Hogfather

     Mr Crumley, tears of anger streaming clown his face, fought through the milling  crowd  until  he reached  the  Hogfather's  Grotto.  He  grabbed  a frightened pixie.

     'It's the Campaign  for Equal Heights that've done  this, isn't it!' he shouted.  'They're  out  to ruin me!  And  they're  ruining it  for all  the Kiddies! Look at the lovely dolls!'

     The  pixie hesitated. Children were clustering around the pigs, despite the continued  efforts of their  mothers. The  small girl was  giving one of them an orange.

     But  the animated  display  of  Dolls of All  Nations was definitely in trouble. The musical box underneath was still playing 'Wouldn't  It Be  Nice If Everyone Was Nice' but the rods that animated the figures had got twisted out of shape, so that the Klatchian boy was rhythmically hitting  the Omnian girl  over the head with  his ceremonial  spear, while the girl  in  Agatean national  costume was  kicking a  small Llamedosian druid repeatedly in  the ear. A chorus of small children was cheering them on indiscriminately.

     'There's, er,  there's more  trouble in the Grotto,  Mr Crum' the pixie began.

     A  red and white figure pushed its  way through the crush and rammed  a false beard into Mr Crumley's hands.

     'That's it,'  said the old man in the  Hogfather costume. 'I don't mind the smell of  oranges  and the damp trousers but  I  ain't  putting  up with this.'

     He stamped off through the  queue. Mr  Crumley heard him add, 'And he's not even doin' it right!'

     Mr Crumley forced his way onward.

     Someone was sitting in the  big  chair. There  was a child on his knee. The figure was ... strange.

     It  was  definitely  in  something  like a  Hogfather  costume  but  Mr Crumley's eye kept slipping, it  wouldn't focus, it skittered away and tried to put the figure on the very edge of vision. It was like trying to  look at your own ear.

     'What's going on here? What's going on here?' Crumley demanded.

     A  hand took  his shoulder firmly.  He turned round and looked into the face  of a  Grotto Pixie. At least, it was wearing  the costume of  a Grotto Pixie, although somewhat askew, as if it had been put on in a hurry.

     'Who are you?'

     The pixie took the soggy cigarette end  out of its mouth  and leered at him.

     'Call me Uncle Heavy,' he said.

     'You're not a pixie!'

     'Nah, I'm a fairy cobbler, mister.'

     Behind Crumley, a voice said:

AND WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR HOGSWATCH, SMALL HUMAN?

     Mr Crumley turned in horror.

     In front of - well, he had to think of it as  the usurping Hogfather  - was  a  small child of  indeterminate sex  who seemed to be  mostly  woollen bobble hat.

     Mr Crumley knew how it was supposed to go. It was  supposed  to go like this: the child was always  struck dumb and  the attendant mother would lean forward and catch the Hogfather's eye and say very pointedly, in that  voice adults use when they're conspiring against children:

     'You want a Baby  Tinkler Doll, don't  you,  Doreen? And the  Just Like Mummy Cookery  Set you've got in the window. And the  Cut-Out Kitchen  Range Book. And what do you say?'

     And  the stunned child would murmur "nk you' and get given a balloon or an orange.

     This time, though, it didn't work like that.

     Mother got as far as 'You want a ...'

WHY ARE YOUR HANDS ON BITS OF STRING, CHILD?

     The child  looked  down the  length of its arms to the dangling mittens affixed to its sleeves. It held them up for inspection.

     'Clubs,' it said.

I SEE. VERY PRACTICAL.

     'Are you weal?' said the bobble hat.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

     The bobble  hat sniggered.  'I saw  your piggie do a wee!' it said, and implicit in  the  tone  was  the  suggestion  that this was unlikely  to  be dethroned as the most enthralling thing the bobble hat had ever seen.

OH. ER ... GOOD.

     'It had a gwate big ...'

     WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR HOGSWATCH? said the Hogfather hurriedly.

     Mother took her economic cue again, and said briskly: 'She wants a ...'

     The  Hogfather  snapped his  fingers  impatiently.  The  mother's mouth slammed shut.

     The  child  seemed  to  sense  that  here  was  a  once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and spoke quickly.

     'I wanta narmy. Anna big castle wif pointy bits,' said the child. 'Anna swored.'

     WHAT DO YOU SAY? prompted the Hogfather.

     'A big swored?' said the child, after a pause for deep cogitation.

     THAT'S RIGHT.

     Uncle Heavy nudged the Hogfather.

     'They're supposed to thank you,' he said.

     ARE YOU SURE? PEOPLE DON'T, NORMALLY.

     'I  meant  they thank  the Hogfather,'  Albert hissed. 'Which  is  you, right?'

     YES, OF COURSE. AHEM. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SAY THANK YOU.

     ' 'nk you.'

AND BE GOOD. THIS IS PART OF THE ARRANGEMENT.

     ' 'es.'

     THEN  WE  HAVE A  CONTRACT.

  The  Hogfather  reached into his  sack  and produced:

     - a very  large model castle with, as correctly interpreted, pointy blue cone roofs on turrets suitable for princesses to be locked in

     - a box of several hundred assorted knights and warriors

     - and a sword. It was four feet long and glinted along the blade.

     The mother took a deep breath.

     'You can't give her that!' she screamed. 'It's not safe!'