leave without tel ing me—‘
Death hung the stockings back on the mantelpiece.
NOW WE MUST BE GOING. HAPPY HOGSWATCH. ER … OH, YES: HO. HO. HO.
‘Nice sherry,’ said Albert, wiping his mouth.
Rage overtook Susan’s curiosity. It had to travel quite fast.
‘You’ve actual y been drinking the actual drinks little children leave out for the actual
Hogfather?’ she said.
‘Yeah, why not? He ain’t drinking ’em. Not where he’s gone.’
‘And how many have you had, may I ask?’
‘Dunno, ain’t counted,’ said Albert happily.
ONE MILLION, EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIX, said
Death. AND SIXTY
EIGHT THOUSAND, THREE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN PORK PIES. AND ONE
TURNIP.
‘It looked pork-pie shaped,’ said Albert. ‘Everything does, after a while.’
‘Then why haven’t you exploded?’
‘Dunno. Always had a good digestion.’
TO THE HOGFATHER, ALL PORK PIES ARE AS ONE PORK PIE. EXCEPT THE
ONE LIKE A TURNIP. COME, ALBERT. WE HAVE TRESPASSED ON SUSAN’S
TIME.
‘ Why are you doing this?’ Susan screamed.
I AM SORRY. I CANNOT TELL YOU. FORGET YOU
SAW ME. IT’S NOT YOUR BUSINESS.
‘Not my business? How can-‘
AND NOW … WE MUST BE GOING…
‘Nighty-night,’ said Albert.
The clock struck, twice, for the half-hour. It was stil half past six.
And they were gone.
The sledge hurtled across the sky.
‘She’l try to find out what this is al about, you know,’ said Albert.
OH DEAR.
‘Especial y after you told her not to.’
YOU THINK SO?
‘Yeah,’ said Albert.
DEAR ME. I STILL HAVE A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT HUMANS, DON’T I?
‘Oh … I dunno… ‘ said Albert.
OBVIOUSLY IT WOULD BE QUITE WRONG TO INVOLVE A HUMAN IN ALL THIS.
THAT IS WHY, YOU WILL RECALL, I CLEARLY FORBADE HER TO TAKE AN
INTEREST.
‘Yeah … you did. .
BESIDES, IT’S AGAINST THE RULES.
‘You said them little grey buggers had already broken the rules.’
YES, BUT I CAN’T JUST WAVE A MAGIC WAND AND MAKE IT ALL BETTER.
THERE MUST BE PROCEDURES. Death stared ahead for a moment and then
shrugged. AND WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DO. WE HAVE PROMISES TO KEEP.
‘Wel , the night is young,’ said Albert, sitting back in the sacks.
THE NIGHT IS OLD. THE NIGHT IS ALWAYS OLD.
The pigs gal oped on. Then, ‘No, it ain’t.’
I’M SORRY?
‘The night isn’t any older than the day, master. It stands to reason. There must have
been a day before anyone knew what the night was.’
YES, BUT IT’S MORE DRAMATIC.
‘Oh. Right, then.’
Susan stood by the fireplace.
It wasn’t as though she disliked Death. Death considered as an individual rather than
life’s final curtain was someone she couldn’t help liking, in a strange kind of way.
Even so …
The idea of the Grim Reaper fil ing the
Hogswatch stockings of the world didn’t fit wel in her head, no matter which way she
twisted it. It was like trying to imagine Old Man Trouble as the Tooth Fairy. Oh, yes.
Old Man Trouble … now there was a nasty one for you…
But honestly, what kind of sick person went round creeping into little children’s
bedrooms al night?
Wel , the Hogfather, of course, but…
There was a little tinkling sound from somewhere near the base of the Hogswatch
tree.
The raven backed away from the shards of one of the glittering bal s.
‘Sorry,’ it mumbled. ‘Bit of a species reaction there. You know . . . round, glittering
sometimes you just gotta peck-‘
‘That chocolate money belongs to the children!’
SQUEAK? said the Death of Rats, backing away from the shiny coins.
‘Why’s he doing this?’
SQUEAK.
‘You don’t know either?’
SQUEAK.
‘Is there some kind of trouble? Did he do something to the real Hogfather?’
SQUEAK.
‘Why won’t he tel me?’
SQUEAK.
‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.’
Something ripped, behind her. She turned and saw the raven careful y removing a
strip of red wrapping paper from a package.
‘Stop that this minute!’
It looked up guiltily.
‘It’s only a little bit,’ it said. ‘No one’s going to miss it.’
‘What do you want it for, anyway?’
‘We’re attracted to bright colours, right? Automatic reaction.’
‘That’s jackdaws!’
‘Damn. Is it?’
The Death of Rats nodded. SQUEAK.
‘Oh, so suddenly you’re Mr Ornithologist, are you?’ snapped the raven.
Susan sat down and held out her hand.
The Death of Rats leapt onto it. She could feel its claws, like tiny pins.
It was just like those scenes where the sweet and pretty heroine sings a little duet
with Mr Bluebird.
Similar, anyway.
In general outline, at least. But with more of a PG rating.
‘ Has he gone funny in the head?’
SQUEAK. The rat shrugged.
‘But it could happen, couldn’t it? He’s very old, and I suppose he sees a lot of terrible
things.’
SQUEAK.
‘Al the trouble in the world,’ the raven translated.
‘I understood,’ said Susan. That was a talent, too. She didn’t understand what the rat
said. She just understood what it meant.
‘There’s something wrong and he won’t tel me?’ said Susan.
That made her even more angry.
‘But Albert is in on it too,’ she added.
She thought: thousands, mil ions of years in the same job. Not a nice one. It isn’t
always cheerful old men passing away at a great age. Sooner or later, it was bound to
get anyone down.
Someone had to do something. It was like that time when Twyla’s grandmother had
started tel ing everyone that she was the Empress of Krul and had stopped wearing
clothes.
And Susan was bright enough to know that the phrase ‘Someone ought to do
something’ was not, by itself, a helpful one. People who used it never added the rider
‘and that someone is me’. But someone ought to do something, and right now the
whole pool of someones consisted of her, and no one else.
Twyla’s grandmother had ended up in a nursing home overlooking the sea at Quirm.
That sort of option probably didn’t apply here. Besides, he’d be unpopular with the
other residents.
She concentrated. This was the simplest talent of them al . She was amazed that
other people couldn’t do it. She shut her eyes, placed her hands palm down in front of
her at shoulder height, spread her fingers and lowered her hands.
When they were halfway down she heard the clock stop ticking. The last tick was
longdrawn-out, like a death rattle.
Time stopped.
But duration continued.
She’d always wondered, when she was smal , why visits to her grandfather could go
on for days and yet, when they got back, the calendar was stil plodding along as if
they’d never been away.
Now she knew the why, although probably no human being would ever real y
understand the how. Sometimes, somewhere, somehow, the numbers on the clock did
not count.
Between every rational moment were a bil ion irrational ones. Somewhere behind the
hours there was a place where the Hogfather rode, the tooth fairies climbed their
ladders, jack Frost drew his pictures, the Soul Cake Duck laid her chocolate eggs. In
the endless spaces between the clumsy seconds Death moved like a witch dancing
through raindrops, never getting wet.
Humans could liv- No, humans couldn’t live here, no, because even when you diluted
a glass of wine with a bathful of water you might have more liquid but you stil have the
same amount of wine. A rubber band was stil the same rubber band no matter how far
it was stretched.
Humans could exist here, though.
It was never too cold, although the air did prickle like winter air on a sunny day. But
out of human habit Susan got her cloak out of the closet.
SQUEAK.
‘Haven’t you got some mice and rats to see to, then?’
‘Nah, ‘s pretty quiet just before Hogswatch,’ said the raven, who was trying to fold the
red paper between his claws. ‘You get a lot of gerbils and hamsters and that in a few
days, mind. When the kids forget to feed them or try to find out what makes them go.’
Of course, she’d be leaving the children. But it wasn’t as if anything could happen to
them. There wasn’t any time for it to happen to them in.
She hurried down the stairs and let herself out of the front door.
Snow hung in the air. It was not a poetic description. It hovered like the stars. When
flakes touched Susan they melted with little electric flashes.
There was a lot of traffic in the street, but it was fossilized in Time. She walked
careful y between it until she reached the entrance to the park.
The snow had done what even wizards and the Watch couldn’t do, which was clean
up AnkhMorpork. It hadn’t had time to get dirty. In the morning it’d probably look as
though the city had been covered in coffee meringue, but for now it mounded the