Hogfather - Terry Pratchett [58]
“How can you—” the Dean began, and stopped.
They all heard it.
…grnf, grnf, grnf…
It was a busy sound, the sound of something with a serious appetite to satisfy.
“The Eater of Socks,” moaned the Senior Wrangler, with his eyes shut.
“How many tentacles would you expect it to have?” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “I mean, roughly speaking?”
“It’s a very large sort of noise, isn’t it?” said the Bursar.
“To the nearest dozen, say,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, edging backward.
…grnf, grnf, grnf…
“It’d probably tear our socks off as soon as look at us…” wailed the Senior Wrangler.
“Ah. So at least five or six tentacles, then, would you say?” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
“Seems to me it’s coming from one of the washing engines,” said the Dean.
The engines were each two stories high, and usually only used when the University’s population soared during term time. A huge treadmill connected to a couple of big bleached wooden paddles in each vat, which were heated via the fireboxes underneath. In full production the washing engines needed at least half a dozen people to manhandle the loads, maintain the fires and oil the scrubbing arms. Ridcully had seen them at work once, when it had looked like a picture of a very clean and hygienic hell, the kind of place soap might go to when it died.
The Dean stopped by the door to the boiler area.
“Something’s in here,” he whispered. “Listen!”
…grnf…
“It’s stopped! It knows we’re here!” he hissed. “All right? Ready? Hut!”
“No!” squeaked the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
“I’ll open the door and you be ready to stop it! One…two…three! Oh…”
The sleigh soared into the snowy sky.
ON THE WHOLE, I THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DON’T YOU?
“Yes, master,” said Albert.
I WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH.
“I think that was a Watchman, master.”
REALLY? WELL, HE WENT AWAY HAPPY, AND THAT’S THE MAIN THING.
“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 close, 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