'On Hogswatchnight?'
'Yes!'
'In your shop?'
'Yes!'
'In front of all those kiddies?'
'Y--' Mr Crumley hesitated. To his horror, he realized that Corporal Nobbs, against all expectation, had a point. 'You think that will look bad?' he said. 'Hard to see how it could look good, sir.'
'Could you not do it surreptitiously?' he said. 'Ah, well, surreptition, yes, we could give that a try,' said Corporal Nobbs. The sentence hung in the air with its hand out. 'You won't find me ungrateful,' said Mr Crumley, at last. 'Just you leave it to us,' said Corporal Nobbs, magnanimous in victory. 'You just nip down to your office and treat yourself to a nice cup of tea and we'll sort this out in no time. You'll be ever so grateful.' Crumley gave him a look of a man in the grip of serious doubt, but staggered away nonetheless. Corporal Nobbs rubbed his hands together. 'You don't have Hogswatch back where you come from do you, Washpot?' he said, as they climbed the stairs to the first floor. 'Look at this carpet, you'd think a pig'd pissed on it . . .'
'We call it the Fast of St Ossory,' said Visit, who was from Omnia. 'But it is not an occasion for superstition and crass commercialism. We simply get together in family groups for a prayer meeting and a fast.'
'What, turkey and chicken and that?'
'A fast, Corporal Nobbs. We don't eat anything.'
'Oh, right. Well, each to his own, I s'pose. And at least you don't have to get up early in the morning and find that the nothing you've got is too big to fit in the oven. No presents neither?' They stood aside hurriedly as two children scuttled down the stairs carrying a large toy boat between them.
'It is sometimes appropriate to exchange new religious pamphlets, and of course there are usually copies of the Book of Ossory for the children,' said Constable Visit. 'Sometimes with illustrations,' he added, in the guarded way of a man hinting at licentious pleasures. A small girl went past carrying a teddy bear larger than herself. It was pink. 'They always gives me bath salts,' complained Nobby. 'And bath soap and bubble bath and herbal bath lumps and tons of bath stuff and I can't think why, 'cos it's not as if I hardly ever has a bath. You'd think they'd take the hint, wouldn't you?'
'Abominable, I call it,' said Constable Visit. The first floor was a mob. 'Huh, look at them. Mr Hogfather never brought me anything when I was a kid,' said Corporal Nobbs, eyeing the children gloomily. 'I used to hang up my stocking every Hogswatch, regular. All that ever happened was my dad was sick in it once.' He removed his helmet. Nobby was not by any measure a hero, but there was the sudden gleam in his eye of someone who'd seen altogether too many empty stockings plus one rather full and dripping one. A scab had been knocked off some wound in the corrugated little organ of his soul. 'I'm going in,' he said. In between the University's Great Hall and its main door is a rather smaller circular hall or vestibule known as Archchancellor Bowell's Remembrance, although no one now knows why, or why an extant bequest pays. for one small currant bun and one copper penny to be placed on a high stone shelf on one wall every second Wednesday. 15 Ridcully stood in the middle of the floor, looking upwards. 'Ten me, Senior Wrangler, we never invited any women to the Hogswatchnight Feast, did we?'
'Of course not, Archchancellor,' said the Senior Wrangler. He looked up in the dust-covered rafters, wondering what had caught Ridcully's eye. 'Good heavens, no. They'd spoil everything. I've always said so.'
'And all the maids have got the evening off until midnight?'
'A very generous custom, I've always said,' said the Senior Wrangler, feeling his neck crick. 'So why, every year, do we hang a damn great bunch of mistletoe up there?' The Senior Wrangler turned in a circle, still staring upwards. 'Welt er ... it's ... well, it's ... it's symbolic, Archchancellor.'
'Ah?' The Senior Wrangler felt that something more was expected. He groped around in the dusty attics of his education. 'Of ... the leaves, d'y'see ... they're symbolic of ... of green, d'y'see whereas the berries, in fact, yes, the berries symbolize . . . symbolize white. Yes. White and green. Very ... symbolic.' He waited. He was not, unfortunately, disappointed. 'What of?' The Senior Wrangler coughed. 'I'm not sure there has to be an of,' he said. 'Ah? So,' said the Archchancellor, thoughtfully, 'it could be said that. the white and green symbolize a small parasitic plant?'
'Yes, indeed,' said the Senior Wrangler. 'So mistletoe, in fact, symbolizes mistletoe?'
'Exactly, Archchancellor,' said the Senior Wrangler, who was now just hanging on. 15 The ceremony still carries on, of course. If you left off traditions because you didn't know why they started you'd be no better than a foreigner.
'Funny thing, that,' said Ridcully, in the same thoughtful tone of voice. 'That statement is either so deep it would take a lifetime to fully comprehend every particle of its meaning, or it is a load of absolute tosh. Which is it, I wonder?'
'It could be both,' said the Senior Wrangler desperately. 'And that comment,' said Ridcully, 'is either very perceptive, or very trite.'
'It might be bo--'
'Don't push it, Senior Wrangler.' There was a hammering on the outer door. 'Ah, that'll be the wassailers,' said the Senior Wrangler, happy for the distraction. 'They call on us first every year. I personally have always liked “The Lily-white Boys”, you know.' The Archchancellor glanced up at the mistletoe, gave the beaming man a sharp look, and opened the little hatch in the door. 'Well, now, wassailing you fellows-' he began. 'Oh. Well, I must say you might've picked a better time . . .' A hooded figure stepped through the wood of the door, carrying a limp bundle over its shoulder. The Senior Wrangler stepped backwards quickly. 'Oh ... no, not tonight . . .’ And then he noticed that what he had taken for a robe had lace around the bottom, and the hood, while quite definitely a hood, was nevertheless rather more stylish than the one he had first mistaken it for. 'Putting down or taking away?' said Ridcully. Susan pushed back her hood. 'I need your help, Mr Ridcully,' she said. 'You're . . . aren't you Death's granddaughter?' said Ridcully. 'Didn't I meet you a few---'
'Yes,' sighed Susan. 'And ... are you helping out?' said Ridcully. His waggling eyebrows indicated the slumbering figure over her shoulder. 'I need you to wake him up,' said Susan. 'Some sort of miracle, you mean?' said the Senior Wrangler, who was a little behind. 'He's not dead,' said Susan. 'He's just resting.'
'That's what they all say,' the Senior Wrangler quavered. Ridcully, who was somewhat more practical, lifted the oh god's head. There was a groan. 'Looks a bit under the weather,' he said. 'He's the God of Hangovers,' said Susan. 'The Oh God of Hangovers.'
'Really?' said Ridcully. 'Never had one of those myself. Funny thing, I can drink all night and feel as fresh as a daisy in the morning.' The oh god's eyes opened. Then he soared towards Ridcully and started beating him on the chest with both fists. 'You utter, utter bastard! I hate you hate you hate you hate you-' His eyes shut, and he slid down to the floor. 'What was all that about?' said Ridcully. 'I think it was some kind of nervous reaction,' said Susan diplomatically. 'Something nasty's happening tonight. I'm hoping he can tell me what it is. But he's got to be able to think straight first.'
'And you brought him here?' said Ridcully. HO. HO. HO. YES INDEED, HELLO, SMALL CHILD CALLED VERRUCA LUMPY, WHAT A LOVELY NAME, AGED SEVEN, I BELIEVE? GOOD. YES, I KNOW IT DID. ALL OVER THE NICE CLEAN FLOOR, YES. THEY DO, YOU KNOW. THAT's ONE OF
THE THINGS ABOUT REAL PIGS. HERE WE ARE, DON'T MENTION IT. HAPPY HOGSWATCH AND BE GOOD. I WILL KNOW IF YOU'RE GOOD OR BAD, YOU KNOW. HO. HO. HO. 'Well, you brought some magic into that little life,' said Albert, as the next child was hurried away. IT'S THE EXPRESSION ON THEIR LITTLE FACES I LIKE, said the Hogfather. 'You mean sort of fear and awe and not knowing whether to laugh or cry or wet their pants?' YES. NOW THAT IS WHAT I CALL BELIEF. The oh god was carried into the Great Hall and laid out on a bench. The senior wizards gathered round, ready to help those less fortunate than themselves remain that way. 'I know what's good for a hangover,' said the Dean, who was feeling in a party mood. They looked at him expectantly. 'Drinking heavily the previous night!' he said. He beamed at them. 'That was a good word joke,' he said, to break the silence. The silence came back. 'Most amusing,' said Ridcully. He turned back and stared thoughtfully at the oh god. 'Raw eggs are said to be good----' he glared at the Dean '-I mean bad for a hangover,' he said. 'And fresh orange juice.' - 'Klatchian coffee,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, firmly. 'But this fellow hasn't just got his hangover, he's got everyone's hangover,' said Ridcully. 'I've tried it,' mumbled the oh god. 'It just makes me feel suicidal and sick.'
'A mixture of mustard and horseradish?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. 'In cream, for preference. With anchovies.'
'Yoghurt' said the Bursar. Ridcully looked at him, surprised. 'That sounded almost relevant,' he said. 'Well done. I should leave it at that if I were you, Bursar. Hmm. Of course, my uncle always used to swear at Wow-Wow Sauce,' he added. 'You mean swear by, surely?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'Possibly both,' said Ridcully. 'I know he once drank a whole bottle of it as a hangover cure and it certainly seemed to cure him. He looked very peaceful when they came to lay him out.'