Hogfather

as Death swung his scythe. “So where did he come from? Looks like someone’s personal guard. Been stabbed to death. Nasty knife wound there, see?”
    “It’s not good,” agreed the spirit of the man, looking down at himself.
    Then he stared from himself to Albert to Death and his phantom expression went from shock to concern.
    “They got the teeth! All of them! They just walked in…and…they…no, wait…”
    He faded and was gone.
    “Well, what was that all about?” said Albert.
    I HAVE MY SUSPICIONS .
    “See that badge on his shirt? Looks like a drawing of a tooth.”
    Y ES . I T DOES .
    “Where’s that come from?”
    A PLACE I CANNOT GO .
    Albert looked down at the mysterious corpse and then back up at Death’s impassive skull.
    “I keep thinking it was a funny thing, us bumping into your granddaughter like that,” he said.
    Y ES .
    Albert put his head on one side. “Given the large number of chimneys and kids in the world, ekcetra.”
    I NDEED .
    “Amazing coincidence, really.”
    I T JUST GOES TO SHOW .
    “Hard to believe, you might say.”
    L IFE CERTAINLY SPRINGS A FEW SURPRISES .
    “Not just life, I reckon,” said Albert. “And she got real worked up, didn’t she? Flew right off the ole handle. Wouldn’t be surprised if she started asking questions.”
    T HAT’S PEOPLE FOR YOU .
    “But Rat is hanging around, ain’t he? He’ll probably keep an eye socket on her. Guide her path, prob’ly.”
    H E IS A LITTLE SCAMP, ISN’T HE ?
    Albert knew he couldn’t win. Death had the ultimate poker face.
    I’ M SURE SHE’LL ACT SENSIBLY .
    “Oh, yeah,” said Albert, as they walked back to the sleigh. “It runs in the family, acting sensibly.”

    Like many barmen, Igor kept a club under the bar to deal with those little upsets that occurred around closing time, although in fact Biers never closed and no one could ever remember not seeing Igor behind the bar. Nevertheless, things sometimes got out of hand. Or paw. Or talon.
    Igor’s weapon of choice was a little different. It was tipped with silver (for werewolves), hung with garlic (for vampires) and wrapped around with a strip of blanket (for bogeymen). For everyone else the fact that it was two feet of solid bog-oak usually sufficed.
    He’d been watching the window. The frost was creeping across it. For some reason the creeping fingers were forming into a pattern of three little dogs looking out of a boot.
    Then someone had tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, club already in his hand, and relaxed.
    “Oh…it’s you, miss. I didn’t hear the door.”
    There hadn’t been the door. Susan was in a hurry.
    “Have you seen Violet lately, Igor?”
    “The tooth girl?” Igor’s one eyebrow writhed in concentration. “Nah, haven’t seen her for a week or two.”
    The eyebrow furrowed into a V of annoyance as he spotted the raven, which tried to shuffle behind a half-empty display card of beer nuts.
    “You can get that out of here, miss,” he said. “You know the rule ’bout pets and familiars. If it can’t turn back into human on demand, it’s out.”
    “Yeah, well, some of us have more brain cells than fingers,” muttered a voice from behind the beer nuts.
    “Where does she live?”
    “Now, miss, you know I never answers questions like that—”
    “W HERE DOES SHE LIVE , I GOR ?”
    “Shamlegger Street, next to the picture framers,” said Igor automatically. The eyebrow knotted in anger as he realized what he’d said.
    “Now, miss , you know the rules! I don’t get bitten, I don’t get me froat torn out and no one hides behind me door! And you don’t try your granddad’s voice on me! I could ban you for messin’ me about like that!”
    “Sorry, it’s important,” said Susan. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that the raven had crept onto the shelves and was pecking the top off a jar.
    “Yeah, well, suppose one of the vampires decides it’s important he’s missed his tea?” grumbled Igor, putting the club away.
    There was a plink from the direction of the pickled egg jar. Susan tried hard not to look.
    “Can we go?” said the oh god. “All this alcohol makes me nervous.”
    Susan nodded and hurried out.
    Igor grunted. Then he went back to watching the frost, because Igor never demanded much out of life. After a while he heard a muffled voice say:
    “I ’ot ’un! I ’ ot ’un!”
    It was indistinct because the raven had speared a pickled egg with its beak.
    Igor sighed, and picked