That worried Medium Dave. So did the smell. There was no smell at all in the rest of the tower, but just here there was a lingering odour of mushrooms.
His forehead wrinkled. Medium Dave was a thief and a murderer and therefore had a highly developed moral sense. He preferred not to steal from poor people, and not only because they never had anything worth stealing. If it was necessary to hurt anyone, he tried to leave wounds that would heal. And when in the course of his activities he had to kill people then he made some effort to see that they did not suffer much or at least made as few noises as possible.
This whole business was getting on his nerves. Usually, he didn't even notice that he had any.
There was a wrongness to everything that grated on his bones.
And a pair of boots was all that remained of old Catseye.
He drew his sword.
Above him, the creeping shadows moved and flowed away.
Susan edged up to the entrance to the stairways and peered around into the point of a crossbow.
'Now, all of you step out where I can see you.' said Peachy conversationally. 'And don't touch that sword, lady. You'll probably hurt yourself.'
Susan tried to make herself unseen, and failed. Usually it was so easy to do that that it happened automatically, usually with embarrassing results. She could be idly reading a book while people searched the room for her. But here, despite every effort, she seemed to remain obstinately visible.
'You don't own this place,' she said, stepping back.
'No, but you see this crossbow? I own this crossbow. So you just walk ahead of me, right, and we'll all go and see Mister Teatime.'
'Excuse me, I just want to check something,' said Bilious. To Susan's amazement he leaned over and touched the point of the arrow.
'Here! What did you do that for?' said Peachy, stepping back.
'I felt it, but of course a certain amount of pain sensation would be part of normal sensory response,' said the oh god. 'I warn you, there's a very good chance that I might be immortal.'
'Yes, but we probably aren't,' said Susan.
'Immortal, eh?' said Peachy. 'So if I was to shoot you inna head, you wouldn't die?'
'I suppose when you put it like that... I do know I feel pain...'
'Right. You just keep moving, then.'
'When something happens,' said Susan, out of the corner of her mouth, 'you two try to get downstairs and out, all right? If the worst comes to the worst, the horse will. take you out of here.'
'If something happens,' whispered the oh god.
'When,' said Susan.
Behind them, Peachy looked around. He knew he'd feel a lot better when any of the others turned up. It was almost a relief to have prisoners.
Out of the corner of her eye Susan saw something move on the stairs on the opposite side of the shaft. For a moment she thought she saw several flashes like metal blades catching the light.
She heard a gasp behind her.
The man with the crossbow was standing very still and staring at the opposite stairs.
'Oh, noooo,' he said, under his breath.
'What is it?' said Susan.
He stared at her. 'You can see it too?'
'The thing like a lot of blades clicking together?' said Susan.
'Oh, nooo...'
'It was only there for a moment,' said Susan.
'It's gone now,' she said. 'Somewhere else,' she added.
'It's the Scissor Man . .
'Who's he?' said the oh god.
'No one!' snapped Peachy, trying to pull himself together. 'There's no such thing as the Scissor Man, all right?'
'Ah... yes. When you were little, did you suck your thumb?' said Susan. 'Because the only Scissor Man I know is the one people used to frighten children with. They said he'd turn up and...'
'Shutupshutupshutup!' said Peachy, prodding her with the crossbow. 'Kids believe all kinds of crap! But I'm grown up now, right, and I can open beer bottles with other people's teeth an— oh, gods...'
Susan heard the snip, snip. It sounded very close now.
Peachy had his eyes shut.
'Is there anything behind me?' he quavered.
Susan pushed the others aside and waved frantically towards the bottom of the stairs.
'No,' she said, as they hurried away.
'Is there anything standing on the stairs at all?'
'No.'
'Right! If you see that one-eyed bastard you tell him he can keep the money!'
He turned and ran.
When Susan turned to go up the stairs the Scissor Man was there.
It wasn't man-shaped. It was something like an ostrich, and something like a lizard on its hind legs, but almost entirely like something made out of blades. Every time it moved a thousand blades went snip, snip.
Its long silver neck curved and a head made of shears stared down at her.
'You're not looking for me,' she said. 'You're not my nightmare.'
The blades tilted this way and that. The Scissor Man was trying to think.
'I remember you came for Twyla,' said Susan, stepping forward. 'That damn governess had told her what happens to little girls who suck their thumbs, remember? Remember the poker? I bet you needed a hell of a lot of sharpening afterwards...'
The creature lowered its head, stepped carefully around her in as polite a way as it could manage, and clanked on down the stairs after Peachy.
Susan ran on towards the top of the tower.
Sideney put a green filter over his lantern and pressed down with a small silver rod that had an emerald set on its tip. A piece of the lock moved. There was a whirring from inside the door and something went click.
He sagged with relief. It is said that the prospect of hanging concentrates the mind wonderfully, but it was Valium compared to being watched by Mister Teatime.
'I, er, think that's the third lock,' he said. 'Green light is what opens it. I remember the fabulous lock of the Hall of Murgle, which could only be opened by the Hubward wind, although that was...'
'I commend your expertise,' said Teatime. 'And the other four?'
Sideney looked up nervously at the silent bulk of Banjo, and licked his lips.
'Well, of course, if I'm right, and the locks depend on certain conditions, well, we could be here for years...' he ventured. 'Supposing they can only be opened by, say, a small blond child holding a mouse? On a Tuesday? In the rain?'
'You can find out what the nature of the spell is?' said Teatime.
'Yes, yes, of course, yes.' Sideney waved his hands urgently. 'That's how I worked out this one. Reverse thaumaturgy, yes, certainly. Er. In time.'
'We have lots of time,' said Teatime.
'Perhaps a little more time than that,' Sideney quavered. 'The processes are very, very, very... difficult.'
'Oh, dear. If it's too much for you, you've only got to say,' said Teatime.
'No!' Sideney yipped, and then managed to get some self-control. 'No. No. No, I can... I'm sure I shall work them out soon...'
'Jolly good,' said Teatime.
The student wizard looked down. A wisp of vapour oozed from the crack between the doors.
'Do you know what's in here, Mister Teatime?' 'No.'
'Ah. Right.' Sideney stared mournfully at the fourth lock. It was amazing how much you remembered when someone like Teatime was around.
He gave him a nervous look. 'There's not going to be any more violent deaths, are there?' he said. 'I just can't stand the sight of violent deaths!'
Teatime put a comforting arm around his shoulders. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'm on your side. A violent death is the last thing that'll happen to you.'
'Mister Teatime?'
He turned. Medium Dave stepped onto the landing.
'Someone else is in the tower,' he said. 'They've got Catseye. I don't know how. I've got Peachy watching the stairs and I ain't sure where Chickenwire is.'
Teatime looked back to Sideney, who started prodding at the fourth lock again in a feverish attempt not to die.
'Why are you telling me? I thought I was paying you big strong men a lot of money to deal with this sort of thing.'
Medium Dave's lips framed some words, but when he spoke he said, 'Ah right, but what are we up against here? Eh? Old Man Trouble or the bogeyman or what?'
Teatime sighed.
'Some of the Tooth Fairy's employees, I assume,' he said.
'Not if they're like the ones that were here,' said Medium Dave. 'They were just civilians. It looks like the ground opened and swallowed Catseye up.' He thought about this. 'I mean the ceiling,' he corrected himself. A horrible image had just passed across his under-used imagination.
Teatime walked across to the stairwell and looked down. Far below, the pile of teeth looked like a white circle.
'And the girl's gone,' said Medium Dave.
'Really? I thought I said she should be killed.'
Medium Dave hesitated. The boys had been brought up by Ma Lilywhite to be respectful to women as delicate and fragile creatures, and were soundly thrashed if disrespectful tendencies were perceived by Ma's incredibly sensitive radar. And it was truly incredibly sensitive. Ma could hear what you were doing three rooms away, a terrible thing for a growing lad.
That sort of thing leaves a mark. Ma Lilywhite certainly could. As for the others, they had no objections in practice to the disposal of anyone who got between them and large sums of money, but there was a general unspoken resentment at being told by Teatime to kill someone just because he had no further use for them. It wasn't that it was unprofessional. Only Assassins thought like that. It was just that there were things you did do, and things you didn't do. And this was one of the things you didn't do.
'We thought... well, you never know...'
'She wasn't necessary,' said Teatime. 'Few people are.'
Sideney thumbed hurriedly through his notebooks.
'Anyway, the place is a maze-' Medium Dave said.
'Sadly, this is so,' said Teatime. 'But I am sure they will be able to find us. It's probably too much to hope that they intend something heroic.'
Violet and the oh god hurried down the stairs.
'Do you know how to get back?' said Violet.
'Don't you?'
'I think there's a... a kind of soft place. If you walk at it knowing it's there you go through.'
'You know where it is?'
'No! I've never been here before! They had a bag on my head when we came! All I ever did was take the teeth from under the pillows!' Violet started to sob. 'You just get this list and about five minutes' training and they even dock you ten pence a week for the ladder and I know I made that mistake with little William Rubin but they should of said, you're supposed to take any teeth you...'
'Er... mistake?' said Bilious, trying to get her to hurry.
'Just because he slept with his head under the pillow but they give you the pliers anyway and no one told me that you shouldn't-'
She certainly did have a pleasant voice, Bilious told himself. It was just that in a funny way it grated, too. It was like listening to a talking flute.
'I think we'd just better get outside,' he said. 'In case they hear us,' he hinted.
'What sort of godding do you do?' said Violet.
'Er... oh, I... this and that... I... er...' Bilious tried to think through the pounding headache. And then he had one of those ideas, the kind that only sound good after a lot of alcohol. Someone else may have drunk the drinks, but he managed to snag the idea.
'I'm actually self-employed,' he said, as brightly as he could manage.
'How can you be a self-employed god?'
'Ah, well, you see, if any other god wants, perhaps, you know, a holiday or something, I cover for them. Yes. That's what I do.'
Unwisely, in the circumstances, he let his inventiveness impress him.
'Oh, yes. I'm very busy. Rushed off my feet. They're always employing me. You've no idea. They don't think twice about pushing off for a month as a big white bull or a swan or something and it's always, "Oh, Bilious, old chap, just take care of things while I'm away, will you? Answer the prayers and so on." I hardly get a minute to myself but of course you can't turn down work these days.'
Violet was round-eyed with fascination.
'And are you covering for anyone right now?' she asked.
'Um, yes... the God of Hangovers, actually... 'A God of Hangovers? How awful!'
Bilious looked down at his stained and wretched toga.
'I suppose it is...' he mumbled.
'You're not very good at it.'
'You don't have to tell me.'
'You're more cut out to be one of the important gods,' said Violet, admiringly. 'I can just see you as lo or Fate or one of those.'
Bilious stared at her with his mouth open.
'I could tell at once you weren't right,' she went on. 'Not for some horrible little god. You could even be Offier with calves like yours.'
'Could I? I mean... oh, yes. Sometimes. Of course, I have to wear fangs...'
And then someone was holding a sword to his throat.
'What's this?' said Chickenwire. 'Lover's Lane?'
'You leave him alone, you!' shouted Violet. 'He's a god! You'll be really sorry!'
Bilious swallowed, but very gently. It was a sharp sword.
'A god, eh?' said Chickenwire. 'What of?'
Bilious tried to swallow again.
'Oh, bit o' this, bit o' that,' he mumbled.
'Cor,' said Chickenwire. 'Well, I'm impressed. I can see I'm going to have to be dead careful here, eh? Don't want you smiting me with thunderbolts, do I? Puts a crimp in the day, that sort of thing...'
Bilious didn't dare move his head. But out of the corner of his eye he was sure he could see shadows moving very fast across the walls.
'Dear me, out of thunderbolts, are we?' Chickenwire sneered. 'Well, y'know, I've never...'
There was a creak.
Chickenwire's face was a few inches from Bilious. The oh god saw his expression change.
The man's eyes rolled. His lips said '...nur...'
Bilious risked stepping back. Chickenwire's sword didn't move. He stood there, trembling slightly, like a man who wants to turn round to see what's behind him but doesn't dare to in case he does.
As far as Bilious was concerned, it had just been a creak.
He looked up at the thing on the landing above.
'Who put that there?' said Violet.
It was just a wardrobe. Dark oak, a bit of fancy woodwork glued on in an effort to disguise the undisguisable fact that it was just an upright box. It was a wardrobe.
'You didn't, you know, try to cast a thunderbolt and go on a few letters too many?' she went on.
'Huh?' said Bilious, looking from the stricken man to the wardrobe. It was so ordinary it was ... odd.
'I mean, thunderbolts begin with T and wardrobes...'
Violet's lips moved silently. Part of Bilious thought: I'm attracted to a girl who actually has to shut down all other brain functions in order to think about the order of the letters of the alphabet. On the other hand, she's attracted to someone who's wearing a toga that looks as though a family of weasels have had a party in it, so maybe I'll stop this thought right here.
But the major part of his brain thought: why's this man making little bubbling noises? It's just a wardrobe, for my sake!
'No, no,' mumbled Chickenwire. 'I don't wanna!'
The sword clanged on the floor.
He took a step backwards up the stairs, but very slowly, as if he was doing it despite every effort his muscles could muster.
'Don't want to what?' said Violet.
Chickenwire spun round. Bilious had never seen that happen before. People turned round quickly, yes, but Chickenwire just revolved as if some giant hand had been placed on his head and twisted a hundred and eighty degrees.
'No. No. No,' Chickenwire whined. 'No.'
He tottered up the steps.
'You got to help me,' he whispered.
'What's the matter?' said Bilious. 'It's just a wardrobe, isn't it? It's for putting all your old clothes in so that there's no room for your new clothes.'
The doors of the wardrobe swung open.
Chickenwire managed to thrust out his arms and grab the sides and, for a moment, he stood quite still.
Then he was pulled into the wardrobe in one sudden movement and the doors slammed shut.
The little brass key turned in the lock with a click.
'We ought to get him out,' said the oh god, running up the steps.
'Why?' Violet demanded. 'They are not very nice people! I know that one. When he brought me food he made... suggestive comments.'
'Yes, but...' Bilious hadn't ever seen a face like that, outside of a mirror. Chickenwire had looked very, very sick.
He turned the key and opened the doors.
'Oh dear...'
'I don't want to see! I don't want to see!' said Violet, looking over his shoulder.
Bilious reached down and picked up a pair of boots that stood neatly in the middle of the wardrobe's floor.
Then he put them back carefully and walked around the wardrobe. It was plywood. The words 'Dratley and Sons, Phedre Road, Ankh-Morpork' were stamped in one corner in faded ink.
'Is it magic?' said Violet nervously.
'I don't know if something magic has the maker's name on it,' said Bilious.
'There are magic wardrobes,' said Violet nervously. 'If you go into them, you come out in a magic land.'
Bilious looked at the boots again.
'Um... yes,' he said.
I THINK I MUST TELL YOU SOMETHING, said Death.
'Yes, I think you should,' said Ridcully. 'I've got little devils running round the place eating socks and pencils, earlier tonight we sobered up someone who thinks he's a God of Hangovers and half my wizards are trying to cheer up the Cheerful Fairy. We thought something must've happened to the Hogfather. We were right, right?'
'Hex was right, Archchancellor,' Ponder corrected him.
HEX? WHAT IS HEX?
'Er... Hex thinks — that is, calculates — that there's been a big change in the nature of belief today,' said Ponder. He felt, he did not know why, that Death was probably not in favour of unliving things that thought.
MR HEX WAS REMARKABLY ASTUTE. THE HOGFATHER HAS BEEN... Death paused. THERE IS NO SENSIBLE HUMAN WORD. DEAD, IN A WAY, BUT NOT EXACTLY... A GOD CANNOT BE KILLED. NEVER COMPLETELY KILLED. HE HAS BEEN, SHALL WE SAY, SEVERELY REDUCED.
'Ye gods!' said Ridcully. 'Who'd want to kill off the old boy?'
HE HAS ENEMIES.
'What did he do? Miss a chimney?'
EVERY LIVING THING HAS ENEMIES.
'What, everything?'
YES. EVERYTHING. POWERFUL ENEMIES. BUT THEY HAVE CONE TOO FAR THIS TIME. NOW THEY ARE USING PEOPLE.
'Who are?'
THOSE WHO THINK THE UNIVERSE SHOULD BE A LOT OF ROCKS MOVING IN CURVES. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE AUDITORS?
'I suppose the Bursar may have done...'
NOT AUDITORS OF MONEY. AUDITORS OF REALITY. THEY THINK OF LIFE AS A STAIN ON THE UNIVERSE. A PESTILENCE. MESSY. GETTING IN THE WAY.
'In the way of what?'
THE EFFICIENT RUNNING OF THE UNIVERSE.
'I thought it was run for us... Well, for the Professor of Applied Anthropics, actually, but we're allowed to tag along,' said Ridcully. He scratched his chin. 'And I could certainly run a marvellous university here if only we didn't have to have these damn students underfoot all the time.'
QUITE SO.
'They want to get rid of us?'
THEY WANT YOU TO BE... LESS... DAMN, I'VE FORGOTTEN THE WORD. UNTRUTHFUL? THE HOGFATHER IS A SYMBOL OF THIS... Death snapped his fingers, causing echoes to bounce off the walls, and added, WISTFUL LYING?
'Untruthful?' said Ridcully. 'Me? I'm as honest as the day is long! Yes, what is it this time?'
Ponder had tugged at his robe and now he whispered something in his ear. Ridcully cleared his throat.
'I am reminded that this is in fact the shortest day of the year,' he said. 'However, this does not undermine the point that I just made, although I thank my colleague for his invaluable support and constant readiness to correct minor if not downright trivial errors. I am a remarkably truthful man, sir. Things said at University council meetings don't count.'
I MEAN HUMANITY IN GENERAL. ER... THE ACT OF TELLING THE UNIVERSE IT IS OTHER THAN IT is?
'You've got me there,' said Ridcully. 'Anyway, why're you doing the job?'
SOMEONE MUST. IT IS VITALLY IMPORTANT. THEY MUST BE SEEN, AND BELIEVED. BEFORE DAWN, THERE MUST BE ENOUGH BELIEF IN THE HOGFATHER.
'Why?' said Ridcully.
SO THAT THE SUN WILL COME UP.
The two wizards gawped at him.
I SELDOM JOKE, said Death.
At which point there was a scream of horror.
'That sounded like the Bursar,' said Ridcully. 'And he's been doing so well up to now.'
The reason for the Bursar's scream lay on the floor of his bedroom.
It was a man. He was dead. No one alive had that kind of expression.
Some of the other wizards had got there first. Ridcully pushed his way through the crowd.
'Ye gods,' he said. 'What a face! He looks as though he died of fright! What happened?'
'Well,' said the Dean, 'as far as I can tell, the Bursar opened his wardrobe and found the man inside.'
'Really? I wouldn't have said the poor old Bursar was all that frightening.'
'No, Archchancellor. The corpse fell out on him.'
The Bursar was standing in the corner, wearing his old familiar expression of good-humoured concussion.
'You all right, old fellow?' said Ridcully. 'What's eleven per cent of 1,276?'
'One hundred and forty point three six,' said the Bursar promptly.
'Ah, right as rain,' said Ridcully cheerfully.
'I don't see why,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Just because he can do things with numbers doesn't mean everything else is fine.'
'Doesn't need to be,' said Ridcully. 'Numbers is what he has to do. The poor chap might be slightly yoyo, but I've been reading about it. He's one of these idiot servants.'
'Savants,' said the Dean patiently. 'The word is savants, Ridcully.'
'Whatever. Those chaps who can tell you what day of the week the first of Grune was a hundred years ago...'
'...Tuesday...' said the Bursar.
'...but can't tie their bootlaces,' said Ridcully. 'What was a corpse doing in his wardrobe? And
no one is to say "Not a lot," or anythin' tasteless like that. Haven't had a corpse in a wardrobe since that business with Archchancellor Buckleby.'
'We all warned Buckleby that the lock was too stiff,' said the Dean.
'Just out of interest, why was the Bursar fiddling with his wardrobe at this time of night?' said Ridcully.
The wizards looked sheepish.
'We were... playing Sardines, Archchancellor,' said the Dean.
'What's that?'
'It's like Hide and Seek, but when you find someone you have to squeeze in with them,' said the Dean.
'I just want to be clear about this,' said Ridcully. 'My senior wizards have spent the evening playing Hide and Seek?'
'Oh, not the whole evening,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'We played Grandmother's Footsteps and I Spy for quite a while until the Senior Wrangler made a scene just because we wouldn't let him spell chandelier with an S.'
'Party games? You fellows?'
The Dean sidled closer.
'It's Miss Smith,' he mumbled. 'When we don't join in she bursts into tears.'
'Who's Miss Smith?'
'The Cheerful Fairy,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes glumly. 'If you don't say yes to everything her lip wobbles like a plate of jelly. It's unbearable.'
'We just joined in to stop her weeping,' said the Dean. 'It's amazing how one woman can be so soggy.'
'If we're not cheerful she bursts into tears,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'The Senior Wrangler's doing some juggling for her at the moment.'
'But he can't juggle!'
'I think that's cheering her up a bit.'
'What you're tellin' me, then, is that my wizards are prancing around playin' children's games just to cheer up some dejected fairy?'
'Er... yes.'
'I thought you had to clap your hands and say you believed in 'em,' said Ridcully. 'Correct me if I'm wrong.'
'That's just for the little shiny ones,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'Not for the ones in saggy cardigans with half a dozen hankies stuffed up their sleeves.'
Ridcully looked at the corpse again.
'Anyone know who he is? Looks a bit of a ruffian to me. And where's his boots, may I ask?'
The Dean took a small glass cube from his pocket and ran it over the corpse.
'Quite a large thaumic reading, gentlemen,' he said. 'I think he got here by magic.'
He rummaged in the man's pockets and pulled out a handful of small white things.
'Ugh,' he said.
'Teeth?' said Ridcully. 'Who goes around with a pocket full of teeth?'
'A very bad fighter?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'I'll go and get Modo to take the poor fellow away, shall W
'If we can get a reading off the thaumameter, perhaps Hex ... ' Ridcully began.
'Now, Ridcully,' said the Dean, 'I really think there must be some problems that can be resolved without having to deal with that damn thinking mill.'
Death looked up at Hex.
A MACHINE FOR THINKING?
'Er... yes, sir,' said Ponder Stibbons. 'You see, when you said... well, you see, Hex believes everything... but, look, the sun really will come up, won't it? That's its job.'
LEAVE US.
Ponder backed away, and then scurried out of the room.
The ants flowed along their tubes. Cogwheels spun. The big wheel with the sheep skulls on it creaked around slowly. A mouse squeaked, somewhere in the works.
WELL? said Death.
After a while, the pen began to write.
+++ Big Red Lever Time +++ Query +++
NO. THEY SAY YOU ARE A THINKER. EXTEND LOGICALLY THE RESULT OF THE HUMAN RACE CEASING TO BELIEVE IN THE HOGFATHER. WILL THE SUN COME UP? ANSWER.
It took several minutes. The wheels spun. The ants ran. The mouse squeaked. An eggtimer came down on a spring. It bounced aimlessly for a while, and then jerked back up again.
Hex wrote: +++ The Sun Will Not Come Up +++
CORRECT. HOW MAY THIS BE PREVENTED? ANSWER.
+++ Regular and Consistent Belief +++
GOOD. I HAVE A TASK FOR YOU, THINKING ENGINE.
+++ Yes. I Am Preparing An Area Of WriteOnly Memory +++
WHAT IS THAT?
+++ You Would Say: To Know In Your Bones +++
GOOD. HERE IS YOUR INSTRUCTION. BELIEVE IN
THE HOGFATHER.
+++ Yes +++
DO YOU BELIEVE? ANSWER.
+++ Yes +++
DO... YOU... BELIEVE? ANSWER.
+++ YES +++
There was a change in the ill-assembled heap of pipes and tubes that was Hex. The big wheel creaked into a new position. From the other side of the wall came the hum of busy bees.
GOOD.
Death turned to leave the room, but stopped when Hex began to write furiously. He went back and looked at the emerging paper.
+++ Dear Hogfather, For Hogswatch I Want
OH, NO. YOU CAN'T WRITE LETT... Death paused, and then said, YOU CAN, CAN'T YOU.
+++ Yes. I Am Entitled +++
Death waited until the pen had stopped, and picked up the paper.
BUT YOU ARE A MACHINE. THINGS HAVE NO DESIRES. A DOORKNOB WANTS NOTHING, EVEN THOUGH IT IS A COMPLEX MACHINE.
+++ All Things Strive +++
YOU HAVE A POINT, said Death. He thought of tiny red petals in the black depths, and read to the end of the list.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT MOST OF THESE THINGS ARE. I DON'T THINK THE SACK WILL, EITHER.
+++ I Regret This +++
BUT WE WILL DO THE BEST WE CAN, said Death.
FRANKLY, I SHALL BE CLAD WHEN TONIGHT'S OVER. IT'S MUCH HARDER TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE. He rummaged in his sack. LET ME SEE... HOW OLD ARE YOU?
Susan crept up the stairs, one hand on the hilt of the sword.
Ponder Stibbons had been worried to find himself, as a wizard, awaiting the arrival of the Hogfather. It's amazing how people define roles for themselves and put handcuffs on their experience and are constantly surprised by the things a roulette universe spins at them. Here am I, they say, a mere wholesale fishmonger, at the controls of a giant airliner because as it turns out all the crew had the Coronation Chicken. Who'd have thought it? Here am I, a housewife who merely went out this morning to bank the proceeds of the Playgroup Association's Car Boot Sale, on the run with one million in stolen cash and a rather handsome man from the Battery Chickens' Liberation Organization. Amazing! Here am I, a perfectly ordinary hockey player, suddenly realizing I'm the Son of God with five hundred devoted followers in a nice little commune in Empowerment, Southern California. Who'd have thought it?
Here am I, thought Susan, a very practically minded governess who can add up faster upside down than most people can the right way up, climbing up a toothshaped tower belonging to the Tooth Fairy and armed with a sword belonging to Death...
Again! I wish one month, just one damn month, could go by without something like this happening to me.
She could hear voices above her. Someone said something about a lock.
She peered over the edge of the stairwell.
It looked as though people had been camping out up here. There were boxes and sleeping rolls strewn around. A couple of men were sitting on boxes watching a third man who was working on a door in one curved wall. One of the men was the biggest Susan had ever seen, one of those huge fat men who contrive to indicate that a lot of the fat under their shapeless clothes is muscle. The other
'Hello,' said a cheerful voice by her ear. 'What's your name?'
She made herself turn her head slowly.
First she saw the grey, glinting eye. Then the yellowwhite one with the tiny dot of a pupil came into view.
Around them was a friendly pink and white face topped by curly hair. It was actually quite pretty, in a boyish sort of way, except that those mismatched eyes staring out of it suggested that it had been stolen from someone else.
She started to move her hand but the boy was there first, dragging the sword scabbard out of her belt.
'Ah, ah!' he chided, turning and fending her off as she tried to grab it. 'Wen, well, well. My word. White bone handle, rather tasteless skull and bone decoration... Death himself's second favourite weapon, am I right? Oh, my! This must be Hogswatch! And this must mean that you are Susan Sto-Helit. Nobility. I'd bow,' he added, dancing back, 'but I'm afraid you'd do something dreadful ...'
There was a click, and a little gasp of excitement from the wizard working on the door.
'Yes! Yes! Left-handed using a wooden pick! That's simple!'
He saw that even Susan was looking at him, and coughed nervously.
'Er, I've got the fifth lock open, Mister Teatime! Not a problem! They're just based on Woddeley's
Occult Sequence! Any fool could do it if they knew that!'
'I know it,' said Teatime, without taking his eyes off Susan.
'Ah... '
It was not technically audible, but nevertheless Susan could almost hear the wizard's mind back-pedalling. Up ahead was the conclusion that Teatime had no time for people he didn't need.
'... with... inter... est... ing subtleties,' he said slowly. 'Yes. Very tricky. I'll, er, just have a look at number six...'
'How do you know who I am?' said Susan.
'Oh, easy,' said Teatime. 'Twurp's Peerage. Family motto Non temetis messor. We have to read it, you know, in class. Hah, old Mericet calls it the Guide to the Turf. No one laughs except him, of course. Oh yes, I know about you. Quite a lot. Your father was well known. Went a long way very fast. As for your grandfather... honestly, that motto. Is that good taste? Of course, you don't need to fear him, do you? Or do you?'
Susan tried to fade. It didn't work. She could feel herself staying embarrassingly solid.
'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said. 'Who are you, anyway?'
'I beg your pardon. My name is Teatime, Jonathan Teatime. At your service.'
Susan lined up the syllables in her head.
'You mean... like around four o'clock in the afternoon?' she said.
'No. I did say Teh-ah-tim-eh,' said Teatime. 'I spoke very clearly. Please don't try to break my concentration by annoying me. I only get annoyed at important things. How are you getting on, Mr Sideney? If it's just according to Woddeley's sequence, number six should be copper and blue-green light. Unless, of course, there are any subtleties...'
'Er, doing it right now, Mister Teatime-'
'Do you think your grandfather will try to rescue you? Do you think he will? But now I have his sword, you see. I wonder...'
There was another click.
'Sixth lock, Mister Teatime!'
'Really.'
'Er... don't you want me to start on the seventh?'
'Oh, well, if you like. Pure white light will be the key,' said Teatime, still not looking away from Susan. 'But it may not be all important now. Thank you, anyway. You've been most helpful.'
'Er...'
'Yes, you may go.'
Susan noticed that Sideney didn't even bother to pick up his books and tools, but hurried down the stairs as if he expected to be called back and was trying to run faster than the sound.
'Is that all you're here for?' she said. 'A robbery?' He was dressed like an Assassin, after all, and there was always one way to annoy an Assassin. 'Like a thief?'
Teatime danced excitedly. 'A thief? Me? I'm not a thief, madam. But if I were, I would be the kind that steals fire from the gods.'
'We've already got fire.'
'There must be an upgrade by now. No, these gentlemen are thieves. Common robbers. Decent types, although you wouldn't necessarily want to watch them eat, for example. That's Medium Dave and exhibit B is Banjo. He can talk.'
Medium Dave nodded at Susan. She saw the look in his eyes. Maybe there was something she could use...
She'd need something. Even her hair was a mess. She couldn't step behind time, she couldn't fade into the background, and now even her hair had let her down.
She was normal. Here, she was what she'd always wanted to be.
Bloody, bloody damn.
Sideney prayed as he ran down the stairs. He didn't believe in any gods, since most wizards seldom like to encourage them, but he prayed anyway the fervent prayers of an atheist who hopes to be wrong.
But no one called him back. And no one ran after him.
So, being of a serious turn of mind under his normal state of sub-critical fear, he slowed down in case he lost his footing.
It was then that he noticed that the steps underfoot weren't the smooth whiteness they had been everywhere else but were very large, pitted flagstones. And the light had changed, and then they weren't stairs any more and he staggered as he encountered flat ground where steps should have been.
His outstretched hand brushed against a crumbling brick.
And the ghosts of the past poured in, and he knew where he was. He was in the yard of Gammer Wimblestone's dame school. His mother wanted him to learn his letters and be a wizard, but she also thought that long curls on a five— year-old boy looked very smart.
This was the hunting ground of Ronnie Jenks.
Adult memory and understanding said that Ronnie was just an unintelligent bullet-headed seven-year-old bully with muscles where his brain should have been. The eye of childhood, rather more accurately, dreaded him as a force like a personalized earthquake with one nostril bunged up with bogies, both knees scabbed, both fists balled and all five brain cells concentrated in a kind of cerebral grunt.
Oh, gods. There was the tree Ronnie used to hide behind. It looked as big and menacing as he remembered it.
But... if somehow he'd ended up back there, gods knew how, well, he might be a bit on the skinny side but he was a damn sight bigger than Ronnie Jenks now. Gods, yes, he'd kick those evil little trousers all the...
And then, as a shadow blotted out the sun, he realized he was wearing curls.
Teatime looked thoughtfully at the door.
'I suppose I should open it,' he said, 'after coming all this way...'
'You're controlling children by their teeth,' said Susan.
'It does sound odd, doesn't it, when you put it like that,' said Teatime. 'But that's sympathetic magic for you. Is your grandfather going to try to rescue you, do you think? But no... I don't think he can. Not here, I think. I don't think that he can come here. So he sent you, did he?'
'Certainly not! He...' Susan stopped. Oh, he had, she told herself, feeling even more of a fool. He certainly had. He was learning about humans, all right. For a walking skeleton, he could be quite clever...
But... how clever was Teatime? Just a bit too excited at his cleverness to realize that if DeathShe tried to stamp on the thought, just in case Teatime could read it in her eyes.
'I don't think he'll try,' she said. 'He's not as clever as you, Mister Teatime.'
'Teh-ah-tim-eh,' said Teatime, automatically. 'That's a shame.'
'Do you think You're going to get away with this?'
'Oh, dear. Do people really say that?' And suddenly Teatime was much closer. 'I've got away with it. No more Hogfather. And that's only the start. We'll keep the teeth coming in, of course. The possibilities...'
There was a rumble like an avalanche, a long way off. The dormant Banjo had awakened, causing tremors on his lower slopes. His enormous hands, which had been resting on his knees, started to bunch.
'What's dis?' he said.
Teatime stopped and, for a moment, looked puzzled.
'What's this what?'
'You said no more Hogfather,' said Banjo. He stood up, like a mountain range rising gently in the squeeze between colliding continents. His hands still stayed in the vicinity of his knees.
Teatime stared at him and then glanced at Medium Dave.
'He does know what we've been doing, does he?' he said. 'You did tell him?'
Medium Dave shrugged.
'Dere's got to be a Hogfather,' said Banjo. 'Dere's always a Hogfather.'
Susan looked down. Grey blotches were speeding across the white marble. She was standing in a pool of grey. So was Banjo. And around Teatime the dots bounced and recoiled like wasps around a pot of jam.
Looking for something, she thought.
'You don't believe in the Hogfather, do you?' said Teatime. 'A big boy like you?'
'Yeah,' said Banjo. 'So what's dis "no more Hogfather"?'
Teatime pointed at Susan.
'She did it,' he said. 'She killed him.'
The sheer playground effrontery of it shocked Susan.
'No I didn't,' she said. 'He...'
'Did!'
'Didn't!'
'Did!'
Banjo's big bald head turned towards her.
'What's dis about the Hogfather?' he said.
'I don't think he's dead,' said Susan. 'But Teatime has made him very ill...'
'Who cares?' said Teatime, dancing away. 'When this is over, Banjo, you'll have as many presents as you want. Trust me!'
'Dere's got to be a Hogfather,' Banjo rumbled. 'Else dere's no Hogswatch.'
'It's just another solar festival,' said Teatime. 'It-'
Medium Dave stood up. He had his hand on his sword.
'We're going, Teatime,' he said. 'Me and Banjo are going. I don't like any of this. I don't mind robbing, I don't mind thieving, but this isn't honest. Banjo? You come with me right now!'
'What's dis about no more Hogfather?' said Banjo.
Teatime pointed to Susan.
'You grab her, Banjo. It's all her fault!'
Banjo lumbered a few steps in Susan's direction, and then stopped.
'Our mam said no hittin' girls,' he rumbled. 'No pullin' m hair...'
Teatime rolled his one good eye. Around his feet the greyness seemed to be boiling in the stone, following his feet as they moved. And it was around Banjo, too.
Searching, Susan thought. It's looking for a way in.
'I think I know you, Teatime,' she said, as sweetly as she could for Banjo's sake. 'You're the mad kid they're all scared of, right?'
'Banjo?' snapped Teatime. 'I said grab her...'
'Our mam said...'
'The giggling excitable one even the bullies never touched because if they did he went insane and kicked and bit,' said Susan. 'The kid who didn't know the difference between chucking a stone at a cat and setting it on fire.'
To her delight he glared at her.
'Shut up,' he said.
'I bet no one wanted to play with you,' said Susan. 'Not the kid with no friends. Kids know about a mind like yours even if they don't know the right words for it...'
'I said shut up! Get her, Banjo!'
That was it. She could hear it in Teatime's voice. There was a touch of vibrato that hadn't been there before.
'The kind of little boy,' she said, watching his face, 'who looks up dolls' dresses...'
'I didn't!'
Banjo looked worried.
'Our mam said...'
'Oh, to blazes with your mam!' snapped Teatime.
There was a whisper of steel as Medium Dave drew his sword.
'What'd you say about our mam?' he whispered.
Now he's having to concentrate on three people, Susan thought.
'I bet no one ever played with you,' she said. 'I bet there were things people had to hush up, eh?'
'Banjo! You do what I tell you!' Teatime screamed.
The monstrous man was beside her now. She could see his face twisted in an agony of indecision. His enormous fists clenched and undenched and his lips moved as some kind of horrible debate raged in his head.
'Our... our mam... our mam said ...
The grey marks flowed across the floor and formed a pool of shadow which grew darker and higher with astonishing speed. It towered over the three men, and grew a shape.
'Have you been a bad boy, you little perisher?'
The huge woman towered over all three men. In one meaty hand it was holding a bundle of birch twigs as thick as a man's arm.
The thing growled.
Medium Dave looked up into the enormous face of Ma Lilywhite. Every pore was a pothole. Every brown tooth was a tombstone.
'You been letting him get into trouble, our Davey? You have, ain't you?'
He backed away. 'No, Mum... no, Mum. .
'You need a good hiding, Banjo? You been playing with girls again?'
Banjo sagged on to his knees, tears of misery rolling down his face.
'Sorry Mum sorry sorry Mum noooohhh Mum sorry Mum sorry sorry...'
Then the figure turned to Medium Dave again.
The sword dropped out of his hand. His face seemed to melt.
Medium Dave started to cry.
'No Mum no Mum no Mum nooooh Mum...'
He gave a gurgle and collapsed, clutching his chest. And vanished.
Teatime started to laugh.
Susan tapped him on the shoulder and ' as he looked round, hit him as hard as she could across the face.
That was the plan, at least. His hand moved faster and caught her wrist. It was like striking an iron bar.
'Oh, no,' he said. 'I don't think so.'
Out of the corner of her eye Susan saw Banjo crawling across the floor to where his brother had been. Ma Lilywhite had vanished.
His forehead wrinkled. Medium Dave was a thief and a murderer and therefore had a highly developed moral sense. He preferred not to steal from poor people, and not only because they never had anything worth stealing. If it was necessary to hurt anyone, he tried to leave wounds that would heal. And when in the course of his activities he had to kill people then he made some effort to see that they did not suffer much or at least made as few noises as possible.
This whole business was getting on his nerves. Usually, he didn't even notice that he had any.
There was a wrongness to everything that grated on his bones.
And a pair of boots was all that remained of old Catseye.
He drew his sword.
Above him, the creeping shadows moved and flowed away.
Susan edged up to the entrance to the stairways and peered around into the point of a crossbow.
'Now, all of you step out where I can see you.' said Peachy conversationally. 'And don't touch that sword, lady. You'll probably hurt yourself.'
Susan tried to make herself unseen, and failed. Usually it was so easy to do that that it happened automatically, usually with embarrassing results. She could be idly reading a book while people searched the room for her. But here, despite every effort, she seemed to remain obstinately visible.
'You don't own this place,' she said, stepping back.
'No, but you see this crossbow? I own this crossbow. So you just walk ahead of me, right, and we'll all go and see Mister Teatime.'
'Excuse me, I just want to check something,' said Bilious. To Susan's amazement he leaned over and touched the point of the arrow.
'Here! What did you do that for?' said Peachy, stepping back.
'I felt it, but of course a certain amount of pain sensation would be part of normal sensory response,' said the oh god. 'I warn you, there's a very good chance that I might be immortal.'
'Yes, but we probably aren't,' said Susan.
'Immortal, eh?' said Peachy. 'So if I was to shoot you inna head, you wouldn't die?'
'I suppose when you put it like that... I do know I feel pain...'
'Right. You just keep moving, then.'
'When something happens,' said Susan, out of the corner of her mouth, 'you two try to get downstairs and out, all right? If the worst comes to the worst, the horse will. take you out of here.'
'If something happens,' whispered the oh god.
'When,' said Susan.
Behind them, Peachy looked around. He knew he'd feel a lot better when any of the others turned up. It was almost a relief to have prisoners.
Out of the corner of her eye Susan saw something move on the stairs on the opposite side of the shaft. For a moment she thought she saw several flashes like metal blades catching the light.
She heard a gasp behind her.
The man with the crossbow was standing very still and staring at the opposite stairs.
'Oh, noooo,' he said, under his breath.
'What is it?' said Susan.
He stared at her. 'You can see it too?'
'The thing like a lot of blades clicking together?' said Susan.
'Oh, nooo...'
'It was only there for a moment,' said Susan.
'It's gone now,' she said. 'Somewhere else,' she added.
'It's the Scissor Man . .
'Who's he?' said the oh god.
'No one!' snapped Peachy, trying to pull himself together. 'There's no such thing as the Scissor Man, all right?'
'Ah... yes. When you were little, did you suck your thumb?' said Susan. 'Because the only Scissor Man I know is the one people used to frighten children with. They said he'd turn up and...'
'Shutupshutupshutup!' said Peachy, prodding her with the crossbow. 'Kids believe all kinds of crap! But I'm grown up now, right, and I can open beer bottles with other people's teeth an— oh, gods...'
Susan heard the snip, snip. It sounded very close now.
Peachy had his eyes shut.
'Is there anything behind me?' he quavered.
Susan pushed the others aside and waved frantically towards the bottom of the stairs.
'No,' she said, as they hurried away.
'Is there anything standing on the stairs at all?'
'No.'
'Right! If you see that one-eyed bastard you tell him he can keep the money!'
He turned and ran.
When Susan turned to go up the stairs the Scissor Man was there.
It wasn't man-shaped. It was something like an ostrich, and something like a lizard on its hind legs, but almost entirely like something made out of blades. Every time it moved a thousand blades went snip, snip.
Its long silver neck curved and a head made of shears stared down at her.
'You're not looking for me,' she said. 'You're not my nightmare.'
The blades tilted this way and that. The Scissor Man was trying to think.
'I remember you came for Twyla,' said Susan, stepping forward. 'That damn governess had told her what happens to little girls who suck their thumbs, remember? Remember the poker? I bet you needed a hell of a lot of sharpening afterwards...'
The creature lowered its head, stepped carefully around her in as polite a way as it could manage, and clanked on down the stairs after Peachy.
Susan ran on towards the top of the tower.
Sideney put a green filter over his lantern and pressed down with a small silver rod that had an emerald set on its tip. A piece of the lock moved. There was a whirring from inside the door and something went click.
He sagged with relief. It is said that the prospect of hanging concentrates the mind wonderfully, but it was Valium compared to being watched by Mister Teatime.
'I, er, think that's the third lock,' he said. 'Green light is what opens it. I remember the fabulous lock of the Hall of Murgle, which could only be opened by the Hubward wind, although that was...'
'I commend your expertise,' said Teatime. 'And the other four?'
Sideney looked up nervously at the silent bulk of Banjo, and licked his lips.
'Well, of course, if I'm right, and the locks depend on certain conditions, well, we could be here for years...' he ventured. 'Supposing they can only be opened by, say, a small blond child holding a mouse? On a Tuesday? In the rain?'
'You can find out what the nature of the spell is?' said Teatime.
'Yes, yes, of course, yes.' Sideney waved his hands urgently. 'That's how I worked out this one. Reverse thaumaturgy, yes, certainly. Er. In time.'
'We have lots of time,' said Teatime.
'Perhaps a little more time than that,' Sideney quavered. 'The processes are very, very, very... difficult.'
'Oh, dear. If it's too much for you, you've only got to say,' said Teatime.
'No!' Sideney yipped, and then managed to get some self-control. 'No. No. No, I can... I'm sure I shall work them out soon...'
'Jolly good,' said Teatime.
The student wizard looked down. A wisp of vapour oozed from the crack between the doors.
'Do you know what's in here, Mister Teatime?' 'No.'
'Ah. Right.' Sideney stared mournfully at the fourth lock. It was amazing how much you remembered when someone like Teatime was around.
He gave him a nervous look. 'There's not going to be any more violent deaths, are there?' he said. 'I just can't stand the sight of violent deaths!'
Teatime put a comforting arm around his shoulders. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'm on your side. A violent death is the last thing that'll happen to you.'
'Mister Teatime?'
He turned. Medium Dave stepped onto the landing.
'Someone else is in the tower,' he said. 'They've got Catseye. I don't know how. I've got Peachy watching the stairs and I ain't sure where Chickenwire is.'
Teatime looked back to Sideney, who started prodding at the fourth lock again in a feverish attempt not to die.
'Why are you telling me? I thought I was paying you big strong men a lot of money to deal with this sort of thing.'
Medium Dave's lips framed some words, but when he spoke he said, 'Ah right, but what are we up against here? Eh? Old Man Trouble or the bogeyman or what?'
Teatime sighed.
'Some of the Tooth Fairy's employees, I assume,' he said.
'Not if they're like the ones that were here,' said Medium Dave. 'They were just civilians. It looks like the ground opened and swallowed Catseye up.' He thought about this. 'I mean the ceiling,' he corrected himself. A horrible image had just passed across his under-used imagination.
Teatime walked across to the stairwell and looked down. Far below, the pile of teeth looked like a white circle.
'And the girl's gone,' said Medium Dave.
'Really? I thought I said she should be killed.'
Medium Dave hesitated. The boys had been brought up by Ma Lilywhite to be respectful to women as delicate and fragile creatures, and were soundly thrashed if disrespectful tendencies were perceived by Ma's incredibly sensitive radar. And it was truly incredibly sensitive. Ma could hear what you were doing three rooms away, a terrible thing for a growing lad.
That sort of thing leaves a mark. Ma Lilywhite certainly could. As for the others, they had no objections in practice to the disposal of anyone who got between them and large sums of money, but there was a general unspoken resentment at being told by Teatime to kill someone just because he had no further use for them. It wasn't that it was unprofessional. Only Assassins thought like that. It was just that there were things you did do, and things you didn't do. And this was one of the things you didn't do.
'We thought... well, you never know...'
'She wasn't necessary,' said Teatime. 'Few people are.'
Sideney thumbed hurriedly through his notebooks.
'Anyway, the place is a maze-' Medium Dave said.
'Sadly, this is so,' said Teatime. 'But I am sure they will be able to find us. It's probably too much to hope that they intend something heroic.'
Violet and the oh god hurried down the stairs.
'Do you know how to get back?' said Violet.
'Don't you?'
'I think there's a... a kind of soft place. If you walk at it knowing it's there you go through.'
'You know where it is?'
'No! I've never been here before! They had a bag on my head when we came! All I ever did was take the teeth from under the pillows!' Violet started to sob. 'You just get this list and about five minutes' training and they even dock you ten pence a week for the ladder and I know I made that mistake with little William Rubin but they should of said, you're supposed to take any teeth you...'
'Er... mistake?' said Bilious, trying to get her to hurry.
'Just because he slept with his head under the pillow but they give you the pliers anyway and no one told me that you shouldn't-'
She certainly did have a pleasant voice, Bilious told himself. It was just that in a funny way it grated, too. It was like listening to a talking flute.
'I think we'd just better get outside,' he said. 'In case they hear us,' he hinted.
'What sort of godding do you do?' said Violet.
'Er... oh, I... this and that... I... er...' Bilious tried to think through the pounding headache. And then he had one of those ideas, the kind that only sound good after a lot of alcohol. Someone else may have drunk the drinks, but he managed to snag the idea.
'I'm actually self-employed,' he said, as brightly as he could manage.
'How can you be a self-employed god?'
'Ah, well, you see, if any other god wants, perhaps, you know, a holiday or something, I cover for them. Yes. That's what I do.'
Unwisely, in the circumstances, he let his inventiveness impress him.
'Oh, yes. I'm very busy. Rushed off my feet. They're always employing me. You've no idea. They don't think twice about pushing off for a month as a big white bull or a swan or something and it's always, "Oh, Bilious, old chap, just take care of things while I'm away, will you? Answer the prayers and so on." I hardly get a minute to myself but of course you can't turn down work these days.'
Violet was round-eyed with fascination.
'And are you covering for anyone right now?' she asked.
'Um, yes... the God of Hangovers, actually... 'A God of Hangovers? How awful!'
Bilious looked down at his stained and wretched toga.
'I suppose it is...' he mumbled.
'You're not very good at it.'
'You don't have to tell me.'
'You're more cut out to be one of the important gods,' said Violet, admiringly. 'I can just see you as lo or Fate or one of those.'
Bilious stared at her with his mouth open.
'I could tell at once you weren't right,' she went on. 'Not for some horrible little god. You could even be Offier with calves like yours.'
'Could I? I mean... oh, yes. Sometimes. Of course, I have to wear fangs...'
And then someone was holding a sword to his throat.
'What's this?' said Chickenwire. 'Lover's Lane?'
'You leave him alone, you!' shouted Violet. 'He's a god! You'll be really sorry!'
Bilious swallowed, but very gently. It was a sharp sword.
'A god, eh?' said Chickenwire. 'What of?'
Bilious tried to swallow again.
'Oh, bit o' this, bit o' that,' he mumbled.
'Cor,' said Chickenwire. 'Well, I'm impressed. I can see I'm going to have to be dead careful here, eh? Don't want you smiting me with thunderbolts, do I? Puts a crimp in the day, that sort of thing...'
Bilious didn't dare move his head. But out of the corner of his eye he was sure he could see shadows moving very fast across the walls.
'Dear me, out of thunderbolts, are we?' Chickenwire sneered. 'Well, y'know, I've never...'
There was a creak.
Chickenwire's face was a few inches from Bilious. The oh god saw his expression change.
The man's eyes rolled. His lips said '...nur...'
Bilious risked stepping back. Chickenwire's sword didn't move. He stood there, trembling slightly, like a man who wants to turn round to see what's behind him but doesn't dare to in case he does.
As far as Bilious was concerned, it had just been a creak.
He looked up at the thing on the landing above.
'Who put that there?' said Violet.
It was just a wardrobe. Dark oak, a bit of fancy woodwork glued on in an effort to disguise the undisguisable fact that it was just an upright box. It was a wardrobe.
'You didn't, you know, try to cast a thunderbolt and go on a few letters too many?' she went on.
'Huh?' said Bilious, looking from the stricken man to the wardrobe. It was so ordinary it was ... odd.
'I mean, thunderbolts begin with T and wardrobes...'
Violet's lips moved silently. Part of Bilious thought: I'm attracted to a girl who actually has to shut down all other brain functions in order to think about the order of the letters of the alphabet. On the other hand, she's attracted to someone who's wearing a toga that looks as though a family of weasels have had a party in it, so maybe I'll stop this thought right here.
But the major part of his brain thought: why's this man making little bubbling noises? It's just a wardrobe, for my sake!
'No, no,' mumbled Chickenwire. 'I don't wanna!'
The sword clanged on the floor.
He took a step backwards up the stairs, but very slowly, as if he was doing it despite every effort his muscles could muster.
'Don't want to what?' said Violet.
Chickenwire spun round. Bilious had never seen that happen before. People turned round quickly, yes, but Chickenwire just revolved as if some giant hand had been placed on his head and twisted a hundred and eighty degrees.
'No. No. No,' Chickenwire whined. 'No.'
He tottered up the steps.
'You got to help me,' he whispered.
'What's the matter?' said Bilious. 'It's just a wardrobe, isn't it? It's for putting all your old clothes in so that there's no room for your new clothes.'
The doors of the wardrobe swung open.
Chickenwire managed to thrust out his arms and grab the sides and, for a moment, he stood quite still.
Then he was pulled into the wardrobe in one sudden movement and the doors slammed shut.
The little brass key turned in the lock with a click.
'We ought to get him out,' said the oh god, running up the steps.
'Why?' Violet demanded. 'They are not very nice people! I know that one. When he brought me food he made... suggestive comments.'
'Yes, but...' Bilious hadn't ever seen a face like that, outside of a mirror. Chickenwire had looked very, very sick.
He turned the key and opened the doors.
'Oh dear...'
'I don't want to see! I don't want to see!' said Violet, looking over his shoulder.
Bilious reached down and picked up a pair of boots that stood neatly in the middle of the wardrobe's floor.
Then he put them back carefully and walked around the wardrobe. It was plywood. The words 'Dratley and Sons, Phedre Road, Ankh-Morpork' were stamped in one corner in faded ink.
'Is it magic?' said Violet nervously.
'I don't know if something magic has the maker's name on it,' said Bilious.
'There are magic wardrobes,' said Violet nervously. 'If you go into them, you come out in a magic land.'
Bilious looked at the boots again.
'Um... yes,' he said.
I THINK I MUST TELL YOU SOMETHING, said Death.
'Yes, I think you should,' said Ridcully. 'I've got little devils running round the place eating socks and pencils, earlier tonight we sobered up someone who thinks he's a God of Hangovers and half my wizards are trying to cheer up the Cheerful Fairy. We thought something must've happened to the Hogfather. We were right, right?'
'Hex was right, Archchancellor,' Ponder corrected him.
HEX? WHAT IS HEX?
'Er... Hex thinks — that is, calculates — that there's been a big change in the nature of belief today,' said Ponder. He felt, he did not know why, that Death was probably not in favour of unliving things that thought.
MR HEX WAS REMARKABLY ASTUTE. THE HOGFATHER HAS BEEN... Death paused. THERE IS NO SENSIBLE HUMAN WORD. DEAD, IN A WAY, BUT NOT EXACTLY... A GOD CANNOT BE KILLED. NEVER COMPLETELY KILLED. HE HAS BEEN, SHALL WE SAY, SEVERELY REDUCED.
'Ye gods!' said Ridcully. 'Who'd want to kill off the old boy?'
HE HAS ENEMIES.
'What did he do? Miss a chimney?'
EVERY LIVING THING HAS ENEMIES.
'What, everything?'
YES. EVERYTHING. POWERFUL ENEMIES. BUT THEY HAVE CONE TOO FAR THIS TIME. NOW THEY ARE USING PEOPLE.
'Who are?'
THOSE WHO THINK THE UNIVERSE SHOULD BE A LOT OF ROCKS MOVING IN CURVES. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE AUDITORS?
'I suppose the Bursar may have done...'
NOT AUDITORS OF MONEY. AUDITORS OF REALITY. THEY THINK OF LIFE AS A STAIN ON THE UNIVERSE. A PESTILENCE. MESSY. GETTING IN THE WAY.
'In the way of what?'
THE EFFICIENT RUNNING OF THE UNIVERSE.
'I thought it was run for us... Well, for the Professor of Applied Anthropics, actually, but we're allowed to tag along,' said Ridcully. He scratched his chin. 'And I could certainly run a marvellous university here if only we didn't have to have these damn students underfoot all the time.'
QUITE SO.
'They want to get rid of us?'
THEY WANT YOU TO BE... LESS... DAMN, I'VE FORGOTTEN THE WORD. UNTRUTHFUL? THE HOGFATHER IS A SYMBOL OF THIS... Death snapped his fingers, causing echoes to bounce off the walls, and added, WISTFUL LYING?
'Untruthful?' said Ridcully. 'Me? I'm as honest as the day is long! Yes, what is it this time?'
Ponder had tugged at his robe and now he whispered something in his ear. Ridcully cleared his throat.
'I am reminded that this is in fact the shortest day of the year,' he said. 'However, this does not undermine the point that I just made, although I thank my colleague for his invaluable support and constant readiness to correct minor if not downright trivial errors. I am a remarkably truthful man, sir. Things said at University council meetings don't count.'
I MEAN HUMANITY IN GENERAL. ER... THE ACT OF TELLING THE UNIVERSE IT IS OTHER THAN IT is?
'You've got me there,' said Ridcully. 'Anyway, why're you doing the job?'
SOMEONE MUST. IT IS VITALLY IMPORTANT. THEY MUST BE SEEN, AND BELIEVED. BEFORE DAWN, THERE MUST BE ENOUGH BELIEF IN THE HOGFATHER.
'Why?' said Ridcully.
SO THAT THE SUN WILL COME UP.
The two wizards gawped at him.
I SELDOM JOKE, said Death.
At which point there was a scream of horror.
'That sounded like the Bursar,' said Ridcully. 'And he's been doing so well up to now.'
The reason for the Bursar's scream lay on the floor of his bedroom.
It was a man. He was dead. No one alive had that kind of expression.
Some of the other wizards had got there first. Ridcully pushed his way through the crowd.
'Ye gods,' he said. 'What a face! He looks as though he died of fright! What happened?'
'Well,' said the Dean, 'as far as I can tell, the Bursar opened his wardrobe and found the man inside.'
'Really? I wouldn't have said the poor old Bursar was all that frightening.'
'No, Archchancellor. The corpse fell out on him.'
The Bursar was standing in the corner, wearing his old familiar expression of good-humoured concussion.
'You all right, old fellow?' said Ridcully. 'What's eleven per cent of 1,276?'
'One hundred and forty point three six,' said the Bursar promptly.
'Ah, right as rain,' said Ridcully cheerfully.
'I don't see why,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'Just because he can do things with numbers doesn't mean everything else is fine.'
'Doesn't need to be,' said Ridcully. 'Numbers is what he has to do. The poor chap might be slightly yoyo, but I've been reading about it. He's one of these idiot servants.'
'Savants,' said the Dean patiently. 'The word is savants, Ridcully.'
'Whatever. Those chaps who can tell you what day of the week the first of Grune was a hundred years ago...'
'...Tuesday...' said the Bursar.
'...but can't tie their bootlaces,' said Ridcully. 'What was a corpse doing in his wardrobe? And
no one is to say "Not a lot," or anythin' tasteless like that. Haven't had a corpse in a wardrobe since that business with Archchancellor Buckleby.'
'We all warned Buckleby that the lock was too stiff,' said the Dean.
'Just out of interest, why was the Bursar fiddling with his wardrobe at this time of night?' said Ridcully.
The wizards looked sheepish.
'We were... playing Sardines, Archchancellor,' said the Dean.
'What's that?'
'It's like Hide and Seek, but when you find someone you have to squeeze in with them,' said the Dean.
'I just want to be clear about this,' said Ridcully. 'My senior wizards have spent the evening playing Hide and Seek?'
'Oh, not the whole evening,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'We played Grandmother's Footsteps and I Spy for quite a while until the Senior Wrangler made a scene just because we wouldn't let him spell chandelier with an S.'
'Party games? You fellows?'
The Dean sidled closer.
'It's Miss Smith,' he mumbled. 'When we don't join in she bursts into tears.'
'Who's Miss Smith?'
'The Cheerful Fairy,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes glumly. 'If you don't say yes to everything her lip wobbles like a plate of jelly. It's unbearable.'
'We just joined in to stop her weeping,' said the Dean. 'It's amazing how one woman can be so soggy.'
'If we're not cheerful she bursts into tears,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'The Senior Wrangler's doing some juggling for her at the moment.'
'But he can't juggle!'
'I think that's cheering her up a bit.'
'What you're tellin' me, then, is that my wizards are prancing around playin' children's games just to cheer up some dejected fairy?'
'Er... yes.'
'I thought you had to clap your hands and say you believed in 'em,' said Ridcully. 'Correct me if I'm wrong.'
'That's just for the little shiny ones,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'Not for the ones in saggy cardigans with half a dozen hankies stuffed up their sleeves.'
Ridcully looked at the corpse again.
'Anyone know who he is? Looks a bit of a ruffian to me. And where's his boots, may I ask?'
The Dean took a small glass cube from his pocket and ran it over the corpse.
'Quite a large thaumic reading, gentlemen,' he said. 'I think he got here by magic.'
He rummaged in the man's pockets and pulled out a handful of small white things.
'Ugh,' he said.
'Teeth?' said Ridcully. 'Who goes around with a pocket full of teeth?'
'A very bad fighter?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'I'll go and get Modo to take the poor fellow away, shall W
'If we can get a reading off the thaumameter, perhaps Hex ... ' Ridcully began.
'Now, Ridcully,' said the Dean, 'I really think there must be some problems that can be resolved without having to deal with that damn thinking mill.'
Death looked up at Hex.
A MACHINE FOR THINKING?
'Er... yes, sir,' said Ponder Stibbons. 'You see, when you said... well, you see, Hex believes everything... but, look, the sun really will come up, won't it? That's its job.'
LEAVE US.
Ponder backed away, and then scurried out of the room.
The ants flowed along their tubes. Cogwheels spun. The big wheel with the sheep skulls on it creaked around slowly. A mouse squeaked, somewhere in the works.
WELL? said Death.
After a while, the pen began to write.
+++ Big Red Lever Time +++ Query +++
NO. THEY SAY YOU ARE A THINKER. EXTEND LOGICALLY THE RESULT OF THE HUMAN RACE CEASING TO BELIEVE IN THE HOGFATHER. WILL THE SUN COME UP? ANSWER.
It took several minutes. The wheels spun. The ants ran. The mouse squeaked. An eggtimer came down on a spring. It bounced aimlessly for a while, and then jerked back up again.
Hex wrote: +++ The Sun Will Not Come Up +++
CORRECT. HOW MAY THIS BE PREVENTED? ANSWER.
+++ Regular and Consistent Belief +++
GOOD. I HAVE A TASK FOR YOU, THINKING ENGINE.
+++ Yes. I Am Preparing An Area Of WriteOnly Memory +++
WHAT IS THAT?
+++ You Would Say: To Know In Your Bones +++
GOOD. HERE IS YOUR INSTRUCTION. BELIEVE IN
THE HOGFATHER.
+++ Yes +++
DO YOU BELIEVE? ANSWER.
+++ Yes +++
DO... YOU... BELIEVE? ANSWER.
+++ YES +++
There was a change in the ill-assembled heap of pipes and tubes that was Hex. The big wheel creaked into a new position. From the other side of the wall came the hum of busy bees.
GOOD.
Death turned to leave the room, but stopped when Hex began to write furiously. He went back and looked at the emerging paper.
+++ Dear Hogfather, For Hogswatch I Want
OH, NO. YOU CAN'T WRITE LETT... Death paused, and then said, YOU CAN, CAN'T YOU.
+++ Yes. I Am Entitled +++
Death waited until the pen had stopped, and picked up the paper.
BUT YOU ARE A MACHINE. THINGS HAVE NO DESIRES. A DOORKNOB WANTS NOTHING, EVEN THOUGH IT IS A COMPLEX MACHINE.
+++ All Things Strive +++
YOU HAVE A POINT, said Death. He thought of tiny red petals in the black depths, and read to the end of the list.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT MOST OF THESE THINGS ARE. I DON'T THINK THE SACK WILL, EITHER.
+++ I Regret This +++
BUT WE WILL DO THE BEST WE CAN, said Death.
FRANKLY, I SHALL BE CLAD WHEN TONIGHT'S OVER. IT'S MUCH HARDER TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE. He rummaged in his sack. LET ME SEE... HOW OLD ARE YOU?
Susan crept up the stairs, one hand on the hilt of the sword.
Ponder Stibbons had been worried to find himself, as a wizard, awaiting the arrival of the Hogfather. It's amazing how people define roles for themselves and put handcuffs on their experience and are constantly surprised by the things a roulette universe spins at them. Here am I, they say, a mere wholesale fishmonger, at the controls of a giant airliner because as it turns out all the crew had the Coronation Chicken. Who'd have thought it? Here am I, a housewife who merely went out this morning to bank the proceeds of the Playgroup Association's Car Boot Sale, on the run with one million in stolen cash and a rather handsome man from the Battery Chickens' Liberation Organization. Amazing! Here am I, a perfectly ordinary hockey player, suddenly realizing I'm the Son of God with five hundred devoted followers in a nice little commune in Empowerment, Southern California. Who'd have thought it?
Here am I, thought Susan, a very practically minded governess who can add up faster upside down than most people can the right way up, climbing up a toothshaped tower belonging to the Tooth Fairy and armed with a sword belonging to Death...
Again! I wish one month, just one damn month, could go by without something like this happening to me.
She could hear voices above her. Someone said something about a lock.
She peered over the edge of the stairwell.
It looked as though people had been camping out up here. There were boxes and sleeping rolls strewn around. A couple of men were sitting on boxes watching a third man who was working on a door in one curved wall. One of the men was the biggest Susan had ever seen, one of those huge fat men who contrive to indicate that a lot of the fat under their shapeless clothes is muscle. The other
'Hello,' said a cheerful voice by her ear. 'What's your name?'
She made herself turn her head slowly.
First she saw the grey, glinting eye. Then the yellowwhite one with the tiny dot of a pupil came into view.
Around them was a friendly pink and white face topped by curly hair. It was actually quite pretty, in a boyish sort of way, except that those mismatched eyes staring out of it suggested that it had been stolen from someone else.
She started to move her hand but the boy was there first, dragging the sword scabbard out of her belt.
'Ah, ah!' he chided, turning and fending her off as she tried to grab it. 'Wen, well, well. My word. White bone handle, rather tasteless skull and bone decoration... Death himself's second favourite weapon, am I right? Oh, my! This must be Hogswatch! And this must mean that you are Susan Sto-Helit. Nobility. I'd bow,' he added, dancing back, 'but I'm afraid you'd do something dreadful ...'
There was a click, and a little gasp of excitement from the wizard working on the door.
'Yes! Yes! Left-handed using a wooden pick! That's simple!'
He saw that even Susan was looking at him, and coughed nervously.
'Er, I've got the fifth lock open, Mister Teatime! Not a problem! They're just based on Woddeley's
Occult Sequence! Any fool could do it if they knew that!'
'I know it,' said Teatime, without taking his eyes off Susan.
'Ah... '
It was not technically audible, but nevertheless Susan could almost hear the wizard's mind back-pedalling. Up ahead was the conclusion that Teatime had no time for people he didn't need.
'... with... inter... est... ing subtleties,' he said slowly. 'Yes. Very tricky. I'll, er, just have a look at number six...'
'How do you know who I am?' said Susan.
'Oh, easy,' said Teatime. 'Twurp's Peerage. Family motto Non temetis messor. We have to read it, you know, in class. Hah, old Mericet calls it the Guide to the Turf. No one laughs except him, of course. Oh yes, I know about you. Quite a lot. Your father was well known. Went a long way very fast. As for your grandfather... honestly, that motto. Is that good taste? Of course, you don't need to fear him, do you? Or do you?'
Susan tried to fade. It didn't work. She could feel herself staying embarrassingly solid.
'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said. 'Who are you, anyway?'
'I beg your pardon. My name is Teatime, Jonathan Teatime. At your service.'
Susan lined up the syllables in her head.
'You mean... like around four o'clock in the afternoon?' she said.
'No. I did say Teh-ah-tim-eh,' said Teatime. 'I spoke very clearly. Please don't try to break my concentration by annoying me. I only get annoyed at important things. How are you getting on, Mr Sideney? If it's just according to Woddeley's sequence, number six should be copper and blue-green light. Unless, of course, there are any subtleties...'
'Er, doing it right now, Mister Teatime-'
'Do you think your grandfather will try to rescue you? Do you think he will? But now I have his sword, you see. I wonder...'
There was another click.
'Sixth lock, Mister Teatime!'
'Really.'
'Er... don't you want me to start on the seventh?'
'Oh, well, if you like. Pure white light will be the key,' said Teatime, still not looking away from Susan. 'But it may not be all important now. Thank you, anyway. You've been most helpful.'
'Er...'
'Yes, you may go.'
Susan noticed that Sideney didn't even bother to pick up his books and tools, but hurried down the stairs as if he expected to be called back and was trying to run faster than the sound.
'Is that all you're here for?' she said. 'A robbery?' He was dressed like an Assassin, after all, and there was always one way to annoy an Assassin. 'Like a thief?'
Teatime danced excitedly. 'A thief? Me? I'm not a thief, madam. But if I were, I would be the kind that steals fire from the gods.'
'We've already got fire.'
'There must be an upgrade by now. No, these gentlemen are thieves. Common robbers. Decent types, although you wouldn't necessarily want to watch them eat, for example. That's Medium Dave and exhibit B is Banjo. He can talk.'
Medium Dave nodded at Susan. She saw the look in his eyes. Maybe there was something she could use...
She'd need something. Even her hair was a mess. She couldn't step behind time, she couldn't fade into the background, and now even her hair had let her down.
She was normal. Here, she was what she'd always wanted to be.
Bloody, bloody damn.
Sideney prayed as he ran down the stairs. He didn't believe in any gods, since most wizards seldom like to encourage them, but he prayed anyway the fervent prayers of an atheist who hopes to be wrong.
But no one called him back. And no one ran after him.
So, being of a serious turn of mind under his normal state of sub-critical fear, he slowed down in case he lost his footing.
It was then that he noticed that the steps underfoot weren't the smooth whiteness they had been everywhere else but were very large, pitted flagstones. And the light had changed, and then they weren't stairs any more and he staggered as he encountered flat ground where steps should have been.
His outstretched hand brushed against a crumbling brick.
And the ghosts of the past poured in, and he knew where he was. He was in the yard of Gammer Wimblestone's dame school. His mother wanted him to learn his letters and be a wizard, but she also thought that long curls on a five— year-old boy looked very smart.
This was the hunting ground of Ronnie Jenks.
Adult memory and understanding said that Ronnie was just an unintelligent bullet-headed seven-year-old bully with muscles where his brain should have been. The eye of childhood, rather more accurately, dreaded him as a force like a personalized earthquake with one nostril bunged up with bogies, both knees scabbed, both fists balled and all five brain cells concentrated in a kind of cerebral grunt.
Oh, gods. There was the tree Ronnie used to hide behind. It looked as big and menacing as he remembered it.
But... if somehow he'd ended up back there, gods knew how, well, he might be a bit on the skinny side but he was a damn sight bigger than Ronnie Jenks now. Gods, yes, he'd kick those evil little trousers all the...
And then, as a shadow blotted out the sun, he realized he was wearing curls.
Teatime looked thoughtfully at the door.
'I suppose I should open it,' he said, 'after coming all this way...'
'You're controlling children by their teeth,' said Susan.
'It does sound odd, doesn't it, when you put it like that,' said Teatime. 'But that's sympathetic magic for you. Is your grandfather going to try to rescue you, do you think? But no... I don't think he can. Not here, I think. I don't think that he can come here. So he sent you, did he?'
'Certainly not! He...' Susan stopped. Oh, he had, she told herself, feeling even more of a fool. He certainly had. He was learning about humans, all right. For a walking skeleton, he could be quite clever...
But... how clever was Teatime? Just a bit too excited at his cleverness to realize that if DeathShe tried to stamp on the thought, just in case Teatime could read it in her eyes.
'I don't think he'll try,' she said. 'He's not as clever as you, Mister Teatime.'
'Teh-ah-tim-eh,' said Teatime, automatically. 'That's a shame.'
'Do you think You're going to get away with this?'
'Oh, dear. Do people really say that?' And suddenly Teatime was much closer. 'I've got away with it. No more Hogfather. And that's only the start. We'll keep the teeth coming in, of course. The possibilities...'
There was a rumble like an avalanche, a long way off. The dormant Banjo had awakened, causing tremors on his lower slopes. His enormous hands, which had been resting on his knees, started to bunch.
'What's dis?' he said.
Teatime stopped and, for a moment, looked puzzled.
'What's this what?'
'You said no more Hogfather,' said Banjo. He stood up, like a mountain range rising gently in the squeeze between colliding continents. His hands still stayed in the vicinity of his knees.
Teatime stared at him and then glanced at Medium Dave.
'He does know what we've been doing, does he?' he said. 'You did tell him?'
Medium Dave shrugged.
'Dere's got to be a Hogfather,' said Banjo. 'Dere's always a Hogfather.'
Susan looked down. Grey blotches were speeding across the white marble. She was standing in a pool of grey. So was Banjo. And around Teatime the dots bounced and recoiled like wasps around a pot of jam.
Looking for something, she thought.
'You don't believe in the Hogfather, do you?' said Teatime. 'A big boy like you?'
'Yeah,' said Banjo. 'So what's dis "no more Hogfather"?'
Teatime pointed at Susan.
'She did it,' he said. 'She killed him.'
The sheer playground effrontery of it shocked Susan.
'No I didn't,' she said. 'He...'
'Did!'
'Didn't!'
'Did!'
Banjo's big bald head turned towards her.
'What's dis about the Hogfather?' he said.
'I don't think he's dead,' said Susan. 'But Teatime has made him very ill...'
'Who cares?' said Teatime, dancing away. 'When this is over, Banjo, you'll have as many presents as you want. Trust me!'
'Dere's got to be a Hogfather,' Banjo rumbled. 'Else dere's no Hogswatch.'
'It's just another solar festival,' said Teatime. 'It-'
Medium Dave stood up. He had his hand on his sword.
'We're going, Teatime,' he said. 'Me and Banjo are going. I don't like any of this. I don't mind robbing, I don't mind thieving, but this isn't honest. Banjo? You come with me right now!'
'What's dis about no more Hogfather?' said Banjo.
Teatime pointed to Susan.
'You grab her, Banjo. It's all her fault!'
Banjo lumbered a few steps in Susan's direction, and then stopped.
'Our mam said no hittin' girls,' he rumbled. 'No pullin' m hair...'
Teatime rolled his one good eye. Around his feet the greyness seemed to be boiling in the stone, following his feet as they moved. And it was around Banjo, too.
Searching, Susan thought. It's looking for a way in.
'I think I know you, Teatime,' she said, as sweetly as she could for Banjo's sake. 'You're the mad kid they're all scared of, right?'
'Banjo?' snapped Teatime. 'I said grab her...'
'Our mam said...'
'The giggling excitable one even the bullies never touched because if they did he went insane and kicked and bit,' said Susan. 'The kid who didn't know the difference between chucking a stone at a cat and setting it on fire.'
To her delight he glared at her.
'Shut up,' he said.
'I bet no one wanted to play with you,' said Susan. 'Not the kid with no friends. Kids know about a mind like yours even if they don't know the right words for it...'
'I said shut up! Get her, Banjo!'
That was it. She could hear it in Teatime's voice. There was a touch of vibrato that hadn't been there before.
'The kind of little boy,' she said, watching his face, 'who looks up dolls' dresses...'
'I didn't!'
Banjo looked worried.
'Our mam said...'
'Oh, to blazes with your mam!' snapped Teatime.
There was a whisper of steel as Medium Dave drew his sword.
'What'd you say about our mam?' he whispered.
Now he's having to concentrate on three people, Susan thought.
'I bet no one ever played with you,' she said. 'I bet there were things people had to hush up, eh?'
'Banjo! You do what I tell you!' Teatime screamed.
The monstrous man was beside her now. She could see his face twisted in an agony of indecision. His enormous fists clenched and undenched and his lips moved as some kind of horrible debate raged in his head.
'Our... our mam... our mam said ...
The grey marks flowed across the floor and formed a pool of shadow which grew darker and higher with astonishing speed. It towered over the three men, and grew a shape.
'Have you been a bad boy, you little perisher?'
The huge woman towered over all three men. In one meaty hand it was holding a bundle of birch twigs as thick as a man's arm.
The thing growled.
Medium Dave looked up into the enormous face of Ma Lilywhite. Every pore was a pothole. Every brown tooth was a tombstone.
'You been letting him get into trouble, our Davey? You have, ain't you?'
He backed away. 'No, Mum... no, Mum. .
'You need a good hiding, Banjo? You been playing with girls again?'
Banjo sagged on to his knees, tears of misery rolling down his face.
'Sorry Mum sorry sorry Mum noooohhh Mum sorry Mum sorry sorry...'
Then the figure turned to Medium Dave again.
The sword dropped out of his hand. His face seemed to melt.
Medium Dave started to cry.
'No Mum no Mum no Mum nooooh Mum...'
He gave a gurgle and collapsed, clutching his chest. And vanished.
Teatime started to laugh.
Susan tapped him on the shoulder and ' as he looked round, hit him as hard as she could across the face.
That was the plan, at least. His hand moved faster and caught her wrist. It was like striking an iron bar.
'Oh, no,' he said. 'I don't think so.'
Out of the corner of her eye Susan saw Banjo crawling across the floor to where his brother had been. Ma Lilywhite had vanished.