Hogfather

this.
    “And…the servants…?” he said.
    “Couldn’t have them bursting in, sir.”
    Downey nodded, half hypnotized by the glassy stare and the pinhole eyeball. No, you couldn’t have them bursting in. And an Assassin might well face serious professional opposition, possibly even by people trained by the same teachers. But an old man and a maidservant who’d merely had the misfortune to be in the house at the time…
    There was no actual rule , Downey had to admit. It was just that, over the years, the Guild had developed a certain ethos and members tended to be very neat about their work, even shutting doors behind them and generally tidying up as they went. Hurting the harmless was worse than a transgression against the moral fabric of society, it was a breach of good manners . It was worse even than that. It was bad taste . But there was no actual rule …
    “That was all right, wasn’t it, sir?” said Teatime, with apparent anxiety.
    “It, uh…lacked elegance,” said Downey.
    “Ah. Thank you, sir. I am always happy to be corrected. I shall remember that next time.”
    Downey took a deep breath.
    “It’s about that I wish to talk,” he said. He held up the picture of…what had the thing called him?…the Fat Man?
    “As a matter of interest,” he said, “how would you go about inhuming this…gentleman?”
    Anyone else, he was sure, would have burst out laughing. They would have said things like “Is this a joke, sir?” Teatime merely leaned forward, with a curious intent expression.
    “Difficult, sir.”
    “Certainly,” Downey agreed.
    “I would need some time to prepare a plan, sir,” Teatime went on.
    “Of course, and—”
    There was a knock at the door and Carter came in with another cup and saucer. He nodded respectfully to Lord Downey and crept out again.
    “Right, sir,” said Teatime.
    “I’m sorry?” said Downey, momentarily distracted.
    “I have now thought of a plan, sir,” said Teatime, patiently.
    “You have?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “As quickly as that?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Ye gods!”
    “Well, sir, you know we are encouraged to consider hypothetical problems…?”
    “Oh, yes. A very valuable exercise—” Downey stopped, and then looked shocked.
    “You mean you have actually devoted time to considering how to inhume the Hogfather?” he said weakly. “You’ve actually sat down and thought out how to do it? You’ve actually devoted your spare time to the problem?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. And the Soul Cake Duck. And the Sandman. And Death.”
    Downey blinked again. “You’ve actually sat down and considered how to—”
    “Yes, sir. I’ve amassed quite an interesting file. In my own time, of course.”
    “I want to be quite certain about this, Mister Teatime. You…have…applied…yourself to a study of ways of killing Death ?”
    “Only as a hobby, sir.”
    “Well, yes , hobbies, yes, I mean, I used to collect butterflies myself,” said Downey, recalling those first moments of awakening pleasure at the use of poison and the pin, “but—”
    “Actually, sir, the basic methodology is exactly the same as it would be for a human. Opportunity, geography, technique…You just have to work with the known facts about the individual concerned. Of course, with this one such a lot is known.”
    “And you’ve worked it all out, have you?” said Downey, almost fascinated.
    “Oh, a long time ago, sir.”
    “When, may I ask?”
    “I think it was when I was lying in bed one Hogswatchnight, sir.”
    My gods, thought Downey, and to think that I just used to listen for sleigh bells.
    “My word,” he said aloud.
    “I may have to check some details, sir. I’d appreciate access to some of the books in the Dark Library. But, yes, I think I can see the basic shape.”
    “And yet…this person…some people might say that he is technically immortal.”
    “Everyone has their weak point, sir.”
    “Even Death?”
    “Oh, yes. Absolutely. Very much so.”
    “Really?”
    Downey drummed his fingers on the desk again. The boy couldn’t possibly have a real plan, he told himself. He certainly had a skewed mind—skewed? It was a positive helix—but the Fat Man wasn’t just another target in some mansion somewhere. It was reasonable to assume that people had tried to trap him before.
    He felt happy about this. Teatime would fail, and possibly even fail fatally if his plan was stupid enough. And maybe the Guild would lose the gold, but maybe not.
    “Very