‘Why? What have you got in it?’
The gnome sagged. ‘It ain’t what’s in it, mister. It’s what’l come out. I has to let ’em
out one at a time, no knowin’ what’d happen if they al gets out at once!’
Ridcul y looked interested, and started to undo the string.
‘You’l real y wish you hadn’t, mister!’ the gnome pleaded.
‘Wil I? What’re you doing here, young man?’
The gnome gave up.
‘Wel … you know the Tooth Fairy?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ said Ridcul y.
‘Wel … I ain’t her. But … it’s sort of like the same business . . .’
‘What? You take things away?’
‘Er
not take away, as such. More sort of
… bring …
‘Ah … like new teeth?’
‘Er … like new verrucas,’ said the gnome.
Death threw the sack into the back of the sledge and climbed in after it.
‘You’re doing wel , master,’ said Albert.
THIS CUSHION IS STILL UNCOMFORTABLE, said Death, hitching his belt. I AM
NOT USED TO A BIG FAT STOMACH.
‘Just a stomach’s the best I could do, master. You’re starting off with a handicap, sort
of thing.’
Albert unscrewed the top off a bottle of cold tea. Al the sherry had made him thirsty.
‘Doing wel , master,’ he repeated, taking a pul . ‘Al the soot in the fireplace, the
footprints, them swigged sherries, the sleigh tracks al over the roofs … it’s got to work.’
YOU THINK SO?
‘Sure.’
AND I MADE SURE SOME OF THEM SAW ME. I KNOW IF THEY ARE PEEPING,
Death added proudly.
‘Wel done, sir.’
YES.
‘Though here’s a tip, though. Just “Ho. Ho. Ho,- wil do. Don’t say, “Cower, brief
mortals” unless you want them to grow up to be moneylenders or some such.’
HO. HO. HO.
‘Yes, you’re real y getting the hang of it.’ Albert looked down hurriedly at his notebook
so that Death wouldn’t see his face. ‘Now, I got to tel you, master, what’l real y do
some good is a public appearance. Real y.’
OH. I DON’T NORMALLY DO THEM.
‘The Hogfather’s more’ve a public figure, master. And one good public appearance’l
do more good than any amount of letting kids see you by accident. Good for the old
belief muscles.’
REALLY? HO. HO. HO.
‘Right, right, that’s real y good, master. Where was I … yes … the shops’l be open
late. Lots of kiddies get taken to see the Hogfather, you see. Not the real one, of
course. just some ole geezer with a pil ow up his jumper, saving yer presence, master.’
NOT REAL? HO. HO. HO.
‘Oh, no. And you don’t need-‘
THE CHILDREN KNOW THIS? HO. HO. HO.
Albert scratched his nose. ‘S’pose so, master.’
THIS SHOULD NOT BE. NO WONDER THERE HAS BEEN . . . THIS DIFFICULTY.
BELIEF WAS COMPROMISED? HO. HO. HO.
‘Could be, master. Er, the “ho, ho-“‘
WHERE DOES THIS TRAVESTY TAKE PLACE? HO. HO. HO.
Albert gave up. ‘Wel , Crumley’s in The Maul, for one. Very popular, the Hogfather
Grotto. They always have a good Hogfather, apparently.’
LET’S GET THERE AND SLEIGH THEM. HO. HO. HO.
‘Right you are, master.’
THAT WAS A PUNE OR PLAY ON WORDS, ALBERT. I DON’T KNOW IF YOU
NOTICED.
‘I’m laughing like hel deep down, sir.’
HO. HO. HO.
Archchancel or Ridcul y grinned.
He often grinned. He was one of those men who grinned even when they were
annoyed, but right now he grinned because he was proud. A little sore stil , perhaps,
but stil proud.
‘Amazing bathroom, ain’t it?’ he said. ‘They had it wal ed up, you know. Damn sil y
thing to do. I mean, perhaps there were a few teething troubles,’ he shifted gingerly,
‘but that’s only to be expected. It’s got everything, d’you see? Foot baths in the shape
of clam shel s, look. A whole wardrobe for dressing gowns. And that tub over there’s
got a big blower thingy so’s you get bubbly water without even havin’ to eat starchy
food. And this thingy here with the mermaids holdin’ it up’s a special pot for your
toenail clippings. It’s got everything, this place.’
‘A special pot for nail clippings?’ said the Verruca Gnome.
‘Oh, can’t be too careful,’ said Ridcul y, lifting the lid of an ornate jar marked BATH
SALTS and pul ing out a bottle of wine. ‘Get hold of something like someone’s nail
clipping and you’ve got ‘ em under your control. That’s real old magic. Dawn of time
stuff.’
He held the wine bottle up to the light.
‘Should be cooled nicely by now,’ he said, extracting the cork. ‘Verrucas, eh?’
‘Wish I knew why,’ said the gnome.
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Nope. Suddenly I wake up and I’m the Verruca Gnome.’
‘Puzzling, that,’ said Ridcul y. ‘My dad used to say the Verruca Gnome turned up if
you walked around in bare feet but I never knew you existed. I thought he just made it
up. I mean, tooth fairies, yes, and them little buggers that live in flowers, used to col ect
’em myself as a lad, but can’t recal anything about verrucas.’ He drank thoughtful y.
‘Cot a distant cousin cal ed Verruca, as a matter of fact. It’s quite a nice sound, when
you come to think of it.’
He looked at the gnome over the top of his glass.
You didn’t become Archchancel or without a feeling for subtle wrongness in a
situation. Wel , that wasn’t quite true. It was more accurate to say that you didn’t
remain Archchancel or for very long.
‘Good job, is it?’ he said thoughtful y.
‘Dandruff’d be better,’ said the gnome. ‘At least I’d be out in the fresh air.’
‘I think we’d better check up on this,’ said Ridcul y. ‘Of course, it might be nothing.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ said the Verruca Gnome, gloomily.
It was a magnificent Grotto this year, Vernon Crumley told himself. The staff had
worked real y hard. The Hogfather’s sleigh was a work of art in itself, and the pigs
looked real y real and a wonderful shade of pink.
The Grotto took up nearly al of the first floor. One of the pixies had been Disciplined
for smoking behind the Magic Tinkling Waterfal and the clockwork Dol s of Al Nations
showing how We Could Al Get Along were a bit jerky and giving trouble but al in al ,
he told himself, it was a display to Delight the Hearts of Kiddies everywhere.
The kiddies were queueing up with their parents and watching the display owlishly.
And the money was coming in. Oh, how the money was coming in.
So that the staff would not be Tempted, Mr Crumley had set up an arrangement of
overhead wires across the ceilings of the store. In the middle of each floor was a
cashier in a little cage. Staff took money from customers, put it in a little clockwork
cable car, sent it whizzing overhead to the cashier, who’d make change and start it
rattling back again. Thus there was no possibility of Temptation, and the little trol eys
were shooting back and forth like fireworks.
Mr Crumley loved Hogswatch. It was for. the Kiddies, after al .
He tucked his fingers in the pockets of his waistcoat and beamed.
‘Everything going wel , Miss Harding?’
‘Yes, Mr Crumley,’ said the cashier, meekly.
‘Jol y good.’ He looked at the pile of coins.
A bright little zig-zag crackled off them and earthed itself on the metal gril e.
Mr Crumley blinked. In front of him sparks flashed off the steel rims of Miss Harding’s
spectacles.
The Grotto display changed. For just a fraction of a second Mr Crumley had the
sensation of speed, as though what appeared had screeched to a halt. Which was
ridiculous.
The four pink papier-mache pigs exploded. A cardboard snout bounced off Mr
Crumley’s head.
There, sweating and grunting in the place where the little piggies had been, were . . .
wel , he assumed they were pigs, because hippopotamuses didn’t have pointy ears
and rings through their noses. But the creatures were huge and grey and bristly and a
cloud of acrid mist hung over each one.
And they didn’t look sweet. There was nothing charming about them. One turned to
look at him with smal , red eyes, and didn’t go ‘oink’, which was the sound that Mr
Crumley, born and raised in the city, had always associated with pigs.
It went ‘Ghnaaarrrwnnkh?’
The sleigh had changed, too. He’d been very pleased with that sleigh. It had delicate
silver curly bits on it. He’d personal y supervised the gluing on of every twinkling star.
But the splendour of it was lying in glittering shards around a sledge that looked as
though it had been built of crudely sawn tree trunks laid on two massive wooden
runners. It looked ancient and there were faces carved on the wood, nasty crude