Soul Music

hadn’t. So it had. She felt the logic of the situation dropping into place like a series of huge leaden slabs.
    Perhaps there was somewhere where it hadn’t happened. Perhaps the coach had skidded the other way, perhaps there had been a convenient rock, perhaps it hadn’t come this way at all, perhaps the coachman had remembered about the sudden curve. But those possibilities could only exist if there was this one.
    This wasn’t her knowledge. It flowed in from a mind far, far older.
    Sometimes the only thing you could do for people was to be there .
    She rode Binky into the shadows by the cliff road, and waited. After a minute or two there was a clattering of stones and a horse and rider came up an almost vertical path from the riverbed.
    Binky’s nostrils flared. Parapsychology has no word for the uneasy feeling you have when you’re in the presence of yourself. *
    Susan watched Death dismount and stand looking down at the riverbed, leaning on his scythe.
    She thought: but he could have done something .
    Couldn’t he?
    The figure straightened, but did not turn around.
    YES. I COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING.
    “How…how did you know I was here…?”
    Death waved a hand irritably.
    I REMEMBER YOU. AND NOW UNDERSTAND THIS: YOUR PARENTS KNEW THAT THINGS MUST HAPPEN. EVERYTHING MUST HAPPEN SOMEWHERE . DO YOU NOT THINK I SPOKE TO THEM OF THIS? BUT I CANNOT GIVE LIFE. I CAN ONLY GRANT…EXTENSION. CHANGELESSNESS. ONLY HUMANS CAN GIVE LIFE. AND THEY WANTED TO BE HUMAN, NOT IMMORTAL. IF IT HELPS YOU, THEY DIED INSTANTLY. INSTANTLY .
    I’ve got to ask , Susan thought. I’ve got to say it. Or I’m not human .
    “I could go back and save them…?” Only the faintest tremor suggested that the statement was a question.
    SAVE? FOR WHAT? A LIFE THAT HAS RUN OUT? SOME THINGS END . I KNOW THIS. SOMETIMES I HAVE THOUGHT OTHERWISE. BUT…WITHOUT DUTY, WHAT AM I? THERE HAS TO BE A LAW.
    He climbed into the saddle and, still without turning to face her, spurred Binky out and over the gorge.

    There was a haystack behind a livery stable in Phedre Road. It bulged for a moment, and there was a muffled swearing.
    A fraction of a second later there was a bout of coughing and another, much better, swearword inside a grain silo down near the cattle market.
    Very shortly after that some rotten floorboards in an old feed store in Short Street exploded upward, followed by a swearword that bounced off a flour sack.
    “Idiot rodent!” bellowed Albert, fingering grain out of his ear.
    SQUEAK.
    “I should think so! What size do you think I am?”
    Albert brushed hay and flour off his coat and walked over to the window.
    “Ah,” he said, “let us repair to the Mended Drum, then.”
    In Albert’s pocket, sand resumed its interrupted journey from future to past.

    Hibiscus Dunelm had decided to close up for an hour. It was a simple process. First he and his staff collected any unbroken mugs and glasses. This didn’t take long. Then there was a desultory search for any weapons with a high resale value, and a quick search of any pockets whose owners were unable to object on account of being drunk, dead, or both. Then the furniture was moved aside and everything else was swept out of the back door and into the broad brown bosom of the river Ankh where it piled up and, by degrees, sank.
    Finally, Hibiscus locked and bolted the big front door…
    It wouldn’t shut. He looked down. A boot was wedged in it.
    “We’re shut,” he said.
    “No, you ain’t.”
    The door ground back, and Albert was inside.
    “Have you seen this person?” he demanded, thrusting a pasteboard oblong in front of Dunelm’s eyes.
    This was a gross breach of etiquette. Dunelm wasn’t in the kind of job where you survived if you told people you’d seen people. Dunelm could serve drinks all night without seeing anyone.
    “Never seen him before in my life,” he said, automatically, without even looking at the card.
    “You’ve got to help me,” said Albert, “otherwise something dreadful will happen.”
    “Push off!”
    Albert kicked the door shut behind him.
    “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said. On his shoulder the Death of Rats sniffed the air suspiciously.
    A moment later Hibiscus was having his chin pressed firmly into the boards of one of his tables.
    “Now, I know he’d come in here,” said Albert, who wasn’t even breathing heavily, “because everyone does, sooner or later. Have another look.”
    “That’s a Caroc card,” said