The  child  seemed  to  sense  that  here  was  a  once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and spoke quickly.

     'I wanta narmy. Anna big castle wif pointy bits,' said the child. 'Anna swored.'

     WHAT DO YOU SAY? prompted the Hogfather.

     'A big swored?' said the child, after a pause for deep cogitation.

     THAT'S RIGHT.

     Uncle Heavy nudged the Hogfather.

     'They're supposed to thank you,' he said.

     ARE YOU SURE? PEOPLE DON'T, NORMALLY.

     'I  meant  they thank  the Hogfather,'  Albert hissed. 'Which  is  you, right?'

     YES, OF COURSE. AHEM. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SAY THANK YOU.

     ' 'nk you.'

AND BE GOOD. THIS IS PART OF THE ARRANGEMENT.

     ' 'es.'

     THEN  WE  HAVE A  CONTRACT.

  The  Hogfather  reached into his  sack  and produced:

     - a very  large model castle with, as correctly interpreted, pointy blue cone roofs on turrets suitable for princesses to be locked in

     - a box of several hundred assorted knights and warriors

     - and a sword. It was four feet long and glinted along the blade.

     The mother took a deep breath.

     'You can't give her that!' she screamed. 'It's not safe!'

     IT'S A SWORD, said the Hogfather. THEY'RE NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE.

     'She's a child!' shouted Crumley.

     IT'S EDUCATIONAL.

     'What if she cuts herself?'

THAT WILL BE AN IMPORTANT LESSON.

     Uncle Heavy whispered urgently.

     REALLY? OH, WELL. IT'S NOT FOR ME TO ARGUE, I SUPPOSE.

     The blade went wooden.

     'And  she doesn't want all that other  stuff!' said Doreen's mother, in the face of  previous testimony. 'She's  a  girl! Anyway, I can't afford big posh stuff like that!'

     I THOUGHT I GAVE IT AWAY, said the Hogfather, sounding bewildered.

     'You do?' said the mother.

     'You  do?'  said  Crumley, who'd  been listening in horror. 'You don't! That's our Merchandise! You can't give it away! Hogswatch isn't about giving it all away! I mean ... yes, of course, of course things are given away,' he corrected himself, aware that people were watching, 'but  first they have to be bought, d'you see, I mean ... haha.'  He laughed  nervously, increasingly aware of the strangeness around him and the rangy look of Uncle Heavy. 'It's not as though the toys are made by little elves at the Hub, ahaha . - .'

     'Damn right,' said Uncle Heavy sagely. 'You'd have to be a maniac  even to think of giving an elf a chisel, less'n you want their initials carved on your forehead.'

     'You mean this is all free?' said Doreen's  mother sharply, not  to  be budged from what she saw as the central point.

     Mr Crumley looked helplessly at  the toys. They certainly  didn't  look like any of his stock.

     Then he  tried to  look hard at  the  new  Hogfather. Every cell in his brain was telling him that here was a fat jolly man in a red and white suit.

     Well ... nearly every cell. A few of the sparkier ones were saying that his eyes  were reporting something else, but they couldn't  agree on what. A couple had shut down completely.

     The words escaped through his teeth.

     'It ... seems to be,' he said.

     Although  it  was  Hogswatch  the University buildings  were  bustling. Wizards didn't go to bed early in any case,[14] and of course there was  the Hogswatchnight Feast to look forward to at midnight.

     It would give some idea of the scale of the Hogswatchnight Feast that a light snack at UU consisted of a mere three or  four courses,  not counting the cheese and nuts.

     Some of  the  wizards  had  been practising  for  weeks.  The  Dean  in particular could now lift  a twenty-pound turkey on one fork. Having to wait until midnight merely put a healthy edge on appetites already professionally honed.

     There  was a general air  of  pleasant  expectancy about the  place,  a general sizzling  of salivary glands,  a  general careful assembling  of the pills and  powders against the time, many hours ahead, when eighteen courses would gang up somewhere below the ribcage and mount a counterattack.

     Ridcully stepped out into the snow and turned up his collar. The lights were all on in the High Energy Magic Building.

     'I don't know, I don't know,' he muttered.  'Hogswatchnight and they're still working.  It's just  not  natural. When  I was a student I'd have been sick twice by now...'

     In fact  Ponder Stibbons and his group of research students had  made a concession  to Hogswatchnight. They'd draped holly over Hex and  put a paper hat on the big glass dome containing the main ant heap.

     Every time he  came in here, it seemed to Ridcully, something -more had been done to  the ...  engine,  or thinking  machine,  or  whatever it  was. Sometimes  stuff turned up  overnight. Occasionally, according  to Stibbons, Hex hims itself would draw plans for extra bits that he - it  needed. It all gave Ridcully  the willies, and an additional willy was engendered right now when he saw the  Bursar  sitting in front of the thing. For a moment, he forgot all about verrucas.

     'What're you  doing  here, old chap?'  he said. 'You should be  inside, jumping up and down to make more room for tonight.'

     'Hooray for the pink, grey and green,' said the Bursar.

     'Er ... we thought Hex might be of . . . you

     know  . . . help, sir,' said  Ponder Stibbons,  who liked to  think  of himself as the University's token sane person.

     'With the Bursar's  problem.  We  thought  it might be a nice Hogswatch present for him.'

     'Ye gods,  Bursar's got  no problems,'  said Ridcully, and  patted  the aimlessly smiling man on the head while mouthing the words 'mad as a spoon'. 'Mind just wanders a bit, that's all. I said MIND WANDERS A BIT, eh? Only to be expected, spends far too much time  addin' up numbers. Doesn't get out in the fresh air. I said, YOU DON'T GET OUT IN THE FRESH AIR, OLD CHAP!'

     'We thought, er, he might like someone to talk to,' said Ponder.

     'What? What? But I talk to him all the time! I'm always  trying to take him  out  of himself,'  said  Ridcully. 'It's  important  to stop him mopin' around the place.'

     'Er ... yes ... certainly,' said Ponder diplomatically. He recalled the Bursar as  a man whose idea of an exciting  time had once been a soft-boiled egg. 'So ... er ...  well,  let's  give it  another  try, shall  we? Are you ready, Mr Dinwiddie?'

     'Yes, thank you,  a green  one  with  cinnamon if  it's  not  too  much trouble.'

     'Can't  see how  he  can talk to a machine,' said Ridcully, in a sullen voice. 'The thing's got no damn ears.'

     'Ah, well, in fact we made it one ear,' said Ponder. 'Er...'

     He pointed to a large drum in a maze of tubes.

     'Isn't  that old Windle Poons' ear  trumpet sticking  out  of the end?' said Ridcully suspiciously.

     'Yes,  Archchancellor.' Ponder  cleared his throat.  'Sound,  you  see, comes in waves ...'

     He stopped.  Wizardly  premonitions  rose in his  mind.  He  just  knew Ridcully was going  to assume he was  talking about the sea. There was going to be  one  of those huge bottomless misunderstandings that  always occurred whenever anyone  tried to explain anything to the Archchancellor. Words like 'surf, and probably 'ice cream' and 'sand' were just ...

     'It's all done by magic, Archchancellor,' he said, giving up.

     'Ah. Right,' said Ridcully. He sounded a little disappointed. 'None  of that  complicated  business with springs and  cogwheels and tubes and stuff, then.'

     'That's right, sir,' said  Ponder. 'Just  magic.  Sufficiently advanced magic.'