Soul Music

had been an almost instinctive reaction.
    They didn’t slow down until they were several miles farther along the road.
    “Just shut up about money, all right?” hissed Asphalt.
    “I’m a professional musician,” said Glod. “Of course I think about money. How far is it to Quirm?”
    “A lot less now,” said Asphalt. “A couple of miles.”
    And after the next hill the city lay before them, nestling in its bay.
    There was a cluster of people at the town’s gates, which were closed. Afternoon sunlight glittered off helmets.
    “What do you call them long sticks with axes on the end?” said Asphalt.
    “Pikes,” said Buddy.
    “There’s certainly a lot of them,” said Glod.
    “Dey can’t be for us, can dey?” said Cliff. “We’re only musicians.”
    “And I can see some men in long robes and gold chains and things,” said Asphalt.
    “Burghers,” said Glod.
    “You know that horseman that passed us this morning…” said Asphalt. “I’m thinking that maybe news travels.”
    “Yes, but we didn’t break up dat theater,” said Cliff.
    “Well, you only gave them six encores,” said Asphalt.
    “We didn’t do all dat rioting in der streets.”
    “I’m sure the men with the pointy blades will understand that.”
    “Maybe dey don’t want der hotels redecorated. I said it was a mistake, orange curtains with yellow wallpaper.”
    The cart came to a halt. A rotund man with a tricorn hat and a fur-trimmed cloak scowled uncomfortably at the band.
    “Are you the musicians known as the Band With Rocks In?” he said.
    “What seems to be the problem, officer?” said Asphalt.
    “I am the mayor of Quirm. According to the laws of Quirm, Music With Rocks In cannot be played in the city. Look, it says so right here…”
    He flourished a scroll; Glod caught it.
    “That ink looks wet to me,” he said.
    “Music With Rocks In represents a public nuisance, is proven to be injurious to health and morals and causes unnatural gyrations of the body,” said the man, pulling the scroll back.
    “You mean we can’t come into Quirm?” said Glod.
    “You can come in if you must,” said the mayor. “But you’re not to play.”
    Buddy stood up on the cart.
    “But we’ve got to play,” he said. The guitar swung around on its strap. He gripped the neck and raised his strumming hand threateningly.
    Glod looked around in desperation. Cliff and Asphalt had put their hands over their ears.
    “Ah!” he said. “I think what we have here is an occasion for negotiation, yes?”
    He got down from the cart.
    “I expect what your worship hasn’t heard of,” he said, “is the music tax.”
    “What music tax?” said Asphalt and the mayor together.
    “Oh, it’s the latest thing,” said Glod. “On account of the popularity of Music With Rocks In. Music tax, fifty pence a ticket. Must have amounted to, oh, $250 dollars in Sto Lat, I reckon. More than twice that in Ankh-Morpork, of course. The Patrician thought it up.”
    “Really? Sounds like Vetinari right enough,” said the mayor. He rubbed his chin. “Did you say $250 dollars in Sto Lat? Really? And that place is hardly any size.”
    A watchman with a feather in his helmet saluted nervously.
    “Excuse me, your worship, but the note from Sto Lat did say—”
    “Just a minute,” said the mayor testily. “I’m thinking…”
    Cliff leaned down.
    “Dis is bribery, is it?” he whispered.
    “This is taxation,” said Glod.
    The watchman saluted again.
    “But really, sir, the guards at—”
    “Captain,” snapped the mayor, still staring thoughtfully at Glod, “this is politics!”
    “As well?” said Cliff.
    “And to show goodwill,” said Glod, “it’d be a good idea if we paid the tax before the performance, don’t you think?”
    The mayor looked at them in astonishment, a man not certain he could get his mind around the idea of musicians with money.
    “Your worship, the message said—”
    “Two hundred and fifty dollars,” said Glod.
    “Your worship—”
    “Now, Captain,” said the mayor, apparently reaching a decision, “we know that folk are a bit odd in Sto Lat. It’s only music, after all. I said I thought it was an odd note. I can’t see the harm in music. And these young me—people are clearly very successful,” he added. This obviously carried a lot of weight with the mayor, as it does with many people. No one likes a poor thief.
    “Yes,” he went on, “it’d be just like the Lats to try that on us. They think