'Then  there probably  isn't any  occult room for  a Huge Bags of Money Goblin,' said Susan.

     'I personally have always wondered what happens to my socks,' said the Bursar cheerfully. 'You know how there's always  one missing? When I was  a  lad I  always thought that something was taking them . . .'

     The wizards gave this some thought. Then they all heard it - the little crinkly tinkling noise of magic taking place.

     The Archchancellor pointed dramatically skywards.

     'To the laundry!' he said.

     'It's downstairs, Ridcully,' said the Dean.

     'Down to the laundry!'

     'And you know Mrs Whitlow doesn't like  us  going  in there,' said  the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

     'And  who  is  Archchancellor  of  this University, may  I  ask?'  said Ridcully. 'Is it Mrs Whitlow? I don't think so! Is it  me? Why, how amazing, I do believe it is!'

     'Yes, but you know what she can be like,' said the Chair.

     'Er, yes, that's true...' Ridcully began.

     'I  believe she's  gone to  her sister's for  the  holiday,'  said  the Bursar.

     'We certainly don't have to  take orders from any kind of housekeeper!' said the Archchancellor. 'To the laundry!'

     The  wizards  surged out excitedly,  leaving Susan,  the  oh  god,  the Verruca Gnome and the Hair Loss Fairy.

     'Tell me again who those people were,' said the oh god.

     'Some of the cleverest men in the world,' said Susan.

     'And I'm sober, am I? But I'm not getting...'

     'Clever isn't the same  as sensible,' said Susan, 'and they do say that if you  wish to walk the path to wisdom then for  your first step you must become as a small child.'

     'Do you think they've heard about the second step?'

     Susan  sighed.  'Probably not, but sometimes  they  fall over it  while they're running around shouting.'

     'Ah.' The oh god looked around. 'Do you think they have any soft drinks here?' he said.

     The path to wisdom does, in fact, begin with a single step.

     Where people  go wrong is in  ignoring all the thousands of other steps that come after it. They make the single step of deciding to become one with the universe, and for some reason  forget to  take the logical  next step of living  for  seventy  years  on  a mountain and  a daily  bowl  of  rice and yak-butter tea that would give it any kind of  meaning.  While evidence says that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, they're probably all on first steps.

     The  Dean was always at  his best at times like this.  He led  the  way between  the huge, ardent  copper  vats, prodding with his  staff  into dark corners and going 'Hut! Hut!' under his breath.

     'Why would it turn up here?' whispered the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

     'Point  of reality instability,'  said Ridcully, standing  on tiptoe to look into a bleaching cauldron.  'Every damn thing turns up here. You should know that by now.'

     'But why now?' said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

     'No talking!' hissed the  Dean, and leapt  out  into the next alleyway, staff held protectively in front of him.

     'Hall!' he screamed, and then looked disappointed

     ' Er, how  big would  this  sock-stealing thing  be?'  said  the Senior Wrangler.

     'Don't know,'  said Ridcully. He peered  behind  a stack of washboards. 'Come to think of it, I must've lost a ton of socks over the years.'

     'Me too,' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

     'So ... should we be looking in small places or very large places?' the Senior Wrangler went on, in the voice of one whose train of thought has just entered a long dark tunnel.

     'Good point,' said Ridcully. 'Dean, why do you keep referring to  sheds all the time?'

     'It's "hut", Mustrum,' said the Dean. 'It means ... it means...'

     'Small wooden building?' Ridcully suggested.

     'Welt  sometimes, agreed, but other times ... well, you just have  to say "hut".'

     'This sock creature ... does it just steal them, or does it eat them?' said the Senior Wrangler.

     'Valuable  contribution' that  man,' said  Ridcully,  giving tip on the Dean. 'Right, pass  the  word  along:  no  one  is  to  look  like  a  sock, understand?'

     'How can you...' the Dean began, and stopped.

     They all heard it.

     ... grnf, grnf, grnf ...

     It was a busy sound, the sound of something with  a serious appetite to satisfy.

     'The Eater of Socks,' moaned the Senior Wrangler, with his eyes shut.

     'How many  tentacles would you expect it to have?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. 'I mean, roughly speaking?'

     'It's a very large sort of noise, isn't it?' said the Bursar.

     'To the nearest dozen, say,' said the  Lecturer in Recent Runes, edging backwards.

     ... grnf, grnf, grnf ...

     'It'd probably tear our socks  off as soon  as look at us ...' wailed the Senior Wrangler.

     'Ah. So at least five  or six tentacles, then, would you say?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

     'Seems to  me it's coming from  one of the  washing engines,' said  the Dean.

     The engines  were each two storeys high, and usually only used when the University's population soared during term time. A  huge treadmill connected to a couple  of  big bleached wooden paddles  in each vat, which were heated via the fireboxes underneath. In full production the washing engines needed at least half a dozen people to  manhandle the loads, maintain the fires and oil  the scrubbing  arms. Ridcully had  seen them at work once, when  it had looked like a  picture of  a very dean and hygienic Hell,  the kind of place soap might go to when it died.

     The Dean stopped by the door to the boiler area.

     'Something's in here,' he whispered. 'Listen!'

     ..grnf...

     It's stopped! It knows we're here!' he hissed. "All right? Ready? Hut!'

     'No!' squeaked the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

     'I'll open the door and you be ready to stop it! One ... two ... three! Oh ...'

     The sleigh soared into the snowy sky.

     ON THE WHOLE, I THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DON'T YOU?

     'Yes, master,' said Albert.

I WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH.

     'I think that was a Watchman, master.'

     REALLY? WELL, HE WENT AWAY HAPPY, AND THAT's THE MAIN THING.

     'Is  it,  master?' There  was  worry in Albert's voice. Death's osmotic nature tended to pick up new ideas altogether too quickly. Of course, Albert understood why they had to do all this, but  the  master  ... well, sometimes the master  lacked  the necessary mental equipment to work out what should be true and what shouldn't ...

     AND I THINK I'VE GOT THE LAUGH WORKING REALLY WELL NOW. HO. HO. HO.

     'Yeah, sir, very jolly,'  said  Albert.  He looked down  at  the  list. 'Still, work  goes  on, eh? The  next one's pretty dose, master, so I should keep them down low if I was you.'

JOLLY GOOD. HO. HO. HO.

     'Sarah the  little  match girl, doorway of Thimble's  Pipe and  Tobacco Shop, Money Trap Lane, it says here.'

AND WHAT DOES SHE WANT FOR HOGSWATCH? HO. HO. HO.

     'Dunno. Never sent a letter. By  the way, just a tip, you don't have to say "Ho, ho, ho, " all  the time,  master. Let's see  ... It  says  here...' Albert's lips moved as he read.

I  EXPECT  A  DOLL  IS  ALWAYS  ACCEPTABLE.  OR  A  SOFT  TOY  OF  SOME DESCRIPTION. THE SACK SEEMS TO KNOW. WHAT'VE WE GOT FOR HER, ALBERT? HO. HO. HO.

     Something small was dropped into his hand.

     'This,' said Albert.

OH.

     There  was  a moment  of horrible  silence as they both  stared at  the lifetimer.