Terry Pratchett - Discworld 20 - The Hogfather

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to find some point in the twisting, knotting, ravelling nets of space-time

which a metaphorical finger can be put to indicate that here, here, is the

point

where it all began...

Something began when the Guild of Assassins enrolled Mister Teatime,

who saw

things differently from other people, and one of the ways that he saw

things

differently from other people was in seeing other people as things (later,

Lord

Downey of the Guild said, 'We took pity on him because he'd lost both

parents at

an early age. I think that, on reflection, we should have wondered a bit

about that.')

But it was much earlier even than that when most people forgot that the

very

oldest stories are, sooner or later, about blood. Later on they took the

blood

out to make the stories more acceptable to children, or at least to the

people

who had to read them to children rather than the children themselves

(who, on

the whole, are quite keen on blood provided it's being shed by the

deserving[1]), and then wondered where the stories went.

And earlier still when something in the darkness of the deepest caves

and

gloomiest forests thought: what are they, these creatures? I will observe

them.

And much, much earlier than that, when the Discworld was formed,

drifting

alternative hypothesis as 'Things just happen. What the hell.'

The senior wizards of Unseen University stood and looked at the door.

There was no doubt that whoever had shut it wanted it to stay shut.

Dozens of

nails secured it to the door frame. Planks had been nailed right across.

And

finally it had, up until this morning, been hidden by a bookcase that had

been

put in front of it.

'And there's the sign, Ridcully,' said the Dean. 'You have read it, I

assume.

You know? The sign which says "Do not, under any circumstances,

open this

door"?'

'Of course I've read it,' said Ridcully. 'Why d'yer think I want it opened?'

'Er ... why?' said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

'To see why they wanted it shut, of course.`[2]

He gestured to Modo, the University's gardener and oddjob dwarf, who

was

standing by with a crowbar.

'Go to it, lad.'

The gardener saluted. 'Right you are, sir.'

Against a background of splintering timber, Ridcully went on: 'It says on

the

plans that this was a bathroom. There's nothing frightening about a

bathroom,

for gods' sake. I want a bathroom. I'm fed up with sluicing down with you

fellows. It's unhygienic. You can catch stuff. My father told me that.

Where you

get lots of people bathing together, the Verruca Gnome is running

around with

his little sack.'

little silver bells.

At about the same time as the Archchancellor was laying down the law,

Susan

Sto-Helit was sitting up in bed, reading by candlelight.

Frost patterns curled across the windows.

She enjoyed these early evenings. Once she had put the children to bed

she was

more or less left to herself. Mrs Gaiter was pathetically scared of giving

her

any instructions even though she paid Susan's wages.

Not that the wages were important, of course. What was important was

that she

was being her Own Person and holding down a Real job. And being a

governess was

a real job. The only tricky bit had been the embarrassment when her

employer

found out that she was a duchess, because in Mrs Gaiter's book, which

was a

rather short book with big handwriting, the upper crust wasn't supposed

to work.

It was supposed to loaf around. It was all Susan could do to stop her

curtseying

when they met.

A flicker made her turn her head.

The candle flame was streaming out horizontally, as though in a howling

wind.

She looked up. The curtains billowed away from the window, which-

-flung itself open with a clatter.

But there was no wind.

At least, no wind in this world.

Images formed in her mind. A red ball ... The sharp smell of snow... And

then

they were gone, and instead there were...

She sighed. Yes, Twyla?

'I'm afwaid of the monster in the cellar, Thusan. It's going to eat me up.'

Susan shut her book firmly and raised a warning finger.

'What have I told you about trying to sound ingratiatingly cute, Twyla?'

she

said.

The little girl said, 'You said I mustn't. You said that exaggerated lisping

a hanging offence and I only do it to get attention.'

'Good. Do you know what monster it is this time?'

'It's the big hairy one wif-'

Susan raised the finger. 'Uh?' she warned.

‘-with eight arms,' Twyla corrected herself.

'What, again? Oh, all right.'

She got out of bed and put on her dressing gown, trying to stay quite

calm while

the child watched her. So they were coming back. Oh, not the monster

in the

cellar. That was all in a day's work. But it looked as if she was going to

start

remembering the future again.

She shook her head. However far you ran away, you always caught

yourself up.

But monsters were easy, at least. She'd learned how to deal with

monsters. She

picked up the poker from the nursery fender and went down the back

stairs, with

Twyla following her.

The Gaiters were having a dinner party. Muffled voices came from the

direction

of the dining room.

Then, as she crept past, a door opened and yellow light spilled out and

a voice

Yes, said Susan simply.

'Susan's our governess,' said Mrs Gaiter. 'Er ... I told you about her.'

There was a change in the expression on the faces peering out from the

dining

room. It became a sort of amused respect.

'She beats up monsters with a poker?' said someone.

'Actually, that's a very clever idea,' said someone else. 'Little gel gets it

into her head there's a monster in the cellar, you go in with the poker

and make

a few bashing noises while the child listens, and then everything's all

right.

Good thinkin', that girl. Ver' sensible. Ver' modem.'

'Is that what you're doing Susan?' said Mrs Gaiter anxiously.

'Yes, Mrs Gaiter,' said Susan obediently.

'This I've got to watch, by Io! It's not every day you see monsters beaten

up by

a gel,' said the man behind her. There was a swish of silk and a cloud of

cigar

smoke as the diners poured out into the hall.

Susan sighed again and went down the cellar stairs, while Twyla sat

demurely at

the top, hugging her knees.

A door opened and shut.

There was a short period of silence and then a terrifying scream. One

woman

fainted and a man dropped his cigar.

'You don't have to worry, everything will be all right,' said Twyla calmly.

'She

always wins. Everything will be all right.'

There were thuds and clangs, and then a whirring noise, and finally a

sort of

bubbling.

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tofindsomepointinthetwisting,knotting,ravellingnetsofspace-timeonwhichametaphoricalfingercanbeputtoindicatethathere,here,isthepointwhereitallbegan...SomethingbeganwhentheGuildofAssassinsenrolledMisterTeatime,whosawthingsdifferentlyfromotherpeople,andoneofthewaysthathesawthingsdifferentlyfromotherpeo...

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Terry Pratchett - Discworld 20 - The Hogfather

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