Soul Music (29 page)

Her voice trailed away.

‘Cantaloupe?' said Buddy. ‘I'm pretty sure it wasn't Cantaloupe.'

‘Whatever.'

‘How did you get in here?'

‘I'm . . . Look, sit down. Right. Well . . . you know how some things . . . like the Muses, as you said . . . people think that some things are represented by people?'

A look of temporary understanding informed Buddy's perplexed features.

‘Like the Hogfather representing the spirit of the midwinter festival?' he said.

‘Right. Well . . . I'm sort of in that business,' said Susan. ‘It doesn't exactly matter what I do.'

‘You mean you're not human?'

‘Oh, yes. But I'm . . . doing a job. I suppose thinking of me as a Muse is probably as good as anything. And I'm here to warn you.'

‘A Muse for Music With Rocks In?'

‘Not really, but
listen
 . . . hey, are you all right?'

‘Don't know.'

‘You looked all washed-out. Listen. The music is dangerous—'

Buddy shrugged. ‘Oh, you mean the Guild of Musicians. Mr Dibbler says not to worry about that. We're leaving the city for—'

Susan stamped forward and picked up the guitar.

‘I mean this!'

The strings moved and whined under her hand.

‘Don't touch that!'

‘It's taken you over,' said Susan, throwing it on to the bed. Buddy grabbed it and played a chord.

‘I know what you're going to say,' he said. ‘Everyone says it. The other two think it's evil. But it's not!'

‘It might not be evil, but it's not right! Not here, not now.'

‘Yes, but I can handle it.'

‘You can't handle it. It handles you.'

‘Anyway, who are you to tell me all this? I don't have to take lessons from a tooth fairy!'

‘Listen, it'll
kill
you! I'm sure of it!'

‘So I'm supposed to stop playing, then?'

Susan hesitated.

‘Well, not exactly . . . because then—'

‘Well,
I
don't have to listen to mysterious occult women! You probably don't even exist! So you can just fly back to your magic castle, okay?'

Susan was temporarily speechless. She was reconciled to the irredeemable dumbness of most of mankind, particularly the section of it that stood upright and shaved in the mornings, but she was also affronted. No one had ever talked to Death like this. At least, not for long.

‘All right,' she said, reaching out and touching his arm. ‘But you'll see me again, and . . . and you won't like it much! Because, let me tell you, I happen to be—'

Her expression changed. She felt the sensation of falling backwards while standing still; the room drifted past her and away into darkness, pinwheeling around Buddy's horrified face.

The darkness exploded, and there was light.

Dribbly candle light.

Buddy waved his hand through the empty space where Susan had been.

‘Are you still here? Where did you go?
Who are you?
'

Cliff looked around.

‘Thought I heard something,' he muttered. ‘Here, you do know, don't you, dat some of dose instruments weren't just ordin—'

‘I know,' said Glod. ‘I wish I'd had a go on the rat pipe. I'm hungry again.'

‘I mean they were mythi—'

‘Yes.'

‘So how come dey end up in a second-hand music shop?'

‘Ain't you ever hocked your stones?'

‘Oh, sure,' said Cliff. ‘Everyone does, some time or other, you know that. Sometimes it's all you've got if you want to see another meal.'

‘There you are, then. You said it. It's something every working musician's going to do, sooner or later.'

‘Yeah, but the thing that Buddy . . . I mean, it's got the number
one
on it . . .'

‘Yes.'

Glod peered up at a street-sign.

‘“Cunning Artificers”,' he said. ‘Here we are. Look, half the workshops are still open even at this time of night.' He shifted the sack. Something cracked inside it. ‘You knock that side, I'll knock this.'

‘Yeah, all right . . . but, I mean, number one. Even the conch shell was number fifty-two. Who used to own the guitar?'

‘Don't know,' said Glod, knocking on the first door, ‘but I hope they never come back for it.'

‘And that,' said Ridcully, ‘is the Rite of AshkEnte. Quite easily done. You have to use a fresh egg, though.'

Susan blinked.

There was a circle drawn on the floor. Strange unearthly shapes surrounded it, although when she adjusted her mind set she realized that these were perfectly ordinary students.

‘Who are you?' she said. ‘What's this place? Let me go this instant!'

She strode across the circle and rebounded from an invisible wall.

The students were staring at her in the manner of those who have heard of the species ‘female' but have never expected to get this close to one.

‘I demand that you let me go!' She glared at Ridcully. ‘Aren't you the wizard I saw last night?'

‘That's right,' said Ridcully, ‘and
this
is the Rite of AshkEnte. It calls Death into the circle and he – or as it may be, in this case,
she
– can't leave until we say so. There's a lot of stuff in this book here spelled with funny long esses and it goes on about abjuring and conjuration, but it's all show, really. Once you're in, you're in. I must say your predecessor – hah, bit of a pun there – was a lot more gracious about it.'

Susan glared. The circle played tricks with her ideas of space. It seemed most unfair.

‘Why have you summoned me, then?' she said.

‘That's better. That's more according to the script,' said Ridcully. ‘We are allowed to ask you questions, you see. And you have to answer them. Truthfully.'

‘Well?'

‘Would you like to sit down? A glass of something?'

‘No.'

‘Just as you like. This new music . . . tell us about it.'

‘You summoned
Death
to ask that?'

‘I'm not sure who we've summoned,' said Ridcully. ‘It is really alive?'

‘I . . . think so.'

‘Does it live anywhere?'

‘It seems to have lived in one instrument but I think it's moving around now. Can I go?'

‘No. Can it be killed?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Should it be here?'

‘What?'

‘Should it be here?' Ridcully repeated patiently. ‘Is it something that's supposed to be happening?'

Susan suddenly felt important. Wizards were rumoured to be wise – in fact, that's where the word came from.
²³
But they were asking
her
things. They were
listening
to her. Pride sparkled in her eyes.

‘I . . . don't think so. It's turned up here by some kind of accident. This isn't the right world for it.'

Ridcully looked smug. ‘That's what I thought. This isn't right, I said. It's making people try and be things they aren't. How can we stop it?'

‘I don't think you can. It's not susceptible to magic.'

‘Right. Music's not. Any music. But something must be able to make it stop. Show her your box, Ponder.'

‘Er . . . yes. Here.'

He lifted the lid. Music, slightly tinny but still recognizable, drifted out into the room.

‘Sounds like a spider trapped in a matchbox, don't it?' said Ridcully.

‘You can't reproduce music like that on a piece of wire in a box,' said Susan. ‘It's against nature.'

Ponder looked relieved.

‘That's what I said,' he said. ‘But it does it anyway. It wants to.'

Susan stared at the box.

She began to smile. There was no humour in it.

‘It's unsettling people,' said Ridcully. ‘And . . . look at this.' He pulled a roll of paper out of his robe and unfolded it. ‘Caught some lad trying to paste this on to our gates. Blooming cheek! So I took it off him and told him to hop it, which was,' Ridcully looked smugly at his fingertips, ‘quite appropriate as it turned out. It's going on about some festival of Music With Rocks In. It'll all end with monsters from another dimension breaking through, you can rely on that. That's the sort of thing that happens a lot in these parts.'

‘Excuse me,' said Big Mad Adrian, his voice cargoed with suspicion, ‘I don't want to cause any trouble, right, but is this Death or not? I've seen pictures, and they didn't look like her.'

‘We did the Rite stuff,' said Ridcully. ‘And this is what we got.'

‘Yes, but my father's a herring fisherman and he doesn't just find herring in his herring nets,' said Skazz.

‘Yeah. She could be anyone,' said Tez the Terrible. ‘I thought Death was taller and bonier.'

‘She's just some girl messing about,' said Skazz.

Susan stared at them.

‘She hasn't even got a scythe,' said Tez.

Susan concentrated. The scythe appeared in her hands, its blue-edged blade making a noise like a finger dragged around the rim of a glass.

The students straightened up.

‘But I've always thought it was time for a change,' said Tez.

‘Right. It's about time girls got a chance in the professions,' said Skazz.

‘Don't you dare patronize me!'

‘That's right,' said Ponder. ‘There's no reason why Death has to be male. A woman could be almost as good as a man in the job.'

‘You're doing it very well,' said Ridcully.

He gave Susan an encouraging smile.

She rounded on him. I'm Death, she thought – technically, anyway – and this is a fat old man who has no right to give me any kind of orders. I'll glare at him, and he'll soon realize the gravity of his situation. She glared.

‘Young lady,' said Ridcully, ‘would you care for breakfast?'

The Mended Drum seldom closed. There tended to be a lull around six in the morning, but Hibiscus stayed open so long as someone wanted a drink.

Someone wanted a lot of drinks. Someone indistinct was standing at the bar. Sand seemed to be running out of him and, in so far as Hibiscus could tell, he had a number of arrows of Klatchian manufacture sticking in him.

The barman leaned forward.

‘Have I seen you before?'

‘Ha! That was a bit of a do. That's when poor old Vince got stabbed.'

‘Asking for it, calling yourself Vincent the Invulnerable.'

‘The Watch are saying it was suicide.'

Death nodded. Going into the Mended Drum and calling yourself Vincent the Invulnerable
was
clearly suicide by Ankh-Morpork standards.

The barman squinted at it.

‘That's not a maggot, sir,' he said. ‘That's a worm.'

‘It's supposed to be there, sir. That's mexical, that is. They put the worm in to show how strong it is.'

The barman scratched his head. He'd never thought of it in those terms.

‘It's just something people drink,' he said vaguely.

Death picked up the bottle and held it up to what normally would have been eye level. The worm rotated forlornly.

WHAT'S IT LIKE?
he said.

‘Well, it's a sort of—'

‘Breakfast?' said Susan, ‘I mean—'
BREAKFAST?

‘It must be coming up to that time,' said the Archchancellor. ‘It's a long time since I last had breakfast with a charming young woman.'

‘Good grief, you're all just as bad as each other,' said Susan.

‘Very well, scratch
charming
,' said Ridcully evenly. ‘But the sparrows are coughin' in the trees and the sun is peepin' over the wall and I smell cookin', and having a meal with Death is a chance that doesn't happen to everyone. You don't play chess, do you?'

‘Extremely well,' said Susan, still bewildered.

‘Thought as much. All right, you fellows. You can go back to prodding the universe. Will you step this way, madam?'

‘I can't leave the circle!'

‘Oh, you can if I invite you. It's all a matter of courtesy. I don't know if you've ever had the concept explained?'

He reached out and took her hand. She hesitated, then stepped across the chalk line. There was a slight tingling feeling.

The students backed away hurriedly.

‘Go on, get on with it,' said Ridcully. ‘This way, madam.'

Susan had never experienced charm before. Ridcully possessed quite a lot of it, in a twinkly-eyed kind of way.

She followed him across the lawns to the Great Hall.

The breakfast tables had been laid out, but they were unoccupied. The big sideboard had sprouted copper tureens like autumn fungi. Three rather young maids were waiting patiently behind the array.

‘We tend to help ourselves,' said Ridcully conversationally, lifting a cover. ‘Waiters and so on make too much nois— this is some sort of a joke, is it?'