Hogfather 14 страница

'Just old boots?'

'Oh, no. Stuffed with mud, and with roast mud. 's good mud, too. I bin saving it up.'

'Now we can have a merry feast of goose!'

'All right. Can we stuff it with old boots?'

There was a pop from the direction of the cracker. They heard Foul Ole Ron's thinkingbrain dog growl.

'No, no, no, you put the hat on your head and you read the hum'rous mottar.'

'Millennium hand and shrimp?' said Ron, passing the scrap of paper to the Duck Man. The Duck Man was regarded as the intellectual of the group.

He peered at the motto.

'Ah, yes, let's see now... It says "'Help Help Help Ive Fallen in the Crakker Machine I Cant Keep Runin on this Roller Please Get me Ou...".' He turned the paper over a few times. 'That appears to be it, except for the stains.'

'Always the same ole mottars,' said the dog. 'Someone slap Ron on the back, will you? If he laughs any more he'll - oh, he has. Oh well, nothing new about that.'

The beggars spent a few more minutes picking up hams, jars and bottles that had settled on the snow. They packed them around Arnold on his trolley and set off down the street.

'How come we got all this?'

' 's Hogswatch, right?'

'Yeah, but who hung up their stocking?'

'I don't think we've got any, have we?'

'I hung up an old boot.'

'Does that count?'

'Dunno. Ron ate it.'

 

I'm waiting for the Hogfather, thought Ponder Stibbons. I'm in the dark waiting for the Hogfather. Me. A believer in Natural Philosophy. I can find the square root of 27.4 in my head.[20]I shouldn't be doing this.

It's not as if I've hung a stocking up. There'd be some point if...

He sat rigid for a moment, and then pulled off his pointy sandal and rolled down a sock. It helped if you thought of it as the scientific testing of an interesting hypothesis.

From out of the darkness Ridcully said, 'How long, do you think?'

'It's generally believed that all deliveries are completed well before midnight,' said Ponder, and tugged hard.

'Are you all right, Mr Stibbons?'

'Fine. sir. Fine. Er... do you happen to have a drawing pin about you? Or a small nail, perhaps?'

'I don't believe so.'

'Oh, it's all right. I've found a penknife.'

After a while Ridcully heard a faint scratching noise in the dark.

'How do you spell "electricity", sir?'

Ridcully thought for a while. 'You know, I don't think I ever do.'

There was silence again, and then a clang. The Librarian grunted in his sleep.

'What are you doing?'

'I just knocked over the coal shovel.'

'Why are you feeling around on the mantelpiece?'

'Oh, just... you know, just... just looking. A little... experiment. After all, you never know.'

'You never know what?'

'Just... never know, you know.'

'Sometimes you know,' said Ridcully. 'I think I know quite a lot that I didn't used to know. It's amazing what you do end up knowing, I sometimes think. I often wonder what new stuff I'll know.'

'Well, you never know.'

'That's a fact.'

 

High over the city Albert turned to Death, who seemed to be trying to avoid his gaze.

'You didn't get that stuff out of the sack! Not cigars and peaches in brandy and grub with fancy foreign names!'

YES, IT CAME OUT OF THE SACK.

Albert gave him a suspicious look.

'But you put it in the sack in the first place, didn't you?'

NO.

'You did, didn't you?' Albert stated.

NO.

'You put all those things in the sack.'

NO.

'You got them from somewhere and put them in the sack.'

NO.

'You did put them in the sack, didn't you?'

NO.

'You put them in the sack.'

YES.

'I knew you put them in the sack. Where did you get them?'

THEY WERE JUST LYING AROUND.

'Whole roast pig does not, in my experience, just lie around.'

NO ONE SEEMED TO BE USING THEM, ALBERT.

'Couple of chimneys ago we were over that big posh restaurant...'

REALLY? I DON'T REMEMBER.

'And it seemed to me you were down there a bit longer than usual, if you don't mind me saying so.'

REALLY.

'How exactly were they just inverted comma lying around inverted comma?'

JUST... LYING AROUND. YOU KNOW. RECUMBENT.

'In a kitchen?'

THERE WAS A CERTAIN CULINARINESS ABOUT THE PLACE, I RECALL.

Albert pointed a trembling finger.

'You nicked someone's Hogswatch dinner, master!'

IT'S GOING TO BE EATEN, said Death defensively. ANYWAY, YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA WHEN I SHOWED THAT KING THE DOOR.

'Yeah, well, that was a bit different,' said Albert, lowering his voice. 'But, I mean, the Hogfather doesn't drop down the chimney and pinch people's grub!'

THE BEGGARS WILL ENJOY IT, ALBERT.

'Well, yes, but...'

IT WASN'T STEALING. IT WAS JUST... REDISTRIBUTION. IT WILL BE A GOOD DEED IN A NAUGHTY WORLD.

'No, it won't!'

THEN IT WILL BE A NAUGHTY DEED IN A NAUGHTY WORLD AND WILL PASS COMPLETELY UNNOTICED.

'Yeah, but you might at least have thought about the people whose grub you pinched.'

THEY HAVE BEEN PROVIDED FOR, OF COURSE. I AM NOT COMPLETELY HEARTLESS. IN A METAPHORICAL SENSE. AND NOW - ONWARDS AND UPWARDS.

'We're heading down, master.'

ONWARDS AND DOWNWARDS, THEN.

 

There were... swirls. Binky galloped easily through them, except that he did not seem to move. He might have been hanging in the air.

'Oh, me,' said the oh god weakly.

'What?' said Susan.

'Try shutting your eyes...'

Susan shut her eyes. Then she reached up to touch her face.

'I'm still seeing..

'I thought it was just me. It's usually just me.' The swirls vanished.

There was greenery below.

And that was odd. It was greenery. Susan had flown a few times over countryside, even swamps and jungles, and there had never been a green as green as this. If green could be a primary colour, this was it.

And that wiggly thing

'That's not a river!' she said.

'Isn't it?'

'It's blue!'

The oh god risked a look down.

'Water's blue,' he said.

'Of course it's not!'

'Grass is green, water's blue... I can remember that. It's some of the stuff I just know.'

'Well, in a way...' Susan hesitated. Everyone knew grass was green and water was blue. Quite often it wasn't true, but everyone knew it in the same way they knew the sky was blue, too.

She made the mistake of looking up as she thought that.

There was the sky. It was, indeed, blue. And down there was the land. It was green.

And in between was nothing. Not white space. Not black night. Just... nothing, all round the edges of the world. Where the brain said there should be, well, sky and land, meeting neatly at the horizon, there was simply a void that sucked at the eyeball like a loose tooth.

And there was the sun.

It was under the sky, floating above the land.

And it was yellow.

Buttercup yellow.

Binky landed on the grass beside the river. Or at least on the green. It felt more like sponge, or moss. He nuzzled it.

Susan slid off, trying to keep her gaze low. That meant she was looking at the vivid blue of the water.

There were orange fish in it. They didn't look quite right, as if they'd been created by someone who really did think a fish was two curved lines and a dot and a triangular tail. They reminded her of the skeletal fish in Death's quiet pool. Fish that were... appropriate to their surroundings. And she could see them, even though the water was just a block of colour which part of her insisted ought to be opaque...

She knelt down and dipped her hand in. It felt like water, but what poured through her fingers was liquid blue.

And now she knew where she was. The last piece clicked into place and the knowledge bloomed inside her. She knew if she saw a house just how its windows would be placed, and just how the smoke would come out of the chimney.

There would almost certainly be apples on the trees. And they would be red, because everyone knew that apples were red. And the sun was yellow. And the sky was blue. And the grass was green.

But there was another world, called the real world by the people who believed in it, where the sky could be anything from off-white to sunset red to thunderstorm yellow. And the trees would be anything from bare branches, mere scribbles against the sky, to red flames before the frost. And the sun was white or yellow or orange. And water was brown and grey and green...

The colours here were springtime colours, and not the springtime of the world. They were the colours of the springtime of the eye.

'This is a child's painting,' she said.

The oh god slumped onto the green.

'Every time I look at the gap my eyes water,' he mumbled. 'I feel awful.'

'I said this is a child's painting,' said Susan.

'Oh, me... I think the wizards' potion is wearing off...'

'I've seen dozens of pictures of it,' said Susan, ignoring him. 'You put the sky overhead because the sky's above you and when you are a couple of feet high there's not a lot of sideways to the sky in any case. And everyone tells you grass is green and water is blue. This is the landscape you paint. Twyla paints like that. I painted like that. Grandfather saved some of...'

She stopped.

'All children do it, anyway,' she muttered. 'Come on, let's find the house.'

'What house?' the oh god moaned. 'And can you speak quieter, please?'

'There'll be a house,' said Susan, standing up. 'There's always a house. With four windows. And the smoke coming out of the chimney all curly like a spring. Look, this is a place like gr... Death's country. It's not really geography.'

The oh god walked over to the nearest tree and banged his head on it as if he hoped it was going to hurt.

'Feels like geo'fy,' he muttered.

'But have you ever seen a tree like that? A big green blob on a brown stick? It looks like a lollipop!' said Susan, pulling him along.

'Dunno. Firs' time I ever saw a tree. Arrgh. Somethin' dropped on m'head.' He blinked owlishly at the ground. ' 's red.'

'It's an apple,' she said. She sighed. 'Everyone knows apples are red.'

There were no bushes. But there were flowers, each with a couple of green leaves. They grew individually, dotted around the rolling green.

And then they were out of the trees and there, by a bend in the river, was the house.

It didn't look very big. There were four windows and a door. Corkscrew smoke curled out of the chimney.

'You know, it's a funny thing,' said Susan, staring at it. 'Twyla draws houses like that. And she practically lives in a mansion. I drew houses like that. And I was born in a palace. Why?'

'P'raps it's all this house,' muttered the oh. god miserably.

'What? You really think so? Kids' paintings are all of this place? It's in our heads?'

'Don't ask me, I was just making conversation,' said the oh god.

Susan hesitated. The words What Now? loomed. Should she just go and knock?

And she realized that was normal thinking...

 

In the glittering, clattering, chattering atmosphere a head waiter was having a difficult time. There were a lot of people in, and the staff should have been fully stretched, putting bicarbonate of soda in the white wine to make very expensive bubbles and cutting the vegetables very small to make them cost more.

Instead they were standing in a dejected group in the kitchen.

'Where did it all go?' screamed the manager. 'Someone's been through the cellar, too!'

'William said he felt a cold wind,' said the waiter. He'd been backed up against a hot plate, and now knew why it was called a hot plate in a way he hadn't fully comprehended before.

'I'll give him a cold wind! Haven't we got anything?'

'There's odds and ends..

'You don't mean odds and ends, you mean des curieux et des bouts,' corrected the manager.

'Yeah, right, yeah. And, er, and, er..

'There's nothing else?'

'Er... old boots. Muddy old boots.'

'Old...?'

'Boots. Lots of 'em,' said the waiter. He felt he was beginning to singe.

'How come we've got... vintage footwear?'

'Dunno. They just turned up, sir. The oven, s full of old boots. So's the pantry.'

'There's a hundred people booked in! All the shops'll be shut! Where's Chef?'

'William's trying to get him to come out of the privy, sir. He's locked himself in and is having one of his Moments.'

'Something's cooking. What's that I can smell?'

'Me, sir.'

'Old boots muttered the manager. 'Old boots... old boots... Leather, are they? Not clogs or rubber or anything?'

'Looks like... just boots. And lots of mud, sir.'

The manager took off his jacket. 'All right. Cot any cream, have we? Onions? Garlic? Butter? Some old beef bones? A bit of pastry?'

'Er, yes...'

The manager rubbed his hands together. 'Right,' he said, taking an apron off a hook. 'You there, get some water boiling! Lots of water! And find a really large hammer! And you, chop some onions! The rest of you, start sorting out the boots. I want the tongues out and the soles off. We'll do them... let's see... Mousse de la Boue dans une Panier de la Pate de Chaussures...'

'Where're we going to get that from, sir?'

'Mud mousse in a basket of shoe pastry. Get the idea? It's not our fault if even Quirmians don't understand restaurant Quirmian. It's not like lying, after all.'

'Well, it's a bit like...' the waiter began. He'd been cursed with honesty at an early stage.

'Then there's Brodequin rфti Faзon Ombres..

The manager sighed at the head waiter's panicky expression. 'Soldier's boot done in the Shades fashion,' he translated.

'Er... Shades fashion?'

'In mud. But if we cook the tongues separately we can put on Languette braisйe, too.'

'There's some ladies' shoes, sir,' said an underchef.

'Right. Add to the menu... Let's see now... Sole d'une Bonne Femme... and... yes... Servis dans un Coulis de Terre en I'Eau. That's mud, to you.'

'What about the laces, sir?' said another underchef.

'Good thinking. Dig out that recipe for Spaghetti Carbonara.'

'Sir?' said the head waiter.

'I started off as a chef,' said the manager, picking up a knife. 'How do you think I was able to afford this place? I know how it's done. Get the look and the sauce right and you're threequarters there.'

'But it's all going to be old boots!' said the waiter.

'Prime aged beef,' the manager corrected him. 'It'll tenderize in no time.'

'Anyway... anyway... we haven't got any soup

'Mud. And a lot of onions.'

'There's the puddings...'

'Mud. Let's see if we can get it to caramelize, you never know.'

'I can't even find the coffee... Still, they probably won't last till the coffee...'

'Mud. Cafe de Terre,' said the manager firmly. 'Genuine ground coffee.'

'Oh, they'll spot that, sir!'

'They haven't up till now,' said the manager darkly.

'We'll never get away with it, sir. Never.'

 

In the country of the sky on top, Medium Dave Lilywhite hauled another bag of money down the stairs.

'There must be thousands here,' said Chickenwire.

'Hundreds of thousands,' said Medium Dave.

'And what's all this stuff?' said Catseye, opening a box. ' 's just paper.' He tossed it aside.

Medium Dave sighed. He was all for class solidarity, but sometimes Catseye got on his nerves.

'They're title deeds,' he said. 'And they're better than money.'

Taper's better'n money?' said Catseye. 'Hah, if you can burn it you can't spend it, that's what I say.'

'Hang on,' said Chickenwire. 'I know about them. The Tooth Fairy owns property?'

'Cot to raise money somehow,' said Medium Dave. 'All those half-dollars under the pillow.'

'If we steal them, do they become ours?'

'Is that a trick question?' said Catseye, smirking.

'Yeah, but... ten thousand each doesn't sound such a lot, when you see all this.'

'He won't miss a...'

'Gentlemen...'

They turned. Teatime was in the doorway.

'We were just... we were just piling up the stuff,' said Chickenwire.

'Yes. I know. I told you to.'

'Right. That's right. You did,' said Chickenwire gratefully.

'And there's such a lot,' said Teatime. He gave them a smile. Catseye coughed.

' 's got to be thousands,' said Medium Dave. 'And what about all these deeds and so on? Look, this one's for that pipe shop in Honey Trap Lane!

In Ankh-Morpork! I buy my tobacco there! Old Thimble is always moaning about the rent, too!'

'Ah. So you opened the strongboxes,' said Teatime pleasantly.

'Well... yes...'

'Fine. Fine,' said Teatime. 'I didn't ask you to, but... fine, fine.

And how did you think the Tooth Fairy made her money? Little gnomes in some mine somewhere? Fairy gold? But that turns to trash in the morning!'

He laughed. Chickenwire laughed. Even Medium Dave laughed. And then Teatime was on him, pushing him irresistibly backwards until he hit the wall.

There was a blur and he tried to blink and his left eyelid was suddenly a rose of pain.

Teatime's good eye was close to him, if you could call it good. The pupil was a dot. Medium Dave could just make out his hand, right by Medium Dave's face.

It was holding a knife. The point of the blade could only be the merest fraction of an inch from Medium Dave's right eye.

'I know people say I'd kill them as soon as look at them,' whispered Teatime. 'And in fact I'd much rather kill you than look at you, Mr Lilywhite. You stand in a castle of gold and plot to steal pennies. Oh, dear. What am I to do with you?'

He relaxed a little, but his hand still held the knife to Medium Dave's unblinking eye.

'You're thinking that Banjo is going to help

you,' he said. 'That's how it's always been, isn't it? But Banjo likes me. He really does. Banjo is my friend.'

Medium Dave managed to focus beyond Teatime's ear. His brother was just standing there, with the blank face he had while he waited for another order or a new thought to turn up.

'If I thought you were feeling bad thoughts about me I would be so downcast,' said Teatime. 'I do not have many friends left, Mr Medium Dave.'

He stood back and smiled happily. 'All friends now?' he said, as Medium Dave slumped down. 'Help him, Banjo.'

On cue, Banjo lumbered forward.

'Banjo has the heart of a little child,' said Teatime, the knife disappearing somewhere about his clothing. 'I believe I have, too.'

The others were frozen in place. They hadn't moved since the attack. Medium Dave was a heavy-set man and Teatime was a matchstick model, but he'd lifted Medium Dave off his feet like a feather.

'As far as the money goes, in fact, I really have no use for it,' said Teatime, sitting down on a sack of silver. 'It is small change. You may share it out amongst yourselves, and no doubt you'll squabble and doublecross one another more tiresomely. Oh, dear. It is so awful when friends fall out.'

He kicked the sack. It split. Silver and copper fell in an expensive trickle.

'And you'll swagger and spend it on drink and women,' he said, as they watched the coins roll into every corner of the room. 'The thought of investment will never cross your scarred little minds...'

There was a rumble from Banjo. Even Teatime waited patiently until the huge man had assembled a sentence. The result was:

'I gotta piggy bank.'

'And what would you do with a million dollars, Banjo?' said Teatime.

Another rumble. Banjo's face twisted up.

'Buy... a... bigger piggy bank?'

'Well done.' The Assassin stood up. 'Let's go and see how our wizard is getting on, shall we?'

He walked out of the room without looking back. After a moment Banjo followed.

The others tried not to look at one another's faces. Then Chickenwire said, 'Was he saying we could take the money and go?'

'Don't be bloody stupid, we wouldn't get ten yards,' said Medium Dave, still clutching his face. 'Ugh, this hurts. I think he cut the eyelid... he cut the damn eyelid...'

'Then let's just leave the stuff and go! I never joined up to ride on tigers!'

'And what'll you do when he comes after you?'

'Why'd he bother with the likes of us?'

'He's got time for his friends,' said Medium Dave bitterly. 'For gods' sakes, someone get me a clean rag or something...

'OK, but... but he can't look everywhere.'

Medium Dave shook his head. He'd been through AnkhMorpork's very own university of the streets and had graduated with his life and an intelligence made all the keener by constant friction. You only had to look into Teatime's mismatched eyes to know one thing, which was this: that if Teatime wanted to find you he would not look everywhere. He'd look in only one place, which would be the place where you were hiding.

'How come your brother likes him so much?'

Medium Dave grimaced. Banjo had always done what he was told, simply because Medium Dave had told him. Up to now, anyway.

It must have been that punch in the bar. Medium Dave didn't like to think about it. He'd always promised their mother that he'd look after Banjo,[21]and Banjo had gone back like a falling tree. And when Medium Dave had risen from his seat to punch Teatime's unbalanced lights out he'd suddenly found the Assassin already behind him, holding a knife. In front of everyone. It was humiliating, that's what it was

And then Banjo had sat up, looking puzzled, and spat out a tooth

'If it wasn't for Banjo going around with him all the time we could gang up on him,' said Catseye.

Medium Dave looked up, one hand clamping a handkerchief to his eye.

'Gang up on him?' he said.

'Yeah, it's all your fault,' Chickenwire went on.

'Oh, yeah? So it wasn't you who said, wow, ten thousand dollars, count me in?'

Chickenwire backed away. 'I didn't know there was going to be all this creepy stuff! I want to go home!'

Medium Dave hesitated, despite his pain and rage. This wasn't normal talk for Chickenwire, for all that he whined and grumbled. This was a strange place, no lie about that, and all that business with the teeth had been very... odd, but he'd been out with Chickenwire when jobs had gone wrong and both the Watch and the Thieves' Guild had been after them and he'd been as cool as anyone. And if the Guild had been the ones to catch them they'd have nailed their ears to their ankles and thrown them in the river. In Medium Dave's book, which was a simple book and largely written in mental crayon, things didn't get creepier than that.

'What's up with you?' he said. 'All of you you're acting like little kids!'

 

'Would he deliver to apes earlier than humans?'

'Interesting point, sir. Possibly you're referring to my theory that humans may have in fact descended from apes, of course,' said Ponder. 'A bold hypothesis which ought to sweep away the ignorance of centuries if the grants committee could just see their way clear to letting me hire a boat and sail around to the islands of... '

'I just thought he might deliver alphabetically,' said Ridcully.

There was a patter of soot in the cold fireplace.

'That's presumably him now, do you think?' Ridcully went on. 'Oh, well, I thought we should check...'

Something landed in the ashes. The two wizards stood quietly in the darkness while the figure picked itself up. There was a rustle of paper.

LET ME SEE NOW

There was a click as Ridcully's pipe fell out of his mouth.

'Who the hell are you?' he said. 'Mr Stibbons, light a candle!'

Death backed away.

I'M THE HOGFATHER, OF COURSE. ER. HO. HO. HO. WHO WOULD YOU EXPECT TO COME DOWN A CHIMNEY ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS, MAY I ASK?

'No, you're not!'

I AM. LOOK, I'VE GOT THE BEARD AND THE PILLOW AND EVERYTHING!

'You look extremely thin in the face!'

I'M... I... I'M NOT WELL. IT'S ALL... YES,

IT'S ALL THIS SHERRY. AND RUSHING AROUND. I AM A BIT ILL.

'Terminally, I should say.' Ridcully grabbed the beard. There was a twang as the string gave way.

'It's a false beard!'

NO IT'S NOT, said Death desperately.

'Here's the hooks for the ears, which must have given you a bit of trouble, I must say!'

Ridcully flourished the incriminating evidence.

'What were you doing coming down the chimney?' he continued. 'Not in marvellous taste, I think.'

Death waved a small grubby scrap of paper defensively.

OFFICIAL LETTER TO THE HOGFATHER. SAYS HERE... he began, and then looked at the paper again. WELL, QUITE A LOT, IN FACT. IT'S A LONG LIST. LIBRARY STAMPS, REFERENCE BOOKS, PENCILS, BANANAS...

'The Librarian asked the Hogfather for those things?' said Ridcully. 'Why?'

I DON'T KNOW, said Death. This was a diplomatic answer. He kept his finger over a reference to the Archchancellor. The orang-utan for 'duck's bottom' was quite an interesting squiggle.

'I've got plenty in my desk drawer,' mused Ridcully. 'I'm quite happy to give them out to any chap provided he can prove he's used up the old one.'

THEY MUST SHOW YOU AN ABSENCE OF PENCIL?

'Of course. If he needed essential materials he need only have come to me. No man can tell you I'm an unreasonable chap.'

Death checked the list carefully.

THAT IS PRECISELY CORRECT, he confirmed, with anthropological exactitude.

'Except for the bananas, of course. I wouldn't keep fish in my desk.'

Death looked down at the list and then back up at Ridcully.

GOOD? he said, in the hope that this was the right response.

Wizards know when they are going to die.[22] Ridcully had no such premonitions, and to Ponder's horror prodded Death in the cushion.

'Why you?' he said. 'What's happened to the other fellow?'

I SUPPOSE I MUST TELL YOU.

In the house of Death, a whisper of shifting sand and the faintest chink of moving glass, somewhere in the darkness of the floor...

And, in the dry shadows, the sharp smell of snow and a thud of hooves.

 

Sideney almost swallowed his tongue when Teatime appeared beside him.

'Are we making progress?'

'Gnk...'

'I'm sorry?' said Teatime.

Sideney recovered himself. 'Er... some,' he said. 'We think we've worked out... er... one lock.'

Light gleamed off Teatime's eye.

'I believe there are seven of them?' said the Assassin.

'Yes, but... they're half magic and half real and half not there... I mean... there's parts of them that don't exist all the time...'

Mr Brown, who had been working at one of the locks, laid down his pick.

' 't's no good, mister,' he said. 'Can't even get a purchase with a crowbar. Maybe if I went back to the city and got a couple of dragons we could do something. You can melt through steel with them if you twist their necks right and feed 'em carbon.'

'I was told you were the best locksmith in the city,' said Teatime.

Behind him, Banjo shifted position.

Mr Brown looked annoyed...

'Well, yes,' he said. 'But locks don't generally alter 'emselves while you're working on 'em, that's what I'm saying.'

'And I thought you could open any lock anyone ever made,' said Teatime.

'Made by humans,' said Mr Brown sharply. 'And most dwarfs. I dunno what made these. You never said anything about magic.'

'That's a shame,' said Teatime. 'Then really I have no more need of your services. You may as well go back home.'

'I won't be sorry.' Mr Brown started putting things back into his tool bag. 'What about my money?'

'Do I owe you any?'

'I came along with you. I don't see it's my fault that this is all magic business. I should get something.'

'Ah, yes, I see your point,' said Teatime. 'Of course, you should get what you deserve. Banjo?'

Banjo lumbered forward, and then stopped.

Mr Brown's hand had come out of the bag holding a crowbar.

'You must think I was born yesterday, you slimy little bugger,' he said. 'I know your type. You think it's all some kind of game. You make little jokes to yourself and you think no one else notices and you think you're so smart. Well, Mr Teacup, I'm leaving, right? Right now. With what's coming to me. And you ain't stopping me. And Banjo certainly ain't. I knew old Ma Lilywhite back in the good old days. You think you're nasty? You think you're mean? Ma Lilywhite'd tear your ears off and spit 'em in your eye, you cocky little devil. And I worked with her, so you don't scare me and nor does little Banjo, poor sod that he is.'