The Folklore of Discworld

something new in such a way that the end result suits our sense of narrative grammar.
    Did people in northern Europe make sacrifices at the winter solstice? Yes. Human? Could be, long, long ago, to the extent that as a species we have occasionally indulged in human sacrifice, but later the most likely sacrifice would have been a horse or a farm animal. And the King of the Bean? A good story, which satisfies our desire for a thrilling narrative, but almost certainly untrue. The evolution of the proto Hogfather? Indeed, the person seen by Susan going through his different personifications does add up to the ‘festive spirit’. And the suggestion that, via some deep visceral means, the colours of the said spirit have become the colours of blood on snow? That’s a happy coincidence, and a good story, but it’s not folklore!
    One final thing. The Coca-Cola company is often credited with the ‘modern’ look of Father Christmas, but it is much truer to say that it popularized, over much of the world, one ‘look’ among many that already existed. Exposure wins. (For example, as Terry mentions in his introduction, the ‘magpie rhyme’ that introduced the ITV children’s series in the late 1960s and the 1970s almost certainly did a lot to wipe out the existing regional variations of the rhyme.) But across the Channel, at least, older avatars often appear alongside, or even instead of, the red and white demigod of Christmas expenditure. HO. HO. HO!
    14 In this particular case, the demonic warning might well be justified.
    15 Both the authors discovered Frazer in their teens and were bowled over, as probably most readers are, but became more sceptical later on. Folklorists have learned to be careful; if it looks like a jolly good story, it may very well be one.

 
Chapter 16
DEATH

     
    D EATH MAY WELL BE THE ONLY SUPERNATURAL entity (strictly speaking, an anthropomorphic personification) which is known and acknowledged throughout the entire multiverse. His arrival is quite, quite certain – and yet, most people secretly hope that for them and their friends it will be indefinitely delayed, and his actual manifestation generally comes as a surprise. On the Discworld only wizards and witches can foresee his arrival; on Earth, only exceptionally holy men and women.
    Some people try to bargain with him, staking lives on the outcome of a game of chess or cards. This rarely succeeds, though Granny Weatherwax did once win against him at Cripple Mr Onion (of course, he knew she would). Others try to run away. This is quite hopeless, since Death keeps an appointments diary, and knows precisely where and when he is scheduled to find them.
    A story is told about this on our world. It is part of the age-old traditions of Muslim lands, and reached English-speaking countries in the 1930s through a play by Somerset Maugham and a novel by John O’Hara. It tells of a servant who was buying food for his master’s household in the street market in Baghdad one morning when someone jostled him, and he turned to find himself face to face with Death, who made an abrupt gesture. Terrified, the servant ran home, begged his master for the loan of a horse, and galloped off to Samarra, which is about 75 miles away. The master then went to the market-place himself, and there he too saw Death. ‘Why did youraise your hand to threaten my servant?’ said he. ‘That was no threat,’ answered Death, ‘only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him here in Baghdad, for I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.’
    Something similar happened once on the Disc, as we learn from The Colour of Magic , when Rincewind jostled a tall dark figure in the bazaar of Ankh-Morpork, and was told I WAS EXPECTING TO MEET THEE IN P SEPHOPOLOLIS . Actually, it turned out to be a misunderstanding.
    On both the Disc and the Earth Death manifests himself to humans and humanoid races (e.g. dwarfs) as a very tall human skeleton, every bone pleasantly polished, with remote but piercing points of blue light in his eye sockets. His deep resonant voice has been compared to many things of a funereal nature, such as the clang of the leaden doors of a crypt when slammed deep underground, yet no comparison really does it justice. He wears a hooded robe woven of absolute darkness. Normally he carries a scythe, but also owns a sword for use on kings; both weapons have shimmering semi-transparent ice-blue blades, for separating souls from bodies. There is