Soul Music

raven, and ruffled its feathers.
    “Good,” said Susan.
    She walked on, aware that she was blushing. Behind her a voice said, “Hah!” She ignored it.
    There was a blur of movement among the debris in the gutter.
    Something hidden by a fish wrapper went:
    SNH, SNH, SNH.
    “Oh yes, very funny,” said Susan.
    She walked on.
    And then broke into a run.

    Death smiled and pushed aside the magnifying lens and turned away from the Discworld to find Albert watching him.
    JUST CHECKING, he said.
    “That’s right, Master,” said Albert. “I’ve saddled up Binky.”
    YOU UNDERSTAND I WAS JUST CHECKING?
    “Right you are, Master.”
    HOW ARE YOU FEELING NOW?
    “Fine, Master.”
    STILL GOT YOUR BOTTLE?
    Yes, Master.” It was on the shelf in Albert’s bedroom.
    He followed Death out into the stable yard, helped him into the saddle, and passed up the scythe.
    AND NOW I MUST BE GOING OUT, said Death.
    “That’s the ticket, Master.”
    SO STOP GRINNING LIKE THAT.
    “Yes, Master.”
    Death rode out, but found himself guiding the white horse down the track to the orchard.
    He stopped in front of one particular tree, and stared at it for some time. Eventually he said:
    LOOKS PERFECTLY LOGICAL TO ME .
    Binky turned obediently away and trotted into the world.
    The lands and cities of it lay before him. Blue light flamed along the blade of the scythe.
    Death felt attention on him. He looked up at the universe, which was watching him with puzzled interest.
    A voice which only he heard said: So you’re a rebel, little Death? Against what?
    Death thought about it. If there was a snappy answer, he couldn’t think of one.
    So he ignored it, and rode toward the lives of humanity.
    They needed him.

    Somewhere, in some other world far away from the Discworld, someone tentatively picked up a musical instrument that echoed to the rhythm in their soul.
    It will never die.
    It’s here to stay.

* According to rural legend—at least in those areas where pigs are a vital part of the household economy—the Hogfather is a winter myth figure who, on Hogswatchnight, gallops from house to house on a crude sledge drawn by four tusked wild boars to deliver presents of sausages, black puddings, pork scratchings, and ham to all children who have been good. He says Ho Ho Ho a lot. Children who have been bad get a bag full of bloody bones (it’s these little details which tell you it’s a tale for the little folk). There’s a song about him. It begins: You’d Better Watch Out…
The Hogfather is said to have originated in the legend of a local king who, one winter’s night, happened to be passing, or so he said, the home of three young women and heard them sobbing because they had no food to celebrate the midwinter feast. He took pity on them and threw a packet of sausages through the window.**
**Badly concussing one of them, but here’s no point in spoiling a good legend.

* ’PLUGGERS
They’ve Got Soles
FEEL THE NALES!

About the Author
    Terry Pratchett is one of the most popular living authors in the world. His first story was published when he was thirteen, and his first full-length book when he was twenty. He worked as a journalist to support the writing habit, but gave up the day job when the success of his books meant that it was costing him money to go to work.
    Pratchett’s acclaimed novels are bestsellers in the U.S. and the United Kingdom and have sold more than thirty million copies worldwide. He lives in England, where he writes all the time. (It’s his hobby, as well.)
    Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Praise
THE ACCOLADES!
THE ADORATION!
    Acclaim for Bestselling Author
    Terry Pratchett
    “Superb popular entertainment.”
    Washington Post Book World
    “Unadulterated fun…witty, frequently hilarious…Pratchett parodies everything in sight.”
    San Fransisco Chronicle
    “Pratchett continues to distinguish himself from his colleagues with clever plotlines and genuinely likable characters.”
    Publishers Weekly (*Starred Review*)
    “If I were making my list of Best Books of the Twentieth Century, Terry Pratchett’s would be most of them.”
    Elizabeth Peters
    “Truly original…Discworld is more complicated and satisfactory than Oz…Brilliant.”
    A.S. Byatt
    “The funniest parodist working in the field today, period.”
    New York Review of Science Fiction
    “As always he is head and shoulders above the best of the rest. He is screamingly funny.