Hogfather (16 page)

“You utter, utter bastard! I hate you hate you hate you hate you—”

His eyes shut, and he slid down to the floor.

“What was all that about?” said Ridcully.

“I think it was some kind of nervous reaction,” said Susan diplomatically. “Something nasty’s happening tonight. I’m hoping he can tell me what it is. But he’s got to be able to think straight first.”

“And you brought him
here
?” said Ridcully.

H
O
. H
O
. H
O
. Y
ES INDEED, HELLO, SMALL CHILD CALLED
V
ERRUCA
L
UMPY, WHAT A LOVELY NAME, AGED SEVEN
, I
BELIEVE
? G
OOD
. Y
ES
, I
KNOW IT DID
. A
LL OVER THE NICE CLEAN FLOOR, YES
. T
HEY DO, YOU KNOW
. T
HAT’S ONE OF THE THINGS ABOUT REAL PIGS
. H
ERE WE ARE, DON’T MENTION IT
. H
APPY
H
OGSWATCH AND BE GOOD
. I
WILL KNOW IF YOU’RE GOOD OR BAD, YOU KNOW
. H
O
. H
O
. H
O
.

“Well, you brought some magic into
that
little life,” said Albert, as the next child was hurried away.

I
T’S THE EXPRESSION ON THEIR LITTLE FACES
I
LIKE
, said the Hogfather.

“You mean sort of fear and awe and not knowing whether to laugh or cry or wet their pants?”

Y
ES
. N
OW
THAT
IS WHAT
I
CALL BELIEF
.

The oh god was carried into the Great Hall and laid out on a bench. The senior wizards gathered round, ready to help those less fortunate than themselves remain that way.

“I know what’s good for a hangover,” said the Dean, who was feeling in a party mood.

They looked at him expectantly.

“Drinking heavily the previous night!” he said.

He beamed at them.

“That was a good word joke,” he said, to break the silence.

The silence came back.

“Most amusing,” said Ridcully. He turned back and stared thoughtfully at the oh god.

“Raw eggs are said to be good—” he glared at the Dean “—I mean
bad
for a hangover,” he said. “And fresh orange juice.”

“Klatchian coffee,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, firmly.

“But this fellow hasn’t just got
his
hangover, he’s got
everyone
’s hangover,” said Ridcully.

“I’ve tried it,” mumbled the oh god. “It just makes me feel suicidal
and
sick.”

“A mixture of mustard and horseradish?” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies. “In cream, for preference. With anchovies.”

“Yogurt,” said the Bursar.

Ridcully looked at him, surprised.

“That sounded almost relevant,” he said. “Well done. I should leave it at that if I were you, Bursar. Hmm. Of course, my uncle always used to swear at Wow-Wow Sauce,” he added.

“You mean swear
by
, surely?” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

“Possibly both,” said Ridcully. “I know he once drank a whole bottle of it as a hangover cure and it certainly seemed to cure him. He looked very peaceful when they came to lay him out.”

“Willow bark,” said the Bursar.

“That’s a good idea,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “It’s an analgesic.”

“Really? Well, possibly, though it’s probably better to give it to him by mouth,” said Ridcully. “I say, are you feeling yourself, Bursar? You seem somewhat coherent.”

The oh god opened his crusted eyes.

“Will all that stuff help?” he mumbled.

“It’ll probably kill you,” said Susan.

“Oh. Good.”

“We could add Englebert’s Enhancer,” said the Dean. “Remember when Modo put some on his peas? We could only manage one each!”

“Can’t you do something more, well, magical?” said Susan. “Magic the alcohol out of him or something?”

“Yes, but it’s not alcohol by this time, is it?” said Ridcully. “It’ll have turned into a lot of nasty little poisons all dancin’ round on his liver.”

“Spold’s Unstirring Divisor would do it,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. “Very simply, too. You’d end up with a large beaker full of all the nastiness. Not difficult at all, if you don’t mind the side effects.”

“Tell me about the side effects,” said Susan, who had met wizards before.

“The main one is that the rest of him would end up in a somewhat larger beaker,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

“Alive?”

The Lecturer in Recent Runes screwed up his face and waggled his hands. “
Broadly
, yes,” he said. “Living tissue, certainly. And definitely sober.”

“I think we had in mind something that would leave him the same shape and still breathing,” said Susan.

“Well, you might’ve
said
…”

Then the Dean repeated the mantra that has had such a marked effect on the progress of knowledge throughout the ages.

“Why don’t we just mix up absolutely everything and see what happens?” he said.

And Ridcully responded with the traditional response.

“It’s got to be worth a try,” he said.

The big glass beaker for the cure had been placed on a pedestal in the middle of the floor. The wizards liked to make a ceremony of everything in any case, but felt instinctively that if they were going to cure the biggest hangover in the world it needed to be done with style.

Susan and Bilious watched as the ingredients were added. Round about halfway the mixture, which was an orange-brown color, went
gloop
.

“Not a lot of improvement, I feel,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Englebert’s Enhancer was the penultimate ingredient. The Dean dropped in a greenish ball of light that sank under the surface. The only apparent effect was that it caused purple bubbles to creep over the sides of the beaker and drip onto the floor.

“That’s
it
?” said the oh god.

“I think the yogurt probably wasn’t a good idea,” said the Dean.

“I’m not drinking
that
,” said Bilious firmly, and then clutched at his head.

“But gods are practically unkillable, aren’t they?” said the Dean.

“Oh,
good
,” muttered Bilious. “Why not stick my legs in a meat grinder, then?”

“Well, if you think it might help—”

“I anticipated a certain amount of resistance from the patient,” said the Archchancellor. He removed his hat and fished out a small crystal ball from a pocket in the lining. “Let’s see what the God of Wine is up to at the moment, shall we? Shouldn’t be too difficult to locate a fun-loving god like him on an evening like this…”

He blew on the glass and polished it. Then he brightened up.

“Why, here he is, the little rascal! On Dunmanifestin, I do believe. Yes…yes…reclining on his couch, surrounded by naked maenads.”

“What? Maniacs?” said the Dean.

“He means…excitable young women,” said Susan. And it seemed to her that there was a general ripple of movement among the wizards, a sort of nonchalant drawing toward the glittering ball.

“Can’t quite see what he’s doing…” said Ridcully.

“Let me see if I can make it out,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies hopefully. Ridcully half turned to keep the ball out of his reach.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “It looks like he’s drinking…yes, could very well be lager and black-currant, if I’m any judge…”

“Oh,
me
…” moaned the oh god.

“These young women, now—” the Lecturer in Recent Runes began.

“I can see there’s some bottles on the table,” Ridcully continued. “That one, hmm, yes, could be scumble which, as you know, is made from apples—”

“
Mainly
apples,” the Dean volunteered. “Now, about these poor mad girls—”

The oh god slumped to his knees.

“…and there’s…that drink, you know, there’s a worm in the bottle…”

“Oh,
me
…”

“…and…there’s an empty glass, a big one, can’t quite see what it contained, but there’s a paper umbrella in it. And some cherries on a stick. Oh, and an amusing little monkey.”

“…
ooohhh
…”

“…of course, there’s a lot of other bottles, too,” said Ridcully, cheerfully. “Different colored drinks, mainly. The sort made from melons and coconuts and chocolate and such like, don’tcherknow. Funny thing is, all the glasses on the table are pint mugs…”

Bilious fell forward.

“All right,” he murmured. “I’ll drink the wretched stuff.”

“It’s not quite ready yet,” said Ridcully. “Ah, thank you, Modo.”

Modo tiptoed in, pushing a trolley. There was a large metal bowl on it, in which a small bottle stood in the middle of a heap of crushed ice.

“Only just made this for Hogswatch dinner,” said Ridcully. “Hasn’t had much time to mature yet.”

He put down the crystal and fished a pair of heavy gloves out of his hat.

The wizards spread like an opening flower. One moment they were gathered around Ridcully, the next they were standing close to various items of heavy furniture.

Susan felt she was present at a ceremony and hadn’t been told the rules.

“What’s that?” she said, as Ridcully carefully lifted up the bottle.

“Wow-Wow Sauce,” said Ridcully. “Finest condiment known to man. A happy accompaniment to meat, fish, fowl, eggs and many types of vegetable dishes. It’s not safe to drink it when sweat’s still condensing on the bottle, though.” He peered at the bottle, and then rubbed at it, causing a glassy, squeaky noise. “On the other hand,” he said brightly, “if it’s a kill-or-cure remedy then we are, given that the patient is practically immortal, probably onto a winner.”

He placed a thumb over the cork and shook the bottle vigorously. There was a crash as the Chair of Indefinite Studies and the Senior Wrangler tried to get under the same table.

“And these fellows seem to have taken against it for some reason,” he said, approaching the beaker.

“I prefer a sauce that doesn’t mean you mustn’t make any jolting movements for half an hour after using it,” muttered the Dean.

“And that can’t be used for breaking up small rocks,” said the Senior Wrangler.

“Or getting rid of tree roots,” said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

“And which isn’t actually outlawed in three cities,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Ridcully cautiously uncorked the bottle. There was a brief hiss of indrawn air.

He allowed a few drops to splash into the beaker. Nothing happened.

A more generous helping was allowed to fall. The mixture remained irredeemably inert.

Ridcully sniffed suspiciously at the bottle.

“I wonder if I added enough grated wahooni?” he said, and then upturned the sauce and let most of it slide into the mixture.

It merely went
gloop
.

The wizards began to stand up and brush themselves off, giving one another the rather embarrassed grins of people who know that they’ve just been part of a synchronized making-a-fool-of-yourself team.

“I know we’ve had that asafoetida rather a long time,” said Ridcully. He turned the bottle round, peering at it sadly.

Finally he tipped it up for the last time and thumped it hard on the base.

A trickle of sauce arrived on the lip of the bottle and glistened there for a moment. Then it began to form a bead.

As if drawn by invisible strings, the heads of the wizards turned to look at it.

Wizards wouldn’t be wizards if they couldn’t see a
little
way into the future.

As the bead swelled and started to go pear-shaped they turned and, with a surprising turn of speed for men so wealthy in years and waistline, began to dive for the floor.

The drop fell.

It went
gloop
.

And that was all.

Ridcully, who’d been standing like a statue, sagged in relief.

“I don’t know,” he said, turning away, “I wish you fellows would show some backbone—”

The fireball lifted him off his feet. Then it rose to the ceiling, where it spread out widely and vanished with a pop, leaving a perfect chrysanthemum of scorched plaster.

Pure white light filled the room. And there was a sound.

TINKLE. TINKLE.

FIZZ
.

The wizards risked looking around.

The beaker gleamed. It was filled with a liquid glow, which bubbled gently and sent out sparkles like a spinning diamond.

“My word…” breathed the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

Ridcully picked himself up off the floor. Wizards tended to roll well, or in any case are well padded enough to bounce.

Slowly, the flickering brilliance casting their long shadows on the walls, the wizards gravitated toward the beaker.

“Well, what
is
it?” said the Dean.

“I remember my father tellin’ me some very valuable advice about drinks,” said Ridcully. “He said, ‘Son, never drink any drink with a paper umbrella in it, never drink any drink with a humorous name, and never drink any drink that changes color when the last ingredient goes in. And never, ever, do this—’”

He dipped his finger into the beaker.

It came out with one glistening drop on the end.

“Careful, Archchancellor,” warned the Dean. “What you have there might represent pure sobriety.”

Ridcully paused with the finger halfway to his lips.

“Good point,” he said. “I don’t want to start being sober at my time of life.” He looked around. “How do we usually test stuff?”

“Generally we ask for student volunteers,” said the Dean.

“What happens if we don’t get any?”

“We give it to them anyway.”

“Isn’t that a bit unethical?”

“Not if we don’t tell them, Archchancellor.”

“Ah, good point.”

“I’ll try it,” the oh god mumbled.

“Something these clo—gentlemen have cooked up?” said Susan. “It might kill you!”

“You’ve never
had
a hangover, I expect,” said the oh god. “Otherwise you wouldn’t talk such rot.”