shining face i
his entire life. He specialized in dul , sul en ones. The one he was wearing now would
have won prizes
‘Excuse me, madam,’ said Ridcul y. ‘But is that a chicken on your shoulder?
‘It’s, er, its, er, it’s the Blue Bird of Happiness,’ said the Cheerful Fairy. Her voice now
had the slightly shaking tone of someone who doesn’t quite believe what she has just
said but is going to go on saying it anyway, just in case saying it wil eventual y make it
true
‘I beg your pardon, but it is a chicken. A live chicken,’ said Ridcul y. ‘It just went
cluck.
‘It is blue,’ she said hopelessly
‘Wel , that at least is true,’ Ridcul y conceded, as kindly as he could manage. ‘Left to
myself, I expect I’d have imagined a slightly more streamlined Blue Bird of Happiness,
but I can’t actual y fault you there.
The Cheerful Fairy coughed nervously and fiddled with the buttons on her sensible
wool y jumper
‘How about a nice game to get us al in the mood?’ she said. ‘A guessing game,
perhaps? Or a painting competition? There may be a smal prize for the winner.
‘Madam, we’re wizards,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘We don’t do cheerful.
‘Charades?’ said the Cheerful Fairy. ‘Or perhaps you’ve been playing them already?
How about a sing-song? Who knows “Row Row Row Your Boat”?
Her bright little smile hit the group scowl of the assembled wizards. ‘We don’t want to
be Mr Grumpy, do we?’ she added hopeful y
‘Yes,’ said the Senior Wrangler
The Cheerful Fairy sagged, and then patted frantical y at her shapeless sleeves until
she tugged out a bal ed-up handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes
‘It’s al going wrong again, isn’t it?’ she said, her chin trembling. ‘No one ever wants
to be cheerful these days, and I real y do try. I’ve made a Joke Book and I’ve got three
boxes of clothes for charades and … and … and whenever I try to cheer people up they
al look embarrassed … and real y I do make an effort .
She blew her nose loudly
Even the Senior Wrangler had the grace to look embarrassed
‘Er . . .’ he began
‘Would it hurt anyone just occasional y to try to be a little bit cheerful?’ said the Cheerful Fairy
‘Er … in what way?’ said the Senior Wrangler, feeling wretched
‘Wel , there’s so many nice things to be cheerful about,’ said the Cheerful Fairy,
blowing her nose again
‘Er … raindrops and sunsets and that sort of thing?’ said the Senior Wrangler,
managing some sarcasm, but they could tel his heart wasn’t in it. ‘Er, would you like to
borrow my handkerchief? It’s nearly fresh.
‘Why don’t you get the lady a nice sherry?
said Ridcul y. ‘And some corn for her chicken . . .’ ‘Oh, I never drink alcohol,’ said the
Cheerful Fairy, horrified
‘Real y?’ said Ridcul y. ‘We find it’s something to be cheerful about. Mr Stibbons …
would you be so kind as to step over here for a moment?
He beckoned him up close
‘There’s got to be a lot of belief sloshing around to let her be created,’ he said. ‘She’s
a good fourteen stone, if I’m any judge. If we wanted to contact the Hogfather, how
would we go about it? Letter up chimney?
‘Yes, but not tonight, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘He’l be out delivering.
‘No tel ing where he’l be, then,’ said Ridcul y. ‘Blast.
‘Of course, he might not have come here yet,’ said Ponder
‘Why should he come here?’ said Ridcul y
The Librarian pul ed the blankets over himself and curled up
As an orang-utan he hankered for the warmth of the rainforest. The problem was that
he’d never even seen a rainforest, having been turned into an orang-utan when he was
already a ful y grown human. Something in his bones knew about it, though, and didn’t
like the cold of winter at al . But he was also a librarian in those same bones and he
flatly refused to al ow fires to be lit in the library. As a result, pil ows and blanket
went missing everywhere else in the University and ended up in a sort of cocoon in
the reference section, in which the ape lurked during the worst of the winter
He turned over and wrapped himself in the Bursar’s curtains
There was a creaking outside his nest, and some whispering
‘No, don’t fight the lamp.
‘I wondered why I hadn’t seen him al evening.
‘Oh, he goes to bed early on Hogswatch Eve, sir. Here we are . . .
There was some rustling
‘We’re in luck. It hasn’t been fil ed,’ said Ponder. ‘Looks like he’s used one of the
Bursar’s.
‘He puts it up every year?
‘Apparently.
‘But it’s not as though he’s a child. A certain child-like simplicity, perhaps.
‘It might be different for orang-utans, Archchancel or.
‘Do they do it in the jungle, d’you think?
‘I don’t imagine so, sir. No chimneys, for one thing.
‘And quite short legs, of course. Extremely underfunded in the sock area, orang-
utans. They’d be quids in if they could hang up gloves, of course. Hogfather’d be on
double shifts if they could hang up their gloves. On account of the length of their arms.
‘Very good, Archchancel or.
‘I say, what’s this on the… my word, a glass of sherry. Wel , waste not, want not.’
There was a damp glugging noise in the darkness
‘I think that was supposed to be for the Hogfather, sir.
‘And the banana?
‘I imagine that’s been left out for the pigs, sir.
‘Pigs?
‘Oh, you know, sir. Tusker and Snouter and Gouger and Rooter. I mean,’ Ponder
stopped, conscious that a grown man shouldn’t be able to remember this sort of thing,
‘that’s what children believe.
‘Bananas for pigs? That’s not traditional, is it? I’d have thought acorns, perhaps. Or
apples or swedes.
‘Yes, sir, but the Librarian likes bananas, sir.
‘Very nourishin’ fruit, Mr Stibbons.
‘Yes, sir. Although, funnily enough it’s not actual y a fruit, sir.
‘Real y?
‘Yes, sir. Botanical y, it’s a type of fish, sir. According to my theory it’s cladistical y
associated with the Krul ian pipefish, sir, which of course is also yel ow and goes
around in bunches or shoals.
‘And lives in trees?
‘Wel , not usual y, sir. The banana is obviously exploiting a new niche.
‘Good heavens, real y? It’s a funny thing, but I’ve never much liked bananas and I’ve
always been a bit suspicious of fish, too. That’d explain it.
‘Yes, sir.
‘Do they attack swimmers?
‘Not that I’ve heard, sir. Of course, they may be clever enough to only attack
swimmers who’re far from land.
‘What, you mean sort of… high up? In the trees, as it were?
‘Possibly, sir.
‘Cunning, eh?
‘Yes, sir.
‘Wel , we might as wel make ourselves comfortable, Mr Stibbons.
‘Yes, sir.
A match flared in the darkness as Ridcul y lit his pipe
The Ankh-Morpork wassailers had practised for weeks
The custom was referred to by Anaglypta Huggs, organizer of the best and most
select group of the city’s singers, as an occasion for fel owship and good cheer
One should always be wary of people who talk unashamedly of ‘fel owship and good
cheer’ as if it were something that can be applied to life like a poultice. Turn your back
for a moment and they may wel organize a Maypole dance and, frankly, there’s no
option then but to try and make it to the treeline
The singers were halfway down Park Lane now, and halfway through ‘The Red Rosy
Hen
in marvel ous harmony.19 Their col ecting tins were already ful of donations for the
poor of the city, or at least those sections of the poor who in Mrs Huggs’ opinion were
suitably picturesque and not too smel y and could be relied upon to say thank you.
People had come to their doors to listen. Orange light spil ed on to the snow. Candle
19 The red rosy hen greets the dawn of the day’. In fact the hen is not the bird traditionally associated with heralding a new sunrise, but Mrs Huggs, while collecting many old folk songs for posterity, has taken care to rewrite them where necessary to avoid, as she put it, ‘offending those of a refined disposition with unwarranted coarseness’. Much to her surprise, people often couldn’t spot the unwarranted coarseness until it had been pointed out to them.
Sometimes a chicken is nothing but a bird.
lanterns glowed among the tumbling flakes. If you could have taken the lid off the
scene, there would have been chocolates inside. Or at least an interesting biscuit
assortment
Mrs Huggs had heard that wassailing was an ardent ritual, and you didn’t need
anyone to tel you what that meant, but she felt she’d careful y removed al those