Soul Music

hat.”
    “Scum,” said Crash, his voice low with resigned menace, “you’ve bought a leopard, haven’t you?”
    “Sort of leopardy, yes.”
    “Oh, good grief—”
    “But sort of a real steal for twenty dollars,” said Scum. “Nothing important wrong with it, the man said.”
    “Why’d he get rid of it, then?” Crash demanded.
    “It’s sort of deaf. Can’t hear the lion tamer, he said.”
    “Well, that’s no good to us!”
    “Don’t see why. Your trousers don’t have to listen.”
    SPARE A COPPER, YOUNG SIR?
    “Push off, granddad,” said Crash easily.
    GOOD LUCK TO YOU.
    “Too many beggars around these days, my father says,” said Crash, as they pushed past. “He says the Beggars’ Guild ought to do something about it.”
    “But the beggars all belong to the Guild,” said Jimbo.
    “Well, they shouldn’t allow so many people to join.”
    “Yes, but it’s better than being on the streets.”
    Scum, who out of the whole group had the least amount of cerebral activity to get between him and true observation of the world, was trailing behind. He had an uneasy feeling that he’d just walked over someone’s grave.
    “That one looked a bit sort of thin,” he muttered.
    The others weren’t paying any attention. They were back to the usual argument.
    “I’m fed up with being Surreptitious Fabric,” said Jimbo. “It’s a silly name.”
    “Really, really thin,” said Scum. He felt in his pocket.
    “Yeah, I liked it best when we were The Whom,” said Noddy.
    “But we were only The Whom for half an hour!” said Crash. * “Yesterday. In between bein’ The Blots and Lead Balloon, remember?”
    Scum located a tenpenny piece and turned back.
    “There’s bound to be some good name,” said Jimbo. “I just bet we’ll know it’s right just as soon as we see it.”
    “Oh, yeah. Well, we’ve got to come up with some name we don’t start arguing about after five minutes,” said Crash. “It’s not doing our career any good if people don’t know who we are.”
    “Mr. Dibbler says it definitely is,” said Noddy.
    “Yes, but a rolling stone gathers no moss, my father says,” said Crash.
    “There you go, old man,” said Scum, back down the street.
    THANK YOU, said the grateful Death.
    Scum hurried to catch up with the others, who were back on the subject of leopards with hearing difficulties.
    “Where did you put it, Scum?” said Crash.
    “Well, you know your sort of bedroom—”
    “How do you kill a leopard?” said Noddy.
    “Hey, here’s an idea,” said Crash, gloomily. “We let it choke to death on Scum.”

    The raven inspected the hallway clock with the practiced eye of one who knows the value of good props.
    It was made of some dark, age-blackened wood. There was a pendulum, which oscillated slowly.
    The clock had no hands.
    “Impressive,” said the raven. “That scythe blade on the pendulum. Nice touch. Very Gothic. no one could look at that clock and not think—”
    SQUEAK!
    “All right, all right, I’m coming.” The raven fluttered across to an ornamental doorframe. There was a skull-and-bones motif on it.
    “Excellent taste,” he said.
    SQUEAK. SQUEAK.
    “Well, anyone can do plumbing, I expect,” said the raven. “Interesting fact: did you know the lavatory was actually named after Sir Charles Lavatory? Not many people—”
    SQUEAK.
    The Death of Rats pushed at the big door leading to the kitchen. It swung open with a creak but, here again, there was something not quite right. A listener had the sense that the creak had been added by someone who, feeling that a door like that with a door surround like that ought to creak, had inserted one.
    Albert was washing up at the stone sink and staring at nothing.
    “Oh,” he said, turning, “it’s you. What’s this thing?”
    “I’m a raven,” said the raven, nervously. “Incidentally, one of the most intelligent birds. Most people would say it’s the mynah bird, but—”
    SQUEAK!
    The raven ruffled its feathers.
    “I’m here as an interpreter,” it said.
    “Has he found him?” said Albert.
    The Death of Rat squeaked at length.
    “Looked everywhere. No sign,” said the raven.
    “Then he don’t want to be found,” said Albert. He smeared the grease on a plate with a skull pattern on it. “I don’t like that.”
    SQUEAK.
    “The rat says that’s not the worst thing,” said the raven. “The rats says you ought to know what the granddaughter has been doing…”
    The rat squeaked.