everyone says, you’re king, mate, and he thinks “This is a bit of al right” only they don’t say it wouldn’t be a good idea to start any long books, ‘cos next thing he’s legging it
over the snow with a dozen other buggers chasing him with holy sickles so’s the
earth’l come to life again and al this snow’l go away. Very, you know … ethnic. Then
some bright spark thought, hey, looks like that damn sun comes up anyway, so how
come we’re giving those druids al this free grub? Next thing you know, there’s a job
vacancy. That’s the thing about gods. They’l always find a way to, you know … hang
on.’
‘The damn sun comes up anyway,’ Susan repeated. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Oh, observation. It happens every morning. I seen it.’
‘I meant al that stuff about holy sickles and things.’
The raven contrived to look smug.
‘Very occult bird, your basic raven,’ he said. ‘Blind Io the Thunder God used to have
these myffic ravens that flew everywhere and told him everything that was going on.’
‘Used to?’
‘WeeeW … you know how he’s not got eyes in his face, just these, like, you know,
free-floating eyebal s that go and zoom around . . .’ The raven coughed in species
embarrassment. ‘Bit of an accident waiting to happen, real y.’
‘Do you ever think of anything except eyebal s?’
‘Wel … there’s entrails.’
SQUEAK.
‘He’s right, though,’ said Susan. ‘Gods don’t die. Never completely die . . .’
There’s always somewhere, she told herself. Inside some stone, perhaps, or the
words of a song, or riding the mind of some animal, or maybe in a whisper on the wind.
They never entirely go, they hang on to the world by the tip of a fingernail, always
fighting to find a way back. Once a god, always a god. Dead, perhaps, but only like the
world in winter
‘Al right,’ she said. ‘Let’s see what happened to him . . .’
She reached out for the last book and tried to open it at random …
The feeling lashed at her out of the book, like a whip …
… hooves, fear, blood, snow, cold, night . . .
She dropped the scrol . It slammed shut.
SQUEAK?
‘I’m. . . al right.’
She looked down at the book and knew that she’d been given a friendly warning,
such as a pet animal might give when it was crazed with pain but just stil tame enough
not to claw and bite the hand that fed it – this time. Wherever the Hogfather was – dead,
alive, somewhere – he wanted to be left alone …
She eyed the Death of Rats. His little eye sockets flared blue in a disconcertingly
familiar way.
SQUEAK. EEK?
‘The rat says, if he wanted to find out about the Hogfather, he’d go to the Castle of
‘Oh, that’s just a nursery tale,’ said Susan. ‘That’s where the letters are supposed to
go that are posted up the chimney. That’s just an old story.’
She turned. The rat and the raven were staring at her. And she realized that she’d
been too normal.
SQUEAK?
‘The rat says, “What d’you mean, just?”‘ said the raven.
Chickenwire sidled towards Medium Dave in the garden. If you could cal it a garden.
It was the land round the … house. If you could cal it a house. No one said much
about it, but every so often you just had to get out. It didn’t feel right, inside.
He shivered. ‘Where’s himself?’ he said.
‘Oh, up at the top,’ said Medium Dave. ‘Stil trying to open that room.’
‘The one with al the locks?’
‘Yeah.’
Medium Dave was rol ing a cigarette. Inside the house … or tower, or both, or
whatever … you couldn’t smoke, not properly. When you smoked inside it tasted
horrible and you felt sick.
‘What for? We done what we came to do, didn’t we? Stood there like a bunch of kids
and watched that wet wizard do al his chanting it was al I could do to keep a straight
face. What’s he after now?’
‘He just said if it was locked that bad he wanted to see inside.’
‘I thought we were supposed to do what we came for and go!’
‘Yeah? You tel him. Want a rol -up?’
Chickenwire took the bag of tobacco and relaxed. ‘I’ve seen some bad places in my
time, but this takes the serious biscuit.’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s the cute that wears you down. And there’s got to be something else to eat than
apples.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And that damn sky. That damn sky is real y getting on my nerves.’
‘Yeah.’
They kept their eyes averted from that damn sky. For some reason, it made you feel
that it was about to fal on you. And it was worse if you let your eyes stray to the gap
where a gap shouldn’t be. The effect was like getting toothache in your eyebal s.
In the distance Banjo was swinging on a swing. Odd, that, Dave thought. Banjo
seemed perfectly happy here.
‘He found a tree that grows lol ipops yesterday,’ he said moodily. ‘Wel , I say
yesterday, but how can you tel ? And he fol ows the man around like a dog. No one
ever laid a punch on Banjo since our mam died. He’s just like a little boy, you know.
Inside. Always has been. Looks to me for everything. Used to be, if I told him “punch
someone”, he’d do it.’
‘And they stayed punched.’
‘Yeah. Now he fol ows him around everywhere. It makes me sick.’
‘What are you doing here, then?’
‘Ten thousand dol ars. And he says there’s more, you know. More than we can
imagine.’
He was always Teatime.
‘He ain’t just after money.’
-7
‘Yeah, wel , I didn’t sign up for world domination,’ said Medium Dave. ‘That sort of
thing gets you into trouble.’
‘I remember your mam saying that sort of thing,’ said Chickenwire. Medium Dave
rol ed his eyes. Everyone remembered Ma Lilywhite. ‘Very straight lady, was your ma.
Tough but fair.’
‘Yeah … tough.’
‘I recal that time she strangled Glossy Ron with his own leg,’ Chickenwire went on.
‘She had a wicked right arm on her, your mam.’
‘Yeah. Wicked.’
‘She wouldn’t have stood for someone like Teatime.’
‘Yeah,’ said Medium Dave.
‘That was a lovely funeral you boys gave her. Most of the Shades turned up. Very
respectful. Al them flowers. An’ everyone looking so . . .’ Chickenwire floundered’…
happy. In a sad way, o’ course.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Have you got any idea how to get back home?’
Medium Dave shook his head.
‘Me neither. Find the place again, I suppose.’ Chickenwire shivered. ‘I mean, what he
did to that carter … I mean, wel , I wouldn’t even act like that to me own dad—‘
‘Yeah.’
‘Ordinary mental, yes, I can deal with that. But he can be talking quite normal, and
then-‘
‘Yeah.’
‘Maybe the both of us could creep up on him and—-‘
‘Yeah, yeah. And how long’l we live? In seconds!
‘We could get lucky — ‘ Chickenwire began.
‘Yeah? You’ve seen him. This isn’t one of those blokes who threatens you. This is
one of those blokes who’d kil you soon as look at you. Easier, too. We got to hang on,
right? It’s like that saying about riding a tiger.’
‘What saying about riding a tiger?’ said Chickenwire suspiciously.
‘Wel . . .’ Medium Dave hesitated. ‘You … wel , you get branches slapping you in the
face, fleas, that sort of thing. So you got to hang on. Think of the money. There’s bags
of it in there. You saw it.’
‘I keep thinking of. that glass eye watching me. I keep thinking it can see right in my
head.’
‘Don’t worry, he doesn’t suspect you of anything.,
‘How d’you know?’
‘You’re stil alive, yeah?’
In the Grotto of the Hogfather, a round-eyed child.
HAPPY HOGSWATCH. HO. HO. HO. AND YOUR NAME IS … EUPHRASIA COAT,
CORRECT?
‘Go on, dear, answer the nice man.’
‘ ‘s.’
AND YOU ARE SIX YEARS OLD.
‘Go on, dear. They’re al the same at this age, aren’t they . . .’
‘ ‘s.’
AND YOU WANT A PONY
‘ ‘s.’ A smal hand pul ed the Hogfather’s hood down to mouth level. Heavy Uncle
Albert heard a ferocious whispering. Then the Hogfather leaned back.
YES, I KNOW. WHAT A NAUGHTY PIG IT WAS, INDEED.
His shape flickered for a moment, and then a hand went into the sack.
HERE IS A BRIDLE FOR YOUR PONY, AND A SADDLE, AND A RATHER
STRANGE HARD HAT AND A PAIR OF THOSE TROUSERS THAT MAKE YOU
LOOK AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A LARGE RABBIT IN EACH POCKET.
‘But we can’t have a pony, can we, Euffie, because we live on the third floor . .