Hogfather - Terry Pratchett [83]
“I’ve worked out,” said the Senior Wrangler, “that over the years I have been a net exporter of Hogswatch presents—”
“Oh, everyone is,” said the Chair. “You spend a fortune on other people and what you get when all the paper is cleared away is one slipper that’s the wrong color and a book about ear wax.”
Ridcully sat in horrified amazement. He’d always enjoyed Hogswatch, every bit of it. He’d enjoyed seeing ancient relatives, he’d enjoyed the food, he’d been good at games like Chase My Neighbor up the Passage and Hooray Jolly Tinker. He was always the first to don a paper hat. He felt that paper hats lent a special festive air to the occasion. And he always very carefully read the messages on Hogswatch cards and found time for a few kind thoughts about the sender.
Listening to his wizards was like watching someone kick apart a doll’s house.
“At least the Hogswatch cracker mottoes are fun…?” he ventured.
They all turned to look at him, and then turned away again.
“If you have the sense of humor of a wire coat hanger,” said the Senior Wrangler.
“Oh dear,” said Ridcully. “Then perhaps there isn’t a Hogfather if all you chaps are sitting around with long faces. He’s not the sort to let people go around being miserable!”
“Ridcully, he’s just some old winter god,” said the Senior Wrangler wearily. “He’s not the Cheerful Fairy or anything.”
The Lecturer in Recent Runes raised his chin from his hands. “What Cheerful Fairy?”
“Oh, it’s just something my granny used to go on about if it was a wet afternoon and we were getting on her nerves,” said the Senior Wrangler. “She’d say ‘I’ll call the Cheerful Fairy if you’re…’” He stopped, looking guilty.
The Archchancellor held a hand to his ear in a theatrical gesture denoting, “Hush. What was that I heard?”
“Someone tinkled,” he said. “Thank you, Senior Wrangler.”
“Oh, no,” the Senior Wrangler moaned. “No, no, no!”
They listened for a moment.
“We might have got away with it,” said Ponder. “I didn’t hear anything…”
“Yes, but you can just imagine her, can’t you?” said the Dean. “The moment you said it, I had this picture in my mind. She’s going to have a whole bag of word games, for one thing. Or she’ll suggest we go outdoors for our health.”
The wizards shuddered. They weren’t against the outdoors, it was simply their place in it they objected to.
“Cheerfulness has always got me down,” said the Dean.
“Well, if some wretched little ball of cheerfulness turns up I shan’t have it for one,” said the Senior Wrangler, folding his arms. “I’ve put up with monsters and trolls and big green things with teeth, so I’m not sitting still for any kind of—”
“Hello!! Hello!!”
The voice was the kind of voice that reads suitable stories to children. Every vowel was beautifully rounded. And they could hear the extra exclamation marks, born of a sort of desperate despairing jollity, slot into place. They turned.
The Cheerful Fairy was quite short and plump in a tweed skirt and shoes so sensible they could do their own tax returns, and was pretty much like the first teacher you get at school, the one who has special training in dealing with nervous incontinence and little boys whose contribution to the wonderful world of sharing consists largely of hitting a small girl repeatedly over the head with a wooden horse. In fact, this picture was helped by the whistle on a string around her neck and a general impression that at any moment she would clap her hands.
The tiny gauzy wings just visible on her back were probably just for show, but the wizards kept on staring at her shoulder.
“Hello—” she said again, but a lot more uncertainly. She gave them a suspicious look. “You’re rather big boys,” she said, as if they’d become so in order to spite her. She blinked. “It’s my job to chase those blues away,” she added, apparently following a memorized script. Then she seemed to rally a bit and went on. “So chins up, everyone, and let’s see a lot of bright shining faces!!”
Her gaze met