Hogfather

     ONE MILLION, EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIX, said Death. AND SIXTY EIGHT THOUSAND, THREE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN PORK PIES. AND ONE TURNIP.

     'It  looked  pork-pie  shaped,' said Albert. 'Everything does, after  a while.'

     'Then why haven't you exploded?'

     'Dunno. Always had a good digestion.'

TO  THE  HOGFATHER, ALL PORK PIES  ARE AS ONE  PORK PIE. EXCEPT THE ONE LIKE A TURNIP. COME, ALBERT. WE HAVE TRESPASSED ON SUSAN'S TIME.

     'Why are you doing this?' Susan screamed.

I AM SORRY. I CANNOT TELL YOU. FORGET YOU SAW ME. IT'S NOT YOUR BUSINESS.

     'Not my business? How can ...'

AND NOW ... WE MUST BE GOING...

     'Nighty-night,' said Albert.

     The clock struck, twice, for the half-hour. It was still half past six.

     And they were gone.

     The sledge hurtled across the sky.

     'She'll try to find out what this is all about, you know,' said Albert.

OH DEAR.

     'Especially after you told her not to.'

YOU THINK SO?

     'Yeah,' said Albert.

     DEAR ME. I STILL HAVE A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT HUMANS, DON'T I?

     'Oh ... I dunno... ' said Albert.

OBVIOUSLY IT WOULD BE  QUITE WRONG TO INVOLVE A HUMAN IN ALL THIS. THAT IS WHY, YOU WILL RECALL, I CLEARLY FORBADE HER TO TAKE AN INTEREST.

     'Yeah ... you did. .

     BESIDES, IT'S AGAINST THE RULES.

     'You said them little grey buggers had already broken the rules.'

     YES, BUT  I CAN'T JUST WAVE A MAGIC WAND AND  MAKE IT ALL BETTER. THERE MUST BE PROCEDURES. Death stared ahead for a moment  and then shrugged.  AND WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DO. WE HAVE PROMISES TO KEEP.

     'Well, the night is young,' said Albert, sitting back in the sacks.

THE NIGHT IS OLD. THE NIGHT IS ALWAYS OLD.

     The pigs galloped on. Then, 'No, it ain't.'

     I'M SORRY?

     'The night isn't any  older than  the day, master. It stands to reason. There must have been a day before anyone knew what the night was.'

     YES, BUT IT'S MORE DRAMATIC.

     'Oh. Right, then.'

     Susan stood by the fireplace.

     It  wasn't  as  though  she  disliked Death. Death considered as an individual rather than  life's  final curtain was someone she  couldn't help liking, in a strange kind of way.

     Even so ...

     The idea of the Grim Reaper filling the

     Hogswatch stockings of the world didn't fit well in her head, no matter which  way she twisted it. It was like  trying to imagine Old Man Trouble as the Tooth Fairy. Oh, yes. Old Man Trouble ... now there was a nasty one  for you...

     But honestly, what  kind of sick person went round creeping into little children's bedrooms all night?

     Well, the Hogfather, of course, but...

     There was  a little tinkling sound from  somewhere near the base of the Hogswatch tree.

     The raven backed away from the shards of one of the glittering balls.

     'Sorry,' it mumbled. 'Bit of a species reaction there.  You  know ... round, glittering sometimes you just gotta peck ...'

     'That chocolate money belongs to the children!'

     SQUEAK? said the Death of Rats, backing away from the shiny coins.

     'Why's he doing this?'

SQUEAK.

     'You don't know either?'

SQUEAK.

     'Is there some  kind of  trouble?  Did he  do  something  to  the  real

Hogfather?'

SQUEAK.

     'Why won't he tell me?'

SQUEAK.

     'Thank you. You've been very helpful.'

     Something  ripped, behind her. She  turned and saw  the raven carefully removing a strip of red wrapping paper from a package.

     'Stop that this minute!'

     It looked up guiltily.

     'It's only a little bit,' it said. 'No one's going to miss it.'

     'What do you want it for, anyway?'

     'We're attracted to bright colours, right? Automatic reaction.'

     'That's jackdaws!'

     'Damn. Is it?'

     The Death of Rats nodded. SQUEAK.

     'Oh, so suddenly you're Mr Ornithologist, are you?' snapped the raven.

     Susan sat down and held out her hand.

     The  Death of Rats leapt onto it. She  could feel its claws,  like tiny pins.

     It was just  like those scenes where the sweet and pretty heroine sings a little duet with Mr Bluebird.

     Similar, anyway.

     In general outline, at least. But with more of a PG rating.

     'Has he gone funny in the head?'

     SQUEAK. The rat shrugged.

     'But it could happen, couldn't it? He's very old, and I suppose he sees a lot of terrible things.'

SQUEAK.

     'All the trouble in the world,' the raven translated.

     'I  understood,'  said  Susan.  That  was  a  talent, too.  She  didn't understand what the rat said. She just understood what it meant.

     'There's something wrong and he won't tell me?' said Susan.

     That made her even more angry.

     'But Albert is in on it too,' she added.

     She thought:  thousands, millions of years in the same job.  Not a nice one. It isn't always cheerful old men passing away at a great age. Sooner or later, it was bound to get anyone down.

     Someone had  to  do  something.  It  was  like that  time  when Twyla's grandmother had started telling  everyone that  she was the Empress of Krull and had stopped wearing clothes.