Hogfather

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