Terry Pratchett. Hogfather
страница №5
...dstone. We shouldn't hang around is what I'm saying.'Susan walked further in, lost in thought.
This was all wrong. The place looked as though
-
it had been deserted for years, which couldn't be true.
The column nearest her creaked and twisted slightly. A fine haze of ice
crystals dropped from the roof.
Of course, this wasn't exactly a normal place. You couldn't build an
ice palace this big. It was a bit like Death's house. If he abandoned it for
too long all those things that had been suspended, like time and physics,
would roll over it. It would be like a dam bursting.
She turned to leave and heard the groan again. It wasn't dissimilar to
the tortured sounds being made by the ice, except that ice, afterwards,
didn't moan. 'Oh, me . . .'
There was a figure lying in a snowdrift. She'd almost missed it because
it was wearing a long white robe. It was spreadeagled, as though it had
planned to make snow angels and had then decided against it.
And it wore a little crown, apparently of vine leaves.
And it kept groaning.
She looked up. The roof was open here, too. But no one could have
fallen that far and survived.
No one human, anyway.
He looked human and, in theory, quite young. But it was only in theory
because, even by the second-hand light of the glowing snow, his face looked
like someone had been sick with it.
'Are you all right?' she ventured.
The recumbent figure opened its eyes and stared straight up.
'I wish I was dead . . .' it moaned. A piece of ice the size of a house
fell down in the far depths of the building and exploded in a shower of
sharp little shards.
'You may have come to the right place,' said Susan. She grabbed the boy
under his arms and hauled him out of the snow. 'I think leaving would be a
very good idea around now, don't you? This place is going to fall apart.'
'Oh, me . . .'
She managed to get one of his arms around her neck.
'Can you walk?'
'Oh, me ...'
'It might help if you stopped saying that and tried walking.'
'I'm sorry, but I seem to have too many legs. Ow.'
Susan did her best to prop him up as, swaying and slipping, they made
their way back to the exit.
'My head,' said the boy. 'My head. My head. My head. Feels awful. My
head. Feels like someone's hitting it. My head. With a hammer.'
Someone was. There was a small green and purple imp sitting amid the
damp curls and holding a very large mallet. It gave Susan a friendly nod and
brought the hammer down again.
'Oh, me . . .'
'That wasn't necessary!' said Susan.
'You telling me my job?' said the imp. 'I suppose you could do it
better, could you?'
'I wouldn't do it at all!'
'Well, someone's got to do it,' said the imp.
'He's part. Of the. Arrangement,' said the boy.
'Yeah, see?' said the imp. 'Can you hold the hammer while I go and coat
his tongue with yellow gunk?'
'Get down right now!'
Susan made a grab for the creature. It leapt away, still clutching the
hammer, and grabbed a pillar.
'I'm part of the arrangement, I am!' it yelled.
The boy clutched his head.
'I feel awful,' he said. 'Have you got any ice?' Whereupon, because
there are conventions stronger than mere physics, the building fell in.
The collapse of the Castle of Bones was stately and impressive and
seemed to go on for a long time. Pillars fell in, the slabs of the roof slid
down, the ice crackled and splintered. The air above the tumbling wreckage
filled with a haze of snow and ice crystals.
Susan watched from the trees. The boy, who she'd leaned against a handy
trunk, opened his eyes.
'That was amazing,' he managed.
'Why, you mean the way it's all turning bark into snow?'
'The way you just picked me up and ran.
'Oh, that.'
The grinding of the ice continued. The fallen pillars didn't stop
moving when they collapsed, but went on tearing themselves apart.
When the fog of ice settled there was nothing but drifted snow.
'As though it was never there,' said Susan, aloud. She turned to the
groaning figure.
'All right, what were you doing there?'
'I don't know. I just opened my. Eyes and there I was.'
'Who are you?'
'I ... think my name is Bilious. I'm the ... I'm the oh God of
Hangovers.'
'There's a God of Hangovers?'
'An oh god,' he corrected. 'When people witness me, you see, they
clutch their head and say, "Oh God . . ." How many of you are standing
here?'
'What? There's just me!'
'Ah. Fine. Fine.'
'I've never heard of a God of Hangovers . . .'
'You've heard of Bibulous, the God of Wine?
'Oh. yes.'
'Big fat man, wears vine leaves round his head, always pictured with a
glass in his hand ... Ow. Well, you know why he's so cheerful? Him and his
big face? It's because he knows he's going to feel good in the morning! It's
because it's me that---'
'-gets the hangovers?' said Susan.
'I don't even drink! Ow! But who is it who ends up head down in the
privy every morning? Arrgh.' He stopped and clutched at his head. 'Should
your skull feel like it's lined with dog hair?'
'I don't think so.'
'Ah.' Bilious swayed. 'You know when people say ''I had fifteen lagers
last night and when I woke up my head was clear as a bell''?'
'Oh, yes.'
'Bastards! That's because I was the one who woke up groaning in a pile
of recycled chill Just once, I mean just once, I'd like to open my eyes in
the morning without my head sticking to something.' He paused. 'Are there
any giraffes in this wood?'
'Up here? I shouldn't think so.'
He looked nervously past Susan's head.
'Not even indigo-coloured ones which are sort of stretched and keep
flashing on and off?'
'Very unlikely.'
'Thank goodness for that.' He swayed back and forth. 'Excuse me, I
think Im about to throw up my breakfast.'
'It's the middle of the evening!'
'Is it? In that case, I think I'm about to throw up my dinner.'
He folded up gently in the snow behind the tree.
'He's a long streak of widdle, isn't he?' said a
voice from a branch. It was the raven. 'Got a neck with a knee in it.'
The oh god reappeared after a noisy interlude.
'I know I must eat,' he mumbled. 'It's just that the only time I
remember seeing my food it's always going the other way . . .'
'What were you doing in there?' said Susan.
`Ouch! Search me,' said the oh god. 'It's only a mercy I wasn't holding
a traffic sign and wearing a-----' he winced and paused '---having some kind
of women's underwear about my person.' He sighed. 'Someone somewhere has a
lot of fun,' he said wistfully. 'I wish it was me.'
'Get a drink inside you, that's my advice,' said the raven. 'Have a
hair of the dog that bit someone else.'
'But why there?' Susan insisted.
The oh god stopped h-ling to glare at the raven. 'I don't know, where
was there exactly?'
Susan looked back at where the castle had been. It was entirely gone.
'There was a very important building there a moment ago,' she said.
The oh god nodded carefully.
'I often see things that weren't there a moment ago,' he said. 'And
they often aren't there a moment later. Which is a blessing in most cases,
let me tell you. So I don't usually take a lot of notice.'
He folded up and landed in the snow again.
There's just snow now, Susan thought. Nothing but snow and the wind.
There's not even a ruin.
The certainty stole over her again that the Hogfather's castle wasn't
simply not there any more. No ... it had never been there. There was no
ruin, no trace.
It had been an odd enough place. It was where the Hogfather lived,
according to the legends. Which was odd, when you thought about it. It
didn't look like the kind of place a cheery old toymaker would live in.
The wind soughed in the trees behind them. Snow slid off branches.
Somewhere in the dark there was a flurry of hooves.
A spidery little figure leapt off a snowdrift and landed on the oh gods
head. It turned a beady eye up towards Susan.
'All right by you, is it?' said the imp, producing its huge hammer.
'Some of us have a job to do, you know, even if we are of a metaphorical,
nay, folkloric persuasion.'
'Oh, go away.'
'If you think I'm bad, wait until you see the little pink elephants,'
said the imp.
'I don't believe you.'
'They come out of his ears and fly around his head making tweeting
noises.'
'Ah,' said the raven, sagely. 'That sounds more like robins. I wouldn't
put anything past them.'
The oh god grunted.
Susan suddenly felt that she didn't want to leave him. He was human.
Well, human shaped.
Well, at least he had two arms and legs. He'd freeze to death here. Of
course, gods, or even oh gods, probably couldn't, but humans didn't think
like that. You couldn't just leave someone. She prided herself on this bit
of normal thinking.
Besides, he might have some answers, if she could make him stay awake
enough to understand the questions.
From the edge of the frozen forest.. animal eyes watched them go.
Mr Crumley sat on the damp stairs and sobbed. He couldn't get any
nearer to the toy department. Every time he tried he got lifted off his feet
by the mob and dumped at the edge of the crowd by the current of people.
Someone said, 'Top of the evenin', squire,' and he looked up blearily
at the small yet irregularly formed figure that had addressed him thusly.
'Are you one of the pixies?' he said, after mentally exhausting all the
other possibilities.
'No, sir. I am not in fact a pixie, sir, I am in fact Corporal Nobbs of
the Watch. And this is Constable Visit, sir.' The creature looked at a piece
of paper in its paw. 'You Mr Crummy?'
'Crumley!'
'Yeah, right. You sent a runner to the Watch House and we have hereby
responded with commendable speed, sir,' said Corporal Nobbs. 'Despite it
being Hogswatchnight and there being a lot of strange things happening and
most
importantly it being the occasion of our Hogswatchly piss- up, sir. But
this is all right because Washpot, that's Constable Visit here, he doesn't
drink, sir, it being against his religion, and although I do drink, sir, I
volunteered to come because it is my civic duty, sir.' Nobby tore off a
salute, or what he liked to believe was a salute. He did not add, 'And
turning out for a rich bugger such as your good self is bound to put the
officer concerned in the way of a seasonal bottle or two or some other
tangible evidence of gratitude,' because his entire stance said it for him
Even Nobby's ears could look suggestive.
Unfortunately, Mr Crumley wasn't in the right receptive frame of mind.
He stood up and waved a shaking finger towards the top of the stairs.
'I want you to go up there,' he said, 'and arrest him!'
'Arrest who, sir?' said Corporal Nobbs.
'The Hogfather!'
'What for, sir?'
'Because he's sitting up there as bold as brass in his Grotto, giving
away presents!'
Corporal Nobbs thought about this.
'You haven't been having a festive drink, have you, sir?' he said
hopefully.
'I do not drink!'
'Very wise, sir,' said Constable Visit. 'Alcohol is the tarnish of the
soul. Ossory, Book Two, Verse Twentyfour.'
'Not quite up to speed here, sir,' said Corporal Nobbs, looking
perplexed. 'I thought the
Hogfather is s'posed to give away stuff, isn't he?' This time Mr
Crumley had to stop and think. Up until now he hadn't quite sorted things
out in his head, other than recognizing their essential wrongness.
'This one is an Impostor!' he declared. 'Yes, that's right! He smashed
his way into here!'
'Y'know, I always thought that,' said Nobby. 'I thought, every year,
the Hogfather spends a fortnight sitting in a wooden grotto in a shop in
Ankh-Morpork? At his busy time, too? Hah! Not likely! Probably just some old
man in a beard, I thought.'
'I meant ... he's not the Hogfather we usually have,' said Crumley,
struggling for firmer ground. 'He just barged in here"
'Oh, a different impostor? Not the real impostor at all?'
'Well ... yes ... no. . .'
'And started giving stuff away?' said Corporal Nobbs.
'That's what I said! That's got to be a Crime, hasn't it?'
Corporal Nobbs rubbed his nose.
'Well, nearly,' he conceded, not wishing to totally relinquish the
chance of any festive remuneration. Realization dawned. 'He's giving away
your stuff, sir?'
'No! No, he brought it in with him!'
'Ah? Giving away your stuff, now, if he was doing that, yes, I could
see the problem. That's a sure sign of crime, stuff going missing. Stuff
turning up, weerlll, that's a tricky one. Unless it's stuff like arms
and legs, o' course. We'd be on safer ground if he was nicking stuff, sir,
to tell you the truth.'
'This is a shop,' said Mr Crumley, finally getting to the root of the
problem. 'We do not give Merchandise away. How can we expect people to buy
things if some Person is giving them away? Now please go and get him out of
here.'
'Arrest the Hogfather, style of thing?'
'Yes!'
'On Hogswatchnight?'
'Yes!'
'In your shop?'
'Yes!'
'In front of all those kiddies?'
'Y--' Mr Crumley hesitated. To his horror, he realized that Corporal
Nobbs, against all expectation, had a point. 'You think that will look bad?'
he said.
'Hard to see how it could look good, sir.'
'Could you not do it surreptitiously?' he said.
'Ah, well, surreptition, yes, we could give that a try,' said Corporal
Nobbs. The sentence hung in the air with its hand out.
'You won't find me ungrateful,' said Mr Crumley, at last.
'Just you leave it to us,' said Corporal Nobbs, magnanimous in victory.
'You just nip down to your office and treat yourself to a nice cup of tea
and we'll sort this out in no time. You'll be ever so grateful.'
Crumley gave him a look of a man in the grip of serious doubt, but
staggered away nonetheless. Corporal Nobbs rubbed his hands together.
'You don't have Hogswatch back where you come from do you, Washpot?' he
said, as they climbed the stairs to the first floor. 'Look at this carpet,
you'd think a pig'd pissed on it . . .'
'We call it the Fast of St Ossory,' said Visit, who was from Omnia.
'But it is not an occasion for superstition and crass commercialism. We
simply get together in family groups for a prayer meeting and a fast.'
'What, turkey and chicken and that?'
'A fast, Corporal Nobbs. We don't eat anything.'
'Oh, right. Well, each to his own, I s'pose. And at least you don't
have to get up early in the morning and find that the nothing you've got is
too big to fit in the oven. No presents neither?'
They stood aside hurriedly as two children scuttled down the stairs
carrying a large toy boat between them.
'It is sometimes appropriate to exchange new religious pamphlets, and
of course there are usually copies of the Book of Ossory for the children,'
said Constable Visit. 'Sometimes with illustrations,' he added, in the
guarded way of a man hinting at licentious pleasures.
A small girl went past carrying a teddy bear larger than herself. It
was pink.
'They always gives me bath salts,' complained Nobby. 'And bath soap and
bubble bath and herbal bath lumps and tons of bath stuff and I
can't think why, 'cos it's not as if I hardly ever has a bath. You'd
think they'd take the hint, wouldn't you?'
'Abominable, I call it,' said Constable Visit.
The first floor was a mob.
'Huh, look at them. Mr Hogfather never brought me anything when I was a
kid,' said Corporal Nobbs, eyeing the children gloomily. 'I used to hang up
my stocking every Hogswatch, regular. All that ever happened was my dad was
sick in it once.' He removed his helmet.
Nobby was not by any measure a hero, but there was the sudden gleam in
his eye of someone who'd seen altogether too many empty stockings plus one
rather full and dripping one. A scab had been knocked off some wound in the
corrugated little organ of his soul.
'I'm going in,' he said.
In between the University's Great Hall and its main door is a rather
smaller circular hall or vestibule known as Archchancellor Bowell's
Remembrance, although no one now knows why, or why an extant bequest pays.
for one small currant bun and one copper penny to be placed on a high stone
shelf on one wall every second Wednesday.[15] Ridcully stood in the middle
of the floor, looking upwards.
'Ten me, Senior Wrangler, we never invited any women to the
Hogswatchnight Feast, did we?'
'Of course not, Archchancellor,' said the Senior Wrangler. He looked up
in the dust-covered rafters, wondering what had caught Ridcully's eye. 'Good
heavens, no. They'd spoil everything. I've always said so.'
'And all the maids have got the evening off until midnight?'
'A very generous custom, I've always said,' said the Senior Wrangler,
feeling his neck crick.
'So why, every year, do we hang a damn great bunch of mistletoe up
there?'
The Senior Wrangler turned in a circle, still staring upwards.
'Welt er ... it's ... well, it's ... it's symbolic, Archchancellor.'
'Ah?'
The Senior Wrangler felt that something more was expected. He groped
around in the dusty attics of his education.
'Of ... the leaves, d'y'see ... they're symbolic of ... of green,
d'y'see whereas the berries, in fact, yes, the berries symbolize . . .
symbolize white. Yes. White and green. Very ... symbolic.'
He waited. He was not, unfortunately, disappointed.
'What of?'
The Senior Wrangler coughed.
'I'm not sure there has to be an of,' he said.
'Ah? So,' said the Archchancellor, thoughtfully,
'it could be said that. the white and green symbolize a small parasitic
plant?'
'Yes, indeed,' said the Senior Wrangler.
'So mistletoe, in fact, symbolizes mistletoe?'
'Exactly, Archchancellor,' said the Senior Wrangler, who was now just
hanging on.
'Funny thing, that,' said Ridcully, in the same thoughtful tone of
voice. 'That statement is either so deep it would take a lifetime to fully
comprehend every particle of its meaning, or it is a load of absolute tosh.
Which is it, I wonder?'
'It could be both,' said the Senior Wrangler desperately.
'And that comment,' said Ridcully, 'is either very perceptive, or very
trite.'
'It might be bo--'
'Don't push it, Senior Wrangler.'
There was a hammering on the outer door.
'Ah, that'll be the wassailers,' said the Senior Wrangler, happy for
the distraction. 'They call on us first every year. I personally have always
liked "The Lily-white Boys", you know.'
The Archchancellor glanced up at the mistletoe, gave the beaming man a
sharp look, and opened the little hatch in the door.
'Well, now, wassailing you fellows-' he began. 'Oh. Well, I must say
you might've picked a better time . . .'
A hooded figure stepped through the wood of the door, carrying a limp
bundle over its shoulder.
The Senior Wrangler stepped backwards quickly.
'Oh ... no, not tonight . . .'
And then he noticed that what he had taken for a robe had lace around
the bottom, and the hood, while quite definitely a hood, was nevertheless
rather more stylish than the one he had first mistaken it for.
'Putting down or taking away?' said Ridcully.
Susan pushed back her hood.
'I need your help, Mr Ridcully,' she said.
'You're . . . aren't you Death's granddaughter?' said Ridcully. 'Didn't
I meet you a few---'
'Yes,' sighed Susan.
'And ... are you helping out?' said Ridcully. His waggling eyebrows
indicated the slumbering figure over her shoulder.
'I need you to wake him up,' said Susan.
'Some sort of miracle, you mean?' said the Senior Wrangler, who was a
little behind.
'He's not dead,' said Susan. 'He's just resting.'
'That's what they all say,' the Senior Wrangler quavered.
Ridcully, who was somewhat more practical, lifted the oh god's head.
There was a groan.
'Looks a bit under the weather,' he said.
'He's the God of Hangovers,' said Susan. 'The Oh God of Hangovers.'
'Really?' said Ridcully. 'Never had one of those myself. Funny thing, I
can drink all night and feel as fresh as a daisy in the morning.'
The oh god's eyes opened. Then he soared
towards Ridcully and started beating him on the chest with both fists.
'You utter, utter bastard! I hate you hate you hate you hate you-'
His eyes shut, and he slid down to the floor.
'What was all that about?' said Ridcully.
'I think it was some kind of nervous reaction,' said Susan
diplomatically. 'Something nasty's happening tonight. I'm hoping he can tell
me what it is. But he's got to be able to think straight first.'
'And you brought him here?' said Ridcully.
HO. HO. HO. YES INDEED, HELLO, SMALL CHILD CALLED VERRUCA LUMPY, WHAT A
LOVELY NAME, AGED SEVEN, I BELIEVE? GOOD. YES, I KNOW IT DID. ALL OVER THE
NICE CLEAN FLOOR, YES. THEY DO, YOU KNOW. THAT's ONE OF THE THINGS ABOUT
REAL PIGS. HERE WE ARE, DON'T MENTION IT. HAPPY HOGSWATCH AND BE GOOD. I
WILL KNOW IF YOU'RE GOOD OR BAD, YOU KNOW. HO. HO. HO.
'Well, you brought some magic into that little life,' said Albert, as
the next child was hurried away.
IT'S THE EXPRESSION ON THEIR LITTLE FACES I LIKE, said the Hogfather.
'You mean sort of fear and awe and not knowing whether to laugh or cry
or wet their pants?'
YES. NOW THAT IS WHAT I CALL BELIEF.
The oh god was carried into the Great Hall and laid out on a bench. The
senior wizards gathered round, ready to help those less fortunate than
themselves remain that way.
'I know what's good for a hangover,' said the Dean, who was feeling in
a party mood.
They looked at him expectantly.
'Drinking heavily the previous night!' he said.
He beamed at them.
'That was a good word joke,' he said, to break the silence.
The silence came back.
'Most amusing,' said Ridcully. He turned back and stared thoughtfully
at the oh god.
'Raw eggs are said to be good----' he glared at the Dean '-I mean bad
for a hangover,' he said. 'And fresh orange juice.'
- 'Klatchian coffee,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, firmly.
'But this fellow hasn't just got his hangover, he's got everyone's
hangover,' said Ridcully.
'I've tried it,' mumbled the oh god. 'It just makes me feel suicidal
and sick.'
'A mixture of mustard and horseradish?' said the Chair of Indefinite
Studies. 'In cream, for preference. With anchovies.'
'Yoghurt' said the Bursar.
Ridcully looked at him, surprised.
'That sounded almost relevant,' he said. 'Well done. I should leave it
at that if I were you, Bursar. Hmm. Of course, my uncle always used to swear
at Wow-Wow Sauce,' he added.
'You mean swear by, surely?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
'Possibly both,' said Ridcully. 'I know he once drank a whole bottle of
it as a hangover cure and it certainly seemed to cure him. He looked very
peaceful when they came to lay him out.'
'Willow bark' said the Bursar.
'That's a good idea,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'It's an
analgesic.'
'Really? Well, possibly, though it's probably better to give it to him
by mouth,' said Ridcully. 'I say, are you feeling yourself, Bursar? You seem
somewhat coherent.'
The oh god opened his crusted eyes.
'Will all that stuff help?' he mumbled.
'It'll probably kill you,' said Susan.
'Oh. Good.'
'We could add Englebert's Enhancer,' said the Dean. 'Remember when Modo
put some on his peas? We could only manage one each!'
'Can't you do something more, well, magical?' said Susan. 'Magic the
alcohol out of him or something?'
'Yes, but it's not alcohol by this time, is it?' said Ridcully. 'It'll
have turned into a lot of nasty little poisons all dancin' round on his
liver.'
'Spold's Unstirring Divisor would do it,' said the Lecturer in Recent
Runes. 'Very simply, too. You'd end up with a large beaker full of all the
nastiness. Not difficult at all, if you don't mind the side effects.'
'Tell me about the side effects,' said Susan, who had met wizards
before.
'The main one is that the rest of him would end up in a somewhat larger
beaker,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
'Alive?'
The Lecturer in Recent Runes screwed up his face and waggled his hands.
'Broadly, yes,' he said. 'Living tissue, certainly. And definitely sober.'
'I think we had in mind something that would leave him the same shape
and still breathing,' said Susan.
'Well, you might've said . . .'
Then the Dean repeated the mantra that has had such a marked effect on
the progress of knowledge throughout the ages.
'Why don't we just mix up absolutely everything and see what happens?'
he said.
And Ridcully responded with the traditional response.
'It's got to be worth a try,' he said.
The big glass beaker for the cure had been placed on a pedestal in the
middle of the floor. The wizards liked to make a ceremony of everything in
any case, but felt instinctively that if they were going, to cure the
biggest hangover in the world it needed to be done with style.
Susan and Bilious watched as the ingredients were added. Round about
halfway the mixture, which was an orange- brown colour, went gloop. 'Not a
lot of improvement, I feel,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
Englebert's Enhancer was the penultimate ingredient. The Dean dropped
in a greenish ball of light that sank under the surface. The only apparent
effect was that it caused purple bubbles to creep over the sides of the
beaker and drip onto the floor.
'That's it?' said the oh god.
'I think the yoghurt probably wasn't a good idea,' said the Dean.
'I'm not drinking that,' said Bilious firmly, and then clutched at his
head.
'But gods are practically unkillable, aren't they?' said the Dean.
'Oh, good,' muttered Bilious. 'Why not stick my legs in a meat grinder,
then?'
'Well, if you think it might help---'
'I anticipated a certain amount of resistance from the patient,' said
the Archchancellor. He removed his hat and fished out a small crystal ball
from a pocket in the lining. 'Let's see what the God of Wine is up to at the
moment, shall we? Shouldn't be too difficult to locate a funloving god like
him on an evening like this . . .'
He blew on the glass and polished it. Then he brightened up.
'Why, here he is, the little rascal! On Dunmanifestin, I do believe.
Yes ... yes ... reclining on his couch, surrounded by naked maenads.'
'What? Maniacs?' said the Dean.
'He means ... excitable young women,' said Susan. And it seemed to her
that there was a general ripple of movement among the wizards, a sort of
nonchalant drawing towards the glittering ball.
'Can't quite see what he's doing said
Ridcully.
'Let me see if I can make it out,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies
hopefully. Ridcully half turned to keep the ball out of his reach.
'Ah., yes,' he said. 'It looks like he's drinking . . . yes, could very
wen be lager and blackcurrant, if I'm any judge . . .'
'Oh, me . . .' moaned the oh god.
'These young women, now--' the Lecturer in Recent Runes began.
'I can see there's some bottles on the table,' Ridcully continued.
'That one, hmm, yes, could be scumble which, as you know, is made from
apple.-,
'Mainly apples,' the Dean volunteered. 'Now, about these poor mad
girls-'
The oh god slumped to his knees.
'. . . and there's ... that drink, you know, there's a worm in the
bottle . . .'
'Oh, me . . .'
'. . . and ... there's an empty glass, a big one, can't quite see what
it contained, but there's a paper umbrella in it. And some cherries on a
stick. Oh, and an amusing little monkey.'
'ooohhh . . .'
':of course, there's a lot of other bottles too,'
said Ridcully, cheerfully. 'Different coloured drinks, mainly. The sort
made from melons and coconuts and chocolate and suchlike, don'tcherknow.
Funny thing is, all the glasses on the table are pint mugs . . .'
Bilious fell forward.
'All right,' he murmured. 'I'll drink the wretched stuff.'
'It's not quite ready yet,' said Ridcully. 'Ah, thank you, Modo.'
Modo tiptoed in, pushing a trolley. There was a large metal bowl on it,
in which a small bottle stood in the middle of a heap of crushed ice.
'Only just made this for Hogswatch dinner,' said Ridcully. 'Hasn't had
much time to mature
yet.'
He put down the crystal and fished a pair of heavy gloves out of his
hat.
The wizards spread like an opening flower. One moment they were
gathered around Ridcully, the next they were standing close to various items
of heavy furniture.
Susan felt she was present at a ceremony and hadn't been told the
rules.
'What's that?' she said, as Ridcully carefully lifted up the bottle.
'Wow-Wow Sauce,' said Ridcully. 'Finest condiment known to man. A happy
accompaniment to meat, fish, fowl, eggs and many types of vegetable dishes.
It's not safe to drink it when sweat's still condensing on the bottle,
though.' He
peered at the bottle, and then rubbed at it, causing a glassy, squeaky
noise. 'On the other hand,' he said brightly, 'if it's a kill-or-cure remedy
then we are, given that the patient is practically immortal, probably on to
a winner.'
He placed. a thumb over the cork and shook the bottle vigorously. There
was a crash as the Chair of Indefinite Studies and the Senior Wrangler tried
to get under the same table.
'And these fellows seem to have taken against it for some reason,' he
said, approaching the beaker.
'I prefer a sauce that doesn't mean you mustn't make any jolting
movements for half an hour after using it,' muttered the Dean.
'And that can't be used for breaking up small rocks,' said the Senior
Wrangler.
'Or getting rid of tree roots,' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
'And which isn't actually outlawed in three cities,' said the Lecturer
in Recent Runes.
Ridcully cautiously uncorked the bottle. There was a brief hiss of
indrawn air.
He allowed a few drops to splash into the beaker. Nothing happened.
A more generous helping was allowed to fall. The mixture remained
irredeemably inert.
Ridcully sniffed suspiciously at the bottle.
'I wonder if I added enough grated wahooni?' he said, and then upturned
the sauce and let most of it slide into the mixture.
It merely went gloop.
The wizards began to stand up and brush themselves off, giving one
another the rather embarrassed grins of people who know that they've just
been part of a synchronized makinga-fool-of-yourself team.
'I know we've had that asafoetida rather a long time,' said Ridcully.
He turned the bottle round, peering at it sadly.
Finally he tipped it up for the last time and thumped it hard on the
base.
A trickle of sauce arrived on the lip of the bottle and glistened there
for a moment. Then it began to form a bead.
As if drawn by invisible strings, the heads of the wizards turned to
look at it.
Wizards wouldn't be wizards if they couldn't see a little way into the
future.
As the bead swelled and started to go pearshaped they turned and, with
a surprising turn .of speed for men so wealthy in years and waistline, began
to dive for the floor.
The drop fen.
It went gloop.
And that was all.
Ridcully, who'd been standing like a statue, sagged in relief.
'I don't know,' he said, turning away, 'I wish you fellows would show
some backbone--'
The fireball lifted him off his feet. Then it rose to the ceiling where
it spread out widely and vanished with a pop, leaving a perfect
chrysanthemum of scorched plaster.
Pure white light filled the room. And there was a sound.
TINKLE. TINKLE
FIZZ.
The wizards risked looking around.
The beaker gleamed. It was filled with a liquid glow, which bubbled
gently and sent out sparkles like a spinning diamond.
'My word . . .' breathed the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
Ridcully picked himself up off the floor. Wizards tended to roll well,
or in any case are well. padded enough to bounce.
Slowly, the flickering. brilliance casting their long shadows on the
walls, the wizards gravitated towards the beaker.
'Well, what is it?' said the Dean.
'I remember my father tellin' me some very valuable advice about
drinks,' said Ridcully. 'He said, "Son, never drink any drink with a paper
umbrella in it, never drink any drink with a humorous name, and never drink
any drink that changes colour when the last ingredient goes in. And never,
ever, do this---" '
He dipped his finger into the beaker.
It came out with one glistening drop on the end.
'Careful, Archchancellor,' warned the Dean. 'What you have there might
represent pure sobriety.'
Ridcully paused with the finger halfway to his lips.
'Good point,' he said. 'I don't want to start being sober at my time of
life.' He looked around. 'How do we usually test stuff?'
'Generally we ask for student volunteers,' said the Dean.
'What happens if we don't get any?'
'We give it to them anyway.'
'Isn't that a bit unethical?'
'Not if we don't tell them, Archchancellor.'
'Ah, good point.'
'I'll try it,' the oh god mumbled.
'Something these clo- gentlemen have cooked up?' said Susan. 'It might
kill you!'
'You've never had a hangover, I expect,' said the oh god. `Otherwise
you wouldn't talk such rot.'
He staggered up to the beaker, managed to grip it on the second go, and
drank the lot.
'There'll be fireworks now,' said the raven, from Susan's shoulder.
'Flames coming out of the mouth, screams, clutching at the throat, lying
down under the cold tap, that sort of thing-'
Death found, to his amazement, that dealing with the queue was very
enjoyable. Hardly anyone had ever been pleased to see him before.
NEXT! AND WHAT'S YOUR NAME, LITTLE ... He hesitated, but rallied, and
continued ... PERSON?
'Nobby Nobbs, Hogfather,' said Nobby. Was it him, or was this knee he
was sitting on a lot bonier than it should be? His buttocks argued with his
brain, and were sat on.
AND HAVE YOU BEEN A GOOD BO ... A GOOD DWA ... A GOOD GNO ... A GOOD
INDIVIDUAL?
And suddenly Nobby found he had no control at all of his tongue. Of its
own accord, gripped by a terrible compulsion, it said:
' 's.'
He struggled for -self-possession as the great voice went on: SO I
EXPECT YOU'LL WANT A PRESENT FOR A GOOD MON ... A GOOD HUM ... A GOOD MALE?
Aha, got you bang to rights, you'll be coming along with me, my old
chummy, I bet you don't remember the cellar at the back of the shoelace
maker's in Old Cobblers, eh, all those Hogswatch mornings with a little hole
in my world, eh?
The words rose in Nobby's throat but were overridden by something
ardent before they reached his voice box, and to his amazement were
translated into:
' 's.'
SOMETHING NICE?
' 's.'
There was hardly anything left of Nobby's conscious will now. The world
consisted of nothing but his naked soul and the Hogfather, who filled the
universe.
AND YOU WILL OF COURSE BE GOOD FOR ANOTHER YEAR?
The tiny remnant of basic Nobbyness wanted to say, 'Er, how exactly do
you define "good", mister? Like, suppose there was just some stuff that no
one'd miss, say? Or, f 'r instance, say a
friend of mine was on patrol, sort of thing, and found a shopkeeper had
left his door unlocked at night. I mean, anyone could walk in, right, but
suppose this friend took one or two things, sort of like, you know, a
gratuity, and then called the shopkeeper out and got him to lock up, that
counts as "good", does it?'
Good and bad were, to Nobby's way of thinking, entirely relative terms.
Most of his relatives, for example, were criminals. But, again, this
invitation to philosophical debate was ambushed somewhere in his head by
sheer dread of the big beard in the sky.
' 's,' he squeaked.
NOW, I WONDER WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE?
Nobby gave up, and sat mute. Whatever was going to happen next was
going to happen, and there was not a thing he could do about it . . . Right
now, the light at the end of his mental tunnel showed only more tunnel.
AH, YES ...
The Hogfather reached into his sack and pulled out an awkwardly shaped
present wrapped in festive Hogswatch paper which, owing to some slight
confusion on the current Hogfather's part, had merry ravens on it. Corporal
Nobbs took it in nervous hands.
WHAT DO YOU SAY?
' nk you.'
OFF YOU GO.
Corporal Nobbs slid down gratefully and barged his way through the
crowds, stopping only when he was fielded by Constable Visit.
'What happened? What happened? I couldn't see!'
'I dunno,' mumbled Nobby. 'He gave me this.'
'What is it.'
'I dunno . .
He clawed at the raven-bedecked paper.
'This is disgusting, this whole business,' said Constable Visit. 'It's
the worship of idols--'
'It's a genuine Burleigh and Stronginthearm doubleaction
triple-cantilever crossbow with a polished walnut stock and engraved silver
facings!'
'--a crass commercialization of a date which is purely of astronomical
significance,' said Visit, who seldom paid attention when he was in
mid-denounce. 'If it is to be celebrated at all, then--'
'I saw this in Bows and Ammo! It got Editor's Choice in the 'What to
Buy When Rich Uncle Sidney Dies" category! They had to break both the
reviewer's arms to get him to let go of it!'
'---ought to be commemorated in a small service of---'
'It must cost more'n a year's salary! They only make 'em to order! You
have to wait ages!'
'-religious significance.' It dawned on Constable Visit that something
behind him was amiss.
'Aren't we going to arrest this impostor, corporal?' he said.
Corporal Nobbs looked blearily at him through the mists of possessive
pride.
'You're foreign, Washpot,' he said. 'I can't
expect you to know the real meaning of Hogswatch.'
The oh god blinked.
'Ah,' he said. 'That's better. Oh, yes. That's a lot better. Thank
you.'
The wizards, who shared the raven's belief in the essential narrative
conventions of life, watched him cautiously.
'Any minute now,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes confidently, 'it'll
probably start with some kind of amusing yell---'
'You know,' said the oh god, 'I think I could just possibly eat a
soft-boiled egg.'
'---or maybe the cars spinning round---'
'And perhaps drink a glass of milk' said the oh god.
Ridcully looked nonplussed.
'You really feel better?' he said.
'Oh, yes,' said the oh god. 'I really think I could risk a smile
without the top of my head falling off.'
'No, no, no,' said the Dean. 'This can't be right. Everyone knows that
a good hangover cure has got to involve a lot of humorous shouting,
ekcetra.'
'I could possibly tell you a joke,' said the oh god carefully.
'You don't have this pressing urge to run outside and stick your head
in a water butt?' said Ridcully.
'Er . . . not really,' said the oh god. 'But I'd like some toast, if
that helps.'
The Dean took off his hat and pulled a thaumameter out of the point.
'Something happened,' he said. 'There was a massive thaumic surge.'
'Didn't it even taste a bit ... well, spicy?' said Ridcully.
'It didn't taste of anything, really,' said the oh god.
'Oh, look, it's obvious,' said Susan. 'When the God of Wine drinks,
Bilious here gets the aftereffects, so when the God of Hangovers drinks a
hangover cure then the effects must jump back across the same link.'
'That could be right,' said the Dean. 'He is, after all, basically a
conduit.'
'I've always thought of myself as more of a tube,' said the oh god.
'No, no, she's right,' said Ridcully. 'When he drinks, this lad here
gets the nasty result. So, logically, when our friend here takes a hangover
cure the side effects should head back the same way--'
'Someone mentioned a crystal ball just now,' said the oh god in a voice
suddenly clanging with vengeance. 'I want to see this--'
It was a big drink. A very big and a very long drink. It was one of
those special cocktails where each very sticky, very strong ingredient is
poured in very slowly, so that they layer on top of one
another. Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or
Rainbow's Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and
Goodbye, Mr Brain Cell.
In addition, this drink had some lettuce floating in it. And a slice of
lemon and a piece of pineapple hooked coquettishly on the side of the glass,
which had sugar frosted round the rim. There were two paper umbrellas, one
pink and one blue, and they each had a cherry on the end.
And someone had taken the trouble to freeze ice cubes in the shape of
little elephants. After that, there's no hope. You might as well be drinking
in a place called the Cococobana.
The God of Wine picked it up lovingly. It was his kind of drink.
There was a rumba going on in the background. There were also a couple
of young ladies snuggling up to him. It was going to be a good night. It was
always a good night.
'Happy Hogswatch, everyone!' he said, and raised the glass.
And then: 'Can anyone hear something?'
Someone blew a paper squeaker at him.
'No, seriously ... like a sort of descending note
Since no one paid this any attention he shrugged, and nudged one of his
fellow drinkers.
'How about we have a couple more and go to this club I know?' he said.
And then
The wizards leaned back, and one or two of them grimaced.
Only the oh god stayed glued to the glass, face contorted in a vicious
smile.
'We have eructation!' he shouted, and punched the air. 'Yes! Yes! Yes!
The worm is on the other boot now, eh? Hah! How do you like them apples,
huh?'
'Well, mainly apples--' said the Dean.
'Looked like a lot of other things to me,' said Ridcully. 'It seems we
have reversed the cause-effect flow . . .'
'Will it be permanent?' said the oh god hopefully.
'I shouldn't think so. After all, you are the God of Hangovers. It'll
probably just reverse itself again when the potion wears off.'
'Then I may not have much time. Bring me ... let's see ... twenty pints
of lager, some pepper vodka and a bottle of coffee liqueur! With an umbrella
in it! Let's see how he enjoys that, Mr You've Cot Room For Another One In
There!'
Susan grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a bench.
'I didn't have you sobered up just so you could go on a binge!' she
said.
He blinked at her. 'You didn't?'
'I want you to help me!'
'Help you what?'
'You said you'd never been human before, didn't you?'
'Er . . .' The oh god looked down at himself. 'That's right,' he said.
'Never.'
'You've never incarnated?' said Ridcully.
'Surely that's a rather personal question, isn't it?' said the Chair of
Indefinite Studies.
'That's ... right,' said the oh god. 'Odd, that. I remember always
having headaches ... but never having a head. That can't be right, can it?'
'You existed in potentia?' said Ridcully.
'Did P'
'Did he?' said Susan.
Ridcully paused. 'Oh dear,' he said. 'I think I did it, didn't I? I
said something to young Stibbons about drinking and hangovers, didn't I ...
?'
'And you created him just like that?' said the Dean. 'I find that very
hard to believe, Mustrum. Hah! Out of thin air? I suppose we can all do
that, can we? Anyone care to think up some new pixie?'
'Like the Hair Loss Fairy?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The
other wizards laughed.
'I am not losing my hair!' snapped the Dean. 'It is just very finely
spaced.'
'Half on your head and half on your hairbrush,' said the Lecturer in
Recent Runes.
'No sense in bein' bashful about goin' bald,' said Ridcully evenly.
'Anyway, you know what they say about bald men, Dean.'
'Yes, they say, "Look at him, he's got no hair,"' said the Lecturer in
Recent Runes. The Dean had been annoying him lately.
'For the last time,' shouted the Dean, 'I am
not--'
He stopped.
There was a glingleglingleglingle noise.
'I wish I knew where that was coming from,' said Ridcully.
'Er . . .' the Dean began. 'Is there ... something on my head?'
The other wizards stared.
Something was moving under his hat.
Very carefully, he reached up and removed it.
The very small gnome sitting on his head had a chimp of the Dean's hair
in each hand. It blinked guiltily in the light.
'Is there a problem?' it said.
'Get it off me!' the Dean yelled.
The wizards hesitated. They were all vaguely aware of the theory that
very small creatures could pass on diseases, and while the gnome was larger
than such creatures were generally thought to be, no one wanted to catch
Expanding Scalp Sickness.
Susan grabbed it.
'Are you the Hair Loss Fairy?' she said.
`Apparently,' said the gnome, wriggling in her grip.
The Dean ran his hands desperately through his hair.
'What have you been doing with my hair?' he demanded.
'Welt some of it I think I have to put on hairbrushes,' said the gnome,
'but sometimes I
think I weave it into little mats to block up the bath with.'
'What do you mean, you think?' said Ridcully.
'Just a minute,' said Susan. She turned to the oh god. 'Where exactly
were you before I found you in the snow?'
'Er . . . sort of ... everywhere, I think,' said the oh god. 'Anywhere
where drink had been consumed in beastly quantities some time previously,
you could say.'
'Ah-ha,' said Ridcully. 'You were an immanent vital force, yes?'
'I suppose I could have been,' the oh god conceded.
'And when we joked about the Hair Loss Fairy it suddenly focused on the
Dean's head,' said Ridcully, 'where its operations have been noticeable to
all of us in recent months although of course we have been far too polite to
pass comment on the subject.'
'You're calling things into being,' said Susan.
'Things like the Give the Dean a Huge Bag of Money Goblin?' said the
Dean, who could think very quickly at times. He looked around hopefully.
'Anyone hear any fairy tinkling?'
'Do you often get given huge bags of money, sir?' said Susan.
'Not on what you'd call a daily basis, no,' said the Dean. 'But if---'
'Then there probably isn't any occult room for a Huge Bags of Money
Goblin,' said Susan.
'I personally have always wondered what
happens to my socks,' said the Bursar cheerfully. 'You know how there's
always one missing? When I was a lad I always thought that something was
taking them . . .'
The wizards gave this some thought. Then they all heard it - the little
crinkly tinkling noise of magic taking place.
The Archchancellor pointed dramatically skywards.
'To the laundry!' he said.
'It's downstairs, Ridcully,' said the Dean.
'Down to the laundry!'
'And you know Mrs Whitlow doesn't like us going in there,' said the
Chair of Indefinite Studies.
'And who is Archchancellor of this University, may I ask?' said
Ridcully. 'Is it Mrs Whitlow? I don't think so! Is it me? Why, how amazing,
I do believe it is!'
'Yes, but you know what she can be like,' said the Chair.
'Er, yes, that's true--' Ridcully began.
'I believe she's gone to her sister's for the holiday,' said the
Bursar.
'We certainly don't have to take orders from any kind of housekeeper!'
said the Archchancellor. 'To the laundry!'
The wizards surged out excitedly, leaving Susan, the oh god, the
Verruca Gnome and the Hair Loss Fairy.
'Tell me again who those people were,' said the oh god.
'Some of the cleverest men in the world,' said Susan.
'And I'm sober, am W
'Clever isn't the same as sensible,' said Susan, 'and they do say that
if
you wish to walk the path to wisdom then for your first step you must
become as a small child.'
'Do you think they've heard about the second step?'
Susan sighed. 'Probably not, but sometimes they fall over it while
they're running around shouting.'
'Ah.' The oh god looked around. 'Do you think they have any soft drinks
here?' he said.
The path to wisdom does, in fact, begin with a single step.
Where people go wrong is in ignoring all the thousands of other steps
that come after it. They make the single step of deciding to become one with
the universe, and for some reason forget to take the logical next step of
living for seventy years on a mountain and a daily bowl of rice and
yak-butter tea that would give it any kind of meaning. While evidence says
that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, they're probably all on
first steps.
The Dean was always at his best at times like this. He led the way
between the huge, ardent copper vats, prodding with his staff into dark
corners and going 'Hut! Hut!' under his breath.
'Why would it turn up here?' whispered the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
'Point of reality instability,' said Ridcully, standing on tiptoe to
look into a bleaching cauldron. 'Every damn thing turns up here. You should
know that by now.'
'But why now?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
'No talking!' hissed the Dean, and leapt out into the next alleyway,
staff held protectively in front of him.
'Hall!' he screamed, and then looked disappointed
' Er, how big would this sock-stealing thing be?' said the Senior
Wrangler.
'Don't know,' said Ridcully. He peered behind a s...
