Hogfather

He gave a gurgle and collapsed, clutching his chest. And vanished.

Teatime started to laugh.

Susan tapped him on the shoulder and, as he looked round, hit him as hard as she could across the face.

That was the plan, at least. His hand moved faster and caught her wrist. It was like striking an iron bar.

‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so.’

Out of the corner of her eye Susan saw Banjo crawling across the floor to where his brother had been. Ma Lilywhite had vanished.

‘This place gets into your head, doesn’t it?’ Teatime said. ‘It pokes around to find out how to deal with you. Well, I’m in touch with my inner child.’

He reached out with his other hand and grabbed her hair, pulling her head down.

Susan screamed.

‘And it’s much more fun,’ he whispered.

Susan felt his grip lessen. There was a wet thump like a piece of steak hitting a slab and Teatime went past her, on his back.

‘No pullin’ girls’ hair,’ rumbled Banjo. ‘That’s bad.’

Teatime bounced up like an acrobat and steadied himself on the railing of the stairwell.

Then he drew the sword.

The blade was invisible in the bright light of the tower.

‘It’s true what the stories say, then,’ he said. ‘So thin you can’t see it. I’m going to have such fun with it.’ He waved it at them. ‘So light.’

‘You wouldn’t dare use it. My grandfather will come after you,’ said Susan, walking towards him.

She saw one eye twitch.

‘He comes after everyone. But I’ll be ready for him,’ said Teatime.

‘He’s very single-minded,’ said Susan, closer now.

‘Ah, a man after my own heart.’

‘Could be, Mister Teatime.’

He brought the sword around. She didn’t even have time to duck.

And she didn’t even try to when he swung the sword back again.

‘It doesn’t work here,’ she said, as he stared at it in astonishment. ‘The blade doesn’t exist here. There’s no Death here!’

She slapped him across the face.

‘Hi!’ she said brightly. ‘I’m the inner baby-sitter!’

She didn’t punch. She just thrust out an arm, palm first, catching him under the chin and lifting him backwards over the rail.

He somersaulted. She never knew how. He somehow managed to gain purchase on clear air.

His free arm grabbed at hers, her feet came off the ground, and she was over the rail. She caught it with her other hand — although later she wondered if the rail hadn’t managed to catch her instead.

Teatime swung from her arm, staring upwards with a thoughtful expression. She saw him grip the sword hilt in his teeth and reach down to his belt— The question ‘Is this person mad enough to try to kill someone holding him?’ was asked and answered very, very fast … She kicked down and hit him on the ear.

The cloth of her sleeve began to tear. Teatime tried to get another grip. She kicked again and the dress ripped. For an instant he held on to nothing and then, still wearing the expression of someone trying to solve a complex problem, he fell away, spinning, getting smaller …

He hit the pile of teeth, sending them splashing across the marble. He jerked for a moment …

And vanished.

A hand like a bunch of bananas pulled Susan back over the rail.

‘You can get into trouble, hittin’ girls,’ said Banjo. ‘No playin’ with girls.’

There was a click behind them.

The doors had swung open. Cold white mist rolled out across the floor.

‘Our mam—’ said Banjo, trying to work things out. ‘Our mam was here—’

‘Yes,’ said Susan.

‘But it weren’t our mam, ’cos they buried our mam—’

‘Yes.’

‘We watched ’em fill in the grave and everything.’

‘Yes,’ said Susan, and added to herself, I bet you did.

‘And where’s our Davey gone?’

‘Er … somewhere else, Banjo.’

‘Somewhere nice?’ said the huge man hesitantly.

Susan grasped with relief the opportunity to tell the truth, or at least not definitely lie.

‘It could be,’ she said.

‘Better’n here?’

‘You never know. Some people would say the odds are in favour.’

Banjo turned his pink piggy eyes on her. For a moment a thirty-five-year-old man looked out through the pink clouds of a five-year-old face.

‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘He’ll be able to see our mam again.’

This much conversation seemed to exhaust him. He sagged.

‘I wanna go home,’ he said.

She stared at his big, stained face, shrugged hopelessly, pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and held it up to his mouth.

‘Spit,’ she commanded. He obeyed.

She dabbed the handkerchief over the worst parts and then tucked it into his hand.

‘Have a good blow,’ she suggested, and then carefully leaned out of range until the echoes of the blast had died away.

‘You can keep the hanky. Please,’ she added, meaning it whole-heartedly. ‘Now tuck your shirt in.’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Now, go downstairs and sweep all the teeth out of the circle. Can you do that?’

Banjo nodded.

‘What can you do?’ Susan prompted.

Banjo concentrated. ‘Sweep all the teeth out of the circle, miss.’

‘Good. Off you go.’

Susan watched him plod off, and then looked at the white doorway. She was sure the wizard had only got as far as the sixth lock.