Hogfather - Page 18/41

'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.'