Soul Music

Glod took off his helmet and wiped the inside.

" Would you believe four beats to the bar, two‑four time, melody led, with the bass beat forward in the melody?"

" What's all dat?" said Lias. "What's all dem words mean?"

" You're a musician, ain't you?" said Glod. "What do you think you do?"

" I hits 'em with de hammers," said Lias, one of nature's drummers.

" But that bit you did..." said Imp, "you know... in the middle... you know, bam‑bah bam‑bah bambamBAH ... how did you know how to do that bit?"

" It was just de bit dat had to go dere," said Lias.

Imp looked at the guitar. He'd put it on the table. It was still playing quietly to itself, like a cat purring.

"That's not a normall instrument," he said, shaking a finger at it. "I was just standing there and it started pllaying all by itsellf!"

" Probably belonged to a wizard, like I said," said Glod.

" Nah," said Lias. "Never knew any wizard who was musical. Music and magic don't mix."

They looked at it.

Imp had never heard of an instrument that played itself before, except the legendary harp of Owen Mwnyy, which sang when danger threatened. And that had been back in the days when there were dragons around. Singing harps went well with dragons. They seemed out of place in a city with guilds and everything.

The door swung open.

" That was... astonishing, boys," said Hibiscus Dunelm. "Never heard anything like it! Can you come back tomorrow night? Here's your five dollars."

Glod counted the coins.

" We did four encores," he said darkly.

" I'd complain to the Guild, if I was you," said Hibiscus.

The trio looked at the money. It looked very impressive to people whose last meal had been twenty‑four hours ago. It wasn't Guild rate. On the other hand, it had been a long twenty‑four hours.

" If you come back tomorrow," said Hibiscus, "I'll make it... six dollars, how about that?"

" Oh, wow," said Glod.

Mustrum Ridcully was jolted upright in bed, because the bed itself was being gently vibrated across the floor.

So it had happened at last!

They were out to get him.

The tradition of promotion in the University by filling dead men's shoes, sometimes by firstly ensuring the death of the man in those shoes, had lately ceased. This was largely because of Ridcully himself, who was big and kept himself in trim and, as three late­night aspirants to the Archchancellorship had found, also had very good hearing. They had been variously hung out of the window by their ankles, knocked unconscious with a shovel, and had their arm broken in two places. Besides, Ridcully was known to sleep with two loaded crossbows by his bed. He was a kind man and probably wouldn't shoot you in both ears.

That sort of consideration encouraged a more patient type of wizard. Everyone dies sooner or later. They could wait.

Ridcully took stock and found his first impression was mistaken.

There appeared to be no murderous magic going on. There was just sound, cramming the room to every corner.

Ridcully shuffled into his slippers and went out into the corridor, where other members of the faculty were milling around and blearily asking one another what the hell was happening. Plaster rained down on them from the ceiling in a steady fog.

" Who's causing that din?" shouted Ridcully. There was a mute chorus of unheard replies, and much shrugging of shoulders.

" Well, I will find out," growled the Archchancellor, and set off for the stairs with the others trailing after him.

He walked without his knees or elbows bending very much, a sure sign of a forthright man in a bad temper.

The trio said nothing all the way out of the Drum. They said nothing all the way to Gimlet's delicatessen. They said nothing while they waited in the queue, and then all they said was: "So... right... that's one Quatre‑rodenti with extra newts, hold the chillis, one Klatchian Hots with double salami and a Four Strata, no pitchblende."

They sat down to wait. The guitar played a little four‑note riff. They tried not to think about it. They tried to think about other things.

" I think I change my name," said Lias, eventually. "I mean... Lias? Not a good name for the music business."

" What'll you change it to?" said Glod.

" I thought... don't laugh... I thought... Cliff?" said Lias.

" Cliff ?"

" Good troll name. Very stony. Very rocky. Nothing wrong with it," said Cliff né Lias, defensively.

" Well... yes... but, I dunno, I mean... well... Cliff? Can't see anyone lasting long in this business with a name like Cliff."

" Better than Glod, anyway."

" I'm sticking with Glod," said Glod. "And Imp is sticking with Imp, right?"

Imp looked at the guitar. It's not right, he thought. I hardly touched it. I just... And I feel so tired...

" Not sure," he said, wretchedly. "Not sure if Imp is the right name for... this music." His voice trailed off. He yawned.

" Imp?" said Glod, after a while.