She looked  back.  Now the furs  had gone  and  the man  looked  older, although he had the same eyes. He was wearing thick white robes, and  looked very much like a priest.

     When  a  bird  called again she didn't look away. And she realized that she'd been mistaken  in  thinking that the man changed  like the  turning of pages. All the images were there at once, and many others too.  What you saw depended on how you looked.

     Yes. It's a  good  job I'm cool and totally used to this sort of thing, she thought. Otherwise I'd be rather worried...

     Now they were at the edge of the forest.

     A little way  off, four  huge  boars stood  and steamed, in front  of a sledge that  looked as if  it  had been put together out of  crudely trimmed trees.  There were faces in the blackened  wood,  possibly  carved by stone, possibly carved by rain and wind.

     The  Hogfather  climbed  aboard and sat down. He'd put on weight in the last few yards and  now  it was almost impossible to see anything other than the huge, redrobed  man, ice crystals settling here and there on  the cloth. Only in the occasional sparkle of frost was there a hint of hair or tusk.

     He shifted on the seat and then reached down to extricate a false beard, which he held up questioningly.

     SORRY, said a voice behind Susan. THAT WAS MINE.

     The Hogfather nodded at Death, as one craftsman to another, and then at Susan. She wasn't sure if  she was being thanked -  it was more a gesture of recognition, of acknowledgement that  something that needed doing had indeed been done. But it wasn't thanks.

     Then he shook the reins and clicked his teeth and the sledge slid away.

     They watched it go.

     'I  remember  hearing,'  said  Susan distantly, 'that the  idea of  the Hogfather wearing a red and white outfit was invented quite recently.'

NO. IT WAS REMEMBERED.

     Now the Hogfather was a red dot on the other side of the valley.

     'Well, that about  wraps it up for this dress,'  said Susan.  'I'd just like to ask, just out of  academic interest... you were sure I  was going to survive, were you?'

I WAS QUITE CONFIDENT.

     'Oh, good.'

     I WILL GIVE YOU A LIFT BACK, said Death, after a while.

     'Thank you. Now... tell me . .

     WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN'T SAVED HIM?

     'Yes! The sun would have risen just the same, yes?'

NO.

     'Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that. It's an astronomical fact.'

THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN.

     She turned on him.

     'It's been  a long night,  Grandfather! I'm tired and I need  a bath! I don't need silliness!'

THE SUN WOULD NOT HAVE RISEN.

     'Really? Then what would have happened, pray?'

A MERE BALL OF FLAMING GAS WOULD HAVE ILLUMINATED THE WORLD.

     They walked in silence for a moment.

     'Ah,' said  Susan  dully. 'Trickery  with words.  I would have  thought you'd have been more literal-minded than that.'

I AM NOTHING IF NOT LITERAL-MINDED. TRICKERY WITH WORDS IS WHERE HUMANS LIVE.

     'All right,' said Susan. 'I'm not stupid.  You're saying humans need... fantasies to make life bearable.'

REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

     'Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little...'

YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT  LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.

     'So we can believe the big ones?'

YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.

     'They're not the same at all!'

YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE  UNIVERSE AND GRIND  IT  DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER  AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND  THEN SHOW ME  ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE,  ONE  MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET... Death waved a hand. AND YET  YOU ACT AS  IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN  THE  WORLD,  AS IF THERE IS SOME... SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

     'Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point...'

MY POINT EXACTLY.

     She tried to assemble her thoughts.

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE  TWO GALAXIES HAVE  BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

     'Yes,  but people don't think about that,'  said Susan. Somewhere there was a bed...

     CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE, WORLDS COLLIDE, THERE's HARDLY ANYWHERE IN  THE UNIVERSE  WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR  FRIED, AND  YET YOU BELIEVE THAT A... A BED IS A NORMAL THING. IT IS THE MOST AMAZING TALENT.

     'Talent?'

OH, YES. A VERY SPECIAL KIND OF STUPIDITY. YOU THINK THE WHOLE UNIVERSE IS INSIDE YOUR HEADS.

     'You make us sound mad,' said Susan. A nice warm bed...

     NO. YOU NEED TO  BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T  TRUE. HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME? said Death, helping her up on to Binky.

     'These  mountains,'  said Susan,  as  the horse  rose. 'Are  they  real mountains, or some sort of shadows?'

YES.

     Susan knew that was all she was going to get.

     'Er... I lost the sword. It's somewhere in the Tooth Fairy's country.'

     Death shrugged. I CAN MAKE ANOTHER.

     'Can you?'

     OH, YES. IT WILL GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.

     The  Senior  Wrangler  hummed  cheerfully  to himself as he  ran a comb through his beard for the second time  and  liberally sprinkled it with what would turn out  to  be  a preparation  of  weasel  extract for demon removal rather than,  as he had  assumed, a  pleasant masculine Scent.[23]  Then  he stepped out into his study.

     'Sorry for the delay, but...' he began.

     There  was  no one there.  Only,  very  far off,  the sound of  someone blowing their nose mingling with the glingleglingleglingle of fading magic.

     The fight  was already gilding the top of  the Tower of  Art when Binky trotted to a standstill on the air beside the nursery balcony. Susan climbed down onto  the fresh  snow and  stood uncertainly for a moment. When someone has  gone out of their  way to drop you home it's only courteous to ask them in. On the other hand...

     WOULD YOU LIKE TO VISIT  FOR HOGSWATCH DINNER?  said  Death. He sounded hopeful. ALBERT IS FRYING A PUDDING.

     'Frying a pudding?'

     ALBERT UNDERSTANDS FRYING. AND I BELIEVE  HE'S MAKING JAM. HE CERTAINLY KEPT TALKING ABOUT IT.

     'I... er... they're really expecting me here,' said Susan. 'The Gaiters do  a lot of entertaining. His business friends. Probably the whole day will be... I'll more or less have to look after the children...'

SOMEONE SHOULD.

     'Er... would you like a drink before you go?' said Susan, giving in.

A CUP OF COCOA WOULD BE APPROPRIATE IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES.

     'Right. There's biscuits in the tin on the mantelpiece.'

     Susan headed with relief into the tiny kitchen.

     Death sat down in the creaking wicker chair, buried his feet in the rug and  looked around with interest. He  heard the clatter of  cups, and then a sound like indrawn breath, and then silence.

     Death  helped himself to a biscuit  from  the tin. There  were two full stockings hanging from the  mantelpiece.  He  prodded them with professional satisfaction, and then sat down again and observed the nursery wallpaper. It seemed to be pictures of rabbits  in waistcoats,  among  other  fauna.  He was not surprised. Death  occasionally turned  up in person even for rabbits, simply to see  that the whole process was working properly. He'd never seen one wearing a waistcoat. He wouldn't have expected waistcoats. At least, he wouldn't have expected waistcoats if he hadn't  had some experience of the way humans portrayed the universe.  As it was, it was only a blessing they hadn't been given gold watches and top hats as well.