Soul Music

" We don't call 'em Muses," said Asphalt, grinning. "I told you, when I worked for Bertie the Balladeer and His Troubadour Rascals, we used to get any amount of young women hanging arou–"

" Amazing how legends get started, when you come to think about it," said Glod. "Just you come along now, my lad."

" She was there," Buddy protested. "She was there."

" Cantaloupe?" said Asphalt. "You sure, Cliff?"

" Read it in a book once," said the troll. "Cantaloupe. I'm pretty sure. Something like that."

" She was there," said Buddy.

The raven snored gently on top of his skull, counting dead sheep.

The Death of Rats came through the window in an arc, bounced off a dribbly candle, and landed on all fours on the table.

The raven opened one eye.

" Oh, it's you–'

Then a claw was round its leg, and the Death of Rats jumped off the skull and into infinite space.

There were more cabbage fields next day, although the landscape did begin to change a bit.

" Hey, that's interesting," said Glod.

" What is?" said Cliff.

" There's a field of beans over there."

They watched it until it was out of sight.

" Nice of the people to give us all this food, though," said Asphalt. " We shan't be wanting for cabbages, eh?"

" Oh, shut up," said Glod. He turned to Buddy, who was sitting with his chin resting on his arms.

" Cheer up, we'll be in Pseudopolis in a couple of hours," he said.

" Good," said Buddy, distantly.

Glod climbed back into the front of the cart and pulled Cliff towards him.

" Notice the way he goes all quiet?" he whispered.

" Yup. Do you think it'll be... you know... done by the time we get back?"

" You can get anything done in Ankh‑Morpork," said

Glod firmly. "I must have knocked on every damn door in the Street of Cunning Artificers. Twenty‑five dollars!"

" You're complaining? It ain't your tooth dat's paying for it."

They both turned to look at their guitarist.

He was staring out across the endless fields.

" She was there," he muttered.

Feathers spiralled towards the ground.

" You didn't have to go and do that," said the raven, fluttering upright. "You could simply ask."

SQUEAK.

" All right, but before would have been better." The raven ruffled its feathers and looked around at the bright landscape under the dark sky.

" This is the place then, is it?" it said. "You're sure you're not the Death of Ravens too?"

SQUEAK.

" Shape doesn't mean much. Anyway, you've got a pointy snout. What was it you were wanting?"

The Death of Rats grabbed a wing and pulled.

" All right, all right!"

The raven glanced at a garden gnome. It was fishing in an ornamental pond. The fish were skeletal, but this didn't seem to interfere with their enjoyment of life, or whatever it was they were enjoying.

It fluttered and hopped along after the rat.

Cut‑My‑Own‑Throat Dibbler stood back.

Jimbo, Crash, Noddy and Scum looked at him expectantly.

" What're all the boxes for, Mr Dibbler?" said Crash.

" Yeah," said Scum.

Dibbler carefully positioned the tenth box on its tripod.

" You boys seen an iconograph?" he said.

" Oh, yes... I mean, yeah," said Jimbo. "They've got a little demon inside them that paints pictures of things you point it at."

" This is like that, only for sound," said Dibbler.

Jimbo squinted past the open lid.

" Can't see any... I mean, can't see no demon," he said.

" That's because there isn't one," said Dibbler. It was worrying him, too. He'd have been a little bit happier if there'd been a demon or some sort of magic. Something simple and understandable. He didn't like the idea of meddling in science.

" Now then... Suck–" he began.

" The Surreptitious Fabric," said Jimbo.

" What?"

" The Surreptitious Fabric," Jimbo repeated helpfully. "It's our new name."

" Why have you changed it? You haven't been Suck for twenty­four hours."

" Yeah, but we thought the name was holding us back."

" How could it be holding you back? You aren't moving." Dibbler glared at them and shrugged. "Anyway, whatever you call yourselves... I want you to sing your best song, what am I saying, in front of these boxes. Not yet... not yet... wait a moment . .."

Dibbler retired to the furthest corner of the room and pulled his hat down over his ears.

" All right, you can start," he said.

He stared in blissful deafness at the group for several minutes until a general cessation of movement suggested that whatever they had been perpetrating had been committed.

Then he inspected the boxes. The wires were vibrating gently, but there was barely any sound.

The Surreptitious Fabric clustered around.

" Is it working, Mr Dibbler?" said Jimbo.

Dibbler shook his head.

" You boys don't have what it takes," he said.

" What does it take, Mr Dibbler?"

" You've got me there. You've got something," he said, at the sight of their dejected faces, "but not a lot of it, whatever it is."