Hogfather

     'It could be dangerous. I don't think she's there of her own free will. Would you be any good in a fight?'

     'Yes. I could be sick on people.'

     It  was  a shack, somewhere out  on the outskirts of the Plains town of Scrote. Scrote had a  lot  of outskirts,  spread so widely  - a busted  cart here,  a  dead  dog  there  that often  people went through  it without even knowing it  was  there,  and really it only appeared  on  the  maps  because cartographers get embarrassed about big empty spaces.

     Hogswatch  came after the excitement of the cabbage harvest when it was pretty quiet  in Scrote and there was nothing  much to look forward to until the fun of the sprout festival.

     This shack  had  an  iron stove, with  a pipe that went  up through the thick cabbage-leaf thatch.

     Voices echoed faintly within the pipe.

THIS IS REALLY, REALLY STUPID.

     'I think the tradition got started when everyone had them big chimneys, master.' This voice sounded as though it was coming from someone standing on the roof and shouting down the pipe.

     INDEED? IT'S ONLY A MERCY IT'S UNLIT.

     There  was some muffled scratching  and banging, and then a  thump from within the pot belly of the stove.

DAMN.

     'What's up, master?'

THE DOOR HAS NO HANDLE ON THE INSIDE. I CALL THAT INCONSIDERATE.

     There  were  some more  bumps,  and then a scrape as the  stove lid was lifted up and  pushed sideways. An arm came out and felt around the front of the stove until it found the handle.

     It played with it for a while, but it was obvious that the hand did not belong to a person used to opening things.

     In  short, Death came out of the stove. Exactly how would be  difficult to describe without  folding  the page. Time and  space  were,  from Death's point  of  view, merely things  that he'd heard described.  When  it came to Death, they ticked  the box marked Not Applicable. It might help to think of the universe as a rubber sheet, or perhaps not.

     'Let us in, master,' a pitiful  voice echoed  down from the roof. 'It's brass monkeys out here.'

     Death  went over to the door. Snow was blowing underneath it. He peered nervously at  the  woodwork.  There  was a thump outside and  Albert's voice sounded a lot closer.

     'What's up, master?'

     Death stuck his head through the wood of the door.

     THERE'S THESE METAL THINGS

     'Bolts, master. You slide them,'  said Albert, sticking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

AH.

     Death's head  disappeared.  Albert  stamped  his feet  and  watched his breath cloud in  the air while he listened to the pathetic scrabbling on the other side of the door.

     Death's head appeared again.

ER ...

     'It's the latch, master,' said Albert wearily.

RIGHT. RIGHT.

     'You put your thumb on it and push it down.'

RIGHT.

     The head disappeared. Albert jumped up and down a bit, and waited.

     The head appeared.

ER ... I WAS WITH YOU UP TO THE THUMB...

     Albert sighed. 'And then you press down and pull, master.'

AH. RIGHT. GOT YOU.

     The head disappeared.

     Oh dear, thought Albert. He just can't get the hang of them, can he ...?

     The door jerked open. Death stood behind it, beaming proudly, as Albert staggered in, snow blowing in with him.

     'Blimey,  it's getting  really  parky,' said Albert.  'Any  sherry?' he added hopefully.

IT APPEARS NOT.

     Death looked  at the sock hooked on to the side  of the stove. It had a hole in it.

     A letter, in erratic handwriting, was attached  to  it. Death picked it up.

     THE  BOY WANTS A PAIR OF TROUSERS THAT HE DOESN'T HAVE TO SHARE, A HUGE MEAT PIE, A SUGAR MOUSE, 'A LOT OF TOYS' AND A PUPPY CALLED SCRUFF.

     'Ah, sweet,'  said Albert. 'I  shall  wipe away  a tear, 'cos what he's gettin', see, is this little wooden toy and an apple.' He held them out.

BUT THE LETTER CLEARLY

     'Yes, well, it's socio-economic factors again,

     right?'  said Albert 'The world'd be  in a  right mess  if everyone got what they asked for, eh?'

I GAVE THEM WHAT THEY WANTED IN THE STORE . . .

     'Yeah, and  that's  gonna cause a lot of trouble, master. All them "toy pigs that really  work". I didn't say nothing 'cos it  was  getting  the job done  but  you can't  go on  like  that.  What good's a  god who  gives  you everything you want?'

YOU HAVE ME THERE.

     'It's the hope that's important.  Big part of belief, hope. Give people jam today and  they'll just sit and eat it. jam tomorrow, now - that'll keep them going for ever.'

AND YOU MEAN THAT BECAUSE OF THIS THE POOR GET POOR THINGS AND THE RICH GET RICH THINGS?

     ' 's right,' said Albert. 'That's the meaning of Hogswatch.'

     Death nearly wailed.

     BUT I'M THE HOGFATHER! He looked embarrassed. AT THE MOMENT, I MEAN.