Soul Music

"This is… well, we thought… that is, all of us," said Glod, "that… well, we saw it, you see, and I know you said it couldn't be repaired but there's people in this city that can do just about anything so we asked around, and we knew how much it meant to you, and there's this man in the Street of Cunning Artificers and he said he thought he could do it and it cost Cliff another tooth but here you are anyway because you're right, we're on top of the music business right enough and it's because of you and we know how much this meant to you so it's a sort of thank‑you present, well, go on then, give it to him."

Cliff, who'd lowered his arm again as the sentence began to extend, pushed the sack towards the puzzled Buddy.

Asphalt poked his head through the sacking.

"We guys better get on the stage," he said. "Come on!"

Buddy put down the guitar. He opened the sack, and began to pull at the linen wrappings inside.

"It's been tuned and everything," said Cliff helpfully.

The harp gleamed in the sun as the last wrapping came off.

"They can do amazing things with glue and stuff," said Glod. " I mean, I know you said there wasn't anyone left in Llamedos that could repair it. But this is Ankh‑Morpork. We can fix nearly everything."

"Please!" said Asphalt, as his head reappeared. "Mr Dibbler says you've got to come, they've started to throw things!"

"I don't know much about strings," said Glod, "but I had a go. Sounds… kind of nice."

"I… er… don't know what to say," said Buddy.

The chanting was like a hammer.

"I… won this," said Buddy, in a small, distant world of his own. "With a song. Sioni Bod Da, it was. I worked on it allll winter. Allll about… home, you know. And going away, see? And trees and things. The judges were… very plleased. They said that in fifty years I might realllly understand music."

He pulled the harp towards him.

Dibbler pushed his way through the rabble of musicians backstage until he found Asphalt.

"Well?" he said. "Where are they?"

"They're just sitting around talking, Mr Dibbler."

"Listen," said Dibbler. "You hear the crowd? It's Music With Rocks In they want! If they don't get it… they'd just better get it, all right? Letting the anticipation build up is all very well but… I want them on stage right now!"

Buddy stared at his fingers. Then he looked up, whitefaced, at the other bands milling around.

"You… with the guitar…" he said hoarsely.

"Me, sir?"

"Give it to me!"

Every nascent group in Ankh‑Morpork was in awe of The Band With Rocks In. The guitarist handed his instrument over with the expression of one passing over a holy item to be blessed.

Buddy stared at it. It was one of Mr Wheedown's best.

He struck a chord.

The sound sounded like lead would sound if you could make guitar strings out of it.

"OK, boys, what's the problem?" said Dibbler, hurrying towards them. "There's six thousand ears out there waiting to be filled up with music and you're still sitting around?"

Buddy handed the guitar back to the musician and swung his own instrument around on its strap. He played a few notes that seemed to twinkle in the air.

"But I can play this," he said. "Oh, yes."

"Right, good, now get up there and play it," said Dibbler.

"Someone else give me a guitar!"

Musicians fell over themselves to hand them to him. He strummed frantically at a couple. But the notes weren't simply flat. Flat would have been an improvement.

The Musicians' Guild contingent had managed to secure an area close to the stage by the simple expedient of hitting any encroachers very hard.

Mr Clete scowled at the stage.

"I don't understand," he said. "It's rubbish. It's all the same. It's just noise. What's so good about it?"

Satchelmouth, who had twice had to stop himself tapping his feet, said, " We haven't had the main band yet. Er. Are you sure you want to—"

"We're within our rights," said‑ Clete. He looked around at the shouting people. "There's a hot dog seller over there. Anyone else fancy a hot dog? Hot dog?" The Guild men nodded. "Hot dog? Right. That's three hot d—"

The audience cheered. It wasn't the way that an audience normally applauds, with it starting at one point and rippling outwards, but all at once, every single mouth opening at the same time.

Cliff had knuckled on to the stage. He sat down behind his rocks and looked desperately back towards the wings.

Glod trailed on, blinking in the lights.

And that seemed to be it. The dwarf turned and said something which was lost in the noise, and then stood looking awkward while the cheers gradually subsided.

Buddy came on, staggering slightly as if he'd been pushed.

Up until then Mr Clete had thought the crowd was yelling. And then he realized that it had been a mere murmur of approval compared to what was happening now.

It went on and on while the boy stood there, head bowed.

"But he's not doing anything," Clete shouted into Satchelmouth's ear. " Why're they all cheering him for not doing anything?"

"Can't say, sir," said Satchelmouth.