Reaper Man

then…
    …something in the machinery went clonk.
    Then the Harvester was still traveling, but in pieces. Sparks fountained up from its axles. A few spindles and arms managed to hold together, jerking madly as they spun away from the whirling, slowing confusion. The circle of blades tore free, smashed up through the machine, and skimmed away across the fields.
    There was a jangle, a clatter, and then the last isolated boing , which is the audible equivalent of the famous pair of smoking boots.
    And then there was silence.
    Death reached down calmly and picked up a complicated-looking spindle as it pinwheeled toward his feet. It had been bent into a right-angle.
    Miss Flitworth peered around him.
    “What happened?”
    I THINK THE ELLIPTICAL CAM HAS GRADUALLY SLID UP THE BEAM SHAFT AND CAUGHT ON THE FLANGE REBATE, WITH DISASTROUS RESULTS .
    Death stared defiantly at the gray watchers. One by one, they began to disappear.
    He picked up the scythe.
    A ND NOW I MUST GO , he said.
    Miss Flitworth looked horrified. “What? Just like that?”
    Y ES . E XACTLY LIKE THAT . I HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO .
    “And I won’t see you again? I mean—”
    O H , YES . S OON . He sought for the right words, and gave up. T HAT’S A PROMISE .
    Death pulled up his robe and reached into the pocket of his Bill Door overall, which he was still wearing underneath.
    W HEN M R . S IMNEL COMES TO COLLECT THE BITS IN THE MORNING HE WILL PROBABLY BE LOOKING FOR THIS , he said, and dropped something small and bevelled into her hand.
    “What is it?”
    A THREE-EIGHTHS G RIPLEY .
    Death walked over to his horse, and then remembered something.
    A ND HE OWES ME A FARTHING , TOO .

    Ridcully opened one eye. People were milling around. There were lights and excitement. Lots of people were talking at once.
    He seemed to be sitting in a very uncomfortable pram, with some strange insects buzzing around him.
    He could hear the Dean complaining, and there were groans that could only be coming from the Bursar, and the voice of a young woman. People were being ministered to, but no one was paying him any attention. Well, if there was ministering going on, he was damn well going to get ministered to as well.
    He coughed loudly.
    “You could try,” he said, to the cruel world in general, “forcing some brandy between m’lips.”
    An apparition appeared above him holding a lamp over its head. It was a size five face in a size thirteen skin; it said “Oook?” in a concerned way.
    “Oh, it’s you,” said Ridcully. He tried to sit up quickly, just in case the Librarian tried the kiss of life.
    Confused memories wobbled across his brain. He could remember a wall of clanking metal, and then pinkness, and then…music. Endless music, designed to turn the living brain to cream cheese.
    He turned around. There was a building behind him, surrounded by crowds of people. It was squat and clung to the ground in a strangely animal way, as if it might be possible to lift up a wing of the building and hear the pop-pop-pop of suckers letting go. Light streamed out of it, and steam curled out of its doors.
    “Ridcully’s woken up!”
    More faces appeared. Ridcully thought: it’s not Soul Cake Night, so they’re not wearing masks. Oh, blast.
    Behind them he heard the Dean say, “I vote we work up Herpetty’s Seismic Reorganizer and lob it through the door. No more problem.”
    “No! We’re too close to the city walls! We just need to drop Quondum’s Attractive Point in the right place—”
    “Or Sumpjumper’s Incendiary Surprise, perhaps?” This was the Bursar’s voice. “Burn it out, it’s the best way—”
    “Yeah? Yeah? And what do you know about military tactics? You can’t even say ‘yo’ properly!”
    Ridcully gripped the sides of the trolley.
    “Would anyone mind tellin’ me,” he said, “what the—what the heck is goin’ on?”
    Ludmilla pushed her way through the members of the Fresh Start Club.
    “You’ve got to stop them, Archchancellor!” she said. “They’re talking about destroying the big shop!”
    More nasty recollections settled on Ridcully’s mind.
    “Good idea,” he said.
    “But Mr. Poons is still in there!”
    Ridcully tried to focus on the glowing building.
    “What, dead Windle Poons?”
    “Arthur flew back when we realized he wasn’t with us and he said Windle was fighting something that’d come out of the walls! We saw lots of trolleys but they weren’t bothered about us! He let us get out!”
    “What,