Hogfather

     'Is  it,  master?' There  was  worry in Albert's voice. Death's osmotic nature tended to pick up new ideas altogether too quickly. Of course, Albert understood why they had to do all this, but  the  master  ... well, sometimes the master  lacked  the necessary mental equipment to work out what should be true and what shouldn't ...

     AND I THINK I'VE GOT THE LAUGH WORKING REALLY WELL NOW. HO. HO. HO.

     'Yeah, sir, very jolly,'  said  Albert.  He looked down  at  the  list. 'Still, work  goes  on, eh? The  next one's pretty dose, master, so I should keep them down low if I was you.'

JOLLY GOOD. HO. HO. HO.

     'Sarah the  little  match girl, doorway of Thimble's  Pipe and  Tobacco Shop, Money Trap Lane, it says here.'

AND WHAT DOES SHE WANT FOR HOGSWATCH? HO. HO. HO.

     'Dunno. Never sent a letter. By  the way, just a tip, you don't have to say "Ho, ho, ho, " all  the time,  master. Let's see  ... It  says  here...' Albert's lips moved as he read.

I  EXPECT  A  DOLL  IS  ALWAYS  ACCEPTABLE.  OR  A  SOFT  TOY  OF  SOME DESCRIPTION. THE SACK SEEMS TO KNOW. WHAT'VE WE GOT FOR HER, ALBERT? HO. HO. HO.

     Something small was dropped into his hand.

     'This,' said Albert.

OH.

     There  was  a moment  of horrible  silence as they both  stared at  the lifetimer.

     'You're for life, not just for Hogswatch,' prompted Albert. 'Life  goes on, master. In a manner of speaking.'

BUT THIS IS HOGSWATCHNIGHT.

     'Very  traditional  time  for this sort of  thing, I  understand,' said Albert.

     I THOUGHT IT WAS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY, said Death.

     'Ah,  well, yes, you see, one of the  things that makes folks even more jolly  is  knowing  there're   people  who   ain't,'   said  Albert,   in  a matter-of-fact voice. 'That's how it goes, master. Master?'

 NO.

Death stood up.

THIS IS HOW IT SHOULDN'T GO.

     The University's Great Hall had  been set for the Hogswatchnight Feast. The  tables  were already groaning under the weight of  the  cutlery, and it would be hours before any real food  was put  on  them. It was hard  to  see where  there would be space  for any  among  the drifts  of ornamental fruit bowls and forests of wine glasses.

     The oh god picked up a menu and turned to the fourth page.

     'Course four: molluscs and crustaceans. A medley of lobster, crab, king crab,  prawn,  shrimp,  oyster,  clam,  giant  mussel, green-lipped  mussel, thin-lipped mussel and Fighting Tiger Limpet. With a herb and butter dipping sauce. Wine: "Three Wizards"  Chardonnay, Year of  the Talking  Frog.  Beer: Winkles' Old Peculiar.' He put it down. 'That's one course?' he said.

     'They're big men in the food department,' said Susan.

     He turned the menu over. On the cover was the University's coat of arms and, over it, three large letters in ardent script:  "E B P"

     'Is this some sort of magic word?'

     'No.' Susan sighed. 'They  put it on all their menus. You might call it the unofficial motto of the University.'

     'What's it mean?'

     'Eta Beta Pi.'

     Bilious gave her an expectant look.

     'Yes . . .?'

     'Er ... like, Eat a Better Pie?' said Susan.

     'That's what you just said, yes,' said the oh god.

     'Urn. No. You see, the letters are Ephebian characters which just sound a bit like "eat a better Pie".

     'Ah.' Bilious nodded wisely. 'I can see that might cause confusion.'

     Susan  felt  a  bit  helpless  in  the  face  of  the look  of  helpful puzzlement. 'No,' she said, 'in fact they are supposed to cause a little bit of confusion, and  then you laugh. It's called a pune or play  on words. Eta Beta Pi.' She eyed  him carefully. 'You laugh,' she said. 'With your  mouth. Only,  in  fact,  you don't  laugh, because you're not supposed to laugh  at things like this.'

     'Perhaps I could  find that glass of milk,' said the oh god helplessly, peering at  the huge array  of jugs and bottles.  He'd  clearly given up  on sense of humour.

     'I gather the Archchancellor won't have milk in the University,' said Susan. 'He says  he knows  where it comes from and it's  unhygienic. And that's  a  man who eats  three  eggs for breakfast every day, mark you. How do you know about milk, by the way?'

     'I've got ... memories,' said the oh god. 'Not exactly of anything, er, specific. just, you know, memories. Like, I know trees usually grow greenend up ... that sort of thing. I suppose gods just know things.'

     'Any special god-like powers?'

     'I might be able to turn water into  an enervescent drink.' He  pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Is that any help? And it's just possible I can give people a blinding headache.'

     'I need to find out why my grandfather is ... acting strange.'

     'Can't you ask him?'

     'He won't tell me!'

     'Does he throw up a lot?'

     'I shouldn't think so. He doesn't often eat. The occasional curry, once or twice a month.'

     'He must be pretty thin.'

     'You've no idea.'

     'Well, then ... Does he  often stare  at himself in the mirror  and say "Arrgh"? Or stick out his tongue and wonder why it's  gone  yellow? You see, it's possible  I might  have some  measure of  influence over people who are hung over. If he's been drinking a lot, I might be able to find him.'