Soul Music

him…before…
    No one actually tried to kill musicians in the Drum. Axes were thrown and crossbows fired in a good-humored, easygoing way. No one really aimed, even if they were capable of doing so. It was more fun watching people dodge.
    A big, red-bearded man grinned at Lias and selected a small throwing ax from his bandolier. It was okay to throw axes at trolls. They tended to bounce off.
    Susan could see it all. It’d bounce off and hit Imp. No one’s fault, really. Worse things happened at sea. Worse things happened in Ankh-Morpork all the time, continuously.
    The man doesn’t even mean to kill him. It’s so sloppy. That’s not how things should go. Someone ought to do something about it .
    She reached over to grab the ax handle.
    SQUEAK!
    “Shut up!”
    Whaaauum .
    Imp stood like a discus thrower as the chord filled across the noisy room.
    It rang like an iron bar dropped on a library floor at midnight.
    Echoes bounced back from the corners of the room. Each one bore its own load of harmonies.
    It was an explosion of sound in the same way that a Hogswatchnight rocket explodes, each falling spark exploding again…
    Imp’s finger caressed the strings, picking out three more chords. The ax thrower lowered his ax.
    This was music that had not only escaped but had robbed a bank on the way out. It was music with its sleeves rolled up and its top button undone, raising its hat and grinning and stealing the silver.
    It was music that went down to the feet by way of the pelvis without paying a call on Mr. Brain.
    The troll picked up his hammers, looked blankly at his stones, and then began to beat out a rhythm.
    The dwarf took a deep breath, and extracted from the horn a deep, throbbing sound.
    People drummed their fingers on the edges of the tables. The orang was sitting with a huge rapt grin on his face, as though he’d swallowed a banana sideways.
    Susan looked down at the hourglass marked Imp y Celyn.
    The top bulb was now quite empty of sand, but something blue flickered in there.
    She felt tiny pinlike claws scrabble up her back and find purchase on her shoulder.
    The Death of Rats looked down at the glass.
    SQUEAK, it said, quietly.
    Susan still wasn’t good on Rat but she thought she knew “uh-oh” when she heard it.
    Imp’s fingers danced over the strings, but the sound that came from them was no relative to the tones of harp or lute. The guitar screamed like an angel who had just discovered why it was on the wrong side. Sparks glittered on the strings.
    Imp himself had his eyes shut and was holding the instrument close to his chest, like a soldier holding a spear at the port. It was hard to know who was playing what.
    And still the music flooded out.
    The Librarian’s hair was standing on end, all over his body. The ends crackled.
    It made you want to kick down walls and ascend the sky on steps of fire. It made you want to pull all the switches and throw all the levers and stick your fingers in the electric socket of the Universe to see what happened next. It made you want to paint your bedroom wall black and cover it with posters.
    Now various muscles on the Librarian’s body were twitching with the beat as the music earthed itself through him.
    There was a small party of wizards in the corner. They were watching the performances with their mouths open.
    And the beat strode on, and crackled from mind to mind, snapping its fingers and curling its lip.
    Live music . Music with rocks in it, running wild…

    Free at last! It leapt from head to head, crackling in through the ears and heading for the hindbrain. Some were more susceptible than others…closer to the beat…

    It was an hour later.
    The Librarian knuckled and swung through the midnight drizzle, head exploding with music.
    He landed on the lawns of Unseen University and ran into the Great Hall, hands waving wildly overhead to maintain balance.
    He stopped.
    Moonlight filtered in through the big windows, illuminated what the Archchancellor always referred to as “our mighty organ,” to the general embarrassment of the rest of the faculty.
    Rack upon rack of pipes entirely occupied one wall, looking like pillars in the gloom or possibly resembling the stalagtites of some monstrously ancient cave. Almost lost among them was the player’s pulpit, with its three giant keyboards and the hundred knobs for special sound effects.
    It wasn’t often used, except for the occasional civic affair or Wizards’ Excuse Me. *
    But the Librarian,