Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Hogfather: A Discworld Novel
    Hogfather: A Discworld Novel
    Hogfather: A Discworld Novel
    Ebook418 pages6 hours

    Hogfather: A Discworld Novel

    By Terry Pratchett

    4.5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    "Exceptionally amusing and enjoyable." —Michael Moorcock

    'Twas the night before Hogswatch and all through the house . . . something was missing. Don't miss this hilarious and irreverent installment in the beloved Discworld series from New York Times bestselling author Sir Terry Pratchett.

    It’s the most wonderful time of the year, Hogswatchnight, when the Hogfather himself dons his red suit and climbs in his sleigh pulled by—of course—eight hogs, to shower gifts across Discworld. But when the fat man goes missing, someone has to sit in. It’s up to Death to take up the reigns—otherwise the sun won’t shine tomorrow . . . or ever again.

    Who would want to harm Discworld's most beloved icon? Very few things are held sacred in this twisted, corrupt, heartless—and oddly familiar—universe, but the Hogfather is one of them. Yet here it is, Hogswatchnight, that most joyous and acquisitive of times, and the jolly, old, red-suited gift-giver has vanished without a trace. And there's something shady going on involving an uncommonly psychotic member of the Assassins' Guild and certain representatives of Ankh-Morpork's rather extensive criminal element. Suddenly Discworld's entire myth system is unraveling at an alarming rate. Drastic measures must be taken, which is why Death himself is taking up the reins of the fat man's vacated sleigh . . . which, in turn, has Death's level-headed granddaughter, Susan, racing to unravel the nasty, humbuggian mess before the holiday season goes straight to hell and takes everyone along with it.

    The Discworld novels can be read in any order, but Hogfather is the fourth book in the Death series. The collection includes:

    • Mort
    • The Reaper Man
    • Soul Music
    • Hogfather
    • Thief of Time
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 13, 2009
    ISBN9780061807701
    Hogfather: A Discworld Novel
    Author

    Terry Pratchett

    Terry Pratchett (1948–2015) was the acclaimed creator of the globally revered Discworld series. In all, he authored more than fifty bestselling books, which have sold more than one hundred million copies worldwide. His novels have been widely adapted for stage and screen, and he was the winner of multiple prizes, including the Carnegie Medal. He was awarded a knighthood by Queen Elizabeth II for his services to literature in 2009, although he always wryly maintained that his greatest service to literature was to avoid writing any.

    Read more from Terry Pratchett

    Related to Hogfather

    Titles in the series (30)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      ‘We Can Continue Pratchett’s Efforts’: The Gamers Keeping Discworld Alive

      Sep 28, 2022

      Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld has a long association with video games. Not only was the author himself a fan of Doom, Thief, and The Elder Scrolls, but the relationship between his satirical fantasy world and video games goes all the way back to 19

      6 min read

    • Article

      Clean SWEEP

      Aug 31, 2022

      Clean SWEEP
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Family Plot

      May 7, 2020

      The Family Plot
      10 min read

    • Article

      Estella’s Fate

      May 17, 2023

      Estella’s Fate
      7 min read

    • Article

      Estella’s Fate

      May 17, 2023

      Estella’s Fate
      7 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Jan 1, 2022

      It was an unusual birthday. Colorful banners blanketed the backyard. Kids chased each other through the grass. Adults talked. It all went downhill from there. My little sister was turning five. On her birthday cake, painted in frosting, was a fat, pi

      7 min read

    • Article

      Cast Out

      Jul 10, 2021

      Verity pushed back the quilts, rolled off her straw mattress onto the floor, felt for the poker, and stirred the ashes. The embers glowed. She wouldn’t have to go fire-borrowing again. Her chilled hands were clumsy. One glowing bit of wood rolled fro

      21 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Sep 1, 2022

      First prize 10 and under Tang Li, age 9 Palmetto Bay, FL My name is Anisa. I was in Hawaii on vacation. I enjoyed sipping refreshing drinks, overlooking the turquoise ocean, and dancing with others, before I overheard that the priceless Fire Ring wa

      10 min read

    • Article

      The Sack of Silence

      Sep 8, 2020

      “WAIT TILL I TURNT HIS OFF. NOW.” “That noise. Whatever is it?” “The Hoover was running.” “How’s that?” “I said, I was running the vacuum.” “Not that. Outside. Listen.” Rosie leaned over the banister. “Oh, it’s the bee, dear.” “Bee nothing. A thousan

      7 min read

    • Article

      The Postmenopausal Fairy Tale

      Feb 4, 2019

      The Postmenopausal Fairy Tale
      9 min read

    • Article

      AN EXCERPT FROM The First Line of Dante’s ‘Inferno’

      Dec 1, 2020

      Early forties, tall, self-possessed. Hiking in the woods in search of her missing sister. A young park ranger, late twenties. Pretty. Slim. Strong. The play is formatted like prose; however, it is intended for performance. If actors simply perform th

      15 min read

    • Article

      Marked with SILVER

      Jan 17, 2024

      Marked with SILVER
      12 min read

    • Article

      The Silence of Witches

      Dec 10, 2019

      The Silence of Witches
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Generation

      Nov 27, 2022

      The Generation
      13 min read

    • Article

      A Buzz In THE DARK

      Sep 16, 2020

      “When I say there was a lot going on in the master bedroom at Dear Towers one night recently, please don’t get the wrong impression. For a start, Mr D was snoring for most of the time. Perhaps that’s not fair. Mr Dear doesn’t snore as most people wo

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Thin Place

      Nov 16, 2020

      We looked out of the window at the torrential rain. We’d booked tickets for the Castle’s Halloween event. The Castle was famous for being haunted by the ghost of its last court jester and made the most of this reputation every October, hosting a fair

      6 min read

    • Article

      A dangerous OBSESSION

      Sep 30, 2020

      “I wonder what the Queen dreams about? Apparently we all dream about the Queen from time to time, so does she dream about us in return? Perhaps on a rota system? Or does she have nightmares in which she is about to open Parliament but suddenly reali

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Bargain

      Dec 10, 2022

      “Which one of you owns G2V3889?” Cygnus glided through a luminescent star field suspended in the center of an otherwise dark, oblong studio, then turned in a slow circle to survey the twenty Agents surrounding him. “Come on, speak up.” Vega shuddered

      16 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Jul 1, 2018

      Without the adventof Stockholm Syndrome,how could I havelearned to love myself so much? I’m asking Godand New York, can anyonehelp me? (An all-but-audible “or else.”) The captain’s chair:it’s beginning to smella little too much like me. Again.But the

      4 min read

    • Article

      The New Arrival

      Oct 1, 2020

      Maya had never visited the public library before, and at this rate it looked like she never would. She knew it was around here somewhere, but the fog was so thick she could barely see her sneakers. Putting off her homework had been a mistake, but get

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Library of Gromma

      Jul 10, 2023

      Zac was sweating and panting as he reached the top of the hill. The crooked beams of the library loomed over him. He dropped the buckets of water, swore at the few drops that spilled, and escaped the piercing morning sun in the shade of the library.

      22 min read

    • Article

      ‘Cygnet’: Featured Fiction from Season Butler

      Jun 25, 2019

      A excerpt from Butler's debut coming-of-age novel, set in an appealingly rich world with quirky, flawed characters and a dramatic oceanfront landscape. The post ‘Cygnet’: Featured Fiction from Season Butler appeared first on The Millions.

      4 min read

    • Article

      When Life Bites

      Sep 14, 2020

      When Life Bites
      6 min read

    • Article

      I’ll Be There

      Oct 25, 2019

      I’ll Be There
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Library Of Gromma

      Feb 10, 2021

      Zac was sweating and panting as he reached the top of the hill. The crooked beams of the library loomed over him. He dropped the buckets of water, swore at the few drops that spilt, and escaped the piercing morning sun in the shade of the library. He

      22 min read

    • Article

      Proverbs Of A Faceless Time

      Dec 1, 2023

      Proverbs Of A Faceless Time
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Education of Mrs. R.

      Sep 6, 2022

      An adolescent shriek woke her. Cockerels, she thought, cockerels, with a wry twist to the word. She lay in the dark listening. There was no use in covering her head; the screaming still came through. The soloist was suddenly submerged in the chorus.

      13 min read

    • Article

      Let The Bones Talk

      Jun 16, 2021

      Let The Bones Talk
      6 min read

    Reviews for Hogfather

    4.5/5

    110 ratings87 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      The Hogfather, the Tooth Fairy, and other beings from the realm of pure belief are under attack, so Death steps in to save the day by donning the red suit, driving the sleigh, and filling the stockings. Hilarity, as you may expects, does its usual ensuing. One of my favorite Discworld books so far, as I do love Death to bits, and his stint as the Jolly One is weird in all the adorably right ways. His granddaughter, Susan, is fantastic, too.
    • 5/5
      This is a second read of this book as I read it to my eldest son. I had forgotten how confusing it can get though, as it is a difficult story to visualise. Reading Pratchett aloud is also hard as he jumps from scene to scene and characters to characters. It's a lesson in trying out different voices for characters - especially Death. But this one has a great deal of humour in it too. It's what makes Pratchett novels so enjoyable.
    • 5/5
      A must read every December. Mr. Teatime gets me every time. Pratchett's silliness is at its peak in Hogfather.
    • 4/5
      A wonderful Christmas read for those who have read earlier Discworld stories in the Death and Unseen University series. More than most other Discworld books, you do have to have read earlier books to get the most from thi story.Not in the first rank of Discworld stories, as it is too driven by its message, rather than ideas flowing from the story, but an enjoyable read, with some very funny passages.This was my third read in 20 years and it impressed me more than when I reread about ten years ago.
    • 5/5
      My partial re-read of Pratchett's Discworld series, starting with the Death books, continues with this one, in which the Hogfather, Discworld's equivalent of Santa Claus, has disappeared after someone put out a hit on him, and Death has to step in to do his job and keep belief in him alive.With a premise like that, how can you go wrong? The mere thought of Death in a Santa suit trying very hard to get the hang of a proper "HO HO HO" is just inherently hilarious. But there's lots and lots of other delightful stuff in here too, from Death's granddaughter Susan dispatching monsters from under children's beds with a poker and a no-nonsense attitude, to Death's manservant Albert snarking wonderfully while wearing a Hogswatch pixie outfit, to Death's inevitable and endearing inclination to become a little too invested in his new job, to the marvelous creepiness of the Santa-cidal assassin Mr. Teatime, to the fact that when Pratchett turns to contemplating the true meaning of Christmas, what you get isn't saccharine platitudes, but some deconstruction of saccharine platitudes and a glimpse at something much deeper, much older, and much more fundamental. Even the bits with the wizards, which are usually the weak point in these Death-centered books, were fun, with Archchancellor Ridcully being on particularly fine Ridcully-ish form, and an entertaining appearance from Hex the magical computer. (I like Hex. He's basically made entirely of computer-related puns, and it amuses me greatly how that somehow never gets old.)It may not be an absolutely perfect novel. As sometimes happens with Pratchett, some of the plot stuff maybe gets resolved a little too quickly. And the god of hangovers character -- excuse me, the oh god of hangovers character -- is a bit too much of a one-note joke for me. Nevertheless, this is probably one of my favorite Discworld books, and it holds up beautifully on a re-read. Even in July.
    • 3/5
      As nonsensical as Pratchett's Discworld books may seem, they often make a great deal of sense. Hogfather pokes fun at old gods, evolving gods, power, and belief systems. There's even an "oh god," as in "oh god I'm gonna be sick."The Hogfather is Discworld's version of Santa Claus, and things go very,very astray forcing Death to step in and try to put things right, while his granddaughter tries to behave like a normal person.
    • 4/5
      Susan is great!
    • 5/5
      I love dark comedy. This book hit the nail on the head! Hilarious dialogue, dark themes, elements of horror, and a little bit of gore pepper this novel for a truly fun ride. It has some Christmas-like parallels so makes for a fun read during the holidays. Will absolutely read again and highly recommend to others!
    • 4/5
      It was a nice read, but I can't say it's the best Pratchett I've ever read. The humor was nice, but all in all there were few parts of the story I actually remember, and all of them are little things, like the Death of Rats being called the "Grim Squeaker", or the references to the Intel-Slogan and Alice in Wonderland.

      All in all, I don't feel like having wasted time (Which I never do when reading a Pratchett), but I don't feel like I have read a really memorable book either. It was a nice quick read for the Fantasy Book Club, and I will continue to read every pratchett I can get my hands on, but I will not run to all of my friends and nag them to read it, like I did with "Name of the Wind" either.
    • 4/5
      So much to like, and I'd have it straight to 5 stars if I didn't personally find TP to transition scenes and pace things in ways that derail the narrative for me. Great ideas - tons of wonderful quotable fun. I hadn't been aware of just how much Nightmare Before Christmas owed to Hogfather, and it was a wonderful discovery.
    • 5/5
      Another great story about Death. Just right for the Holiday season!
    • 5/5
      Hilariously absurd.
    • 5/5
      I was supposed to be doing this as a buddy read with everyone, but I've not been keeping my end up at all. The cold I thought I'd beaten down made a comeback at the end of last week, so I kept falling asleep every time I tried to get stuck into Hogfather. Which sounds like a terrible condemnation of the book, but is really is NOT. The book was excellent. I'd prove it's excellence with quotes, except all my reading buddies beat me to all the quotes I liked the best. There's mischief afoot in the Discworld, and the Hogfather is missing. Death decides to step in and play the Hogfather's role, visiting houses, filling stockings and doing his best to ensure that belief in the Hogfather never falters, while his grand-daughter Susan and a host of others do their best to thwart the mischief so Hogfather can come back. This is a brilliant story - practically flawless. My only two complaints are that: 1. Teatime is a little too evil; it adds an edge to the story that I freely admit is necessary; without it the whole thing would be a little less brilliant. Nevertheless, His story line was the fly in my lemonade; I'd be reading along having a rollicking good time and then he'd show up being manically evil, and it felt like someone let the air out of my balloons. 2. The book kept referring to both dollars and pence. Either this was done on purpose, because it's the discworld and can use any form of currency Pratchett would like, or else it's an editing error that wasn't caught during a transition from UK to international editions. If it's the former, well, that's totally fine. But I don't know, so I kept wondering if it was the latter and I kept getting tripped up by the discrepancy. In the grand scheme of things, these are inconsequential - this is, hands down, the best discworld book I've read so far. But Teatime's rain on my holiday parade does keep me from going the whole 5 stars. If you like silly fun with a side of very deep philosophy, read this book. There's one quote I don't think anyone has beaten me to yet: Humans need fantasy to be human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape. That might very well be my favourite quote of the book.
    • 4/5
      Lots of fun. It didn't quite rank up there with my favorite Discworld book, Going Postal (my favorite so far, though I've only read a few), but still quite entertaining. The dialog and characters are great.
    • 5/5
      Once again, another awesome novel by Pratchett. He tells a great story, packed full of humor and yet, they are also filled with wisdom about humanity and our fellow man. Here he delves into the human psyche of belief and how it affects our views on life in general. It digs into both the pros and cons of how it is used. There is a Hogfather movie out there as well, and it did a pretty good job encapsulating the novel IMO. Still the book was better!
    • 5/5
      The snow is falling, the nights are longer, and the Disc is getting ready for the most wonderful time of the year only for the most important man of the hour to disappear. Terry Pratchett satirizes Christmas in his 20th Discworld novel “Hogfather”, featuring Death and his granddaughter Susan attempting to save the entire holiday and the Disc’s sense of belief.Most of the Disc is getting ready to celebrate the end of the year on Hogswatchnight when the Hogfather comes to give presents to those that have been good throughout the year, mostly kids but some adults would like some stuff as well. However, the Auditors of the Universe want the ‘fat man’ dead and hire an Assassin to do the job who then attacks the Tooth Fairy. How can the Hogfather survive? Only Death himself can fill in for the ‘fat man’ and tricks his granddaughter Susan Sto Helit in figuring out what happened to the Hogfather especially as new deities start popping up in his absence.The TV miniseries adaptation of “Hogfather” was what made me want to read the entire Discworld series in the first place, so finally getting to read this book has been both an exciting and somewhat hesitant moment because I didn’t know if the actual book would meet my expectations. Happily I was more than happy with the book and think it’s one of the best books of the series because of story, characterization, and satire. There is nothing more I can say because I would just be repeating myself.
    • 4/5
      Another funny, satirical installment in the Discworld series as Death and Susan ponder the importance of belief and Christmas—er—Hogswatchnight.
    • 2/5
      I didn’t think this is one of Pratchett’s strongest novels. I loved reading about DEATH again and he is always entertaining. But I thought this story had way too many characters running around, and the narrative shifted every other page. It was very confusing and didn’t allow me to become engrossed in the storyline. I never did figure out exactly how they were attempting to kill off the Hogfather, and how the Tooth Fairy figured into the whole thing. By the end, I was just glad it was over.
    • 5/5
      This is the first Discworld book that I've read and I absolutely love it. I chose this one because I vaguely remember watching the movie with my grandfather some years back. I don't remember much of the movie, but I held onto the premise in my head. So glad I chose this one! I love the depiction of Death as a character and his predicament throughout the book. I also really liked his granddaughter, Susan, and how practical and matter-of-fact she is. I also really enjoyed her struggle to be normal while knowing she isn't.

      I loved the depiction of the children throughout the book, the random kids as well as Twyla and Gawain. I also really liked the touch with the fireplace poker to get rid of monsters with! :p

      This book was hilarious and thoroughly enjoyable. Once I started reading I really just couldn't put it down. I think this would be a great book for anyone to start the Discworld books with. There are some references to things that seem like they probably happened in other books, but the ones I noticed were few and far between and if there were others I suppose you had to READ those books in order for them to stand out even as out of place or strange.

      I liked the mix of seriousness and whimsy. Pratchett's humor in the book is wonderful! It's similar to my own, except that I'm nowhere near as creative and imaginative.

      The characters that show up in the book, such as the God of Hangovers and the Death of Rats and Quoth the Raven (who is never actually named in this book, I only recently realized that while reading a different Discworld book), are all wonderful and I found myself looking forward to each update on how and what they were doing.

      I thought the plot was great and that everything came together wonderfully. The only thing I raised an eyebrow at was that we seemed to get a "what happened to" for every character at the end except the God of Hangovers. I hope that we get an update on that in another book!

      I really enjoyed learning the similarities and differences between the Hogfather, Hogswatch and Christmas and Santa.

      The wizards at Unseen University were maybe some of the most hilarious characters of all.

      I also liked that even for a lot of the villainous characters I could still view them as more than just bad. It was easy to see them as full people and even feel bad for some of them, if not all of them. Even Teatime, to a point.

      The characters were wonderful, the plot was engaging, the ride was exciting, and the end was satisfying while still leaving me wanting more. It's really difficult for me to review this, as can be seen by the disorganized way that I've written this review. But, that's only because there's SO MUCH awesome packed into this book! It's difficult to know what to do with it all!

      I would definitely recommend this book to others! It's definitely a great time!

      1 person found this helpful

    • 3/5
      I actually liked thinking about some of the ideas in this one. For example: The world is so full of sharp bends that if (parents) didn't put a few twists in you, you wouldn't stand a chance of fitting in." And: "Humans need fantasy to human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.... You have to start out learning the little lies [eg Tooth Fairies, as practice for the big ones like}... Justice. Mercy. Duty. That sort of thing.... {You have}... the most amazing talent."

      (Better if you read the whole passage, p. 336 my edition. Better still if you read the whole book.)"
    • 5/5
      Hogfather is the twentieth book in the Discworld series, and the fourth following Death. However, I think it’s one you can probably pick up even if you’ve read none of the others.In Hogfather, Pratchett satirizes the commercial and secular phenomena of Christmas – namely Santa Claus, who’s Discworld equivalent is the Hogfather, a merry gift giver who arrives on the longest night of the year.Unfortunately, the Auditors of reality are out to destroy the Hogfather as part of their war on the messiness of life. To the rescue comes Discworld’s Death, who must keep the Hogfather’s place open by dressing up in a fake beard and delivering presents to children everywhere. Meanwhile, his granddaughter Susan must go to the source of the matter and defeat the assassin Teatime hired by the auditors.Hogfather is undoubtedly the best Christmas themed book I’ve ever read. It’s hilarious and insightful, and like all the best Discworld books, it has a lot going on beneath the surface.“In fact the Guild, he liked to think, practiced the ultimate democracy. You didn’t need intelligence, social position, beauty or charm to hire it. You just needed money which, unlike the other stuff, was available to everyone. Except for the poor, of course, but there was no helping some people.”In this case, I noticed some commentary on how the idea of Christmas does not meet up with the reality, especially for families without the money for the huge expensive gifts. For a book nominally about Christmas, there was actually a number of times Terry Pratchett addressed class and economic inequality.“BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU’VE GOT, IS THAT THE IDEA?“That’s about the size of it, master. A good god line, that. Don’t give ’em too much and tell ’em to be happy with it. Jam tomorrow, see.”THIS IS WRONG. Death hesitated. I MEAN…IT’S RIGHT TO BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU’VE GOT. BUT YOU’VE GOT TO HAVE SOMETHING TO BE HAPPY ABOUT HAVING. THERE’S NO POINT IN BEING HAPPY ABOUT HAVING NOTHING.”The other important idea running throughout Hogfather was how the ability to believe and fantasize is what makes us human. There’s a particularly powerful segment near the end that spells out the value of stories and fantasy, but I’ll leave that for you to discover on your own.“I’m just saying man is naturally a mythopoeic creature.”“What’s that mean?” said the Senior Wrangler.“Means we make things up as we go along,” said the Dean, not looking up.”The technical elements are all excellent. As always, Pratchett succeeds in creating a cast of likable and quirky characters that nevertheless have a sense of weight and reality to them. Death and Susan are both favorites of mine, Death for his desire to understand humanity and Susan for her insistence on logic and good sense.Hogfather has a bunch of different threads and plots winding throughout it, from Death to Susan to the wizards at the Unseen University to one off scenes that illustrate a piece of the larger story. Despite this, Hogfather never feels fractured or haphazard and ties together wonderfully. It’s much more cohesive than some of the early Discworld novels.I recommend Hogfather to.. well, practically everyone. Even if you’re not familiar with Christmas or the ideas surrounding it, there’s enough else going on to make Hogfather well worth reading.Originally posted on The Illustrated Page.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 5/5
      This, I think, is the crowning glory of the Pratchett oeuvre. It is both profound and profoundly funny. The Auditors think humans are too messy and their solution is to somehow eliminate fantasy, in the form of the Hogfather. So they, of course, hire someone from the Assassin's Guild to take it on. And the head of the Guild thinks it is the perfect job for one of his most difficult students, a young man who will check for breath with a mirror, although the victim's head was several feet away from its body. Mr. Teatime (not pronounced like "about four o'clock" but in some Italianate fashion) has an elegant solution.As belief in the Hogfather wanes, causing him to disappear on the very night he's needed most (Hogswatch), Death steps in, delivering toys to children and seeing that there are sooty footprints on the carpet, and that the sherry, pork pies, and turnips laid out vanish. He is holding a place open, but he is not allowed to interfere. So he forbids his granddaughter, Susan Sto Helit, to interfere.Susan has a Real Job as a governess doing Real Things, so when the weird wing of the family shows up she rebels. And decides to find out what's going on.Again, Nigel Planer does a brilliant job of characterization. I could listen to this again and again. Also, the movie made of this was excellent.
    • 4/5
      A fun fantasy romp that also rather cleverly explores Father Christmas from a primitive pagan perspective.The heroine appeared first in Soul Music which continues the storyline of Mort & Reaper Man. All you really need to know is that she's Death's granddaughter and you can pick the rest up as you go along.
    • 3/5
      The subject of Hogfather is Christmas. Except on Discworld, it's called Hogswatch, the jolly old fat man is the Hogfather, and he rides around in a sleigh pulled by four large boars named Gouger, Rooter, Tusker and Snouter. Like Santa Claus, the Hogfather goes about climbing down chimneys and leaving presents for children. But this year, things are a little different. The Hogfather seems to have gone on a diet because he's nothing but skin and bones?well, actually, just bones. It seems the Hogfather has died and Death has stepped in to take over. The Death of Rats is busy warning Susan Sto-Helit what Death is up to when he drops down her chimney. Susan is a governess with a few special talents. You see, Susan is Death's granddaughter. The daughter of Death's adopted daughter and her husband, Death's former apprentice. Susan demands an explanation and Death reveals that the Hogfather is dead. When Susan demands to know why he is doing this, he refuses to answer and tells her it is not her business. So when Susan begins her investigation. She's joined by the Death of Rats, an annoying talking raven, and the God of Hangovers. Also on the case, though they don't know it, are the intellectual elite of the Unseen University. The wizards, led by Archchancellor Ridcully, are working on the problem of mysteriously appearing gods. Gods are popping out of thin air?the God of Indigestion, the Eater of Socks, the Cheerful Fairy and the Wisdom Tooth Goblin, to name just a few.
    • 5/5
      This one is really special. It’s a satire on Christmas that features Death filling in for the Hogfather (the Discworld Santa) with predictably bad results. This book also introduces us to Bilious, the God of Hangovers, perhaps my favorite Pratchett creation yet
    • 5/5
      The midwinter holiday on Discworld is Hogswatch rather than Christmas, and the Hogfather is the Discworld's counterpart of Santa Claus. He climbs down chimneys, gives presents, says, "HO-HO-HO," and drives a sleigh pulled by four flying pigs. Many children of the Disc believe in him, which is why he exists. (This is a fundamental characteristic of the magical system in Terry Pratchett's Discworld books.) Belief causes the thing believed in to exist, and when belief stops, that existence stops. Teatime, an assassin retained to do away with the Hogfather, plans to exploit this metaphysical law to accomplish his assigned task, but first he must break into the Tooth Fairy's castle and get control of the teeth stored there. With them, he can influence the belief of their former owners through sympathetic magic. (That's something of a spoiler, but if you haven't read this yet, you may be thankful for it.)

      Hogfather was the first Discworld book I ever read. This was back in 1999, I think. It could have been 2000. I'm not sure. I didn't buy it. The book was given to me, not so much as a gift, but as a case of, "Here, I'm not going to read this again, but you might like it since I know you like the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."

      A few months later, I decided to give it a try. I didn't know what to make of the book at first. It wasn't like anything I had ever read before. I recall thinking when I was about halfway in that I wasn't sure I liked it. It was obviously fantasy, but it wasn't like the epic fantasy stepchildren of Lord of the Rings or the Dungeons & Dragons role-playing game, which dominated the fantasy genre at the time. Those stories seemed to make a concerted effort to convey their fantasy settings as 'real' places, and they were chocked full of dragons, evil warlords and their minions, and powerful magic. Their plots often boiled down to simple, and often bloody, contests between 'good' and 'evil'. The reader didn't have to think much for most of these. They offered an entertaining escape from reality, but not much else. The plots were often a bit like sporting events in which one side is 'good' primarily because it's from your hometown (although there's a good chance none of the players are). In some, the biggest difference between the protagonist and antagonist was the point of view that dominated the story.

      In any case, that was the kind of fantasy novel I was used to. Hogfather is none of the above. It's not even like the Hitchhiker's Guide, but the person who gave me the book was right in one regard. If you like the Hitchhiker's Guide, there is a good chance you will like Discworld. Both are satirical, funny, incredibly clever, and mind-bending.

      But, back to what I was saying. Halfway through my first reading of Hogfather, I was confused. This book was far more complex than the fantasy stories with which I was familiar. The setting was comprehensible but bizarre. I mean—really—a flat world carried on the back of four elephants standing on a turtle? Come on! The plot confused me, and there were subplots and multiple points of view presented by an omniscient narrator. There were even footnotes! This wasn't like watching a sporting event or a cartoon. I had to pay attention. This book was trying to make me (*gasp*) think! To be honest, I wasn't sure I was up to the challenge.

      Then, about halfway through, I got it. I can't recall exactly what scene or phrase caused my epiphany, but I finally caught a glimpse of what this story was doing, and it floored me. The author wasn't to draw me into the story to the point of total immersion. The setting was absurd because I wasn't supposed to believe it was possible. The story was fiction and, I wasn't supposed to suspend disbelief to the point where I felt for a moment that it wasn't. There's a kind of honesty to that that I still find refreshing. Yes, the story is set on a fantasy world starring a counterpart of Santa Claus and an anthropomorphic personification of Death, complete with black cloak and scythe, but it's not ABOUT them. It's about us!

      But at the same time, this ridiculous setting was rich and textured. It was unbelievably believable. And the characters, although they seemed exaggerated caricatures at first, had surprising depth and personality. I recall thinking that this Terry Pratchett fellow must be some kind of genius.

      I've read all forty or so Discworld books since, all them at least three times, and I still think this is true.

      Hogfather, like many of the Discworld books, is far more than it appears at first glance. Here are a few things I noticed:
      •It is, of course, a parody of the Santa legend.
      •It's a cultural satire about our traditions and philosophies.
      •It's a not-so-thinly veiled criticism of holiday commercialism.
      •It's a morality tale about duty and the importance of family ties.
      •It's a philosophical statement on the nature of humanity.
      •It contrasts rational and irrational ways of thinking.
      •It provides a brief comment on emergent artificial intelligence.
      •It's a fantasy story that pokes fun at fantasy, while, at the same time, explaining why fantasy is both meaningful and necessary.
      •Oh yeah, and it's funny.

      If you have not read any Discworld books yet, you should. Actually, my advice is to read them all and then to reread them. (I find that Discworld stories are often even more enjoyable the second time.) Before sitting down to write this post, I reread Hogfather for what was at least the sixth time. The Discworld books are incomparable. My only problem with them is that after reading the Discworld stories, all other fantasy stories tend to pale by comparison.

      When reading Hogfather, one key point to remember is that time is not necessarily linear where Death (the Discworld character) is concerned. It can be frozen, and causality can work in reverse. The future can change events in the past or cause them not to happen at all.

      Hogfather, however, is not the Discworld book I would recommend to newcomers to the Disc. Yes, it was my first, and each book can stand on its own, but Hogfather is a tough go without the background provided by some of the others. I hesitate to recommend any particular Discworld book to start with. I've seen some forums in which people can become quite heated about this, believe it or not. I highly recommend all of them, but I will say again that Hogfather probably shouldn't be your first.

      If you're familiar with Discworld, but have not yet read Hogfather, I suggest doing so now. It's a great book for the holidays. If have read Hogfather before, it's a great one to reread for the Holidays. You'll be glad you did.

      HAPPY HOGSWATCH, EVERYONE! HO-HO-HO!

    • 3/5
      The Hogfather has disappeared, so Death takes over the job to ensure that the children don’t stop believing at Hogswatch.It’s possible that this book is trying to tap into experiences of childhood I didn’t have -- I grew up in a family which didn’t do (for want of a better verb) things like Santa or the tooth fairy -- but I can’t specifically pinpoint any reason why that would impinge on my ability to enjoy this story. I really liked the parts with Susan and Death, and I have a growing fondness for the wizards of Unseen University. I don’t care for the assassins or auditors.“All right,” said Susan. “I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need... fantasies to make life bearable.”REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.“Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—”YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.“So we can believe the big ones?”YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.
    • 4/5
      It was the night before Hogswatch. All through the house... one creature stirred. It was the mouse.Who would want to hurt the Hogfather? One of Discworld's most beloved icons! And yet the worst has happened. It has left a whole lot of belief lying around and the world is starting to unravel at an alarming rate. Drastic measures must be taken. It's up to Death and his granddaughter Susan to figure this mess out.Hogfather is the 20th Discworld book and the 4th in the Death series. It's Christmas, Discworld style. In true Pratchett form it is also about a lot more than just the holiday times. This book explores the nature of belief and what it is to believe. Belief is part of what makes us human. It is not a story about needing to believe because it's the holidays but more how humans choose to believe to make sense of the world, how that belief is woven into the fabric of our existence. How it allows us to define abstract concepts like justice, mercy, duty. Some of the conversations between Death and Susan at the end of the book are pretty deep.That said, the book is hilarious! Daft old wizards, the thinking machine Hex, the Tooth Fairy, Death, Death of Rats, Susan - such an awesome cast of characters! Death filling in for the Hogfather is both fascinating and laugh out loud funny. Susan has become another of my favorite Discworld characters. And she sure wields a mean poker.
    • 3/5
      OK, Terry Pratchett is clever as hell. And I laughed out loud several times while reading this book. But man, I couldn't wait for it to end. The action is a mess and there are too many characters all going about their miscellaneous business, without nearly enough clues (unless I slept through them) as to how it all pulls together. Some of the characters were brilliant, but they need to be spread out a little. By the time I reached the end of all that relentless cleverness, I felt a little like the Oh god of Hangovers myself. Or maybe the Toothache Fairy. Too much, Terry, too much.Review written 12-27-10
    • 3/5
      A difficult book to review. This is the first time I have read a Discworld novel, but I know Terry Pratchett's alternative world is hugely popular. ANd I can see that this book is very clever, and funny in places. But it just didn't grab me. In some ways, I expected Pratchett to be similar to Douglas Adams, and I love the latter, so I feel I should love Pratchett too. But there has always been something that held me back. And now, I still can't put my finger on what it is, I just know that, while I wouldn't say I would never read another Pratchett novel, I won't be in a hurry to read another.

    Book preview

    Hogfather - Terry Pratchett

    9780062698636_Cover.jpg

    To Everyone Who Hoped It Might Be True

    Contents

    Begin Reading

    About the Author

    Praise

    Other Books by Terry Pratchett

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    Begin Reading

    Everything starts somewhere, although many physicists disagree.

    But people have always been dimly aware of the problem with the start of things. They wonder aloud how the snowplow driver gets to work, or how the makers of dictionaries look up the spellings of the words. Yet there is the constant desire to find some point in the twisting, knotting, raveling nets of space-time on which a metaphorical finger can be put to indicate that here, here, is the point where it all began . . .

    Something began when the Guild of Assassins enrolled Mister Teatime, who saw things differently from other people, and one of the ways that he saw things differently from other people was in seeing other people as things (later, Lord Downey of the Guild said, We took pity on him because he’d lost both parents at an early age. I think that, on reflection, we should have wondered a bit more about that).

    But it was much earlier even than that when most people forgot that the very oldest stories are, sooner or later, about blood. Later on they took the blood out to make the stories more acceptable to children, or at least to the people who had to read them to children rather than the children themselves (who, on the whole, are quite keen on blood provided it’s being shed by the deserving*), and then wondered where the stories went.

    And earlier still when something in the darkness of the deepest caves and gloomiest forests thought: what are they, these creatures? I will observe them . . .

    And much, much earlier than that, when the Discworld was formed, drifting onward through space atop four elephants on the shell of the giant turtle, Great A’Tuin.

    Possibly, as it moves, it gets tangled like a blind man in a cobwebbed house in those highly specialized little space-time strands that try to breed in every history they encounter, stretching them and breaking them and tugging them into new shapes.

    Or possibly not, of course. The philosopher Didactylos has summed up an alternative hypothesis as Things just happen. What the hell.

    The senior wizards of Unseen University stood and looked at the door.

    There was no doubt that whoever had shut it wanted it to stay shut. Dozens of nails secured it to the door frame. Planks had been nailed right across. And finally it had, up until this morning, been hidden by a bookcase that had been put in front of it.

    And there’s the sign, Ridcully, said the Dean. "You have read it, I assume. You know? The sign which says ‘Do not, under any circumstances, open this door’?"

    Of course I’ve read it, said Ridcully. Why d’yer think I want it opened?

    Er . . . why? said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

    To see why they wanted it shut, of course.*

    He gestured to Modo, the University’s gardener and odd-job dwarf, who was standing by with a crowbar.

    Go to it, lad.

    The gardener saluted. Right you are, sir.

    Against a background of splintering timber, Ridcully went on: "It says on the plans that this was a bathroom. There’s nothing frightening about a bathroom, for gods’ sake. I want a bathroom. I’m fed up with sluicing down with you fellows. It’s unhygienic. You can catch stuff. My father told me that. Where you get lots of people bathing together, the Verruca Gnome is running around with his little sack."

    Is that like the Tooth Fairy? said the Dean sarcastically.

    I’m in charge here and I want a bathroom of my own, said Ridcully firmly. And that’s all there is to it, all right? I want a bathroom in time for Hogswatchnight, understand?

    And that’s a problem with beginnings, of course. Sometimes, when you’re dealing with occult realms that have quite a different attitude to time, you get the effect a little way before the cause.

    From somewhere on the edge of hearing came a glingleglingleglingle noise, like little silver bells.

    At about the same time as the Archchancellor was laying down the law, Susan Sto-Helit was sitting up in bed, reading by candlelight.

    Frost patterns curled across the windows.

    She enjoyed these early evenings. Once she had put the children to bed she was more or less left to herself. Mrs. Gaiter was pathetically scared of giving her any instructions even though she paid Susan’s wages.

    Not that the wages were important, of course. What was important was that she was being her Own Person and holding down a Real Job. And being a governess was a real job. The only tricky bit had been the embarrassment when her employer found out that she was a duchess, because in Mrs. Gaiter’s book, which was a rather short book with big handwriting, the upper crust wasn’t supposed to work. It was supposed to loaf around. It was all Susan could do to stop her curtseying when they met.

    A flicker made her turn her head.

    The candle flame was streaming out horizontally, as though in a howling wind.

    She looked up. The curtains billowed away from the window, which—

    —flung itself open with a clatter.

    But there was no wind.

    At least, no wind in this world.

    Images formed in her mind. A red ball . . . The sharp smell of snow . . . And then they were gone, and instead there were . . .

    Teeth? said Susan, aloud. "Teeth, again?"

    She blinked. When she opened her eyes the window was, as she knew it would be, firmly shut. The curtain hung demurely. The candle flame was innocently upright. Oh, no, not again. Not after all this time. Everything had been going so well—

    Thusan?

    She looked around. Her door had been pushed open and a small figure stood there, barefoot in a nightdress.

    She sighed. Yes, Twyla?

    I’m afwaid of the monster in the cellar, Thusan. It’s going to eat me up.

    Susan shut her book firmly and raised a warning finger.

    What have I told you about trying to sound ingratiatingly cute, Twyla? she said.

    The little girl said, You said I mustn’t. You said that exaggerated lisping is a hanging offense and I only do it to get attention.

    Good. Do you know what monster it is this time?

    It’s the big hairy one wif—

    Susan raised the finger. Uh? she warned.

    "—with eight arms," Twyla corrected herself.

    What, again? Oh, all right.

    She got out of bed and put on her dressing gown, trying to stay quite calm while the child watched her. So they were coming back. Oh, not the monster in the cellar. That was all in a day’s work. But it looked as if she was going to start remembering the future again.

    She shook her head. However far you ran away, you always caught yourself up.

    But monsters were easy, at least. She’d learned how to deal with monsters. She picked up the poker from the nursery fender and went down the back stairs, with Twyla following her.

    The Gaiters were having a dinner party. Muffled voices came from the direction of the dining room.

    Then, as she crept past, a door opened and yellow light spilled out and a voice said, "Ye gawds, there’s a gel in a nightshirt out here with a poker!"

    She saw figures silhouetted in the light and made out the worried face of Mrs. Gaiter.

    Susan? Er . . . what are you doing?

    Susan looked at the poker and then back at the woman. Twyla said she’s afraid of a monster in the cellar, Mrs. Gaiter.

    And yer going to attack it with a poker, eh? said one of the guests. There was a strong atmosphere of brandy and cigars.

    Yes, said Susan simply.

    Susan’s our governess, said Mrs. Gaiter. Er . . . I told you about her.

    There was a change in the expression on the faces peering out from the dining room. It became a sort of amused respect.

    She beats up monsters with a poker? said someone.

    Actually, that’s a very clever idea, said someone else. Little gel gets it into her head there’s a monster in the cellar, you go in with the poker and make a few bashing noises while the child listens, and then everything’s all right. Good thinkin’, that girl. Ver’ sensible. Ver’ modern.

    Is that what you’re doing, Susan? said Mrs. Gaiter anxiously.

    Yes, Mrs. Gaiter, said Susan obediently.

    This I’ve got to watch, by Io! It’s not every day you see monsters beaten up by a gel, said the man behind her. There was a swish of silk and a cloud of cigar smoke as the diners poured out into the hall.

    Susan sighed again and went down the cellar stairs, while Twyla sat demurely at the top, hugging her knees.

    A door opened and shut.

    There was a short period of silence and then a terrifying scream. One woman fainted and a man dropped his cigar.

    You don’t have to worry, everything will be all right, said Twyla calmly. She always wins. Everything will be all right.

    There were thuds and clangs, and then a whirring noise, and finally a sort of bubbling.

    Susan pushed open the door. The poker was bent at right angles. There was nervous applause.

    Ver’ well done, said a guest. Ver’ persykological. Clever idea, that, bendin’ the poker. And I expect you’re not afraid any more, eh, little girl?

    No, said Twyla.

    "Ver’ persykological."

    Susan says don’t get afraid, get angry, said Twyla.

    Er, thank you, Susan, said Mrs. Gaiter, now a trembling bouquet of nerves. And, er, now, Sir Geoffrey, if you’d all like to come back into the parlor—I mean, the drawing room—

    The party went back up the hall. The last thing Susan heard before the door shut was Dashed convincin’, the way she bent the poker like that—

    She waited.

    Have they all gone, Twyla?

    Yes, Susan.

    Good. Susan went back into the cellar and emerged towing something large and hairy with eight legs. She managed to haul it up the steps and down the other passage to the back yard, where she kicked it out. It would evaporate before dawn.

    "That’s what we do to monsters," she said.

    Twyla watched carefully.

    And now it’s bed for you, my girl, said Susan, picking her up.

    C’n I have the poker in my room for the night?

    All right.

    It only kills monsters, doesn’t it . . . ? the child said sleepily, as Susan carried her upstairs.

    That’s right, Susan said. All kinds.

    She put the girl to bed next to her brother and leaned the poker against the toy cupboard.

    The poker was made of some cheap metal with a brass knob on the end. She would, Susan reflected, give quite a lot to be able to use it on the children’s previous governess.

    G’night.

    Good night.

    She went back to her own small bedroom and got back into bed, watching the curtains suspiciously.

    It would be nice to think she’d imagined it. It would also be stupid to think that, too. But she’d been nearly normal for two years now, making her own way in the real world, never remembering the future at all . . .

    Perhaps she had just dreamed things (but even dreams could be real . . . ).

    She tried to ignore the long thread of wax that suggested the candle had, just for a few seconds, streamed in the wind.

    As Susan sought sleep, Lord Downey sat in his study catching up on the paperwork.

    Lord Downey was an assassin. Or, rather, an Assassin. The capital letter was important. It separated those curs who went around murdering people for money from the gentlemen who were occasionally consulted by other gentlemen who wished to have removed, for a consideration, any inconvenient razor blades from the candyfloss of life.

    The members of the Guild of Assassins considered themselves cultured men who enjoyed good music and food and literature. And they knew the value of human life. To a penny, in many cases.

    Lord Downey’s study was oak paneled and well carpeted. The furniture was very old and quite worn, but the wear was the wear that comes only when very good furniture is carefully used over several centuries. It was matured furniture.

    A log fire burned in the grate. In front of it a couple of dogs were sleeping in the tangled way of large hairy dogs everywhere.

    Apart from the occasional doggy snore or the crackle of a shifting log, there were no other sounds but the scratching of Lord Downey’s pen and the ticking of the grandfather clock by the door . . . small, private noises which only served to define the silence.

    At least, this was the case until someone cleared their throat.

    The sound suggested very clearly that the purpose of the exercise was not to erase the presence of a troublesome bit of biscuit, but merely to indicate in the politest possible way the presence of the throat.

    Downey stopped writing but did not raise his head.

    Then, after what appeared to be some consideration, he said in a businesslike voice, The doors are locked. The windows are barred. The dogs do not appear to have woken up. The squeaky floorboards haven’t. Other little arrangements which I will not specify seem to have been bypassed. That severely limits the possibilities. I really doubt that you are a ghost and gods generally do not announce themselves so politely. You could, of course, be Death, but I don’t believe he bothers with such niceties and, besides, I am feeling quite well. Hmm.

    Something hovered in the air in front of his desk.

    My teeth are in fine condition so you are unlikely to be the Tooth Fairy. I’ve always found that a stiff brandy before bedtime quite does away with the need for the Sandman. And, since I can carry a tune quite well, I suspect I’m not likely to attract the attention of Old Man Trouble. Hmm.

    The figure drifted a little nearer.

    I suppose a gnome could get through a mousehole, but I have traps down, Downey went on. Bogeymen can walk through walls but would be very loath to reveal themselves. Really, you have me at a loss. Hmm?

    And then he looked up.

    A gray robe hung in the air. It appeared to be occupied, in that it had a shape, although the occupant was not visible.

    The prickly feeling crept over Downey that the occupant wasn’t invisible, merely not, in any physical sense, there at all.

    Good evening, he said.

    The robe said, Good evening, Lord Downey.

    His brain registered the words. His ears swore they hadn’t heard them.

    But you did not become head of the Assassins’ Guild by taking fright easily. Besides, the thing wasn’t frightening. It was, thought Downey, astonishingly dull. If monotonous drabness could take on a shape, this would be the shape it would choose.

    You appear to be a specter, he said.

    Our nature is not a matter for discussion, arrived in his head. We offer you a commission.

    You wish someone inhumed? said Downey.

    Brought to an end.

    Downey considered this. It was not as unusual as it appeared. There were precedents. Anyone could buy the services of the Guild. Several zombies had, in the past, employed the Guild to settle scores with their murderers. In fact the Guild, he liked to think, practiced the ultimate democracy. You didn’t need intelligence, social position, beauty or charm to hire it. You just needed money which, unlike the other stuff, was available to everyone. Except for the poor, of course, but there was no helping some people.

    Brought to an end . . . That was an odd way of putting it.

    We can— he began.

    The payment will reflect the difficulty of the task.

    Our scale of fees—

    The payment will be three million dollars.

    Downey sat back. That was four times higher than any fee yet earned by any member of the Guild, and that had been a special family rate, including overnight guests.

    No questions asked, I assume? he said, buying time.

    No questions answered.

    But does the suggested fee represent the difficulty involved? The client is heavily guarded?

    Not guarded at all. But almost certainly impossible to delete with conventional weapons.

    Downey nodded. This was not necessarily a big problem, he said to himself. The Guild had amassed quite a few unconventional weapons over the years. Delete? An unusual way of putting it . . .

    We like to know for whom we are working, he said.

    We are sure you do.

    I mean that we need to know your name. Or names. In strict client confidentiality, of course. We have to write something down in our files.

    You may think of us as . . . the Auditors.

    Really? What is it you audit?

    Everything.

    I think we need to know something about you.

    We are the people with three million dollars.

    Downey took the point, although he didn’t like it. Three million dollars could buy a lot of no questions.

    Really? he said. In the circumstances, since you are a new client, I think we would like payment in advance.

    As you wish. The gold is now in your vaults.

    You mean that it will shortly be in our vaults, said Downey.

    No. It has always been in your vaults. We know this because we have just put it there.

    Downey watched the empty hood for a moment, and then without shifting his gaze he reached out and picked up the speaking tube.

    Mr. Winvoe? he said, after whistling into it. Ah. Good. Tell me, how much do we have in our vaults at the moment? Oh, approximately. To the nearest million, say. He held the tube away from his ear for a moment, and then spoke into it again. Well, be a good chap and check anyway, will you?

    He hung up the tube and placed his hands flat on the desk in front of him.

    Can I offer you a drink while we wait? he said.

    Yes. We believe so.

    Downey stood up with some relief and walked over to his large drinks cabinet. His hand hovered over the Guild’s ancient and valuable tantalus, with its labeled decanters of Mur, Nig, Trop and Yeksihw.*

    And what would you like to drink? he said, wondering where the Auditor kept its mouth. His hand hovered for just a moment over the smallest decanter, marked Nosiop.

    We do not drink.

    But you did just say I could offer you a drink . . .

    Indeed. We judge you fully capable of performing that action.

    Ah. Downey’s hand hesitated over the whiskey decanter, and then he thought better of it. At that point, the speaking tube whistled.

    "Yes, Mr. Winvoe? Really? Indeed? I myself have frequently found loose change under sofa cushions, it’s amazing how it mou . . . No, no, I wasn’t being . . . Yes, I did have some reason to . . . No, no blame attaches to you in any . . . No, I could hardly see how it . . . Yes, go and have a rest, what a good idea. Thank you."

    He hung up the tube again. The cowl hadn’t moved.

    "We will need to know where, when and, of course, who," he said, after a moment.

    The cowl nodded. The location is not on any map. We would like the task to be completed within the week. This is essential. As for the who . . .

    A drawing appeared on Downey’s desk and in his head arrived the words: Let us call him the Fat Man.

    Is this a joke? said Downey.

    We do not joke.

    No, you don’t, do you, Downey thought. He drummed his fingers.

    There are many who would say this . . . person does not exist, he said.

    He must exist. How else could you so readily recognize his picture? And many are in correspondence with him.

    "Well, yes, of course, in a sense he exists . . . "

    In a sense everything exists. It is cessation of existence that concerns us here.

    Finding him would be a little difficult.

    You will find persons on any street who can tell you his approximate address.

    Yes, of course, said Downey, wondering why anyone would call them persons. It was an odd usage. "But, as you say, I doubt that they could give a map reference. And even then, how could the . . . the Fat Man be inhumed? A glass of poisoned sherry, perhaps?"

    The cowl had no face to crack a smile.

    You misunderstand the nature of employment, it said in Downey’s head.

    He bridled at this. Assassins were never employed. They were engaged or retained or commissioned, but never employed. Only servants were employed.

    What is it that I misunderstand, exactly? he said.

    We pay. You find the ways and means.

    The cowl began to fade.

    How can I contact you? said Downey.

    We will contact you. We know where you are. We know where everyone is.

    The figure vanished. At the same moment the door was flung open to reveal the distraught figure of Mr. Winvoe, the Guild Treasurer.

    Excuse me, my lord, but I really had to come up! He flung some disks on the desk. Look at them!

    Downey carefully picked up a golden circle. It looked like a small coin, but—

    No denomination! said Winvoe. No heads, no tails, no milling! It’s just a blank disk! They’re all just blank disks!

    Downey opened his mouth to say, Valueless? He realized that he was half hoping that this was the case. If they, whoever they were, had paid in worthless metal then there wasn’t even the glimmering of a contract. But he could see this wasn’t the case. Assassins learned to recognize money early in their careers.

    Blank disks, he said, of pure gold.

    Winvoe nodded mutely.

    That, said Downey, will do nicely.

    "It must be magical! said Winvoe. And we never accept magical money!"

    Downey bounced the coin on the desk a couple of times. It made a satisfyingly rich thunking noise. It wasn’t magical. Magical money would look real, because its whole purpose was to deceive. But this didn’t need to ape something as human and adulterated as mere currency. This is gold, it told his fingers. Take it or leave it.

    Downey sat and thought, while Winvoe stood and worried.

    We’ll take it, he said.

    But—

    Thank you, Mr. Winvoe. That is my decision, said Downey. He stared into space for a while, and then smiled. Is Mister Teatime still in the building?

    Winvoe stood back. I thought the council had agreed to dismiss him, he said stiffly. After that business with—

    Mister Teatime does not see the world in quite the same way as other people, said Downey, picking up the picture from his desk and looking at it thoughtfully.

    "Well, indeed, I think that is certainly true."

    Please send him up.

    The Guild attracted all sorts of people, Downey reflected. He found himself wondering how it had come to attract Winvoe, for one thing. It was hard to imagine him stabbing anyone in the heart in case he got blood on the victim’s wallet. Whereas Mister Teatime . . .

    The problem was that the Guild took young boys and gave them a splendid education and incidentally taught them how to kill, cleanly and dispassionately, for money and for the good of society, or at least that part of society that had money, and what other kind of society was there?

    But very occasionally you found you’d got someone like Mister Teatime, to whom the money was merely a distraction. Mister Teatime had a truly brilliant mind, but it was brilliant like a fractured mirror, all marvelous facets and rainbows but, ultimately, also something that was broken.

    Mister Teatime enjoyed himself too much. And other people, also.

    Downey had privately decided that some time soon Mister Teatime was going to meet with an accident. Like many people with no actual morals, Lord Downey did have standards, and Teatime repelled him. Assassination was a careful game, usually played against people who knew the rules themselves or at least could afford the services of those who did. There was considerable satisfaction in a clean kill. What there wasn’t supposed to be was pleasure in a messy one. That sort of thing led to talk.

    On the other hand, Teatime’s corkscrew of a mind was exactly the tool to deal with something like this. And if he didn’t . . . well, that was hardly Downey’s fault, was it?

    He turned his attention to the paperwork for a while. It was amazing how the stuff mounted up. But you had to deal with it. It wasn’t as though they were murderers, after all . . .

    There was a knock at the door. He pushed the paperwork aside and sat back.

    Come in, Mister Teatime, he said. It never hurt to put the other fellow slightly in awe of you.

    In fact the door was opened by one of the Guild’s servants, carefully balancing a tea tray.

    Ah, Carter, said Lord Downey, recovering magnificently. Just put it on the table over there, will you?

    Yes, sir, said Carter. He turned and nodded. Sorry, sir, I will go and fetch another cup directly, sir.

    What?

    For your visitor, sir.

    What visitor? Oh, when Mister Teati—

    He stopped. He turned.

    There was a young man sitting on the hearth rug, playing with the dogs.

    "Mister Teatime!"

    It’s pronounced Teh-ah-tim-eh, sir, said Teatime, with just a hint of reproach. Everyone gets it wrong, sir.

    "How did you do that?"

    Pretty well, sir. I got mildly scorched on the last few feet, of course.

    There were some lumps of soot on the hearth rug. Downey realized he’d heard them fall, but that hadn’t been particularly extraordinary. No one could get down the chimney. There was a heavy grid firmly in place near the top of the flue.

    But there’s a blocked-in fireplace behind the old library, said Teatime, apparently reading his thoughts. The flues connect, under the bars. It was really a stroll, sir.

    Really . . .

    Oh, yes, sir.

    Downey nodded. The tendency of old buildings to be honeycombed with sealed chimney flues was a fact you learned early in your career. And then, he told himself, you forgot. It always paid to put the other fellow in awe of you, too. He had forgotten they taught that, too.

    The dogs seem to like you, he said.

    I get on well with animals, sir.

    Teatime’s face was young and open and friendly. Or, at least, it smiled all the time. But the effect was spoiled for most people by the fact that it had only one eye. Some unexplained accident had taken the other one, and the missing orb had been replaced by a ball of glass. The result was disconcerting. But what bothered Lord Downey far more was the man’s other eye, the one that might loosely be called normal. He’d never seen such a small and sharp pupil. Teatime looked at the world through a pinhole.

    He found he’d retreated behind his desk again. There was that about Teatime. You always felt happier if you had something between you and him.

    You like animals, do you? he said. I have a report here that says you nailed Sir George’s dog to the ceiling.

    Couldn’t have it barking while I was working, sir.

    Some people would have drugged it.

    Oh. Teatime looked despondent for a moment, but then he brightened. But I definitely fulfilled the contract, sir. There can be no doubt about that, sir. I checked Sir George’s breathing with a mirror as instructed. It’s in my report.

    Yes, indeed. Apparently the man’s head had been several feet from his body at that point. It was a terrible thought that Teatime might see nothing incongruous about this.

    And . . . the servants . . . ? he said.

    Couldn’t have them bursting in, sir.

    Downey nodded, half hypnotized by the glassy stare and the pinhole eyeball. No, you couldn’t have them bursting in. And an Assassin might well face serious professional opposition, possibly even by people trained by the same teachers. But an old man and a maidservant who’d merely had the misfortune to be in the house at the time . . .

    There was no actual rule,

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1