Hogfather - Terry Pratchett [123]
“I was quite confident,” she said.
AH. Her grandfather stared at her for a moment and she thought she detected just the tiniest flicker of uncertainty. OF COURSE. OF COURSE. TELL ME, ARE YOU LIKELY TO TAKE UP TEACHING ON A LARGER SCALE?
“I hadn’t planned to.”
Death turned toward the balcony, and then seemed to remember something else. He fumbled inside his robe.
I HAVE MADE THIS FOR YOU.
She reached out and took a square of damp cardboard. Water dripped off the bottom. Somewhere in the middle, a few brown feathers seemed to have been glued on.
“Thank you. Er…what is it?”
ALBERT SAID THERE OUGHT TO BE SNOW ON IT, BUT IT APPEARS TO HAVE MELTED, said Death. IT IS, OF COURSE, A HOGSWATCH CARD.
“Oh…”
THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A ROBIN ON IT AS WELL, BUT I HAD CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY IN GETTING IT TO STAY ON.
“Ah…”
IT WAS NOT AT ALL CO-OPERATIVE.
“Really…?”
IT DID NOT SEEM TO GET INTO THE HOGSWATCH SPIRIT AT ALL.
“Oh. Er. Good. Granddad?”
YES?
“Why? I mean, why did you do all this?”
He stood quite still for a moment, as if he was trying out sentences in his mind.
I THINK IT’S SOMETHING TO DO WITH HARVESTS, he said at last. YES. THAT’S RIGHT. AND BECAUSE HUMANS ARE SO INTERESTING THAT THEY HAVE EVEN INVENTED DULLNESS. QUITE ASTONISHING.
“Oh.”
WELL THEN…HAPPY HOGSWATCH.
“Yes. Happy Hogswatch.”
Death paused again, at the window.
AND GOOD NIGHT, CHILDREN…EVERYWHERE.
The raven fluttered down onto a log covered in snow. Its prosthetic red breast had been torn and fluttered uselessly behind it.
“Not so much as a lift home,” it muttered. “Look at this, willya? Snow and frozen wastes, everywhere. I couldn’t fly another damn inch. I could starve to death here, you know? Hah! People’re going on about recycling the whole time, but you just try a bit of practical ecology and they just…don’t…want…to…know. Hah! I bet a robin’d have a lift home. Oh, yes.”
SQUEAK, said the Death of Rats sympathetically, and sniffed.
The raven watched the small hooded figure scrabble at the snow.
“So I’ll just freeze to death here, shall I?” it said gloomily. “A pathetic bundle of feathers with my little feet curled up with the cold. It’s not even as if I’m gonna make anyone a good meal, and let me tell you it’s a disgrace to die thin in my spec—”
It became aware that under the snow was a rather grubbier whiteness. Further scraping by the rat exposed something that could very possibly have been an ear.
The raven stared. “It’s a sheep!” it said.
The Death of Rats nodded.
“A whole sheep!”*
SQUEAK.
“Oh, wow!” said the raven, hopping forward with its eyes spinning. “Hey, it’s barely cool!”
The Death of Rats patted it happily on a wing.
SQUEAK-EEK. EEK-SQUEAK…
“Why, thanks. And the same to you…”
Far, far away and a long, long time ago, a shop door opened. The little toy maker bustled in from the workshop in the rear, and then stopped, with amazing foresight, dead.
YOU HAVE A BIG WOODEN ROCKING HORSE IN THE WINDOW, said the new customer.
“Ah, yes, yes, yes.” The shopkeeper fiddled nervously with his square-rimmed spectacles. He hadn’t heard the bell, and this was worrying him. “But I’m afraid that’s just for show, that is a special order for Lord—”
NO. I WILL BUY IT.
“No, because, you see—”
THERE ARE OTHER TOYS?
“Yes, indeed, but—”
THEN I WILL TAKE THE HORSE. HOW MUCH WOULD THIS LORDSHIP HAVE PAID YOU?
“Er, we’d agreed twelve dollars but—”
I WILL GIVE YOU FIFTY, said the customer.
The little shopkeeper stopped in mid-remonstrate and started up in mid-greed. There were other toys, he told himself quickly. And this customer, he thought with considerable prescience, looked like someone who did not take no for an answer and seldom even bothered to ask the question. Lord Selachii would be angry, but Lord Selachii wasn’t here. The stranger, on the other hand, was here. Incredibly here.
“Er…well, in the circumstances…er…shall I wrap it up for you?”
NO. I WILL TAKE IT AS IT IS. THANK YOU. I WILL LEAVE VIA THE BACK WAY, IF IT’S ALL THE SAME TO YOU.
“Er…how did you get in?” said the shopkeeper, pulling the horse