Authors: Terry Pratchett
Soul Music (43 page)
The strings were still.
There are millions of chords. There are millions of numbers. And everyone forgets the one that is a zero. But without the zero, numbers are just arithmetic. Without the empty chord, music is just noise.
Death played the empty chord.
The beat slowed. And began to weaken. The universe spun on, every atom of it. But soon the whirling would end and the dancers would look around and wonder what to do next.
It's not time for THAT! Play something else!
I CANNOT.
Death nodded towards Buddy.
BUT HE CAN.
He threw the guitar towards Buddy. It passed right through him.
Susan ran and snatched it up, holding it out.
âYou've got to take it! You've got to play! You've got to start the music again!'
She strummed frantically at the strings. Buddy winced.
âPlease!' she shouted. âDon't fade away!'
The music screamed in her head.
Buddy managed to grasp the guitar, but stood looking at it as if he'd never seen it before.
âWhat'll happen if he doesn't play it?' said Glod.
âYou'll all die in the wreckage!'
AND THEN,
said Death,
THE MUSIC WILL DIE. AND THE DANCE WILL END. THE WHOLE DANCE.
said Death,
THE MUSIC WILL DIE. AND THE DANCE WILL END. THE WHOLE DANCE.
The ghostly dwarf gave a cough.
âWe're getting paid for this number, right?' he said.
YOU'LL GET THE UNIVERSE.
âAnd free beer?'
Buddy held the guitar to him. His eyes met Susan's.
He raised his hand, and played.
The single chord rang out across the gorge, and echoed back with strange harmonics.
THANK YOU,
said Death. He stepped forward and took the guitar.
said Death. He stepped forward and took the guitar.
He moved suddenly, and smashed the thing against a rock. The strings parted, and
something
accelerated away, towards the snow and the stars.
something
accelerated away, towards the snow and the stars.
Death looked at the wreckage with some satisfaction.
NOW
THAT'S
MUSIC WITH ROCKS IN
.
THAT'S
MUSIC WITH ROCKS IN
.
He snapped his fingers.
The moon rose over Ankh-Morpork.
The park was deserted. The silver light flowed over the wreckage of the stage, and the mud and half-consumed sausages that marked the spot where the audience had been. Here and there it glinted off broken sound traps.
After a while some of the mud sat up and spat out some more mud.
âCrash? Jimbo? Scum?' it said.
âIs that you, Noddy?' said a sad shape hanging from one of the stage's few remaining beams.
The mud pulled some more mud out of its ears. âRight! Where's Scum?'
âI think they threw him into the lake.'
âIs Crash alive?'
There was a groan from under a heap of wreckage.
âPity,' said Noddy, with feeling.
A figure emerged out of the shadows, squelching.
Crash half crawled, half fell out of the rubble.
âYou'fe got to admit,' he mumbled, because at some stage in the performance a guitar had hit him in the teeth, âthat waf Music Wif Rocks In . . .'
âAll right,' said Jimbo, and slithered off his beam. âBut next time, thanks all the same, I'd rather try sex 'n' drugs.'
âMy dad said he'd kill me if I took drugs,' said Noddy.
âThis is your brain on drugs . . .' said Jimbo.
âNo, this is your brain, Scum, on this lump here.'
âOh, cheers. Thanks.'
âA painkiller'd be favourite right now,' said Jimbo.
A little closer to the lake a heap of sacking slid sideways.
âArchchancellor?'
âYes, Mr Stibbons?'
âI think someone trod on my hat.'
âSo what?'
âIt's still on my head.'
Ridcully sat up, easing the ache in his bones.
âCome on, lad,' he said. âLet's go home. I'm not sure I'm that interested in music any more. It's a world of hertz.'
A coach rattled along the winding mountain road. Mr Clete was standing on the box, whipping the horses.
Satchelmouth got unsteadily to his feet. The cliff edge was so close he could see right down into the darkness.
âI've had just about altogether too much of this by half,' he shouted, and tried to snatch at the whip.
âStop that! We'll never catch up with them!' shouted Clete.
âSo what? Who cares? I
liked
their music!'
liked
their music!'
Clete turned. His expression was terrible.
âTraitor!'
The butt-end of the whip caught Satchelmouth in the stomach. He staggered back, clutched at the edge of the coach, and dropped.
His outflung arm caught hold of what felt like a thin branch in the darkness. He swung wildly over the drop until his boots got a purchase on the rock, and his other hand gripped a broken fence-post.
He was just in time to see the cart rumble straight on. The road, on the other hand, curved sharply.
Satchelmouth shut his eyes and held on tight until the last scream and crackle and splinter had died away. When he opened them, it was just in time to see a burning wheel bounce down the canyon.
âBlimey,' he said, âit was lucky there . . . was . . . some . . . thing . . .'
His gaze went up. And up.
YES. IT WAS, WASN'T IT?
Mr Clete sat up in the ruins of the cart. It was clearly very much on fire. He was lucky, he told himself, to have survived that.
A black-robed figure walked through the flames.
Mr Clete looked at it. He'd never believed in this sort of thing. He never believed in
anything
. But if he
had
believed, he would have believed in someone . . . bigger.
anything
. But if he
had
believed, he would have believed in someone . . . bigger.
He looked down at what he'd thought was his body, and realized that he could see through it, and that it was fading away.
âOh, dear,' he said. âHat. Hat. Hat.'
The figure grinned, and swung its tiny scythe.
SNH, SNH, SNH.
Much later on, people went down into the canyon and sorted out the remains of Mr Clete from the remains of everything else. There wasn't very much.
There were some suggestions that he was some musician . . . some musician had fled the city or something . . . hadn't he? Or was that something else? Anyway, he was dead now. Wasn't he?
No one took any notice of the other things. Stuff tended to congregate in the dry river-bed. There was a horse's skull, and some feathers and beads. And a few pieces of guitar, smashed open like an eggshell. Although it would be hard to say what had flown.
Susan opened her eyes. She felt wind on her face. There were arms on either side of her. They were supporting her while, at the same time, grasping the reins of a white horse.
She leaned forward. Clouds were scudding by, far below.
âAll right,' she said. âAnd now what happens?'
Death was silent for a moment.
HISTORY TENDS TO SWING BACK INTO LINE. THEY ARE ALWAYS PATCHING IT UP. THERE ARE ALWAYS SOME MINOR LOOSE ENDS . . .
I DARE SAY SOME PEOPLE WILL HAVE SOME CONFUSED MEMORIES ABOUT A CONCERT OF SORTS IN THE PARK. BUT WHAT OF IT? THEY WILL REMEMBER THINGS THAT DID NOT HAPPEN.
I DARE SAY SOME PEOPLE WILL HAVE SOME CONFUSED MEMORIES ABOUT A CONCERT OF SORTS IN THE PARK. BUT WHAT OF IT? THEY WILL REMEMBER THINGS THAT DID NOT HAPPEN.
âBut they
did
happen!'
did
happen!'
AS WELL.
Susan stared down at the dark landscape. Here and there were the lights of homesteads and small villages, where people were getting on with their lives without thought of what was passing by, high over their heads. She envied them.
âSo,' she said, âjust for an example, you understand . . . what would happen to the Band?'
OH, THEY MIGHT BE ANYWHERE.
Death glanced at the back of Susan's head.
TAKE THE BOY, FOR EXAMPLE. PERHAPS HE LEFT THE BIG CITY. PERHAPS HE WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE. GOT A JOB JUST TO MAKE ENDS MEET. BIDED HIS TIME. DID IT HIS WAY.
Death glanced at the back of Susan's head.
TAKE THE BOY, FOR EXAMPLE. PERHAPS HE LEFT THE BIG CITY. PERHAPS HE WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE. GOT A JOB JUST TO MAKE ENDS MEET. BIDED HIS TIME. DID IT HIS WAY.
âBut he was due in the Drum that night!'
NOT IF HE DIDN'T GO THERE.
âCan you do that? His life was due to end! You said you can't give life!'
NOT ME. YOU MIGHT.
âWhat do you mean?'
LIFE CAN BE SHARED.
âBut he's . . . gone. It's not as though I'm ever likely to see him again.'
YOU KNOW YOU WILL.
âHow do you know that?'
YOU'VE ALWAYS KNOWN. YOU REMEMBER EVERYTHING. SO DO I. BUT YOU ARE HUMAN AND YOUR MIND REBELS FOR YOUR OWN SAKE. SOMETHING GOES ACROSS, THOUGH.
DREAMS, PERHAPS. PREMONITIONS. FEELINGS. SOME SHADOWS ARE SO LONG THEY ARRIVE BEFORE THE LIGHT.
DREAMS, PERHAPS. PREMONITIONS. FEELINGS. SOME SHADOWS ARE SO LONG THEY ARRIVE BEFORE THE LIGHT.
âI don't think I understood
any
of that.'
any
of that.'
WELL, IT HAS BEEN A LONG DAY.
More clouds passed underneath.
âGrandfather?'
YES.
âYou're back?'
IT SEEMS SO. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY.
âSo I can stop? I don't think I was very good at it.'
YES.
âBut . . . you've just broken a lot of laws . . .'
PERHAPS THEY'RE SOMETIMES ONLY GUIDELINES.
âBut my parents still died.'
I COULDN'T HAVE GIVEN THEM MORE LIFE. I COULD ONLY HAVE GIVEN THEM IMMORTALITY. THEY DIDN'T THINK IT WAS WORTH THE PRICE.
âI . . . think I know what they mean.'
YOU'RE WELCOME TO COME AND VISIT, OF COURSE.
âThank you.'
YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A HOME THERE. IF YOU WANT IT.
âReally?'
I SHALL KEEP YOUR ROOM EXACTLY AS YOU LEFT IT.
âThank you.'
A MESS.
âSorry.'
I CAN HARDLY SEE THE FLOOR. YOU COULD HAVE TIDIED IT UP A BIT.
âSorry.'
The lights of Quirm glittered below. Binky touched down smoothly.
Susan looked around at the dark school buildings.
âSo I've . . . also . . . been here all the time?' she said.
YES. THE HISTORY OF THE LAST FEW DAYS HAS BEEN . . . DIFFERENT. YOU DID QUITE WELL IN YOUR EXAMS.
âDid I? Who sat them?'
YOU DID.
âOh.' Susan shrugged. âWhat grade did I get in Logic?'
YOU GOT AN A.
âOh, come
on
. I always get A-plus!'
on
. I always get A-plus!'
YOU SHOULD HAVE REVISED MORE.
Death swung up into the saddle.
âJust a minute,' said Susan, quickly. She knew she had to say it.
YES?
âWhat happened to . . . you know . . . changing the fate of one individual means changing the world?'
SOMETIMES THE WORLD NEEDS CHANGING.
âOh. Er. Grandfather?'
YES?
âEr . . . the swing . . .' said Susan. âThe one down in the orchard. I mean . . . it was pretty good. A good swing.'
REALLY?
âI was just too young to appreciate it.'
YOU REALLY LIKED IT?
âIt had . . . style. I shouldn't think anyone else ever had one like it.'
THANK YOU.
âBut . . . all this doesn't alter anything, you know. The world is still full of stupid people. They don't use their brains. They don't seem to want to think straight.'
UNLIKE YOU?
âAt least I make an effort. For example . . . if I've been here for the last few days, who's in my bed now?'
I THINK YOU JUST WENT OUT FOR A MOONLIGHT STROLL.
âOh. That's all right, then.'
Death coughed.
I SUPPOSE . . . ?
âSorry?'
I KNOW IT'S RIDICULOUS, REALLY . . .
âWhat is?'
I SUPPOSE . . . YOU HAVEN'T GOT A KISS FOR YOUR OLD GRANDAD?
Susan stared at him.
The blue glow in Death's eyes gradually faded, and as the light died it sucked at her gaze so that it was dragged into the eye sockets and the darkness beyond . . .
. . . which went on and on, for ever. There was no word for it. Even
eternity
was a human idea. Giving it a name gave it a length; admittedly, a very long one. But this darkness was what was left when eternity had given up. It was where Death lived. Alone.
eternity
was a human idea. Giving it a name gave it a length; admittedly, a very long one. But this darkness was what was left when eternity had given up. It was where Death lived. Alone.
She reached up and pulled his head down and kissed the top of his skull. It was smooth and ivory white, like a billiard ball.
She turned and stared at the shadowy buildings in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
âI just hope I remembered to leave a window open.' Oh, well, nothing for it. She had to know, even if she felt angry with herself for asking. âLook, the . . . er, the people I met . . . do you know if I ever seeâ'
When she turned back, there was nothing there. There were only a couple of hoofprints, fading on the cobbles.
There was no open window. She went around to the door and climbed the stairs in the darkness.
âSusan!'
Susan felt herself fading protectively, out of habit. She stopped it. There was no need for that. There had
never
been a need for that.
never
been a need for that.
A figure stood at the end of the passage, in a circle of lamplight.
âYes, Miss Butts?'
The headmistress peered at her, as if waiting for her to do something.
âAre you all right, Miss Butts?'
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