Soul Music

As far as Scum was concerned, tunes' names were things that happened to other people. He was concentrating on the rhythm. Most people don't have to. But Ridcully glared for Scum, even clapping his hands was an exercise in concentration. So he played in a small contented world of his own, and didn't even notice the audience rise like a bad meal and hit the stage.

Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs were on duty at the Deosil Gate, sharing a comradely cigarette and listening to the distant roar of the Festival.

"Sounds like a big night," said Sergeant Colon.

"Right enough, sarge."

"Sounds like some trouble."

"Good job we're out of it, sarge."

A horse came clattering up the street, its rider struggling to keep on. As it got closer they made out the contorted features of C. M. O. T. Dibbler, riding with the ease of a sack of potatoes.

"Did a cart just go through here?" he demanded.

"Which one, Throat?" said Sergeant Colon.

"What do you mean, which one?"

"Well, there was two," said the sergeant. "One with a couple of trolls in, and one with Mr Clete just after that. You know, the Musicians' Guild—"

"Oh, no!"

Dibbler pummelled the horse into action again and bounced off into the night.

"What was that about?" said Nobby.

"Someone probably owes him a penny," said Sergeant Colon, leaning on his spear.

There was the sound of another horse approaching. The watchmen flattened themselves against the wall as it thundered past.

It was big, and white. The rider's black cloak streamed in the air, as did her hair. There was a rush of wind and then they were gone, out on to the plains.

Nobby stared after it.

"That was her," he said.

"Susan Death."

The light in the crystal faded to a dot and winked out.

"That's three days' worth of magic I won't see again," the Senior Wrangler complained.

"Worth every thaum," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"Not as good as seeing them live, though," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "There's something about the way the sweat drips on you."

"I thought it ended just as it was getting good," said the Chair. "I thought—"

The wizards went rigid as the howl rang through the building. It was slightly animal but also mineral, metallic, edged like a saw.

Eventually the Lecturer in Recent Runes said, "Of course, just because we've heard a spine‑chilling bloodcurdling scream of the sort to make your very marrow freeze in your bones doesn't automatically mean there's anything wrong."

The wizards looked out into the corridor.

"It came from downstairs somewhere," said the Chair of Indefinite Studies, heading for the staircase.

"So why are you going upstairs?"

"Because I'm not daft!"

"But it might be some terrible emanation!"

"You don't say?" said the Chair, still accelerating.

"All right, please yourself. That's the students' floor up there."

"Ah. Er—"

The Chair came down slowly, occasionally glancing fearfully up the stairs.

"Look, nothing can get in," said the Senior Wrangler. "This place is protected by very powerful spells."

"That's right," said Recent Runes.

"And I'm sure we've all been strengthening them periodically, as is our duty," said the Senior Wrangler.

"Er. Yes. Yes. Of course," said Recent Runes.

The sound came again. There was a slow pulsating rhythm in the roar.

"The Library, I think," said the Senior Wrangler.

"Anyone seen the Librarian lately?"

"He always seems to be carrying something when I see him. You don't think he's up to something occult, do you?"

"This is a magical university."

"Yes, but more occult is what I mean."

"Keep together, will you?"

"I am together."

"For if we are united, what can possibly harm us?"

"Well, (1), a great big—"

"Shut up!"

The Dean opened the library door. It was warm, and velvety quiet. Occasionally, a book would rustle its pages or clank its chains restlessly.

A silvery light was coming from the stairway to the basement. There was also the occasional 'ook'.

"He doesn't sound very upset," said the Bursar.

The wizards crept down the steps. There was no mistaking the door ‑ the light streamed from it.

The wizards stepped into the cellar.

They stopped breathing.

It was on a raised dais in the centre of the floor, with candles all around it.

It was Music With Rocks In.

A tall dark figure skidded around the corner into Sator Square and, accelerating, pounded through the gateway of Unseen University.

It was seen only by Modo the dwarf gardener, as he happily wheeled his manure barrow through the twilight. It had been a good day. Most days were, in his experience.

He hadn't heard about the Festival. He hadn't heard about Music With Rocks In. Modo didn't hear about most things, because he wasn't listening. He liked compost. Next to compost he liked roses, because they were something to compost the compost for.