Hogfather

     'The rat said  you ought to be warned even if you were crazy,' said the raven  sulkily. 'I  didn't want  to come, there's a donkey dropped dead just outside the city gates, I'll be lucky now if I get a hoof---'

     'Warned?' said Susan.

     There it was again. The change  in the weather of the mind, a sensation of tangible time ...

     The Death of Rats nodded.

     There was a scrabbling sound far overhead. A few flakes of soot dropped down the chimney.

     SQUEAK, said the rat, but very quietly.

     Susan  was aware of a new sensation, as a  fish might be aware of a new tide, a spring of  fresh water flowing into the sea.  Time was  pouring into the world.

     She glanced up at the clock. It was just on half past six.

     The raven scratched its beak.

     'The rat says ... The rat says: you'd better watch out ...'

     There were others at  work on this  shining Hogswatch  Eve. The Sandman was out and  about, dragging his  sack from bed to bed. Jack Frost  wandered from window pane to window pane, making icy patterns.

     And  one  tiny hunched  shape  slid  and  slithered  along the  gutter, squelching its feet in slush and swearing under its breath.

     It wore a stained black suit and, on its head, the type of hat known in various parts of the multiverse as 'bowler', 'derby'  or 'the one that makes you look a  bit of  a tit'.  The hat  had been pressed down very firmly and, since the creature had long pointy  ears, these had been forced out sideways and gave it the look of a small malignant wing-nut.

     The  thing  was a gnome by  shape  but  a fairy by  profession. Fairies aren't necessarily little  twinkly creatures. It's purely a job description, and  the  commonest ones aren't even  visible.[9]  A  fairy  is  simply  any creature currently employed under supernatural laws  to take things away or, as in  the case of the small creature presently climbing up the inside  of a drainpipe and swearing, to bring things.

     Oh, yes. He does. Someone has  to do it, and he looks  the right  gnome for the job.

     Oh, yes.

     Sideney was  worried. He didn't like violence, and there had been a lot of it in  the last few days, if days passed in this place. The men ... well, they only seemed to find  life  interesting when  they were doing  something sharp to someone else and, while they didn't bother him much in the same way that lions don't trouble themselves with ants, they certainly worried him.

     But  not as  much  as  Teatime  did. Even the brute  called Chickenwire treated  Teatime with caution, if not  respect, and the monster called Banjo just followed him around like a puppy.

     The enormous man was watching him now.

     He reminded Sideney too  much of Ronnie Jenks, the bully who'd made his life  miserable  at  Cammer Wimblestone's dame school. Ronnie hadn't been  a pupil. He was the old woman's  grandson or nephew  or something,  which gave him a licence to hang around the place and beat up any kid smaller or weaker or brighter  than he was, which more or less meant he had the whole world to choose  from.  In  those circumstances, it was particularly unfair  that  he always chose Sideney.

     Sideney hadn't hated Ronnie. He'd  been too frightened.  He'd wanted to be  his friend. Oh, so much. Because  that way, just possibly,  he  wouldn't have his head trodden on such a lot and would actually get to eat  his lunch instead of having it thrown in the privy. And it had been a good day when it had been his lunch.

     And then,  despite all Ronnie's best efforts, Sideney  had grown up and gone to university. Occasionally  his mother told him how Ronnie was getting on (she assumed, in the way of  mothers, that because they had been small boys at school together  they had been friends). Apparently he ran a fruit stall and was married to a girl called Angie.[10] This was not enough punishment, Sideney considered.

     Banjo even breathed  like Ronnie,  who  had to  concentrate on  such an intellectual exercise and always had one blocked nostril. And his mouth open all the time. He looked as though he was living on invisible plankton.

     He tried to keep his mind on what he  was doing and ignore the laboured gurgling behind him. A change in its tone made him look up.

     '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 spell?' said Teatime.

     'Oh, it'll 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 swallowed.

     'So,' he said, 'I  was thinking ... since  you don't  actually 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'll want to help.'

     Sideney's face fell.

     'Urn, I'm not a locksmith. '

     'They appear to be magical.'