Soul Music

The roar of the crowd could be heard from here.
    “Why’s he not saying anything?” Asphalt whispered.
    “Dunno,” said Glod.
    Buddy was staring at nothing, with the guitar cradled in his arms. Occasionally he’d slap the casing, very gently, in time to whatever thoughts were sluicing through his head.
    “He goes like that sometimes,” said Cliff. “Just sits and looks at der air—”
    “Hey, they’re shouting something out there,” said Glod. “Listen.”
    The roar had a rhythm to it.
    “Sounds like ‘Rocks, Rocks, Rocks,’” said Cliff.
    The door burst open and Dibbler half ran, half fell in.
    “You’ve got to get out there!” he shouted. “Right now!”
    “I thought the Insanitary boys—” Glod began.
    “Don’t even ask,” said Dibbler. “Come on! Otherwise they’ll wreck the place!”
    Asphalt picked up the rocks.
    “Okay,” he said.
    “No,” said Buddy.
    “What this?” said Dibbler. “Nerves?”
    “No. Music should be free. Free as the air and the sky.”
    Glod’s head spun around. Buddy’s voice had a faint suggestion of an echo.
    “Sure, right, that’s what I said,” said Dibbler. “The Guild—”
    Buddy unfolded his legs and stood up.
    “I expect people had to pay to get in here, didn’t they?” he said.
    Glod looked at the others. No one else seemed to have noticed it. But there was a twang on the edge of Buddy’s words, a sibilance of strings.
    “Oh, that . Of course,” said Dibbler. “Got to cover expenses. There’s your wages…wear and tear on the floor…heating and lighting…depreciation…”
    The roar was louder now. It had a certain foot-stamping component.
    Dibbler swallowed. He suddenly had the look of a man prepared to make the supreme sacrifice.
    “I could…maybe go up…maybe…a dollar,” he said, each word fighting its way out of the strongroom of his soul.
    “If we go on stage now, I want us to do another performance,” said Buddy.
    Glod glared suspiciously at the guitar.
    “What? No problem. I can soon—”
    “Free.”
    “Free?” The word got past Dibbler’s teeth before they could snap shut. He rallied magnificently. “You don’t want paying? Certainly, if—”
    Buddy didn’t move.
    “I mean we don’t get paid and people don’t have to pay to listen. As many people as possible.”
    “ Free? ”
    “Yes!”
    “Where’s the profit in that?”
    An empty beer bottle vibrated off the table and smashed on the floor. A troll appeared in the doorway, or at least part of it did. It wouldn’t be able to get into the room without ripping the doorframe out, but it looked as though it wouldn’t think twice about doing so.
    “Mr. Chrysoprase says, what’s happening?” it growled.
    “Er—” Dibbler began.
    “Mr. Chrysoprase don’t like being kept waiting.”
    “I know, it—”
    “He gets sad if he’s kept waiting—”
    “All right! ” shouted Dibbler. “Free! And that’s cutting my own throat. You do know that, don’t you?”
    Buddy played a chord. It seemed to leave little lights in the air.
    “Let’s go,” he said softly.
    “I know this city,” Dibbler mumbled, as the Band With Rocks In hurried toward the vibrating stage. “Tell people something’s free and you’ll get thousands of them turning up—”
    Needing to eat, said a voice in his head. It had a twang.
    Needing to drink.
    Needing to buy Band With Rocks In shirts…
    Dibbler’s face, very slowly, rearranged itself into a grin.
    “A free festival,” he said. “Right! It’s our public duty. Music should be free. And sausages in a bun should be a dollar each, mustard extra. Maybe a dollar fifty. And that’s cutting my own throat.”

    In the wings, the noise of the audience was a solid wall of sound.
    “There’s lots of them,” said Glod. “I never played for that many in my entire life!”
    Asphalt was arranging Cliff’s rocks on the stage and getting massive applause and catcalls.
    Glod glanced up at Buddy. He hadn’t let go of the guitar all this time. Dwarfs weren’t given to deep introspection, but Glod was suddenly aware of a desire to be a long way from here, in a cave somewhere.
    “Best of luck, you guys,” said a flat little voice behind them.
    Jimbo was bandaging Crash’s arm.
    “Er, thanks,” said Cliff. “What happened to you?”
    “They threw something at us,” said Crash.
    “What?”
    “Noddy, I think.”
    What could be seen of Crash’s face broke into a huge and terrible smile.
    “We done it, though!” he