Soul Music

stop playing again, are you?” said Buddy angrily. “Because I won’t! I’m a musician! If I don’t play, what am I then? I might as well be dead! Do you understand? Music is my life !”
    He took a few steps nearer.
    “Why’re you following me around? Asphalt said there’d be girls like you!”
    “What on Disc do you mean, ‘girls like me’?”
    Buddy subsided a bit, but only a little.
    “They follow actors and musicians around,” he said, “because of, you know, the glamour and everything—”
    “ Glamour? Some smelly cart and a tavern that smells of cabbages ?”
    Buddy held up his hands.
    “Listen,” he said urgently. “I’m doing all right. I’m working, people are listening to me…I don’t need any more help, all right? I’ve got enough to worry about, so please keep out of my life—”
    There was the sound of running feet and Asphalt appeared, with the other members of the band behind him.
    “The guitar was screaming,” said Asphalt. “Are you all right?”
    “You’d better ask her,” muttered Buddy.
    All three of them looked directly at Susan.
    “Who?” said Cliff.
    “She’s right in front of you.”
    Glod waved a stubby hand in the air, missing Susan by inches.
    “It was probably dat cabbage,” said Cliff to Asphalt.
    Susan stepped backward quietly.
    “She’s right there! But she’s going away now, can’t you see?”
    “That’s right, that’s right,” said Glod, taking Buddy’s arm. “She’s going away now, and good riddance, so just you come on back—”
    “Now she’s getting on that horse!”
    “Yes, yes, a big black horse—”
    “It’s white, you idiot!”
    Hoofprints burned red on the ground for a moment, and then faded.
    “And it’s gone now!”
    The Band With Rocks In stared into the night.
    “Yes, I can see that, now you mention it,” said Cliff. “Dat’s a horse dat isn’t dere, sure enough.”
    “Yes, that’s certainly what a horse that’s gone looks like,” said Asphalt carefully.
    “None of you saw her?” said Buddy, as they maneuvered him gently back through the pre-dawn greyness.
    “I heard where musicians, really good musicians, got followed around by these half-naked young women called Muses,” said Cliff.
    “Like Cantaloupe,” said Cliff.
    “We don’t call ’em Muses,” said Asphalt, grinning. “I told you, when I worked for Bertie the Balladeer and His Troubadour Rascals, we used to get any amount of young women hanging arou—”
    “Amazing how legends get started, when you come to think about it,” said Glod. “Just you come along now, my lad.”
    “She was there,” Buddy protested. “She was there.”
    “Cantaloupe?” said Asphalt. “You sure, Cliff?”
    “Read it in a book once,” said the troll. “Cantaloupe. I’m pretty sure. Something like that.”
    “She was there,” said Buddy.

    The raven snored gently on top of his skull, counting dead sheep.
    The Death of Rats came through the window in an arc, bounced off a dribbly candle, and landed on all fours on the table.
    The raven opened one eye.
    “Oh, it’s you—”
    Then a claw was round its leg, and the Death of Rats jumped off the skull and into infinite space.

    There were more cabbage fields next day, although the landscape did begin to change a bit.
    “Hey, that’s interesting,” said Glod.
    “What is?” said Cliff.
    “There’s a field of beans over there.”
    They watched it until it was out of sight.
    “Nice of the people to give us all this food, though,” said Asphalt. “We shan’t be wanting for cabbages, eh?”
    “Oh, shut up,” said Glod. He turned to Buddy, who was sitting with his chin resting on his arms.
    “Cheer up, we’ll be in Pseudopolis in a couple of hours,” he said.
    “Good,” said Buddy, distantly.
    Glod climbed back into the front of the cart and pulled Cliff toward him.
    “Notice the way he goes all quiet?” he whispered.
    “Yup. Do you think it’ll be…you know…done by der time we get back?”
    “You can get anything done in Ankh-Morpork,” said Glod firmly. “I must have knocked on every damn door in the Street of Cunning Artificers. Twenty-five dollars!”
    “You’re complaining? It ain’t your tooth dat’s paying for it.”
    They both turned to look at their guitarist.
    He was staring out across the endless fields.
    “She was there,” he muttered.

    Feathers spiraled toward the ground.
    “You didn’t have to go and do that,” said the raven, fluttering upright. “You could