Hogfather

     Well, gods had a life, presumably. But they never actually died, as far as  she knew. They just dwindled away  to a voice on the wind and a footnote in some textbook on religion.

     There were other gods lined up. She recognized a few of them.

     But there were smaller lifetimers on the shelf. When she saw the labels she nearly burst out laughing.

     'The Tooth Fairy? The Sandman? John Barleycorn? The Soul Cake Duck? The God of what?'

     She stepped back, and something crunched under her feet.

     There were shards of glass on the floor. She reached down and picked up the biggest. Only a few letters remained of the name etched into the glass HOGFA...

     'Oh, no ... it's true. Granddad, what have you done?'

     When she left, the candles winked out. Darkness sprang back.

     And in the darkness, among, the spilled sand, a faint sizzle and a tiny spark of light...

     Mustrum Ridcully adjusted the towel around his waist.

     'How're we doing, Mr Modo?'

     The University gardener saluted.

     'The tanks  are full, Mr  Archchancellor sir!' he said  brightly.  'And I've been stoking the hotwater boilers an day!'

     The other senior wizards clustered in the doorway.

     'Really,  Mustrum,  I really  think  this  is  most  unwise,' said  the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'It was surely sealed up for a purpose.'

     'Remember what it said on the door,' said the Dean.

     'Oh,  they  just wrote that on  it to keep people out,'  said Ridcully, opening a fresh bar of soap.

     'Wen, yes,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'That's right. That's what people do.'

     'It's  a bathroom,' said Ridcully. 'You are all acting  as if it's some kind of a torture chamber.'

     'A  bathroom,'  said  the  Dean,  'designed by  Bloody Stupid  Johnson. Archchancellor  Weatherwax  only used it  once and then had  it  sealed  up! Mustrum, I beg you to reconsider! It's a Johnson!'

     There was something of a pause, because even Ridcully had to adjust his mind around this.

     The late  (or at least  severely delayed) Bergholt Stuttley Johnson was generally recognized as  the worst inventor  in  the  world, yet in  a  very specialized sense. Merely bad  inventors made things that failed to operate. He  wasn't  among these small  fry. Any fool  could make something that  did absolutely   nothing  when  you   pressed  the  button.   He   scorned  such fumble-fingered amateurs. Everything he built worked. It just didn't do what it said on the box. If you wanted a small  ground-to-air missile, you  asked Johnson  to design  an ornamental fountain.  It amounted to pretty much  the same thing.  But this never discouraged  him, or the morbid curiosity of his clients.  Music,  landscape gardening, architecture  - there was no start to his talents.

     Nevertheless, it was a little bit surprising to find that Bloody Stupid had  turned to bathroom design. But, as Ridcully  said, it was known that he had designed and built several  large musical organs and, when you got right down to it, it was all just plumbing, wasn't it?

     The other  wizards, who'd been there  longer than  the  Archchancellor, took  the view that  if Bloody Stupid Johnson had  built a fully  functional bathroom he'd actually meant it to be something else.

     'Y'know,  I've always felt  that  Mr Johnson was a much  maligned man,' said Ridcully, eventually.

     'Well,  yes, of  course he  was,' said  the  Lecturer in  Recent Runes, clearly exasperated. 'That's like saying that jam attracts wasps, you see.'

     'Not   everything  he  made   worked  badly,'  said  Ridcully  stoutly, flourishing his  scrubbing brush. 'Look at  that thing they use down  in the kitchens for peelin' the potatoes, for example.'

     'Ah, you  mean the thing  with  the  brass plate on it saying "Improved Manicure Device", Archchancellor?'

     'Listen, it's just water,' snapped  Ridcully. 'Even Johnson couldn't do much harm with water. Modo, open the sluices!'

     The rest of the wizards backed away  as the gardener turned a couple of ornate brass wheels.

     'I'm fed up with groping around for the soap like you fellows!' shouted the Archchancellor,  as water  gushed  through  hidden  channels.  'Hygiene. That's the ticket!'

     'Don't say we didn't warn you,' said the Dean, shutting the door.

     'Er, I still haven't worked out  where all the  pipes lead, sir,'  Modo ventured.

     'We'll find out, never you fear,' said Ridcully happily. He removed his hat  and  put  on a  shower cap of his  own  design.  In  deference  to  his profession, it was pointy. He picked up a yellow rubber duck.

     'Man the pumps, Mr Modo. Or dwarf them, of course, in your case.'

     'Yes, Archchancellor.'

     Modo hauled  on  a lever. The pipes started a hammering noise and steam leaked out of a few joints.

     Ridcully took a last look around the bathroom.