The other wizards stared.

Something was moving under his hat.

Very carefully, he reached up and removed it.

The very small gnome sitting on his head had a clump of the Dean's hair in each hand. It blinked guiltily in the light.

"Is there a problem?" it said.

"Get it off me!" the Dean yelled.

The wizards hesitated. They were all vaguely aware of the theory that very small creatures could pa.s.s on diseases, and while the gnome was larger than such creatures were generally thought to be, no one wanted to catch Expanding Scalp Sickness.

Susan grabbed it.

"Are you the Hair Loss Fairy?" she said.

"Apparently," said the gnome, wriggling in her grip.

The Dean ran his hands desperately through his hair.

"What have you been doing with my hair?" he demanded.

"Well, some of it I think I have to put on hairbrushes," said the gnome, "but sometimes I think I weave it into little mats to block up the bath with."

"What do you mean, you think think?" said Ridcully.

"Just a minute," said Susan. She turned to the oh G.o.d. "Where exactly were were you before I found you in the snow?" you before I found you in the snow?"

"Er...sort of...everywhere, I think," said the oh G.o.d. "Anywhere where drink had been consumed in beastly quant.i.ties some time previously, you could say."

"Ah-ha," said Ridcully. "You were an immanent vital force, yes?"

"I suppose I could have been," the oh G.o.d conceded.

"And when we joked about the Hair Loss Fairy it suddenly focused on the Dean's head," said Ridcully, "where its operations have been noticeable to all of us in recent months although of course we have been far too polite to pa.s.s comment on the subject."

"You're calling things into being," said Susan.

"Things like the Give the Dean a Huge Bag of Money Goblin?" said the Dean, who could think very quickly at times. He looked around hopefully. "Anyone hear any fairy tinkling?"

"Do you often get given huge bags of money, sir?" said Susan.

"Not on what you'd call a daily basis, no," said the Dean. "But if-"

"Then there probably isn't any occult room for a Huge Bags of Money Goblin," said Susan.

"I personally have always wondered what happens to my socks," said the Bursar cheerfully. "You know how there's always one missing? When I was a lad I always thought that something was taking them..."

The wizards gave this some thought. Then they all heard it-the little crinkly tinkling noise of magic taking place.

The Archchancellor pointed dramatically skyward.

"To the laundry!" he said.

"It's downstairs, Ridcully," said the Dean.

"Down to the laundry!" to the laundry!"

"And you know Mrs. Whitlow doesn't like us going in there," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"And who is Archchancellor of this University, may I ask?" said Ridcully. "Is it Mrs. Whitlow? I don't think so! Is it me? Why, how amazing, I do believe it is!"

"Yes, but you know what she can be like," said the Chair.

"Er, yes, that's true-" Ridcully began.

"I believe she's gone to her sister's for the holiday," said the Bursar.

"We certainly don't have to take orders from any kind of housekeeper!" said the Archchancellor. "To the laundry!"

The wizards surged out excitedly, leaving Susan, the oh G.o.d, the Verruca Gnome and the Hair Loss Fairy.

"Tell me again who those people were," said the oh G.o.d.

"Some of the cleverest men in the world," said Susan.

"And I'm sober, am I?"

"Clever isn't the same as sensible," said Susan, "and they do say that if you wish to walk the path to wisdom then for your first step you must become as a small child."

"Do you think they've heard about the second step?"

Susan sighed. "Probably not, but sometimes they fall over it while they're running around shouting."

"Ah." The oh G.o.d looked around. "Do you think they have any soft drinks here?" he said.

The path to wisdom does, in fact, begin with a single step.

Where people go wrong is in ignoring all the thousands of other steps that come after it. They make the single step of deciding to become one with the universe, and for some reason forget to take the logical next step of living for seventy years on a mountain and a daily bowl of rice and yak-b.u.t.ter tea that would give it any kind of meaning. While evidence says that the road to h.e.l.l is paved with good intentions, they're probably all on first steps.

The Dean was always at his best at times like this. He led the way between the huge, ancient copper vats, prodding with his staff into dark corners and going "Hut! Hut!" under his breath.

"Why would it turn up here?" whispered the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

"Point of reality instability," said Ridcully, standing on tiptoe to look into a bleaching cauldron. "Every d.a.m.n thing turns up here. You should know that by now."

"But why now now?" said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"No talking!" hissed the Dean, and leapt out into the next alleyway, staff held protectively in front of him.

"Hah!" he screamed, and then looked disappointed.

"Er, how big would this sock-stealing thing be?" said the Senior Wrangler.

"Don't know," said Ridcully. He peered behind a stack of washboards. "Come to think of it, I must've lost a ton of socks over the years."

"Me too," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

"So...should we be looking in small places or very large large places?" the Senior Wrangler went on, in the voice of one whose train of thought has just entered a long dark tunnel. places?" the Senior Wrangler went on, in the voice of one whose train of thought has just entered a long dark tunnel.

"Good point," said Ridcully. "Dean, why do you keep referring to sheds all the time?"

"It's 'hut,' Mustrum," said the Dean. "It means...it means..."

"Small wooden building?" Ridcully suggested.

"Well, sometimes, agreed, but other times...well, you just have to say 'hut.'"

"This sock creature...does it just steal them, or does it eat eat them?" said the Senior Wrangler. them?" said the Senior Wrangler.

"Valuable contribution, that man," said Ridcully, giving up on the Dean. "Right, pa.s.s the word along: no one is to look like a sock, understand?"

"How can you-" the Dean began, and stopped.

They all heard it.

...grnf, grnf, grnf...

It was a busy sound, the sound of something with a serious appet.i.te to satisfy.

"The Eater of Socks," moaned the Senior Wrangler, with his eyes shut.

"How many tentacles would you expect it to have?" said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "I mean, roughly speaking?"

"It's a very large large sort of noise, isn't it?" said the Bursar. sort of noise, isn't it?" said the Bursar.

"To the nearest dozen, say," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, edging backward.

...grnf, grnf, grnf...

"It'd probably tear our socks off as soon as look at us..." wailed the Senior Wrangler.

"Ah. So at least five or six tentacles, then, would you say?" said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

"Seems to me it's coming from one of the washing engines," said the Dean.

The engines were each two stories high, and usually only used when the University's population soared during term time. A huge treadmill connected to a couple of big bleached wooden paddles in each vat, which were heated via the fireboxes underneath. In full production the washing engines needed at least half a dozen people to manhandle the loads, maintain the fires and oil the scrubbing arms. Ridcully had seen them at work once, when it had looked like a picture of a very clean and hygienic h.e.l.l, the kind of place soap might go to when it died.

The Dean stopped by the door to the boiler area.

"Something's in here," he whispered. "Listen!"

...grnf...

"It's stopped! It knows we're here!" he hissed. "All right? Ready? Hut!"

"No!" squeaked the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

"I'll open the door and you be ready to stop it! One...two...three! Oh..."

The sleigh soared into the snowy sky.

ON THE WHOLE, I THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DON'T YOU THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DON'T YOU?

"Yes, master," said Albert.

I WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH.

"I think that was a Watchman, master."

REALLY? WELL, HE WENT AWAY HAPPY, AND THAT'S THE MAIN THING.

"Is it, master?" There was worry in Albert's voice. Death's osmotic nature tended to pick up new ideas altogether too quickly. Of course, Albert understood why they had to do all this, but the master...well, sometimes the master lacked the necessary mental equipment to work out what should be true and what shouldn't...

AND I I THINK THINK I' I'VE GOT THE LAUGH WORKING REALLY WELL NOW. HO. HO. HO.

"Yeah, sir, very jolly," said Albert. He looked down at the list. "Still, work goes on, eh? The next one's pretty close, master, so I should keep them down low if I was you."

JOLLY GOOD. HO. HO. HO.

"Sarah the little match girl, doorway of Thimble's Pipe and Tobacco Shop, Money Trap Lane, it says here."

AND WHAT DOES SHE SHE WANT FOR WANT FOR H HOGSWATCH? HO. HO. HO.

"Dunno. Never sent a letter. By the way, just a tip, you don't have to say 'Ho, ho, ho' all all the time, master. Let's see...It says here..." Albert's lips moved as he read. the time, master. Let's see...It says here..." Albert's lips moved as he read.

I EXPECT A DOLL IS ALWAYS ACCEPTABLE EXPECT A DOLL IS ALWAYS ACCEPTABLE. OR A SOFT TOY OF SOME DESCRIPTION. THE SACK SEEMS TO KNOW. WHAT'VE WE GOT FOR HER, ALBERT? HO. HO. HO.

Something small was dropped into his hand.

"This," said Albert.