Soul Music

''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?'

I'M IN HERE QUITE OFTEN, YES. A WEEK LAST WEDNESDAY, FOR EXAMPLE.

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

YES.

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

YES. INACCURATE, TOO.

'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.

THIS DRINK'S GOT MAGGOTS IN IT.

The barman squinted at it.