Hogfather - Terry Pratchett [113]
Yes?
One said, There’s no actual evidence. Nothing written down. Some humans got excited and decided to attack the Tooth Fairy’s country. This is unfortunate, but nothing to do with us. We are shocked, of course.
One said, There’s still the Hogfather. Things are going to be noticed. Questions may be asked.
They hovered for a while, unspeaking.
Eventually one said, We may have to take…
It paused, loath even to think the word, but managed to continue…a risk.
Bed, thought Susan, as the mists rolled past her. And in the morning, decent human things like coffee and porridge. And bed. Real things—
Binky stopped. She stared at his ears for a moment, and then urged him forward. He whinnied, and didn’t budge.
A skeletal hand had grabbed his bridle. Death materialized.
IT IS NOT OVER. MORE MUST BE DONE. THEY TORMENT HIM STILL.
Susan sagged. “What is? Who are?”
MOVE FORWARD. I WILL STEER. Death climbed into the saddle and reached around her for the reins.
“Look, I went—” Susan began.
YES. I KNOW. THE CONTROL OF BELIEF, said Death, as the horse moved forward again. ONLY A VERY SIMPLE MIND COULD THINK OF THAT. MAGIC SO OLD IT’S HARDLY MAGIC. WHAT A SIMPLE WAY TO MAKE MILLIONS OF CHILDREN CEASE TO BELIEVE IN THE HOGFATHER.
“And what were you doing?” Susan demanded.
I TOO HAVE DONE WHAT I SET OUT TO DO. I HAVE KEPT A SPACE. A MILLION CARPETS WITH SOOTY BOOT MARKS, MILLIONS OF FILLED STOCKINGS, ALL THOSE ROOFS WITH RUNNER MARKS ON THEM…DISBELIEF WILL FIND IT HARD GOING IN THE FACE OF THAT. ALBERT SAYS HE NEVER WANTS TO DRINK ANOTHER SHERRY FOR DAYS. THE HOGFATHER WILL HAVE SOMETHING TO COME BACK TO, AT LEAST.
“What have I got to do now?”
YOU MUST BRING THE HOGFATHER BACK.
“Oh, must I? For peace and goodwill and the tinkling of fairy bells? Who cares. He’s just some fat old clown who makes people feel smug at Hogswatch! I’ve been through all this for some old man who prowls around kids’ bedrooms?”
NO. SO THAT THE SUN WILL RISE.
“What has astronomy got to do with the Hogfather?”
OLD GODS DO NEW JOBS.
The Senior Wrangler wasn’t attending the Feast. He got one of the maids to bring a tray up to his rooms, where he was Entertaining and doing all those things a man does when he finds himself unexpectedly tête-à-tête with the opposite sex, like trying to shine his boots on his trousers and clean his fingernails with his other fingernails.
“A little more wine, Gwendoline? It’s hardly alcoholic,” he said, leaning over her.
“I don’t mind if I do, Mr. Wrangler.”
“Oh, call me Horace, please. And perhaps a little something for your chicken?”
“I’m afraid she seems to have wandered off somewhere,” said the Cheerful Fairy. “I’m afraid I’m, I’m, I’m rather dull company…” She blew her nose noisily.
“Oh, I certainly wouldn’t say that,” said the Senior Wrangler. He wished he’d had time to tidy up his rooms a bit, or at least get some of the more embarrassing bits of laundry off the stuffed rhinoceros.
“Everyone’s been so kind,” said the Cheerful Fairy, dabbing at her streaming eyes. “Who was the skinny one that kept making the funny faces for me?”
“That was the Bursar. Why don’t you—”
“He seemed very cheerful, anyway.”
“It’s the dried frog pills, he eats them by the handful,” said the Senior Wrangler dismissively. “I say, why don’t—”
“Oh dear. I hope they’re not addictive.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t keep on eating them if they were addictive,” said the Senior Wrangler. “Now, why don’t you have another glass of wine, and then…and then…” a happy thought struck him “…and then…and then perhaps I could show you Archchancellor Bowell’s Remembrance? It’s got a-a-a-a very interesting ceiling. My word, yes.”
“That would be very nice,” said the Cheerful Fairy. “Would it cheer me up, do you think?”
“Oh, it would, it would,” said the Senior Wrangler. “Definitely! Good! So I’ll, er, I’ll just go and…just go and…I’ll…” He pointed vaguely in the direction of his dressing room, while hopping from one foot to the other. “I’ll just go and, er…go…just…”
He fled into the dressing room and slammed the door behind him. His wild eyes scanned