Soul Music

The Lecturer in Recent Runes was frowning in concentration. Forks jangled across the woodwork. A spoon caught a glancing blow, pinwheeled through the air and hit the Bursar on the ear.

"What the hells does he think he's doing?"

"That really hurt!"

The wizards clustered around the Lecturer in Recent Runes. He paid them no attention whatsoever. Sweat poured down his beard.

"He just broke the cruet," said Ridcully.

"It's going to smart for hours."

"Ah, yes, he's as hot as mustard," said the Dean.

"I'd take that with a pinch of salt," said the Senior Wrangler.

Ridcully straightened up. He raised a hand.

"Now, someone's about to say something like "I hope the Watch don't ketchup with him", aren't you?" he said. "Or "That's a bit of a sauce", or I bet you're all trying to think of somethin' silly to say about pepper. I'd just like to know what's the difference between this faculty and a bunch of pea‑brained idiots."

"Hahaha," said the Bursar nervously, still rubbing his ear.

"It wasn't a rhetorical question." Ridcully snatched the knives out of the Lecturer's hands. The man went on beating the air for a moment, and then appeared to wake up.

"Oh, hello, Archchancellor. Is there a problem?"

"What were you doing?"

The Lecturer looked down at the table.

"He was syncopating," said the Dean.

"I never was!"

Ridcully frowned. He was a thick‑skinned, single-minded man with the tact of a sledgehammer and about the same sense of humour, but he was not stupid. And he knew that wizards were like weathervanes, or the canaries that miners used to detect pockets of gas. They were by their nature tuned to an occult frequency. If there was anything strange happening, it tended to happen to wizards. They turned, as it were, to face it. Or dropped off their perch.

"Why's everyone suddenly so musical?" he said. "Using the term in its loosest sense, of course." He looked at the assembled wizardry. And then down towards the floor.

"You've all got crepe on your shoes!"

The wizards looked at their feet with some surprise.

"My word, I thought I was a bit taller," said the Senior Wrangler. " I put it down to the celery diet."

"Proper footwear for a wizard is pointy shoes or good stout boots," said Ridcully. "When one's footwear turns creepy, something's amiss."

"It's crepe," said the Dean. "It's got a little pointy thingy over the—'

Ridcully breathed heavily. "When your boots change by themselves—' he growled.

"There's magic afoot?"

"Haha, good one, Senior Wrangler," said the Dean.

"I want to know what's going on," said Ridcully, in a low and level voice, "and if you don't all shut up there will be trouble."

He reached into the pockets of his robe and, after a few false starts, produced a pocket thaumometer. He held it up. There was always a high level of background magic in the University, but the little needle was on the 'Normal' mark. On average, anyway. It was ticking backwards and forwards across it like a metronome.

Ridcully held it up so they could all see.

"What's this?" he said.

"Four‑four time?" said the Dean.

"Music ain't magic," said Ridcully. "Don't be daft. Music's just twanging and banging and—"

He stopped.

"Has anyone got anything they should be telling me?"

The wizards shuffled their blue‑suede feet nervously.

"Well," said the Senior Wrangler, "it is a fact that last night, er, I, that is to say, some of us, happened to be passing by the Mended Drum—"

"Bona‑Fide Travellers," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "It's allowable for Bona‑Fide Travellers to get a Drink at Licensed Premises at any Hour of Day or Night. City statute, you know."

"Where were you travelling from, then?" Ridcully demanded.

"The Bunch of Grapes."

"That's just around the corner."

"Yes, but we were… tired."

"All right, all right," said Ridcully, in the voice of a man who knows that pulling at a thread any more will cause the whole vest to unravel. "The Librarian was with you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Go on."

"Well, there was this music—"

"Sort of twangy," said the Senior Wrangler.

"Melody led," said the Dean.

"It was…"

"… sort of…"

"… in a way it…"

"… kind of gets under your skin and makes you feel fizzy," said the Dean. "Incidentally, has anyone got any black paint? I've looked everywhere."

"Under your skin," murmured Ridcully. He scratched his chin. "Oh, dear. One of those. Stuff leakin' into the universe again, eh? Influences coming from Outside, yes? Remember what happened when Mr Hong opened his takeaway fish bar on the site of the old temple in Dagon Street? And then there were those moving pictures. I was against them from the start. And those wire things on wheels. This universe has more damn holes in it than a Quirm cheese. Well, at—"

"Lancre cheese," said the Senior Wrangler helpfully. "That's the one with the holes. Quirm is the one with the blue veins."

Ridcully gave him a look.