Hogfather

---

Everything starts somewhere...

...although many physicists disagree.

There is the the constant

desire to find out where.

Where is the point where it all began?

But much, much later than that,

the Discworld was formed...

...drifting onwards through space

atop four elephants

on the shell of a giant turtle,

the great A'Tuin.

It was some time after its creation

when most people forgot that the

very oldest stories of the beginning

are, sooner or later, about blood.

At least, that's one theory.

The philosopher Didactylos has

suggested an alternative hypothesis.

"Things just happen. What the hell?"

And so our story

begins in Ankh-Morpork,

the twin city of proud

Ankh and pestilent Morpork,

the biggest city in Discworld,

a city where magic is just another job,

and where the Tower of Art of

the Unseen University for Wizards

looms over all the dark, narrow streets.

Our story begins on a midwinter festival

bearing a remarkable

similarity to your Christmas.

And so.... it was the

night before Hogswatch.

"And then Jack chopped down what

was the world's last beanstalk,

adding murder and ecological terrorism

to the theft, enticement and

trespass charges already mentioned,

and all the giant's children

didn't have a daddy any more."

"But he got away with it

and lived happily ever after

without so much as a guilty

twinge about what he had done.

which proves that you can be

excused just about anything

if you are a hero, because no

one asks inconvenient questions."

And now, it's time for bed.

- Susan?

- Yes?

You know last week when we

wrote letters to the Hogfather?

- Yes?

- Well, will he really come?

And when's he coming here?

Does it matter, if you

get the presents anyway?

Yes.

Well, if you don't

believe in the Hogfather,

- there won't be any presents.

- Thought so.

But while children

everywhere sleep fitfully

in the belief that a jolly fat man

is about to deliver their presents...

...not necessarily everyone is

entering into the Hogswatch spirit,

especially in a city

where there is a guild

for everything.

The doors are locked.

The windows are barred.

The dog does not

appear to have woken up.

The squeaky floorboards haven't.

I really doubt that you are a ghost,

and gods generally do not

announce themselves so politely.

You could, of course, be Death,

but I don't believe he

bothers with such niceties.

Besides, I'm feeling quite well.

Hmm...

Good evening.

Good evening, Lord Downey.

You appear to be.. a spectre.

Our nature is not a

matter for discussion.

We offer you a commission.

You wish someone inhumed?

Brought to an end.

- Our scale of fees...

- The payment will be $3 million.

- No questions asked, I assume.

- No questions answered.

But does the suggested fee

represent the difficulty involved?

The client is heavily guarded?

Not guarded at all,

but almost certainly impossible to

delete with conventional weapons.

We like to know for whom we are working.

We are sure you do.

We need to know your name, or names,

in strict client

confidentiality, of course.

You may think of us as... the Auditors.

Really? What do you audit?

Everything.

We maintain the logical

order of the universe.

I think we need to know

a little more than that.

We are the people with $3 million.

We need to know where,

when, and, of course, who.

The location is not on any map and

we need the task to be completed

by sunrise tomorrow. This is essential.

As for the who,

let us call him... the Fat Man.

But won't he be out on his rounds?

Ho, ho, ho!

Ho, ho, ho!

Is this a joke?

We have no sense of humour.

There are some that say that

this... person does not exist.

He must exist!

How else could you so

readily recognise his picture?

And many are in correspondence with him.

He would be difficult to find.

You will find persons on any street

who can tell you his

approximate address.

Yes, of course, but as you say,

they can hardly give a map reference.

Even then, how would

the... Fat Man be inhumed?

A glass of poisoned sherry, perhaps?

You misunderstand the

nature of employment.

How do I misunderstand you exactly?

We pay, you find the ways and means.

- How can I contact you?

- We will contact you.

We know where you are. We

know... where everyone is.

- Winvoe?

- Yes, sir?

Is Mr Teatime still in the building?

Up, Gouger! Up, Rooter!

Up, Tusker. Up, Snouter!

Giddy up!

Wahey!

Go away. I don't do that stuff any more.

Yes, Twyla?

I'm afraid of the monster

in the cellar, Susan.

- It's going to eat me up.

- What, again?

Ye gods, there's a girl

out here with a poker!

What are you doing?

Twyla said she's afraid of the

monster in the cellar, Mrs Gaiter.

And you're going to

attack it with a poker, eh?

Yes.

- Susan's our governess.

- She beats up monsters with a poker?

Actually, that's a very clever idea.

My daughter gets it into her head

there's a monster in the

cellar, you go in with a poker

and make bashing noises

while the child listens,

- and everything's alright.

- Is that what you're doing, Susan?

Yes, Mrs Gaiter.

This I've got to watch.

It's not every day you see

monsters beaten up by a girl.

Come on.

Come in, Mr Teatime.

Carter, just put it on the

table over there, will you?

Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll go

and fetch another cup directly, sir.

- What?

- For your visitor, sir.

What visitor?

Oh, for when Mr Tea...

Mr Teatime?

It's pronounced...

Teh-ah-tim-eh, sir.

Everyone gets it wrong, sir.

How did you get in here?

Easily. I got mildly... scorched

on the last few feet, of course.

The dog seems to like you.

I get on well with... animals, sir.

I have a report...

...here that says that you nailed

Sir George's dog to the ceiling.

I couldn't have it barking

while I was working, sir.

- Some people would have drugged it.

- Oh.

But I definitely fulfilled the contract.

I checked Sir George's breathing

with a mirror, as instructed.

Apparently his head was several

feet from his body at that point.

That was alright, wasn't it, sir?

It, erm...

...lacked elegance.

I thank you, sir!

I'm always happy to be corrected.

I shall remember that... next time.

It was about the next

time that I wished to talk.

As a matter of interest,

how would you go about

inhuming this gentleman?

You don't have to

worry. She always wins.

Very well done.

Very p-sychological. Clever

idea, that, bending the poker.

I expect you're not afraid

any more, eh, my girl?

No.

No. Very p-sychological.

Susan says, "Don't

get afraid. Get angry."

Oh, well, er, thank you, Susan.

And now, if you'd all like to

come back into the parlour...

I mean, the drawing room...

Dashed convincing, the way

she bent the poker like that!

- Have they all gone, Twyla?

- Yes, Susan.

Good.

Mind the tail!

That's what we do to monsters.

Now it's back to bed for you, my girl.

Difficult, sir.

Certainly.

But I have devoted

some... time to it, sir.

You mean you've actually

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes