Soul Music

springing out of the earth.'

Glod pointed.

'We'll take this.'

'Two dollars.'

'Hey, why should, we pay anything? It's not as though it's yours—'

'Pay up,' said Cliff with a sigh. 'Don't negotiate.'

Glod handed over the money with bad grace, snatched the bag the old lady gave him, and strutted out of the shop.

'Fascinating stock you have here,' said Cliff, staring at the gong.

The old lady shrugged.

'My friend's a bit annoyed because he thought you one of dose mysterious shops you hear about in folk tales,' Cliff went on. 'You know, here today and gone tomorrow. He was looking for you on der other side of der road, haha!'

'Sounds daft to me,' said the old lady, in a voice to discourage any further unseemly levity.

Cliff glanced at the gong again, shrugged, and followed Glod.

The woman waited until their footsteps had died away in the fog.

Then she opened the door and peered up and down the street. Apparently satisfied by its abundance of emptiness, she went back to her counter and reached for a curious lever underneath. Her eyes glowed green for a moment.

'Forget my own head next,' she said, and pulled.

There was a grinding of hidden machinery.

The shop vanished. A moment later, it reappeared on the other side of the road.

Buddy lay looking at the ceiling.

How did food taste? It was hard to remember. He'd eaten meals over the last few days, he must have done, but he couldn't remember the taste. He couldn't remember much of anything, except the playing. Glod and rest of them sounded as if they were talking through a thick gauze.

Asphalt had wandered off somewhere.

He swung himself off the hard bed and padded over to the window.

The Shades of Ankh-Morpork were just visible in the grey, cheap-rate light before dawn. A breeze blew in through the open window.

When he turned around, there was a young woman standing in the middle of the floor.

She put her finger to her lips.

'Don't go shouting to the little troll,' she said. 'He's downstairs having some supper. Anyway, he wouldn't be able to see me.'

'Are you my muse?'

Susan frowned.

'I think I know what you mean,' she said. 'I've seen pictures. There were eight of them, led by… um… Cantaloupe. They're supposed to protect people. The Ephebians believe they inspire musicians and artists, but of course they don't exi—' She paused, and made a conscientious correction. 'At least, I've never met them. My name's Susan. I'm here because…'

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, OK?'

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.