One of the boars turned to look at him. The boy moved behind his mother.
Mr Crumley, tears of anger streaming clown his face, fought through the milling crowd until he reached the Hogfather's Grotto. He grabbed a frightened pixie.
‘It's the Campaign for Equal Heights that've done this, isn't it!’ he shouted. ‘They're out to ruin me! And they're ruining it for all the Kiddies! Look at the lovely dolls!’
The pixie hesitated. Children were clustering around the pigs, despite the continued efforts of their mothers. The small girl was giving one of them an orange.
But the animated display of Dolls of All Nations was definitely in trouble. The musical box underneath was still playing ‘Wouldn't It Be Nice If Everyone Was Nice’ but the rods that animated the figures had got twisted out of shape, so that the Klatchian boy was rhythmically hitting the Omnian girl over the head with his ceremonial spear, while the girl in Agatean national costume was kicking a small Llamedosian druid repeatedly in the ear. A chorus of small children was cheering them on indiscriminately.
‘There's, er, there's more trouble in the Grotto, Mr Crum—’ the pixie began.
A red and white figure pushed its way through the crush and rammed a false beard into Mr Crumley's hands.
‘That's it,’ said the old man in the Hogfather costume. ‘I don't mind the smell of oranges and the damp trousers but I ain't putting up with this.’
He stamped off through the queue. Mr Crumley heard him add, ‘And he's not even doin' it right!’
Mr Crumley forced his way onward.
Someone was sitting in the big chair. There was a child on his knee. The figure was… strange.
It was definitely in something like a Hogfather costume but Mr Crumley's eye kept slipping, it wouldn't focus, it skittered away and tried to put the figure on the very edge of vision. It was like trying to look at your own ear.
‘What's going on here? What's going on here?’ Crumley demanded.
A hand took his shoulder firmly. He turned round and looked into the face of a Grotto Pixie. At least, it was wearing the costume of a Grotto Pixie, although somewhat askew, as if it had been put on in a hurry.
‘Who are you?’
The pixie took the soggy cigarette end out of its mouth and leered at him.
‘Call me Uncle Heavy,’ he said.
‘You're not a pixie!’
‘Nah, I'm a fairy cobbler, mister.’
Behind Crumley, a voice said:
AND WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR HOGSWATCH, SMALL HUMAN?
Mr Crumley turned in horror.
In front of — well, he had to think of it as the usurping Hogfather — was a small child of indeterminate sex who seemed to be mostly woollen bobble hat.
Mr Crumley knew how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to go like this: the child was always struck dumb and the attendant mother would lean forward and catch the Hogfather's eye and say very pointedly, in that voice adults use when they're conspiring against children:
‘You want a Baby Tinkler Doll, don't you, Doreen? And the Just Like Mummy Cookery Set you've got in the window. And the Cut-Out Kitchen Range Book. And what do you say?’
And the stunned child would murmur “nk you” and get given a balloon or an orange.
This time, though, it didn't work like that.
Mother got as far as ‘You want a—’
WHY ARE YOUR HANDS ON BITS OF STRING, CHILD?
The child looked down the length of its arms to the dangling mittens affixed to its sleeves. It held them up for inspection.
‘Clubs,’ it said.
I SEE. VERY PRACTICAL.
‘Are you weal?’ said the bobble hat.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
The bobble hat sniggered. ‘I saw your piggie do a wee!’ it said, and implicit in the tone was the suggestion that this was unlikely to be dethroned as the most enthralling thing the bobble hat had ever seen.
OH. ER… GOOD.
‘It had a gwate big—’
WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR HOGSWATCH? said the Hogfather hurriedly.
Mother took her economic cue again, and said briskly: ‘She wants a—’
The Hogfather snapped his fingers impatiently. The mother's mouth slammed shut.
The child seemed to sense that here was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and spoke quickly.
‘I wanta narmy. Anna big castle wif pointy bits,’ said the child. ‘Anna swored.’
WHAT DO YOU SAY? prompted the Hogfather.
‘A big swored?’ said the child, after a pause for deep cogitation.
THAT'S RIGHT.
Uncle Heavy nudged the Hogfather.
‘They're supposed to thank you,’ he said.
ARE YOU SURE? PEOPLE DON'T, NORMALLY.
‘I meant they thank the Hogfather,’ Albert hissed. ‘Which is you, right?’
YES, OF COURSE. AHEM. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SAY THANK YOU.
‘'nk you.’
AND BE GOOD. THIS IS PART OF THE ARRANGEMENT.
‘'es.’
THEN WE HAVE A CONTRACT. The Hogfather reached into his sack and produced
— a very large model castle with, as correctly interpreted, pointy blue cone roofs on turrets suitable for princesses to be locked in
— a box of several hundred assorted knights and warriors
— and a sword. It was four feet long and glinted along the blade.
The mother took a deep breath.
‘You can't give her that!’ she screamed. ‘It's not safe!’
IT'S A SWORD, said the Hogfather. THEY'RE NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE.
‘She's a child!’ shouted Crumley.
IT'S EDUCATIONAL.
‘What if she cuts herself?’
THAT WILL BE AN IMPORTANT LESSON.
Uncle Heavy whispered urgently.
REALLY? OH, WELL. IT'S NOT FOR ME TO ARGUE, I SUPPOSE.
The blade went wooden.
‘And she doesn't want all that other stuff!’ said Doreen's mother, in the face of previous testimony. ‘She's a girl! Anyway, I can't afford big posh stuff like that!’
I THOUGHT I GAVE IT AWAY, said the Hogfather, sounding bewildered.
‘You do?’ said the mother.
‘You do?’ said Crumley, who'd been listening in horror. ‘You don't! That's our Merchandise! You can't give it away! Hogswatch isn't about giving it all away! I mean… yes, of course, of course things are given away,’ he corrected himself, aware that people were watching, ‘but first they have to be bought, d'you see, I mean… haha.’ He laughed nervously, increasingly aware of the strangeness around him and the rangy look of Uncle Heavy. ‘It's not as though the toys are made by little elves at the Hub, ahaha. -.’
‘Damn right,’ said Uncle Heavy sagely. ‘You'd have to be a maniac even to think of giving an elf a chisel, less'n you want their initials carved on your forehead.’
‘You mean this is all free?’ said Doreen's mother sharply, not to be budged from what she saw as the central point.
Mr Crumley looked helplessly at the toys. They certainly didn't look like any of his stock.
Then he tried to look hard at the new Hogfather. Every cell in his brain was telling him that here was a fat jolly man in a red and white suit.
Well… nearly every cell. A few of the sparkier ones were saying that his eyes were reporting something else, but they couldn't agree on what. A couple had shut down completely.
The words escaped through his teeth.
‘It… seems to be,’ he said.
Although it was Hogswatch the University buildings were bustling. Wizards didn't go to bed early in any case,[14] and of course there was the Hogswatchnight Feast to look forward to at midnight.
It would give some idea of the scale of the Hogswatchnight Feast that a light snack at UU consisted of a mere three or four courses, not counting the cheese and nuts.
Some of the wizards had been practising for weeks. The Dean in particular could now lift a twenty-pound turkey on one fork. Having to wait until m
idnight merely put a healthy edge on appetites already professionally honed.
There was a general air of pleasant expectancy about the place, a general sizzling of salivary glands, a general careful assembling of the pills and powders against the time, many hours ahead, when eighteen courses would gang up somewhere below the ribcage and mount a counterattack.
Ridcully stepped out into the snow and turned up his collar. The lights were all on in the High Energy Magic Building.
‘I don't know, I don't know,’ he muttered. ‘Hogswatchnight and they're still working. It's just not natural. When I was a student I'd have been sick twice by now—’
In fact Ponder Stibbons and his group of research students had made a concession to Hogswatchnight. They'd draped holly over Hex and put a paper hat on the big glass dome containing the main ant heap.
Every time he came in here, it seemed to Ridcully, something — more had been done to the… engine, or thinking machine, or whatever it was. Sometimes stuff turned up overnight. Occasionally, according to Stibbons, Hex hims— itself would draw plans for extra bits that he — it needed. It all gave Ridcully the willies, and an additional willy was engendered right now when he saw the Bursar sitting in front of the thing. For a moment, he forgot all about verrucas.
‘What're you doing here, old chap?’ he said. ‘You should be inside, jumping up and down to make more room for tonight.’
‘Hooray for the pink, grey and green,’ said the Bursar.
‘Er… we thought Hex might be of… you know… help, sir,’ said Ponder Stibbons, who liked to think of himself as the University's token sane person.
‘With the Bursar's problem. We thought it might be a nice Hogswatch present for him.’
‘Ye gods, Bursar's got no problems,’ said Ridcully, and patted the aimlessly smiling man on the head while mouthing the words ‘mad as a spoon’. ‘Mind just wanders a bit, that's all. I said MIND WANDERS A BIT, eh? Only to be expected, spends far too much time addin' up numbers. Doesn't get out in the fresh air. I said, YOU DON'T GET OUT IN THE FRESH AIR, OLD CHAP!’
‘We thought, er, he might like someone to talk to,’ said Ponder.
‘What? What? But I talk to him all the time! I'm always trying to take him out of himself,’ said Ridcully. ‘It's important to stop him mopin' around the place.’
‘Er… yes… certainly,’ said Ponder diplomatically. He recalled the Bursar as a man whose idea of an exciting time had once been a soft-boiled egg. ‘So… er… well, let's give it another try, shall we? Are you ready, Mr Dinwiddie?’
‘Yes, thank you, a green one with cinnamon if it's not too much trouble.’
‘Can't see how he can talk to a machine,’ said Ridcully, in a sullen voice. ‘The thing's got no damn ears.’
‘Ah, well, in fact we made it one ear,’ said Ponder. ‘Er…’
He pointed to a large drum in a maze of tubes.
‘Isn't that old Windle Poons' ear trumpet sticking out of the end?’ said Ridcully suspiciously.
‘Yes, Archchancellor.’ Ponder cleared his throat. ‘Sound, you see, comes in waves—’
He stopped. Wizardly premonitions rose in his mind. He just knew Ridcully was going to assume he was talking about the sea. There was going to be one of those huge bottomless misunderstandings that always occurred whenever anyone tried to explain anything to the Archchancellor. Words like ‘surf’, and probably ‘ice cream’ and ‘sand’ were just …
‘It's all done by magic, Archchancellor,’ he said, giving up.
‘Ah. Right,’ said Ridcully. He sounded a little disappointed. ‘None of that complicated business with springs and cogwheels and tubes and stuff, then.’
‘That's right, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘Just magic. Sufficiently advanced magic.’
‘Fair enough. What's it do?’
‘Hex can hear what you say.’
‘Interesting. Saves all that punching holes in bits of cards and hitting keys you lads are forever doing, then—’
‘Watch this, sir,’ said Ponder. ‘All right, Adrian, initialize the GBU
‘How do you do that, then?’ said Ridcully, behind him.
‘It… it means pull the great big lever,’ Ponder said, reluctantly.
‘Ah. Takes less time to say.’
Ponder sighed. ‘Yes, that's right, Archchancellor.’
He nodded to one of the students, who pulled a large red lever marked ‘Do Not Pull’. Gears spun, somewhere inside Hex. Little trap-doors opened in the ant farms and millions of ants began to scurry along the networks of glass tubing. Ponder tapped at the huge wooden keyboard.
‘Beats me how you fellows remember how to do all this stuff,’ said Ridcully, still watching him with what Ponder considered to be amused interest.
‘Oh, it's largely intuitive, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder. ‘Obviously you have to spend a lot of time learning it first, though. Now, then, Bursar,’ he added. ‘If you'd just like to say something…’
‘He says, SAY SOMETHING, BURSAAAR!’ yelled Ridcully helpfully, into the Bursar's ear.
‘Corkscrew? It's a tickler, that's what Nanny says,’ said the Bursar.
Things started to spin inside Hex. At the back of the room a huge converted waterwheel covered with sheep skulls began to turn, ponderously.
And the quill pen in its network of springs and guiding arms started to write:
+++ Why Do You Think You Are A Tickler? +++
For a moment the Bursar hesitated. Then he said, ‘I've got a spoon of my own, you know.’
+++ Tell Me About Your Spoon +++
‘Er… it's a little spoon…’
+++ Does Your Spoon Worry You? +++
The Bursar frowned. Then he seemed to rally. ‘Whoops, here comes Mr Jelly,’ he said, but he didn't sound as though his heart was in it.
+++ How Long Have You Been Mr Jelly? +++
The Bursar glared.'Are you makingfun of me?’ he said.
‘Amazin'!’ said Ridcully. ‘It's got him stumped! 's better than dried frog pills! How did you work it out?’
‘Er,’ said Ponder. ‘It sort of just happened.’
‘Amazin',’ said Ridcully. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe on Hex's ‘Anthill Inside’ sticker, causing Ponder to wince. ‘This thing's a kind of big artificial brain, then?’
‘You could think of it like that,’ said Ponder, carefully. ‘Of course, Hex doesn't actually think. Not as such. It just appears to be thinking.’
‘Ah. Like the Dean,’ said Ridcully. ‘Any chance of fitting a brain like this into the Dean's head?’
‘It does weigh ten tons, Archchancellor.’
‘Ah. Really? Oh. Quite a large crowbar would be in order, then.’ He paused, and then reached into his pocket. ‘I knew I'd come here for something,’ he added. ‘This here chappie is the Verruca Gnome—’
‘Hello,’ said the Verruca Gnome shyly.
— who seems to have popped into existence to be with us here tonight. And, you know, I thought: this is a bit odd. Of course, there's always something a bit unreal about Hogswatchnight,’ said Ridcully. ‘Last night of the year and so on. The Hogfather whizzin' around and so forth. Time of the darkest shadows and so on. All the old year's occult rubbish pilin' up. Anythin' could happen. I just thought you fellows might check up on this. Probably nothing to worry about.’
‘A Verruca Gnome?’ said Ponder.
The gnome clutched his sack protectively.
‘Makes about as much sense as a lot of things, I suppose,’ said Ridcully. ‘After all, there's a Tooth Fairy, ain' there? You might as well wonder why we have a God of Wine and not a God of Hangovers—’
He stopped.
‘Anyone else hear that noise just then?’ he said.
‘Sorry, Archchancellor?’
‘Sort of glingleglingleglingle? Like little tinkly bells?’
‘Didn't hear anything like that, sir.’
‘Oh.’ Ridcully shrugged. ‘Anyway… what was I saying… yes… no one's ever heard of a Verruca G
nome until tonight.’
‘That's right,’ said the gnome. ‘Even I've never heard of me until tonight, and I'm me.’
‘We'll see what we can find out, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder diplomatically.
‘Good man.’ Ridcully put the gnome back in his pocket and looked up at Hex.
‘Amazin',’ he said again. ‘He just looks as though he's thinking, right?’
‘Er… yes.’
‘But he's not actually thinking?’
‘Er… no.’
‘So… he just gives the impression of thinking but really it's just a show?’
‘Er… yes.’
‘Just like everyone else, then, really, —’ said Ridcully.
‘— something,’ he added. ‘This here chappie is the Verruca Gnome—’
‘Hello,’ said the Verruca Gnome shyly.
‘—who seems to have popped into existence to be with us here tonight. And, you know, I thought: this is a bit odd. Of course, there's always something a bit unreal about Hogswatchnight,’ said Ridcully. ‘Last night of the year and so on. The Hogfather whizzin' around and so forth. Time of the darkest shadows and so on. All the old year's occult rubbish pilin' up. Anythin' could happen. I just thought you fellows might check up on this. Probably nothing to worry about.’
‘A Verruca Gnome?’ said Ponder.
The gnome clutched his sack protectively.
‘Makes about as much sense as a lot of things, I suppose,’ said Ridcully. ‘After all, there's a Tooth Fairy, ain' there? You might as well wonder why we have a God of Wine and not a God of Hangovers—’
He stopped.
‘Anyone else hear that noise just then?’ he said.
‘Sorry, Archchancellor?’
‘Sort of glingleglingleglingle? Like little tinkly bells?’
‘Didn't hear anything like that, sir.’
‘Oh.’ Ridcully shrugged. ‘Anyway… what was I saying… yes… no one's ever heard of a Verruca Gnome until tonight.’
‘That's right,’ said the gnome. ‘Even I've never heard of me until tonight, and I'm me.’
‘We'll see what we can find out, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder diplomatically.
‘Good man.’ Ridcully put the gnome back in his pocket and looked up at Hex.
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