Hogfather by Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online

Brown,” said another voice, and sniggered.
    “Lost a toot’, Mr. Brown,” said the thunder that was Banjo.
    “Keep your eyes on the road, Ernie,” said Teatime beside him. “We don’t want an accident, do we…”
    The road here was deserted, despite the bustle of the city behind them and the bulk of the University nearby. There were a few streets, but the buildings were abandoned. And something was happening to the sound. The rest of Ankh-Morpork seemed very far away, the sounds arriving as if through quite a thick wall. They were entering that scorned little corner of Ankh-Morpork that had long been the site of the University’s rubbish pits and was now known as the Unreal Estate.
    “Bloody wizards,” muttered Ernie, automatically.
    “I beg your pardon?” said Teatime.
    “My great-grandpa said we used t’own prop’ty round here. Low levels of magic, my arse! Hah, it’s all right for them wizards, they got all kindsa spells to protect ’em. Bit of magic here, bit of magic there…Stands to reason it’s got to go somewhere, right?”
    “There used to be warning signs up,” said the neat voice from behind.
    “Yeah, well, warning signs in Ankh-Morpork might as well have ‘Good firewood’ written on them,” said someone else.
    “I mean, stands to reason, they chuck out an old spell for exploding this, and another one for twiddlin’ that, and another one for making carrots grow, they finish up interfering with one another, who knows what they’ll end up doing?” said Ernie. “Great-grandpa said sometimes they’d wake up in the morning and the cellar’d be higher than the attic. And that weren’t the worst,” he added darkly.
    “Yeah, I heard where it got so bad you could walk down the street and meet yourself coming the other way,” someone supplied. “It got so’s you didn’t know it was bum or breakfast time, I heard.”
    “The dog used to bring home all kinds of stuff,” said Ernie. “Great-grandpa said half the time they used to dive behind the sofa if it came in with anything in its mouth. Corroded fire spells startin’ to fizz, broken wands with green smoke coming out of ’em and I don’t know what else…and if you saw the cat playing with anything, it was best not to try to find out what it was, I can tell you.”
    He twitched the reins, his current predicament almost forgotten in the tide of hereditary resentment.
    “I mean, they say all the old spell books and stuff was buried deep and they recycle the used spells now, but that don’t seem much comfort when your potatoes started walkin’ about,” he grumbled. “My great-grandpa went to see the head wizard about it, and he said”—he put on a strangled nasal voice which was his idea of how you talked when you’d got an education—“‘Oh, there might be some temp’ry inconvenience now, my good man, but just you come back in fifty thousand years.’ Bloody wizards.”
    The horse turned a corner.
    This was a dead-end street. Half-collapsed houses, windows smashed, doors stolen, leaned against one another on either side.
    “I heard they said they were going to clean up this place,” said someone.
    “Oh, yeah ,” said Ernie, and spat. When it hit the ground it ran away. “And you know what? You get loonies coming in all the time now, poking around, pulling things about—”
    “Just at the wall up ahead,” said Teatime conversationally. “I think you generally go through just where there’s a pile of rubble by the old dead tree, although you wouldn’t see it unless you looked closely. But I’ve never seen how you do it…”
    “’ere, I can’t take you lot through,” said Ernie. “Lifts is one thing, but not taking people through—”
    Teatime sighed. “And we were getting on so well. Listen, Ernie…Ern…you will take us through or, and I say this with very considerable regret, I will have to kill you. You seem a nice man. Conscientious. A very serious overcoat and sensible boots.”
    “But if’n I