Soul Music

" Now, now," said the other watchman. "Don't go scaring the boy."

" Let's just say it's not much fun if you're a piccolo player," said Nobby.

" But surelly music is as free as the air and the sky, see," said Imp.

" Not round here it's not. Just a word to the wise, friend," said Nobby.

" I never ever heard of a Guilld of Musicians," said Imp.

" It's in Tin Lid Alley," said Nobby. "You want to be a musician, you got to join the Guild."

Imp had been brought up to obey the rules. The Llamedese were very law‑abiding.

" I shallll go there directlly," he said.

The guards watched him go.

" He's wearing a nightdress," said Corporal Nobbs.

" Bardic robe, Nobby," said Sergeant Colon. The guards strolled onwards. "Very bardic, the Llamedese."

" How long d'you give him, sarge?"

Colon waved a hand in the flat rocking motion of someone hazarding an informed guess.

" Two, three days," he said.

They rounded the bulk of Unseen University and ambled along The Backs, a dusty little street that saw little traffic or passing trade and was therefore much favoured by the Watch as a place to lurk and have a smoke and explore the realms of the mind.

" You know salmon, sarge," said Nobby.

" It is a fish of which I am aware, yes."

" You know they sell kind of slices of it in tins..."

" So I am given to understand, yes."

" Weell... how come all the tins are the same size? Salmon gets thinner at both ends."

" Interesting point, Nobby. I think–"

The watchman stopped, and stared across the street. Corporal Nobbs followed his gaze.

" That shop," said Sergeant Colon. "That shop there... was it there yesterday?"

Nobby looked at the peeling paint, the little grime-encrusted window, the rickety door.

"Course," he said. "It's always been there. Been there years."

Colon crossed the street and rubbed at the grime. There were dark shapes vaguely visible in the gloom.

" Yeah, right," he mumbled. "It's just that... I mean... was it there for years yesterday?"

" You ail right, sarge?"

" Let's go, Nobby," said the sergeant, walking away as fast as he could.

" Where, sarge?"

" Anywhere not here."

In the dark mounds of merchandise, something felt their departure.

Imp had already admired the Guild buildings ‑ the majestic frontage of the Assassins' Guild, the splendid columns of the Thieves' Guild, the smoking yet still impressive hole where the Alchemists' Guild had been up until yesterday. And it was therefore disappointing to find that the Guild of Musicians, when he eventually located it, wasn't even a building. It was just a couple of poky rooms above a barber shop.

He sat in the brown‑walled waiting room, and waited. There was a sign on the wall opposite. It said 'For Your Comforte And Convenience YOU WILL NOT SMOKE'. Imp had never smoked in his life. Everything in Llamedos was too soggy to smoke. But he suddenly felt inclined to try.

The room's only other occupants were a troll and a dwarf. He was not at ease in their company. They kept looking at him.

Finally the dwarf said, "Are you elvish?"

" Me? No!"

" You look a bit elvish around the hair."

" Not ellvish at allll. Honestlly."

" Where you from?" said the troll.

" Llamedos," said Imp. He shut his eyes. He knew what trolls and dwarfs traditionally did to people suspected of being elves. The Guild of Musicians could take lessons.

" What dat you got dere?" said the troll. It had two large squares of darkish glass in front of its eyes, supported by wire frames hooked around its ears.

" It's a harp, see."

" Dat what you play?"

" Yes."

" You a druid, den?"

" No!"

There was silence again as the troll marshalled its thoughts.

" You look like a druid in dat nightie," it rumbled, after a while.

The dwarf on the other side of Imp began to snigger.

Trolls disliked druids, too. Any sapient species which spends a lot of time in a stationary, rock‑like pose objects to any other species which drags it sixty miles on rollers and buries it up to its knees in a circle. It tends to feel it has cause for disgruntlement.

" Everyone dresses like this in Llamedos, see," said Imp. "But I'm a bard! I'm not a druid. I hate rocks!"

" Whoops," said the dwarf quietly.

The troll looked Imp up and down, slowly and deliberately. Then it said, without any particular trace of menace, "You not long in dis town?"

" Just arrived," said Imp. I won't even reach the door, he thought. I'm going to be mashed into a pullp.

" Here is some free advice what you should know. It is free advice I am giving you gratis for nothing. In dis town, "rock" is a word for troll. A bad word for troll used by stupid humans. You call a troll a rock, you got to be prepared to spend some time looking for your head. Especially if you looks a bit elvish around de ears. Dis is free advice 'cos you are a bard and maker of music, like me."

" Right! Thank you! Yes!" said Imp, awash with relief.