Hogfather

     'I think it was when I was lying in bed one Hogswatchnight, sir.'

     My  gods, thought Downey, and to  think  that I just used to listen for sleigh bells.

     'My word,' he said aloud.

     'I may have to check some details,  sir.  I'd appreciate access to some of the books in the  Dark Library. But, yes,  I think I  can  see the  basic shape.'

     'And  yet  ...  this  person  ...  some  people might  say that  he  is technically immortal.'

     Everyone has their weak point, sir.'

     Even Death?'

     'Oh, yes. Absolutely. Very much so.'

     'Really?'

     Downey drummed his fingers on the desk again. The boy couldn't possibly have a real plan, he told himself. He certainly  had a skewed mind - skewed? It was a positive helix - but the Fat Man wasn't just another target in some mansion somewhere. It was reasonable to assume that people had tried to trap him before.

     He felt happy about this.  Teatime would fail, and possibly  even  fail fatally if his plan was  stupid enough.  And  maybe the Guild would lose the gold, but maybe not.

     'Very well,' he said. 'I don't need to know what your plan is.'

     'That's just as well, sir.'

     'What do you mean?'

     'Because  I  don't propose  to  tell  you,  sir.  You'd  be obliged  to disapprove of it.'

     'I am amazed that you are so confident that it can work, Teatime.'

     'I  just think logically about the  problem,  sir,' said  the  boy.  He sounded reproachful.

     'Logically?' said Downey.

     'I  suppose  I just  see  things differently from  other  people,' said Teatime.

     It  was  a quiet day for Susan, although  on the way to the park Gawain trod on a crack in the pavement. On purpose.

     One  of the many terrors conjured  up by the previous governess's happy way with children had been the bears that waited around in the street to eat you if you stood on the cracks.

     Susan had taken to carrying  the  poker under her respectable coat. One wallop generally did the trick. They were amazed that anyone else saw them.

     'Gawain?' she said, eyeing a nervous bear who had  suddenly spotted her and was now trying to edge away nonchalantly.

     'Yes?'

     'You meant to tread on that  crack so  that I'd have to thump some poor creature whose

     only fault is wanting to tear you limb from limb.'

     'I was just skipping-'

     'Quite. Real children don't go hoppity-skip unless they are on drugs.'

     He grinned at her.

     'If I  catch you being  twee again I will  knot  your arms  behind your head,' said Susan levelly.

     He nodded, and went to push Twyla off the swings.

     Susan relaxed,  satisfied. It was her  personal  discovery.  Ridiculous threats didn't worry them  at all, but they were obeyed. Especially the ones in graphic detail.

     The previous governess had used various monsters and bogeymen as a form of discipline. There was  always  something waiting to eat  or carry off bad boys and  girls for crimes  like stuttering  or defiantly  and aggravatingly persisting in writing with their  left hand. There was always  a Scissor Man waiting  for a little girl who  sucked her  thumb, always a  bogeyman in the cellar. Of such bricks is the innocence of childhood constructed.

     Susan's  attempts  at getting  them  to disbelieve in  the  things only caused the problems to get worse.

     Twyla had  started to wet the bed. This may have been a crude  form  of defence  against the terrible clawed creature that  she  was  certain  lived under it.

     Susan had found out about this one the first night, when the child had woken up crying because of a bogeyman in  the closet.

     She'd  sighed  and gone to have  a look. She'd been so angry that she'd pulled it out,  hit  it over the head with the nursery poker, dislocated its shoulder as a means of emphasis and kicked it out of the back door.

     The  children refused to disbelieve  in  the monsters because, frankly, they knew damn well the things were there.

     But  she'd  found  that they  could,  very firmly, also  believe in the poker.

     Now she sat down on a bench and read a book. She made a point of taking the children,  every day, somewhere where they could meet others of the same age. If they got the hang of the  playground, she thought,  adult life would hold no fears. Besides, it was nice to hear the voices of little children at play,  provided you took care to be  far  enough away not to hear what  they were actually saying.

     There were  lessons  later on. These were  going a lot better now she'd got rid of the reading books about bouncy balls and dogs  called Spot. She'd got Gawain on  to  the  military campaigns of General Tacticus,  which  were suitably bloodthirsty  but, more importantly, considered too difficult for a child.  As  a  result his  vocabulary  was  doubling every week and he could already use words  like 'disembowelled' in everyday conversation. After all, what was the point of teaching children to be children?

     They were naturally good at it.