Hogfather

waistline, began to dive for the floor.
    The drop fell.
    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 toward 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 color 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.
    N EXT ! A ND 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.
    A ND 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: S O 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 ancient before they reached his voice box, and to his amazement were translated into:
    “’s.”
    S OMETHING 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.
    A ND 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