‘Fascinating,’ said Teatime. ‘You make it look so easy.’
Sideney sat back, nervously.
‘Urn … it should be fine now, sir,’ he said. ‘It just got a bit scuffed when we were piling
up the
He couldn’t bring himself to say it, he even had to avert his eyes from the heap, it
was the sound they’d made. ‘. . . the things,’ he finished.
‘We don’t need to repeat the spel ?’ said Teatime.
‘Oh, it’l keep going for ever,’ said Sideney.
‘The simple ones do. It’s just a state change, powered by the … the … it just keeps
going
He swal owed.
‘So,’ he said, ‘I was thinking … since you don’t actual y need me, sir, perhaps . . .’
‘Mr Brown seems to be having some trouble with the locks on the top floor,’ said
Teatime. ‘That door we couldn’t open, remember? I’m sure you’l want to help.’
Sideney’s face fel .
10 Who was (according to Sideney’s mother) a bit of a catch since her father owned a half-share in an eel pie shop in Gleam Street, you must know her, got all her own teeth and a wooden leg you’d hardlynotice, got a sister called Continence, lovely girl, why didn’t she invite her along for tea next time he was over, not that she hardly saw her son the big wizard at all these days, but you never knew and if the magic thing didn’t work out then a quarter-share in a thriving eel pie business was not to be sneezed at …
‘Urn, I’m not a locksmith. ‘
‘They appear to be magical.’
Sideney opened his mouth to say, ‘But I’m very bad at magical locks,’ and then
thought much better of it. He had already fathomed that if Teatime wanted you to do
something, and you weren’t very good at it, then your best plan, in fact quite possibly
your only plan, was to learn to be good at it very quickly. Sideney was not a fool. He’d
seen the way the others reacted around Teatime, and they were men who did things
he’d only dreamed of.11
At which point he was relieved to see Medium Dave walk down the stairs, and it said
a lot for the effect of Teatime’s stare that anyone could be relieved to have it
punctuated by someone like Medium Dave.
‘We’ve found another guard, sir. Up on the sixth floor. He’s been hiding.’
Teatime stood up. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Not trying to be heroic, was he?’
‘He’s just scared. Shal we let him go?’
‘Let him go?’ said Teatime. ‘Far too messy. I’l go up there. Come along, Mr Wizard.’
Sideney fol owed him reluctantly up the stairs.
The tower – if that’s what it was, he thought; he was used to the odd architecture at
Unseen University and this made UU look normal was a hol ow tube. No fewer than
four spiral staircases climbed the inside, criss-crossing on landings and occasional y
passing through one another in defiance of general y accepted physics. But that was
practical y normal for an alumnus of Unseen University, although technical y Sideney
had not alumed. What threw the eye was the absence of shadows. You didn’t notice
shadows, how they delineated things, how they gave texture to the world, until they
weren’t there. The white marble, if that’s what it was seemed to glow from the inside.
Even when the impossible sun shone through a window it barely caused faint grey
smudges where honest shadows should be. The tower seemed to avoid darkness.
That was even more frightening than the times when, after a complicated landing,
you found yourself walking up by stepping down the underside of a stair and the
distant floor now hung overhead like a ceiling. He’d noticed that even
the other men shut their eyes when that happened. Teatime, though, took those
stairs three at a time, laughing like a kid with a new toy.
They reached an upper landing and fol owed a corridor. The others were gathered by
a closed door.
‘He’s barricaded himself in,’ said Chickenwire.
Teatime tapped on it. ‘You in there,’ he said. ‘Come on out. You have my word you
won’t be harmed.’
‘No!’
Teatime stood back. ‘Banjo, knock it down,’ he said.
Banjo lumbered forward. The door withstood a couple of massive kicks and then
burst open.
The guard was cowering behind an overturned cabinet. He cringed back as Teatime
stepped over it. ‘What’re you doing here?’ he shouted. ‘Who are you?’
‘Ah, I’m glad you asked. I’m your worst nightmare!’ said Teatime cheerful y.
The man shuddered.
‘You mean … the one with the giant cabbage and the sort of whirring knife thing?’
‘Sorry?’ Teatime looked momentarily nonplussed.
11 Not, that is, things that he wanted to do, or wanted done to him. Just things that he dreamed of, in the armpit of a bad night.
‘Then you’re the one about where I’m fal ing, only instead of ground underneath it’s
al -‘
‘No, in fact I’m—‘
The guard sagged. ‘Awww, not the one where there’s al this kind of, you know, mud
and then everything goes blue—’
‘No, I’m—‘
‘Oh, shit, then you’re the one where there’s this door only there’s no floor beyond it
and then there’s these claws-‘
‘No,’ said Teatime. ‘Not that one.’ He withdrew a dagger from his sleeve. ‘I’m the one
where this man comes out of nowhere and kil s you stone dead.’
The guard grinned with relief. ‘Oh, that one,’ he said. ‘But that one’s not very-‘
He crumpled around Teatime’s suddenly outthrust fist. And then, just like the others
had done, he faded.
‘Rather a charitable act there, I feel,’ Teatime said as the man vanished. ‘But it is
nearly Hogswatch, after al .’
Death, pil ow slipping gently under his red robe, stood in the middle of the nursery
carpet . . .
It was an old one. Things ended up in the nursery when they had seen a complete
tour of duty in the rest of the house. Long ago, someone had made it by careful y
knotting long bits of brightly coloured rag into a sacking base, giving it the look of a
deflated Rastafarian hedgehog. Things lived among the rags. There were old rusks,
bits of toy, buckets of dust. It had seen life. It may even have evolved some.
Now the occasional lump of grubby melting snow dropped onto it.
Susan was crimson with anger.
‘I mean, why?’ she demanded, walking around the figure. ‘This is Hogswatch! It’s
supposed to be jol y, with mistletoe and hol y, and – and other things ending in ol y! It’s
a time when people want to feel good about things and eat until they explode! It’s a
time when they want to see al their relatives-‘
She stopped that sentence.
‘I mean it’s a time when humans are real y human,’ she said. ‘And they don’t want a
… a skeleton at the feast! Especial y one, I might add, who’s wearing a false beard and
has got a damn cushion shoved up his robe! I mean, why?’
Death looked nervous.
ALBERT SAID IT WOULD HELP ME GET INTO THE SPIRIT OF THE THING. ER
AGAIN
There was a smal squelchy noise.
Susan spun around, grateful right now for any distraction.
‘Don’t think I can’t hear you! They’re grapes, understand? And the other things are
satsumas! Get out of the fruit bowl!’
‘Can’t blame a bird for trying,’ said the raven sulkily, from the table.
‘And you, you leave those nuts alone! They’re for tomorrow!’
SKQUEAF, said the Death of Rats, swal owing hurriedly.
Susan turned back to Death. The Hogfather’s artificial stomach was now at groin
level.
‘This is a nice house,’ she said. ‘And this is a
. IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU
good job. And it’s real, with normal people. And I was looking forward to a real life,
where normal things happen! And suddenly the old circus comes to town. Look at
yourselves. Three Stooges, No Waiting! Wel , I don’t know what’s going on, but you
can al leave again, right? This is my life. It doesn’t belong to any of you. It’s not going to-‘There was a muffled curse, a rush of soot, and a skinny old man landed in the grate.
‘Bum!’ he said.
‘Good grief! ‘ raged Susan. ‘And here is Pixie Albert! Wel , wel , wel ! Come along in,
do! If the real Hogfather doesn’t come soon there’s not going to be room.’
HE WON’T BE JOINING US, said Death. The pil ow slid softly on to the rug.
‘Oh, and why not? Both of the children did letters to him,’ said Susan. ‘There’s rules,
you know.’
YES. THERE ARE RULES. AND THEY’RE ON THE LIST. I CHECKED IT.
Albert pul ed the pointy hat off his head and spat out some soot.
‘Right. He did. Twice,’ he said. ‘Anything to drink around here?’