Soul Music

someone’s shoes. Fair enough, sensible suggestion, no one wanted their feet trodden on, but why a song asking people to avoid doing so should have such an effect Ridcully was at a loss to understand.
    And as for the girl…
    Ponder bustled up, clutching his box.
    “I’ve got nearly all of it, Archchancellor!” he shouted.
    Ridcully glanced past him. There was Dibbler, still bearing a tray of unsold Band With Rocks In shirts.
    “Yes, fine, Mr. Stibbons (shutupshutupshutup),” he said, “Jolly good, let’s get back home.”
    “Good evening, Archchancellor,” said Dibbler.
    “Why, hello, Throat,” said Ridcully. “Didn’t see you there.”
    “What’s in that box?”
    “Oh, nothing, nothing at all—”
    “It’s amazing!” said Ponder, full of the undirected excitement of the true discoverer and idiot. “We can trap the arragh aargh aargh.”
    “My word, clumsy old me,” said Ridcully, as the young wizard clutched at his leg. “Here, let me take that totally innocent device you have there—”
    But the box had tumbled out of Ponder’s arms. It hit the street before Ridcully could catch it, and the lid flew off.
    The music spilled out into the night.
    “How did you do that?” said Dibbler. “Is it magic?”
    “The music lets itself be trapped so you can hear it again and again,” said Ponder. “And I think you did that on purpose, sir!”
    “You can hear it again and again?” said Dibbler. “What, by just opening a box?”
    “Yes,” said Ponder.
    “No,” said Ridcully.
    “Yes you can,” said Ponder. “I showed you, Archchancellor. Don’t you remember?”
    “No,” said Ridcully.
    “Any kind of box?” said Dibbler, in a voice choked with money.
    “Oh, yes, but you have to stretch a wire inside it so the music has somewhere to live and ouch ouch ouch.”
    “Can’t think what’s come over me with these sudden muscular spasms,” said Ridcully, “Come, Mr. Stibbons, let us not waste any more of Mr. Dibbler’s valuable time.”
    “Oh, you’re not wasting it,” said Dibbler. “Boxes full of music, eh?”
    “ We’ll take this one,” said Ridcully, snatching it up. “It’s an important magical experiment.”
    He frog-marched Ponder away, which was a little hard because the youth was bent double and wheezing.
    “What did you have to go…and do…that for?”
    “Mr. Stibbons, I know you to be a man who seeks to understand the universe. Here’s an important rule: never give a monkey the key to the banana plantation. Sometimes you can just see an accident waiting to—oh, no.”
    He let Ponder go and waved vaguely up the street.
    “Got any theories about that , young man?”
    Something golden brown and viscous was oozing out onto the street from what was just possibly, behind the mounds of the stuff, a shop. As the two wizards watched there was a tinkle of glass and the brown substance began to emerge from the second floor.
    Ridcully stamped forward and scooped up a handful, leaping back before the wall could reach him. He sniffed at it.
    “Is it some ghastly emanation from the Dungeon Dimensions?” said Ponder.
    “Shouldn’t think so. Smells like coffee,” said Ridcully.
    “Coffee?”
    “Coffee-flavored froth, anyway. Now, why is it I have this feeling that there’s going to be wizards in there somewhere?”
    A figure lurched out of the foam, dripping brown bubbles.
    “Who goes there?” said Ridcully.
    “Ah, yes! Did anyone get the number of that oxcart? Another doughnut, if you would be so good!” said the figure brightly, and fell over into the froth.
    “That sounded like the Bursar to me,” said Ridcully. “Come along, lad. It’s only bubbles.” He strode into the foam. After a moment’s hesitation Ponder realized that the honor of young wizardry was at stake, and pushed his way in behind him.
    Almost immediately he bumped into someone in the fog of bubbles.
    “Er, hello?”
    “Who’s that?”
    “It’s me, Stibbons. I’ve come to rescue you.”
    “Good. Which way is out?”
    “Er—”
    There were some explosions somewhere in the coffee cloud and a popping noise. Ponder blinked. The level of bubbles was sinking.
    Various pointy hats appeared like drowned logs in a drying lake.
    Ridcully waded over, coffee froth dripping from his hat.
    “Something bloody stupid’s been going on here,” he said, “and I’m going to wait quite patiently until the Dean owns up.”
    “I don’t see why you should assume it was me,” muttered a