He'd  thought that Hogswatch was all ... plum pudding and brandy and ho ho ho and he didn't have the kind of mind that  could  ignore all the  other stuff. And so it hurt him.

     IT IS  HOGSWATCH,  said Death, AND PEOPLE DIE  ON THE  STREETS.  PEOPLE FEAST BEHIND LIGHTED WINDOWS AND OTHER PEOPLE HAVE NO HOMES. IS THIS FAIR?

     'Well, of course, that's the big issue ...' Albert began.

THE  PEASANT HAD A HANDFUL OF BEANS AND THE  KING  HAD SO MUCH HE WOULD NOT EVEN NOTICE THAT WHICH HE GAVE AWAY. IS THIS FAIR?

     'Yeah, but if you gave it all to the peasant then in a year or two he'd be just as snooty as the king---' began  Albert, jaundiced observer of human nature.

     NAUGHTY AND NICE? said Death. BUT IT'S EASY

     TO BE NICE IF YOU'RE RICH. IS THIS FAIR?

     Albert  wanted to  argue. He wanted to say, Really? In  that case,  how come  so many of the rich buggers is  bastards?  And  being poor don't  mean being naughty, neither. We was  poor when  I were a kid,  but we was honest. Well, more stupid than honest, to tell the truth. But basically honest.

     He  didn't argue,  though. The  master wasn't in  any mood  for  it. He always did what needed to be done.

     'You did say we just had to do this so's people'd believe... ' he  began, and  then  stopped and started  again. 'When it comes to  fair,  master, you yourself...'

     I AM EVEN-HANDED TO RICH AND POOR ALIKE, snapped Death. BUT THIS SHOULD NOT BE A SAD TIME. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY. He wrapped his red robe around him. AND OTHER THINGS ENDING IN OLLY, he added.

     'There's no blade,' said the oh god. 'It's just a sword hilt.'

     Susan stepped out of  the light and her wrist  moved.  A sparkling blue line flashed in the air, for a moment outlining an edge too thin to be seen.

     The oh god backed away.

     'What's that?'

     'Oh,  it cuts tiny  bits of the air in half.  It can  cut the soul away from the body, so stand back, please.'

     'Oh, I will, I will.'

     Susan fished the black scabbard out of the umbrella stand.

     Umbrella stand! It never rained here, but Death  had an umbrella stand. Practically no one else Susan  knew  had an umbrella stand.  In any  list of useful furniture, the one found at the bottom would be the umbrella stand.

     Death  lived in a black  world, where nothing was alive and  everything was dark and  his  great library  only  had  dust  and cobwebs  because he'd created them for effect  and there was never any sun in the  sky and the air never  moved  and  he  had  an umbrella  stand.  And a pair  of silverbacked hairbrushes by  his bed. He wanted  to be  something more than just  a  bony apparition. He tried to create these flashes of personality but somehow they betrayed themselves, they  tried too hard, like  an adolescent boy going out wearing an aftershave called 'Rampant'.

     Grandfather always got things wrong. He saw life from outside and never quite understood.

     'That looks dangerous,' said the oh god.

     Susan sheathed the sword.

     'I hope so,' she said.

     'Er ... where are we going? Exactly?'

     'Somewhere  under  an overhead sky,' said Susan. 'And ...  I've seen it before. Recently. I know the place.'

     They walked out to the stable yard. Binky was waiting.

     'I said you  don't have  to come,' said Susan, grasping the  saddle. 'I mean, you're a ... an innocent bystander.'

     'But I'm a god of hangovers who's been cured of hangovers,' said the oh god. 'I haven't really got any function at all.'

     He looked so forlorn when he said this that she relented.

     'All right. Come on, then.'

     She pulled him up behind her.

     'Just  hang  on,'  she said.  And  then  she  said,  `Hang on somewhere differently, I mean.'

     'I'm sorry, was that a problem?' said the oh god, shifting his grip.

     'It might take too long to explain and you probably  don't know all the words. Around the waist, please.'

     Susan  took out  Violet's hourglass and held it up. There was  a lot of sand left to run, but she couldn't be certain that was a good sign.

     All  she could be certain of was that the horse of Death could go anywhere.

     The sound of Hex's  quill  as  it scrabbled across the paper was like a frantic spider trapped in a matchbox.

     Despite his dislike  of what was  going on, there  was a part of Ponder Stibbons that was very, very impressed.

     In  the past, when  Hex  had been recalcitrant about its  calculations, when it  had got  into a  mechanical  sulk  and  had started  writing things like'+++ Out  of Cheese Error +++'and'+++  Redo From Start  +++' Ponder  had tried to sort things out calmly and logically.

     It had never, ever occurred  to him to contemplate hitting  Hex with  a mallet. But this was, in fact, what Ridcully was threatening to do.

     What was impressive, and also more than a little worrying, was that Hex seemed to understand the concept.

     'Right,' said Ridcully,  putting the mallet aside. 'Let's have  no more of this "Insufficient  dates" business, shallwe?  There's boxes of the  damn things back in the Great Hall. You can have the lot as far as Im concerned...'

     'It's data, not dates,' said Ponder helpfully.

     'What? You mean like ... more than dates? Extra sticky?'

     'No, no, data is Hex's word for ... well, facts,' said Ponder.

     'Ridiculous way to  behave,' said Ridcully brusquely. 'If  he's stumped for  an answer, why  can't he  write "You've got  me there" or "Damned  if I know," or "That's a bit of a puzzler and no mistake"?  All  this   "Insufficient   data"  business  is  just   pure contrariness, to my mind.  It's just  swank-' He turned back to Hex. 'Right, you. Hazard a guess.'

     The  quill  started to write  '+++  Insuff '  and  then  stopped. After quivering for a moment it went down a line and started again.

     +++ This Is Just Calculating Aloud, You Understand +++

     'Fair enough,' said Ridcully.

     .+++  The Amount Of Belief In The  World  Must Be  Subject To An  Upper Limit +++

     'What an odd question,' said the Dean.

     'Sounds sensible,' said Ridcully. 'I suppose people just ... believe in stuff. Obviously  there's  a limit to what you can believe in.  I've  always said so. So what?'

     .+++ Creatures Have Appeared That Were Once Believed In +++

     'Yes. Yes, you could put it like that.'

     +++ They Disappeared Because They Were Not Believed In +++

     'Seems reasonable,' said Ridcully.

     +++ People Were Believing In Something Else Query? +++

     Ridcully looked at the other wizards. They shrugged.

     'Could  be,' he  said  guardedly. 'People can only believe  in so  many things.'

     ... It  Follows That If A Major  Focus Of Belief Is Removed, There Will Be Spare Belief ...

     Ridcully stared at the words.

     'You mean ... sloshing around?'

     The big wheel  with the ram skulls on it began to turn ponderously. The scurrying ants in the .glass tubes took on a new urgency.

     'What's happening?' said Ridcully, in a loud whisper.

     'I think Hex is looking up  the word "sloshing",' said  Ponder. 'It may be in long-term storage.'

     A large hourglass came down on the spring.

     'What's that for?' said Ridcully.

     'Er ... it shows Hex is working things out.'

     'Oh. And that buzzing noise? Seems to be coming from the other side  of the wall.'

     Ponder coughed.

     'That is the long-term storage, Archchancellor.'

     'And how does that work?'

     'Er ... well, if you think of memory as a series of  little shelves or, or, or holes, Archchancellor, in which you can put things, well, we found  a way of making a sort  of memory which, er, interfaces  neatly with the ants, in fact, but more  importantly  can expand its size depending on how much we give it to remember and, er, is possibly a bit slow but...'