Hogfather

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, * 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 practicing for weeks. The Dean in particular could now lift a twenty-pound turkey on one fork. Having to wait until midnight 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 rib cage 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, gray 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’s 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