Hogfather

firmly under his chin.
    “Er, excuse me, Mr. Stibbons,” he quavered. “Would you be so good as to pass me the apple sauce tankard—”
    There was a sound like coarse fabric ripping, somewhere in the air in front of the Bursar, and a crash as something landed on top of the roast pig. Roast potatoes and gravy filled the air. The apple that had been in the pig’s mouth was violently expelled and hit the Bursar on the forehead.
    He blinked, looked down, and found he was about to plunge his fork into a human head.
    “Ahaha,” he murmured, as his eyes started to glaze.
    The wizards heaved aside the overturned dishes and smashed crockery.
    “He just fell out of the air!”
    “Is he an Assassin? Not one of their student pranks, is it?”
    “Why’s he holding a sword without a sharp bit?”
    “Is he dead?”
    “I think so!”
    “I didn’t even have any of that salmon mousse! Will you look at it? His foot’s in it! It’s all over the place! Do you want yours?”
    Ponder Stibbons fought his way through the throng. He knew his more senior fellows when they were feeling helpful. They were like a glass of water to a drowning man.
    “Give him air!” he protested.
    “How do we know if he needs any?” said the Dean.
    Ponder put his ear to the fallen youth’s chest.
    “He’s not breathing!”
    “Breathing spell, breathing spell,” muttered the Chair of Indefinite Studies. “Er…Spolt’s Forthright Respirator, perhaps? I think I’ve got it written down somewhere—”
    Ridcully reached through the wizards and pulled out the black-clad man by a leg. He held him upside down in his big hand and thumped him heavily on the back.
    He met their astonished gaze. “Used to do this on the farm,” he said. “Works a treat on baby goats.”
    “Oh, now, really ,” said the Dean, “I don’t—”
    The corpse made a noise somewhere between a choke and a cough.
    “Make some space, you fellows!” the Archchancellor bellowed, clearing an area of table with one sweep of his spare arm.
    “Hey, I hadn’t had any of that Prawn Escoffé!” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
    “I didn’t even know we had any,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. “Someone, and I name no names, Dean, shoved it behind the soft-shelled crabs so they could keep it for themselves. I call that cheap.”
    Teatime opened his eyes. It said a lot for his constitution that it survived a very close-up view of Ridcully’s nose, which filled the immediate universe like a big pink planet.
    “Excuse me, excuse me,” said Ponder, leaning over with his notebook open, “but this is vitally important for the advancement of natural philosophy. Did you see any bright lights? Was there a shining tunnel? Did any deceased relatives attempt to speak to you? What word most describes the—”
    Ridcully pulled him away.
    “What’s all this, Mr. Stibbons?”
    “I really should talk to him, sir. He’s had a near-death experience!”
    “We all have. It’s called ‘living,’” said the Archchancellor shortly. “Pour the poor lad a glass of spirits and put that damn pencil away.”
    “Uh…This must be Unseen University?” said Teatime. “And you are all wizards?”
    “Now, just you lie still,” said Ridcully. But Teatime had already risen on his elbows.
    “There was a sword,” he muttered.
    “Oh, it’s fallen on the floor,” said the Dean, reaching down. “But it looks as though it’s—Did I do that?”
    The wizards looked at the large curved slice of table falling away. Something had cut through everything—wood, cloth, plates, cutlery, food. The Dean swore that a candle flame that had been in the path of the unseen blade was only half a flame for a moment, until the wick realized that this was no way to behave.
    The Dean raised his hand. The other wizards scattered.
    “Looks like a thin blue line in the air,” he said, wonderingly.
    “Excuse me, sir,” said Teatime, taking it from him. “I really must be off.”
    He ran from the hall.
    “He won’t get far,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “The main doors are locked in accordance with Archchancellor Spode’s Rules.”
    “Won’t get far while holding a sword that appears to be able to cut through anything,” said Ridcully, to the sound of falling wood.
    “I wonder what all that was about?” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, and then turned his attention to the remains of the Feast. “Anyway, at least this joint’s been nicely