The gnome wandered up, interested, and watched critically.

     'Why  just fern patterns?'  he said, after  a while. 'Pretty, yeah, but you wouldn't catch me puttin' a penny in your hat for fern patterns.'

     The figure turned, brush in hand.

     'I happen to like fern patterns,' said jack Frost coldly.

     'It's  just that people  expect, you know,  sad  big-eyed kids, kittens lookin' out of boots, little doggies, that sort of thing.'

     'I do ferns.'

     'Or big pots of sunflowers, happy seaside scenes... '

     'And ferns.'

     'I mean,  s'posing some big high priest wanted you to paint the  temple ceiling with gods 'n' angels and suchlike, what'd you do then?'

     'He could have as many gods and angels as he liked, provided they ...'

     '... looked like ferns?'

     'I resent  the implication that  I  am solely  fernfixated,'  said Jack Frost. 'I can also do a very nice paisley pattern.'

     'What's that look like, then?'

     'Well  ... it does, admittedly, have a certain  ferny  quality to the uninitiated eye.' Frost leaned forward. 'Who're you?'

     The gnome took a step backwards.

     'You're  not a tooth fairy, are you? I see more and more of  them about these days. Nice girls.'

     'Nah. Nah. Not teeth,' said the gnome, clutching his sack.

     'What, then?'

     The gnome told him.

     'Really?' said Jack Frost. 'I thought they just turned up.'

     'Well, come to  that, I  thought frost on the windows just happened all by itself,' said the gnome. "ere, you don't  half look  spiky. I  bet You go through a lot of bedsheets.'

     'I don't  sleep,' said Frost icily, turning away. 'And now,  if  you'll excuse  me, I have a large number of windows to do.  Ferns aren't easy.  You need a steady hand.'

     'What do you mean  dead?'  Susan demanded. 'How  can  the Hogfather  be dead? He's ... isn't he what you are? An ...'

ANTHROPOMORPHIC  PERSONIFICATION.  YES. HE HAS BECOME SO. THE SPIRIT OF HOGSWATCH.

     'But  ...  how?  How can anyone kill  the  Hogfather? Poisoned  sherry? Spikes in the chimney?'

THERE ARE ... MORE SUBTLE WAYS.

     'Coff. Coff. Coff. Oh dear, this soot,' said Albert  loudly. 'Chokes me up something cruel.'

     'And you've taken over?' said Susan, ignoring him. 'That's sick!'

     Death contrived to look hurt.

     'I'll just go and have a  look somewhere,' said Albert,  brushing  past her and opening the door.

     She pushed it shut quickly.

     'And what are  you  doing  here, Albert?'  she said,  clutching  at the straw. 'I thought you'd die if you ever came back to the world!'

     AH, BUT WE  ARE NOT  IN  THE WORLD, said Death.  WE ARE  IN THE SPECIAL CONGRUENT  REALITY CREATED  FOR  THE HOGFATHER.  NORMAL  RULES  HAVE  TO  BE SUSPENDED. HOW ELSE COULD ANYONE GET AROUND THE ENTIRE WORLD IN ONE NIGHT?

     ' 's right,'  said Albert,  leering.  'One  of  the Hogfather's  Little Helpers, me.  Official. Cot the pointy green hat and everything.' He spotted the glass of sherry and couple of  turnips that the children had left on the table, and bore down on them.

     Susan looked shocked. A couple of days earlier she'd taken the children to the Hogfather's Grotto in one of the big shops in The Maul. Of course, it wasn't the real one,  but it had turned out to be a  fairly good actor  in a red suit. There had been people dressed up as pixies, and a picket outside the shop by the Campaign for Equal Heights.[13]

     None of the pixies had looked anything like Albert. If they had, people would have only gone into the grotto armed.

     'Been good, 'ave yer?' said Albert, and spat into the fireplace.

     Susan stared at him.

     Death leaned down. She stared up into the blue glow of his eyes.

     YOU ARE KEEPING WELL? he said.

     'Yes.'

SELF-RELIANT? MAKING YOUR OWN WAY IN THE WORLD?

     'Yes!'

GOOD. WELL, COME, ALBERT. WE  WILL LOAD  THE STOCKINGS  AND GET ON WITH THINGS.

     A couple of letters appeared in Death's hand.

SOMEONE CHRISTENED THE CHILD TWYLA?

     'I m afraid so, but why ...'

AND THE OTHER ONE GAWAIN?

     'Yes. But look, how ...'

WHY GAWAIN?

     'I ... suppose it's a good strong name for a fighter ...'

A SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY,  I SUSPECT. I SEE  THE GIRL WRITES IN GREEN CRAYON ON PINK PAPER WITH A  MOUSE  IN  THE CORNER.  THE MOUSE IS WEARING  A DRESS.

     'I ought to point out that she  decided to do  that  so the Hogfather would  think  she was  sweet,'  said Susan. 'Including  the  deliberate  bad spelling. But look, why are you ...'

SHE SAYS SHE IS FIVE YEARS OLD.

     'In years, yes. In cynicism, she's about  thirtyfive. Why are you doing the...'

BUT SHE BELIEVES IN THE HOGFATHER?

     'She'd believe in  anything if there  was a dolly  in  it  for her. But you're not going to leave without telling me ...'

     Death hung the stockings back on the mantelpiece.

NOW WE MUST BE GOING. HAPPY HOGSWATCH. ER ... OH, YES: HO. HO. HO.

     'Nice sherry,' said Albert, wiping his mouth.

     Rage overtook Susan's curiosity. It had to travel quite fast.

     'You've actually been drinking  the actual drinks little children leave out for the actual Hogfather?' she said.

     'Yeah, why not? He ain't drinking 'em. Not where he's gone.'

     'And how many have you had, may I ask?'

     'Dunno, ain't counted,' said Albert happily.

     ONE MILLION, EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIX, said Death. AND SIXTY EIGHT THOUSAND, THREE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN PORK PIES. AND ONE TURNIP.

     'It  looked  pork-pie  shaped,' said Albert. 'Everything does, after  a while.'

     'Then why haven't you exploded?'

     'Dunno. Always had a good digestion.'

TO  THE  HOGFATHER, ALL PORK PIES  ARE AS ONE  PORK PIE. EXCEPT THE ONE LIKE A TURNIP. COME, ALBERT. WE HAVE TRESPASSED ON SUSAN'S TIME.

     'Why are you doing this?' Susan screamed.

I AM SORRY. I CANNOT TELL YOU. FORGET YOU SAW ME. IT'S NOT YOUR BUSINESS.

     'Not my business? How can ...'

AND NOW ... WE MUST BE GOING...

     'Nighty-night,' said Albert.

     The clock struck, twice, for the half-hour. It was still half past six.

     And they were gone.

     The sledge hurtled across the sky.

     'She'll try to find out what this is all about, you know,' said Albert.

OH DEAR.

     'Especially after you told her not to.'

YOU THINK SO?

     'Yeah,' said Albert.

     DEAR ME. I STILL HAVE A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT HUMANS, DON'T I?

     'Oh ... I dunno... ' said Albert.

OBVIOUSLY IT WOULD BE  QUITE WRONG TO INVOLVE A HUMAN IN ALL THIS. THAT IS WHY, YOU WILL RECALL, I CLEARLY FORBADE HER TO TAKE AN INTEREST.

     'Yeah ... you did. .

     BESIDES, IT'S AGAINST THE RULES.

     'You said them little grey buggers had already broken the rules.'

     YES, BUT  I CAN'T JUST WAVE A MAGIC WAND AND  MAKE IT ALL BETTER. THERE MUST BE PROCEDURES. Death stared ahead for a moment  and then shrugged.  AND WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DO. WE HAVE PROMISES TO KEEP.

     'Well, the night is young,' said Albert, sitting back in the sacks.

THE NIGHT IS OLD. THE NIGHT IS ALWAYS OLD.

     The pigs galloped on. Then, 'No, it ain't.'

     I'M SORRY?

     'The night isn't any  older than  the day, master. It stands to reason. There must have been a day before anyone knew what the night was.'

     YES, BUT IT'S MORE DRAMATIC.

     'Oh. Right, then.'