'd stalled? Run out of grass, or something?'

'Ah... it was more a figure of speech, Henry.'

'Not an ox?'

 'Not exactly. What I meant was-'

And then there was only the snow.

After a while, it began to melt in the sun.

THE END