There was a creak.

     Chickenwire's face was  a few inches from  Bilious. The oh god saw  his expression change.

     The man's eyes rolled. His lips said '...nur...'

     Bilious risked stepping back. Chickenwire's sword didn't move. He stood there, trembling slightly, like a man who wants  to turn round to see what's behind him but doesn't dare to in case he does.

     As far as Bilious was concerned, it had just been a creak.

     He looked up at the thing on the landing above.

     'Who put that there?' said Violet.

     It was  just a wardrobe. Dark oak, a bit of fancy woodwork glued  on in an effort to  disguise the undisguisable  fact that it  was  just an upright box. It was a wardrobe.

     'You didn't, you know,  try  to  cast  a  thunderbolt  and go  on a few letters too many?' she went on.

     'Huh?' said Bilious, looking from the stricken  man to the wardrobe. It was so ordinary it was ... odd.

     'I mean, thunderbolts begin with T and wardrobes...'

     Violet's lips moved silently. Part of Bilious thought: I'm attracted to a girl who actually has to shut down all other brain  functions in  order to think about  the  order of the letters of the alphabet.  On the  other hand, she's  attracted to  someone who's wearing  a  toga that  looks  as though a family  of weasels have had a  party in it, so  maybe I'll stop this thought right here.

     But the major part of his brain thought:  why's  this man making little bubbling noises? It's just a wardrobe, for my sake!

     'No, no,' mumbled Chickenwire. 'I don't wanna!'

     The sword clanged on the floor.

     He took  a step backwards up the stairs,  but very slowly, as if he was doing it despite every effort his muscles could muster.

     'Don't want to what?' said Violet.

     Chickenwire spun  round. Bilious  had  never seen  that  happen before. People turned round quickly,  yes, but Chickenwire just revolved  as if some giant hand had  been placed on  his head and  twisted  a  hundred and eighty degrees.

     'No. No. No,' Chickenwire whined. 'No.'

     He tottered up the steps.

     'You got to help me,' he whispered.

     'What's  the matter?'  said Bilious. 'It's just a wardrobe,  isn't  it? It's for putting all your  old clothes in  so that there's no room for  your new clothes.'

     The doors of the wardrobe swung open.

     Chickenwire managed to thrust out his arms and grab the sides and, for a moment, he stood quite still.

     Then  he  was pulled into  the wardrobe in one  sudden movement and the doors slammed shut.

     The little brass key turned in the lock with a click.

     'We ought to get him out,' said the oh god, running up the steps.

     'Why?' Violet  demanded.  'They are not  very nice people! I  know that one. When he brought me food he made... suggestive comments.'

     'Yes, but...' Bilious hadn't  ever seen a face  like that, outside of a mirror. Chickenwire had looked very, very sick.

     He turned the key and opened the doors.

     'Oh dear...'

     'I don't want to see! I don't want to see!'  said  Violet, looking over his shoulder.

     Bilious reached down and picked up a pair of boots that stood neatly in the middle of the wardrobe's floor.

     Then he put them  back carefully and walked around the wardrobe. It was plywood. The  words  'Dratley  and  Sons,  Phedre  Road, Ankh-Morpork'  were stamped in one corner in faded ink.

     'Is it magic?' said Violet nervously.

     'I don't know if  something magic  has the maker's  name  on  it,' said Bilious.

     'There  are  magic wardrobes,'  said Violet nervously.  'If you go into them, you come out in a magic land.'

     Bilious looked at the boots again.

     'Um... yes,' he said.

     I THINK  I  MUST  TELL  YOU  SOMETHING, said  Death.

    'Yes, I  think you should,' said  Ridcully.  'I've got little devils  running  round  the place eating socks  and pencils, earlier tonight we sobered  up someone who thinks he's a God  of Hangovers  and half my  wizards are  trying  to cheer  up the Cheerful Fairy. We thought  something must've  happened to the Hogfather. We were right, right?'

     'Hex was right, Archchancellor,' Ponder corrected him.

      HEX? WHAT IS HEX?

     'Er... Hex  thinks  - that  is, calculates -  that  there's  been a big change in the nature of belief today,' said Ponder. He felt, he did not know why, that Death was probably not in favour of unliving things that thought.

     MR HEX  WAS  REMARKABLY ASTUTE. THE HOGFATHER HAS BEEN... Death paused. THERE IS NO  SENSIBLE  HUMAN WORD. DEAD, IN  A WAY, BUT NOT EXACTLY... A GOD CANNOT  BE  KILLED.  NEVER COMPLETELY  KILLED.  HE HAS  BEEN, SHALL WE  SAY, SEVERELY REDUCED.

     'Ye gods!' said Ridcully. 'Who'd want to kill off the old boy?'

HE HAS ENEMIES.

     'What did he do? Miss a chimney?'

EVERY LIVING THING HAS ENEMIES.

     'What, everything?'

YES.  EVERYTHING.  POWERFUL ENEMIES.  BUT  THEY HAVE CONE TOO  FAR THIS TIME. NOW THEY ARE USING PEOPLE.

     'Who are?'

THOSE WHO THINK THE UNIVERSE SHOULD BE A LOT OF ROCKS MOVING IN CURVES. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE AUDITORS?

     'I suppose the Bursar may have done...'

NOT  AUDITORS OF MONEY.  AUDITORS  OF REALITY. THEY THINK OF LIFE  AS A STAIN ON THE UNIVERSE. A PESTILENCE. MESSY. GETTING IN THE WAY.

     'In the way of what?'

THE EFFICIENT RUNNING OF THE UNIVERSE.

     'I  thought  it  was run for us...  Well, for the Professor  of Applied Anthropics,  actually, but we're allowed to tag  along,'  said Ridcully.  He scratched his chin. 'And I could certainly run a marvellous university  here if only we didn't have to have these damn students underfoot all the time.'

QUITE SO.

     'They want to get rid of us?'

     THEY  WANT  YOU  TO  BE...  LESS...  DAMN,  I'VE  FORGOTTEN  THE  WORD. UNTRUTHFUL?  THE HOGFATHER IS A SYMBOL OF THIS... Death snapped his fingers, causing echoes to bounce off the walls, and added, WISTFUL LYING?

     'Untruthful?'  said Ridcully. 'Me? I'm  as  honest as the day  is long! Yes, what is it this time?'

     Ponder  had tugged  at  his  robe and now he whispered something in his ear. Ridcully cleared his throat.

     'I  am reminded that this  is in fact the shortest day of the year,' he said. 'However, this does not undermine the point that I just made, although I thank my colleague for  his  invaluable support and constant  readiness to correct minor if not downright  trivial errors.  I am a remarkably  truthful man, sir. Things said at University council meetings don't count.'

I MEAN HUMANITY IN GENERAL. ER... THE ACT OF TELLING THE UNIVERSE IT IS OTHER THAN IT is?

     'You've  got me there,'  said  Ridcully. 'Anyway,  why're you doing the job?'

SOMEONE MUST. IT IS VITALLY IMPORTANT. THEY MUST BE SEEN, AND BELIEVED. BEFORE DAWN, THERE MUST BE ENOUGH BELIEF IN THE HOGFATHER.

     'Why?' said Ridcully.

SO THAT THE SUN WILL COME UP.

     The two wizards gawped at him.

     I SELDOM JOKE, said Death.

     At which point there was a scream of horror.

     'That sounded like  the Bursar,' said Ridcully. 'And he's been doing so well up to now.'

     The reason for the Bursar's scream lay on the floor of his bedroom.

     It was a man. He was dead. No one alive had that kind of expression.

     Some of the other  wizards had got there first. Ridcully pushed his way through the crowd.

     'Ye gods,' he said. 'What a face! He looks as though he died of fright! What happened?'

     'Well,' said the Dean,  'as  far as I can  tell, the Bursar  opened his wardrobe and found the man inside.'