Soul Music

"Good grief, you're all just as bad as each other," said Susan.

" Very well, scratch charming," said Ridcully evenly. "But the sparrows are coughin' in the trees and the sun is peepin' over the wall and I smell cookin', and having a meal with Death is a chance that doesn't happen to everyone. You don't play chess, do you?"

" Extremely well," said Susan, still bewildered.

" Thought as much. All right, you fellows. You can go back to prodding the universe. Will you step this way, madam?"

" I can't leave the circle!"

" Oh, you can if I invite you. It's all a matter of courtesy. I don't know if you've ever had the concept explained?"

He reached out and took her hand. She hesitated, then stepped across the chalk line. There was a slight tingling feeling.

The students backed away hurriedly.

" Go on, get on with it," said Ridcully. "This way, madam."

Susan had never experienced charm before. Ridcully possessed quite a lot of it, in a twinkly‑eyed kind of way.

She followed him across the lawns to the Great Hall.

The breakfast tables had been laid out, but they were unoccupied. The big sideboard had sprouted copper tureens like autumn fungi. Three rather young maids were waiting patiently behind the array.

" We tend to help ourselves," said Ridcully conversationally, lifting a cover. "Waiters and so on make too much nois‑ this is some sort of a joke, is it?"

He prodded what was under the cover and beckoned the nearest maid.

" Which one are you?" he said. "Molly, Polly or Dolly?"

" Molly, your lordship," said the maid, dropping a curtsy and trembling slightly. " Is there something wrong?"

" A‑wrong‑wrong‑wrong‑wrong, a‑do‑wrong‑wrong," said the other two maids.

" What happened to the kippers? What's this? Looks like a beef patty in a bun," said Ridcully, staring at the girls.

" Mrs Whitlow gave instructions to the cook," said Molly nervously. "It's a–'

" –yay‑yay‑yay–'

" –it's a burger."

" You're telling me' said Ridcully. "And why've you got a beehive made of hair on your head, pray? Makes you look like a matchstick."

" Please sir, we–'

" You went to see the Music With Rocks In concert, did you?"

" Yes, sir."

" Yay, yay."

" You, er, you didn't throw anything on the stage, did you?"

" No, sir!"

" Where's Mrs Whitlow?"

" In bed with a cold, sir."

" Not at all surprised." Ridcully turned to Susan. "People are playing silly burgers, I'm afraid."

" I eat only muesli at breakfast," said Susan.

" There's porridge," said Ridcully. "We do it for the Bursar because it's not exciting." He lifted the lid of a tureen. "Yes, still here," he said. "There's some things Music With Rocks In can't change, and one of them's porridge. Let me help you to a ladleful."

They sat on either side of the long table..

" Well, isn't this nice?" Ridcully said.

" Are you laughing at me?" said Susan suspiciously.

" Not at all. In my experience, what you mostly get in herring nets is herring. But, speaking as a mortal a customer, as you might say ‑ I'm interested to know why Death is suddenly a teenage girl instead of the animate natomy we've come to know and... know."

" Natomy?"

" Another word for skeleton. Probably derived from "anatomy"."

" He's my grandfather."

" Ah. Yes, you said. And that's true, is it?"

" It sounds a bit silly, now I come to tell someone else."

Ridcully shook his head.

" You should do my job for five minutes. Then tell me about silly," he said. He took a pencil out of his pocket and cautiously lifted the top half of the bun on his plate.

" There's cheese in this," he said, accusingly.

" But he's gone off somewhere and next thing I know I've inherited the whole thing. I mean, I didn't ask for it! Why me? Having to go around with this silly scythe thing... that's not what I wanted out of life–"

" It's certainly not something you get careers leaflets about," said Ridcully.

" Exactly."

" And I suppose you're stuck with it?" said Ridcully.

" We don't know where he's gone. Albert says he's very depressed about something but he won't say what."

" Dear me. What could depress Death?"

" Albert seems to think he might do something... silly."

" Oh, dear. Not too silly, I hope. Could that be possible? It'd be... morticide, I suppose. Or cidicide."

To Susan's amazement Ridcully patted her hand.

" But I'm sure we'll all sleep safer in our beds knowing that you're in charge," he said.

" It's all so untidy! Good people dying stupidly, bad people living to a ripe old age... it's so disorganized. There's no sense to it. There's no justice at all. I mean, there's this boy–"

" What boy?"