Disc/Laimer: I don't own the DiscWorld
The Hogfather and the Patrician
By
Runt Thunderbelch
"Akk! Oooh! Eek! Oh no! AaaaaiiiiiiiiEEEE! BAMM! Ow."
A short, rotund figure limped painfully out of the central fireplace of the Patrician's Palace. At a nearby desk, a match was lit, it touched a candle, and the golden glow of the candle filled the room. The soot-smudged face of the Hogfather turned in shock towards it.
"What is that I see in your hand, Hogfather?" drawled a quiet yet cruel voice from behind the desk. "A present? For me?"
The fat man shielded his eyes from the light. He had the kind of face only greedy children could love: a massive snout, curling razor-sharp tusks, a beard which looked more like an explosion of snowy white hair than anything else. "Havelock?"
The rapier-thin Patrician stood and came around the desk. He was dressed in his traditional black. "Of course."
"You've added a few booby-traps to your chimney, I see. It's a real challenge getting down it."
The Patrician nodded. "The Assassin's Guild has a million-dollar contract on my life. One must take precautions."
The fat man looked down at the single present in his hand. "Not for you, I'm afraid. It's for Drumknott - - some nibs for his quills and an assortment of colored inks. The lad works so hard, he's nearly out."
The Patrician nodded. "He has indeed been nice. But nothing for me?"
A sigh. "Just the traditional." The Hogfather took a step forward and handed the Patrician a lump of coal. "You're on the naughty list . . . again."
The lump of coal sat heavily in the Patrician's hand. His black eyes lifted from it; his pointed black beard twitched. "Have some cookies and milk?"
The Hogfather grinned. "Don't mind if I do. Traveling all across the Disc in a single night burns up and awful lot of energy. People think it's the hogs that pull my sledge that do all the work, but it's mostly my magic. I must burn up at least a million calories every Hogswatch Eve. Thank the gods for all those children who leave me milk and cookies. Without them, I'd never make it. Mmmm, treacle-chip, my favorite!"
He munched happily, and the Patrician had a cookie as well.
"Tell me, Havelock. Have you ever thought of reforming? I'm sure you have some deep, secret wish for something I could bring you on Hogswatch."
"No. I already have everything I want."
"Really? Power? That's it? The mere authority to say who lives, who dies? That's fulfilling to you?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Morhouse," snapped the Patrician. "After all these years, you should know me better than that. Power? Every two-penny dictator and pocket-sized king on the Discworld has that. And are any of them happy? No, not a one."
"Yet you're happy."
The thin man nodded. "Oh yes." He took a second cookie.
The fat man with the monstrous face laughed. "Then shouldn't you tell me your secret? After all, I am the Master of Happiness."
The deep and cunning eyes of Havelock Vetinari regarded him coolly. "Tell me. In your vast experience with humanity, are people in general . . . naughty or nice?"
"That's easy. The entire concept of the Hogsfather is based upon niceness. My mortal stay on this world was scheduled to be up centuries ago. The only thing which has given me all these extra years is niceness. People love me. I know that sounds immodest, but it's true. Without their love, without their kindness, without their goodness, I'd simply vanish."
The Patrician nodded slowly. "I thought as much."
"What are you getting at, Havelock? The answer to that was obvious. Why even ask the question?"
"In my experience, people are just the opposite. My city runs on one single premise: that people are naughty. If I presumed for a single second that people are nice, my whole society would disintegrate into chaos and civil war. I have an Assassins' Guild which keeps murders down to an acceptable level; I have a Thieves' Guild which keeps stealing down to an acceptable level; I have a Seamstresses' Guild which keeps negotiable affection down to an acceptable level. My city works because I allow people to be the louses they really are."
"Then how do you explain me?" ask the Hogfather. "Where do I fit in to your city that works?"
The Patrician tossed his lump of coal into the air and caught it. "It's Hogswatch Eve," he explained. "In this entire city, only two men are working: the Hogfather, who believes that people are nice, and the Patrician, who believe that people are naughty. There is a certain balance, don't you see?"
"You like balance, don't you Havelock?"
"I excel at balance, Hogfather."
"So is that what keeps you happy?"
The Patrician shook his head. "What keeps me happy is that I have a city that works. What distinguishes me from all those two-penny dictators and pocket-sized kings is that I have a city that works. The reason I dump certain people into my scorpion pit, put an ex-drunkard in charge of my City Watch and a con-man in charge of my post office is so that I will have a city that works."
"And what happens if it ever stops working?"
The merciless eyes of the Patrician swung towards the Hogfather. "On that day, you shall receive a letter from me telling you what I want for Hogswatch. But until that day," Havelock Vetinari smiled grimly, "a lump of coal will suffice nicely. Thank you."
THE END